When God Sends Help: "Virgie" (reposted)
I've been reflecting on how God brings people into our lives at precisely the right moment. We sometimes wonder why they didn't appear sooner, but that's where faith becomes essential. God sees the entire world's timeline, from beginning to end. He knows the perfect placement of everything, while we see only a sliver of the picture. Ironically, we often think we know better. Some people have entered my life for only a season, and I'm sure others were meant to be in my life but didn't answer His call. Regardless, we can trust that He knows best and will take care of everything.
By the time I was twelve, I was pretty broken. I had been molested and bullied, lost a cat who was very important to me, and moved three times. I was also attending my fifth school. These were just the most significant traumas and adjustments I had faced. Always a quiet child, I was now just empty inside, lost and alone in the world. All my older siblings had moved out, so I was the only child at home. We lived in Georgetown, Delaware. My father was the pastor of a one-hundred-member congregation in a small, secluded community. We had been living there for about two years when, late one night, we heard a knock at the door. We were all getting ready for bed. I heard the doorbell ring, followed by loud banging. I peeked out of my bedroom as my father passed by with my grandfather's old single-shot .22 rifle. He waved me back into my room. I heard my mother's voice in the hall and then silence. Though I desperately wanted to leave my room to see what was happening, I stood in the middle of the room, listening intently, mostly to my own heart beating. Thirty to forty-five minutes passed before my mother opened my bedroom door and flipped on the light. "I need you to get dressed and go over to the church and see what's going on. Don't let them know you are there."
I did as I was told and ran from the back parsonage door to the side door of the church in the dark. Luckily, my father had left the lights on in the very large building. I ran through the long hallway lined with classrooms, past the offices, and into the foyer. A door on the other side of the sanctuary led into the fellowship hall, and I could hear strange singing echoing from the partially opened door. Slightly frightened by the dark shadows of the sanctuary around me, I slipped over to the door. I saw my father handing a middle-aged woman a cup of coffee. She had a bucket of water and a mop in her hand and was clearly drunk. My father was trying to sober her up, answering her mumbled questions about God and telling her about who He was, going to the kitchen for another cup of coffee every once in a while. Before long, I heard a sound behind me. It was my mother, still in her nightgown and robe, standing in her slippers. She opened the door and told me to go home. I fought it a little, only because I was afraid to go back through the darkened church and outside alone again. I didn't believe in boogie men, but I understood that there were things out there, whether I could always see them or not. Then she gave me that look, that Mom look that can move armies and mountains with a single glance. I ran like the wind, glancing back maybe a couple of times. I had heard my father say the woman's name: Virgie. She was somewhat short and heavyset with long hair in the back, but short on the sides with really short, straight bangs. It was the eighties, after all, and hair was a statement. To my delight and awe, when Sunday came around, so did Virgie. My father introduced me to her, and she had the biggest smile. She was different from anyone I had ever met before, sporting a few tattoos on her arms and wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt. That was highly unusual for our church back then. Yet, Virgie continued to attend services. In overheard conversations, I gathered she was still struggling with alcohol. Sometimes, she would call the parsonage late at night, and my father would stay on the phone with her as she mumbled incoherently. Over the months, she began talking to me more, asking about school and my interests. No adult had ever spoken to me like that, as if I were worth talking to.
Soon, every Sunday, she greeted me with a big hug and smile. I didn't recognize the happy, warm feeling that washed over me when she lit up at the sight of me, as if she had found a long-lost friend, every single time. No one noticed my depression or knew I was suicidal. My first thoughts of suicide had surfaced at the age of seven, after being molested. For five years, I had guarded my secret, five years of heaviness that felt unbearable. Virgie, however, made me feel worthy with her warm smile and huge hug. I believe she saw something no one else did: my brokenness, fear, loneliness, and lack of self-worth. She knew I needed to be loved. As far as I knew, to everyone else, my existence seemed inconsequential. I simply had to follow instructions, wear the appropriate clothes, and behave as perfectly as possible. Mistakes were met with heavy disappointment and consequences. Virgie, however, allowed me to be a kid. I laughed more with her than anyone else, including my friends from church and school.
Meeting Virgie, the drunk, was the best thing that had ever happened to me. For many years, I didn't understand that God had brought her into my life to help me cope with everything I held inside, to show me that there was more to life than my experiences. I never told her, or anyone, what had happened to me, believing it was punishment for my wrongdoings, a belief that brought shame and embarrassment. I held onto it tightly, fearing someone might one day discover my secret. I remember one Sunday, sitting on the brick wall outside the church, the sun shining down. Virgie told me that if I ever needed to talk, I could talk to her. She promised to listen without judgment and without telling anyone else. I paused, considering her offer. No one had ever asked me to talk about what had happened, not even my parents. I wanted to embrace her, to thank her for caring, even loving me. Instead, I simply smiled and nodded. I desperately wanted to confide in her, but the words wouldn't form. That familiar knot tightened in my throat, the one that precedes tears or a torrent of incoherent trauma. She simply smiled, reassuring me of her constant availability. Virgie attended the church for a few years, then disappeared from my life. Even now, I can clearly see her smiling face and distinctive mohawk. She is undoubtedly the first name on a short list of angels God has sent my way. Sometimes, they appear in the most unexpected forms, and perhaps those are the most valuable ones. If God assigns greeters at the gates of Heaven, I sincerely hope Virgie is among them.
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