Sarah.

Friday afternoons are always cloudy. I know this, because every Friday afternoon is local outreach, and my particular outreach is always meant to be outside. Three of six outreaches have been rained out. One was a near miss on a thunderstorm, and the one sunny Friday I was sick with a fever.

But last Friday, it was not raining, nor was I ill. So, downtown Madison found Chasity and I giggling our way down the streets on our way to the YWAM Madison Phos House (campus housing for international students). It was the last week before all the college students finished their finals, and left for the summer. It’s amazing how quickly bustling streets seem to experience quarantine in a matter of days. Empty.

Typically on local outreach days we set up a prayer table for people to come and receive prayer. But that day, we felt that God wanted us to do a prayer walk down town.

“Who should I approach, Lord,” I asked silently, as Greg Ruhland and I walked up State Street.

“Relax. I’m bringing them to you.” Ten minutes later, I asked again, and received the same response. I was beginning to feel as though I were slacking on the job, just waiting silently for someone to approach ME. (This doesn’t happen often in taciturn Madison.)

“Be patient, Rynn. I know who’s coming.”

Moments later, just as I was beginning to pester God again, a woman walked up to Greg and I. We had been walking quickly, in mid conversation.

“Please excuse me, can you help me?” She was a heavy set African American woman, looking to be in mid-thirties. Her hair was pulled tightly back from large brown eyes that were wet with tears and bright with distress.

“This is the one I told you about,” God whispered.

“I need some money. I just got a phone call, my mom is in the hospital with cardiac arrest, and I’ve got to get to Milwaukee. Please, can you spare some money for the bus fare? Please? I’ve asked churches, and charities, and no one is giving me anything. Please, can you help me?”

Greg began asking her questions about herself, her mother, where she was from, what she was doing in Madison. As he did,I prayed. God brought to memory an envelope he asked me to make while I was doing my budgeting for the month, several weeks earlier. ‘Put aside twenty dollars for me’ he had asked, ‘I will tell you when to pass it on.’ I labeled the envelope‘His Blessing Goes’, and it crawled into the back of my mind as I waited for Him to tell me when. And now it was time.

“I’m her only girl. I’ve been living in the woman’s shelter downtown. I’m from New Orleans.”

“Were you displaced from hurricane Katrina?” I asked. Her face grew sad and stubborn.

“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about that. I lost a lot of family in that. I don’t want to talk about it. I moved to be close to my family here. I’m trying to go to school at MATC. But I don’t have money.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sarah. My mom’s name is Rosemary.” I looked at Greg and nodded slightly. Passerby flowed by us. “Would you let me talk to my friend for a moment?” He asked. She nodded and walked a few steps away. I heard her ask someone for a smoke. A click of a lighter ignited the slim cigarette a man at the bus stop gave her.

“What do you think,” Greg asked, looking rather doubtfully at Sarah.

“I’m supposed to give her money.” I quickly told him about the envelope, and God’s confirmation that this was the one to receive his blessing. Greg remained dubious. “Let’s pray quickly,” I said.

After a moment, I looked at Greg. “He said she’s lying about her mother being sick, but he said she does need the money.She needs to get to Milwaukee. And I’m to give it to her.” He smiled, and nodded, trusting me and the peace he felt God gave him for the situation.

The wind bustled about us and whipped the smoke away from our faces as it rose from Sarah’s cigarette. “Sarah,” I said, and her wet eyes met mine. “My friend and I are Christians. A few weeks ago God asked me to set aside some money for someone He told me would be needing it. He said you’re the one.” Sarah broke into tears. Her hands covered her face. Ash fell on her jeans. “The bus fare to Milwaukee is about $17. The last $3 should be able to get you a taxi to the hospital.”

“I’ve got to give you a hug, thank you! Thank you!” Twice, I received a big bear hug, so sincere my ribs burned. Before she left us, Greg and I prayed for blessings over her, and shortly after another round of tears, thank you’s and hugs... she left...

Greg and I resumed our walk toward the capital, now blazing white in the growing sunshine. He glanced at me. I was beaming. I noticed his look, and smiled even more brilliantly,

“God and I were waiting for her.”