All I want for Christmas

She was old. Even missing a few teeth. Bundled in scarves. Her accent foreign. Her dog was waiting outsides, peering anxiously through the glass doors of the post office.

She noticed me talking to him as I pushed through the door, and in the space of about twenty minutes I had her life story. Or parts of it.

She's Greek; the dog is Russian. Or at least his name is...Yuri, after Dr. Zhivago. It's the just the two of them; he is her family. Once when her arthritis was particularly bad, he jumped down in the morning and got under her feet to help her climb off the bed.

She has very little income, but she does not go hungry. All she asks is her health and peace of mind--the kind that only comes from above. Even for bread and cheese she says, "Thank you, Jesus!" When she wakes up and puts her feet on the floor: "Thank you to God!"
Her friend, who has money but is anxious for many things, asks her, "What makes you smile? For what can you thank God?" She tells her, "For life!!"

She was orphaned at two--or, rather, lost her mother. When her father remarried, the stepmother and her children only wanted him, so Kathy and her brother were shipped off to be raised by two separate uncles.

When she was fourteen, a boy in her town in Greece was in love with her. He followed her everywhere, but she cared nothing for boys then. But just before Christmas, he called her. He'd gotten her number from a cousin. After 64 years -- 64 years!! -- he says, "I still love you." Maybe she will not remain entirely alone.

Over and over she tells me, "Baby, if you have peace of mind, you will be okay." Her gratefulness convicts and warms me. Amazing that God orchestrated our meeting. I am friendly to strangers, but it's not often that I spend twenty minutes in conversation with one. I finally left, only because I was on the clock. I hugged her goodbye and promised to pray for her, and she kissed my cheek. I'm stunned at the thought that I could have missed that encounter.

It's a good ending to my year.