Sing Me a Song in the Dark

I peered around the corner into Jessie's room to see if she was there. She was lying on her bed, her roommate fast asleep across the room as she took advantage of a brief afternoon nap. Jessie wasn't sleeping though; she couldn't. Not when she kept remembering the tragedy of the day before. The women's dean stopped by at the same time and together we kept silent vigil with her. Sometimes we spoke, sometimes held her hand, as we tried our best to extend comfort.

Soon the women's dean was called away but I said I would stay with Jessie. I had some work I could do on my laptop and we wanted her to have someone with her throughout the day. After exchanging a few words, Jessie pulled her blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. She was weary and longed for the kind relief of sleep. Within moments, she was fast asleep.

I sat by her side for the next hour, quietly tapping away on my keyboard, as the words continued to ring in my ears. Mourn with those who mourn. Weep with those who weep. This was my role for today. This was all God needed me to do. To sit with the grieving and reassure her that she was not alone.

The next day, I stopped by after work. She was sitting in her room, unable to sleep, and somewhat restless. The sun was setting but she didn't turn on the light. We watched a cute short Disney film; she showed me a clip of her niece playing with a cat. We talked about boys. She mentioned her father several times and didn't cry. I asked if she'd eaten and drank and she said she had. Soon the only light in the room was the glow of my laptop monitor but even in the shadows I could see her face.

Jessie was starting to smile again. Through the bitter unfairness of it all, through the hardest pain of her life, this sweet young woman was taking the strength she'd been leaning on for the past three days from all those who had loved her and sat with her and she was turning it into joy. We sat there in the dark, a 35-year old Eurasian teacher and a 21-year old student from Upper Egypt. We laughed, we stumbled in communicating concepts, we reminisced. And I watched the miracle of the Holy Spirit in comforting a hurting young woman.

Once again, the words echoed in my heart. Weep with those who weep; mourn with those who mourn. I was not preaching an eloquent sermon. I was not baptizing people by the thousands. I was not performing life-saving surgery. I was not teaching little ones about Jesus. I was not providing a home for orphans or rescuing women from the sex-traffic industry. I was simply sitting with a young woman and being present with her. And in that moment I knew, this was what God brought me here for.