Mother-Daughter Banquet

We glided down the Autobahn at about 90 miles an hour sharing our stories and catching up on news.

It was Maria and I heading towards the Mother-Daughter Banquet at the mission church in Bitburg, Germany. Alexis, my granddaughter, sat quietly in the back seat dressed up in her Sunday best.

We swung up and down mountains and straddled the Moselle River. Everything was greening as spring burst out everywhere. Slanted hillside vineyards glistened through the rain as German villages popped up in the crevices of valleys.

Soon, we arrived and saw the church on a winding cobblestone street of the little town of Bitburg. We entered and I found my name tag at a table and quickly went forward to fill my plate with brunch-style food. When I sat down, sitting next to me was an African-looking lady. She said she was from England, the Isle of Wight, and her name was Abigail. She spoke with a touch of British accent but something else was there too.

“Are you from Africa?” I whispered.

“Yes, from Central Africa originally. I married a man from England.”

“Aaah! I knew it! I just read a book about Africa, “The Leap”, and would love to visit there some day!”

“You would love to visit!” She got all excited. “I could get you there right now! I have friends and family there! They have a big house! They would love to have you!”

“Well, not right now!” I quickly retorted. “Someday!”

“Come to my house for tea and we can talk about it!” She exclaimed.

“There’s only one problem.”

“What?”

I explained to her that I lived an hour and a half away so that would be nearly impossible.  I gave her my email address and phone number and said she was welcomed to call me and we could talk about it further.

“Why did the Lord put me next to her?” I mumbled to myself.

I notice her hand was limp.

“What’s wrong there?” I asked.

“I had a stroke.” She said.

“How did that happen?”

“The devil attacked. He can attack anywhere at any time.”

“Yes, but God gives us grace to make it. “ I replied.

She nodded her head.

We then heard a short devotional by a missionary and afterwards, pictures were taken.

Later, I found Mrs. C the pastor’s wife. I knew she was heading back to the USA due to health problems.

“I’ve had five bypasses since I last saw you four years ago. Now, I can barely walk on this leg and it might have to be amputated. I don’t want to go back. I vowed I would die here first.”

“But you’re going back in two weeks.” I replied.

“That’s right. I still have two weeks.” She smiled through her tears.

I wanted to hug her at that moment, but she carrying a load of stuff. I prayed a silent prayer for her that the Lord would help her to get the strength to return.

Earlier, we had a contest and I won the centerpiece. Abigail could not participate because she was not a mom. I sensed her loneliness and, at the last minute, gave it to her. The Lord told me to do it.

She smiled and thanked me and limped to the door. She too had a bad leg.

And then we headed back home.

To be continued…