I call her Anna

We sat in pairs. Two sets of dirty, khaki capris surrounded by sparkling saris and gorgeous, dark skin. That these women revered us at all was embarassing.

"Lex!" Vyola shouted under her breath and waved me across the room. I pointed at Christine to say I needed to stick with her, but Vyola beckoned me again. I obediently scooted across the marble floor. "This lady would like you to pray for her. She pointed at you." That's strange.

I more than glanced at the woman for the first time and smiled. Her old, brown frames clung to one last piece of glass, but she didn't seem to notice. Her hair shined white like it must have once shined jet black, and whispered from beneath her sari of wisdom. Her skin, weathered from decades of work, smoothed to stretch over fragile bones each time she opened her mouth to speak or smile. The later she couldn't seem to do with her eyes open. I wanted to hug her, but only so she would hug me back. Her gentle spirit astounded me as I briefly considered the hardships her life must have seen.

We diagnosed her ailment and I began as I always did, "Ask her what she knows about Jesus." You can't ask simple Yes or No questions because they know what you want to hear. "Are you Christian?" Of course. "Do you believe in Jesus?" Absolutely, whatever makes you happy. Not this lady.

She squeaked for a while in Telegu and Vyola tried not to laugh. "That was a lot," Captain Obvious contributed.

"She just explained to you the gospel," Vyola chuckled. "She comes to the church every day. She teaches. She just spent five years here, praying."

"Five years here? In this building?"

"Ya."

"I think she should pray for me." Vyola chuckled, but said nothing. The look on her face informed me that I couldn't possibly ask that of her, so we prayed. The wrinkled intercessor was healed and I asked if I could take her picture before she left. "Tell her I was honored to pray for her." Vyola translated and Anna smiled and left.