Jesus the Other Sun
Guiding me along the lighted path…
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ROSY, MY INSPIRATION
Rosy, my beautiful inspiration!
I was an expert on loss at that time in my life.
Pregnant with twins, two-thirds of the way through my pregnancy, I was rushed and sedated at the hospital. I had severe pre-eclampsia. In the 20th week, I lost one baby and in the 26th week, the other. Two baby girls. Gone.
A year and a half later I miscarried in my third month.
Throughout, I continued to lose more vision.
Then, when I didn’t think I could lose any more, my Egyptian husband decided he wanted a divorce. So I lost my marriage. My precious marriage that my husband said he’d never “in a million years” trade.
Like most people living on autopilot, I didn’t notice how scattered I felt in my life.
But someone else did.
My congregation and I had just finished a sunrise Easter service. I sat in a spot along a rocky cove on the Arabian Gulf in the United Arab Emirates where I lived. The early morning sunlight felt good on my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Rosy, an Indian woman in our group. She adjusted her dupatta modestly around her neck and straightened her salwa khamis (tunic and pants) before approaching me.
“Do you need someone to cook and clean your house part-time?” she asked.
The thought of a young, able-bodied, recently-divorced American woman needing someone to cook for her seemed absurd. I turned her down flat.
“I will see if you change your mind,” came her calm reply.
A week later, something made me approach Rosy again. “I think I can use someone, after all.”
What surprises awaited me those first few days after hiring Rosy! I walked through the door to find my home transformed.
Aromatic spices and exotic dishes filled with Indian delicacies greeted me: fish, lentils, rice and homemade chapattis. Each room looked tidy, and the animals, which had all been fed, rested comfortably.
Best of all, I had someone to talk to.
It soon became clear that Rosy had a knack for organizing. As she began to put my house in order, God worked through her to put my life in order. During mealtimes, while keeping busy with little tasks in the kitchen, she built a bridge to me–slowly leading our talks to deeper waters, to the heartache I had been hiding.
With a broom or cloth in hand, Rosy listened and spoke about God’s presence.
Her confidence never wavered and God’s voice shone through. We discussed topics I needed to apply to my life to move forward: forgiveness, prayer, seeking His word.
Through our dinner talks, my faith deepened. I never knew why she stayed so late to serve me dinner. But she knew.
Rosy worked for me until I left the Middle East three years later. She encouraged me to reach out in lands I never dreamed I could. I organized a mission trip to Kenya.
“Before I came to you,” Rosy confided one day, “I prayed God would show me the one He wanted me to serve. God chose you.
“Yes. You lost all your babies and then your husband left you. I feel very sad. But now even though you lose more vision, you are not lost in the same way as before. You never feel completely lost when you have Christ to love you into wholeness.”
I matured because my sister Rosy inspired me daily.