The older woman stepped over to me. “I haven’t smoked in four months.”
Excuse me? I thought.
“I started smoking when I was 8 years old, but I haven’t touched a cigarette in four months. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I felt I should.”
Tears came to my eyes—catching me off guard—and all I could reply was, “Praise the Lord.”
I paused.
“Can I touch you?” I asked this lady I had never met before, as I put my hand down on her shoulder with a soft touch. “That’s beautiful. Thank you for sharing that with me.”
She smiled and stepped back to her seat. Seat 3 between us again.
Side by side we sang and worshipped. No more words exchanged until a number of songs later.
“Open your hand.”
What?
She leaned closer, this woman I didn’t know—with purple and pink short cropped hair, two large gem-stone necklaces draping her neck, wrinkled skin, flowy shawl and every finger—with long, filed-to-a-point nails—sporting some bling.
“Open your hand.” It wasn’t a question; it was a gentle command.
So I did.
She placed one weathered hand under mind, and with the other—stiletto nails safely tucked in—she firmly placed an object into my palm.
“You are a treasure,” she said with a squeeze as she looked straight into my eyes. I heard her voice clearly over the united voices roaring out praises at the outdoor concert at the Oregon State Fair. She stepped back to her seat with a nod.
I looked into my hand and saw it held a ring.
Real gold? Are those real diamonds along the side? A deep purple gemstone cut into a hefty, curvy triangle.
Why did she do that? Why me?Does she carry around spare jewelry to give to strangers? Did she pluck this ring off her own hand? Should I give her something now? How do I thank her?
I sat in the darkened stadium, warm stagnant summer air surround-ing me along with the voices of a thousand worshippers—hands and voices lifted in worship to the Lord.
And I felt seen.
Chosen.
Loved.
Hello peace, hello joy, hello love.
With more concert to go, she gathered her purse and red carnival slushie and stood to leave.
I stepped into empty space Seat 3 between us, leaned down to her height and shared a long, firm hug. What would I say?
“Blessings upon you.” And she left.
Kelsey Ensz and her husband, Nathan, pastor of Kingwood Bible Church, live in Salem, Oregon. They share 26 years of marriage and three children. She values discipleship, mentorship and growth with women of all ages through various online and in-person avenues.
