A buxom black woman slipped her way past the two unpainted French doors that led to the sanctuary. She slipped into the red upholstered church chair immediately to the right of the doors next to the round table that held the Daily Breads, empty offering plate, attendance board, and other churchly paraphernalia.  She wasn’t unnoticed. Some of us, those of us with sensitive ears that instantly pick up the slightest buff or the sound of fresh air flowing or the sharpening of the sounds from outside when the doors opened, caught her right away.  I looked back surprised to see what I assumed was an American black woman in a Spanish Pentecostal church. She swallowed up the red chair with her jolly, stout body.  Her hair was natural and thick, a frizzy sea of brown that puffed outward.  Brown freckles marched around her cheeks which were toned from the perpetual smile that just wouldn’t leave her face.  I never saw anyone that seemed so happy to be someplace.  She wore a jean skirt, white socks and sneakers, a plastic bag grasped tightly by dark sausage-y fingers.  But what stood out most to me was her stark white t-shirt with the words JESUS printed across her large bosom in a borrowed Pepsi logo.  I kept stealing glances at her and was relieved when the service was over to go inspect the new visitor.

She was as kind and lovely as she appeared asking people their names, introducing herself, chit chatting with the kids. She visited our church for almost every service that summer.  She definitely told us her name, many times, but we affectionately referred to her as Pepsi Jesus, and we all looked forward to her presence. She really got to know the children and she wrote our birthdays and some of our addresses down in her little notepad.  Then winter came and she was gone.  But then the cards starting coming.  The stranger who made herself a temporary home in our church, the one who didn’t speak any Spanish but sang along and praised along with us, began to send birthday cards and birthday notes to whomever was on that notepad.  She never forgot.  She seemed to possess a joy inside her soul that she couldn’t just keep to herself.  I never saw her again after my late teens but I have never been able to forget her.  Many of us can barely remember the birthdays and such of people we love and she intentionally and lovingly remembered those who couldn’t even remember her real name.  She was a poor woman rich with love and thoughtfulness. Her small acts of love left a large impact on my heart. It was like the woman in the Bible who gave her very last coin. It was more valuable spiritually than someone buying a Chanel bag for a friend because she was giving her heart.

So smile brightly wherever you tread.  Be the one in the room to reach out and welcome those around you even if you are the guest. Write down people’s birthdays. Praise God without inhibitions.  Don’t be afraid to be yourself. Be intentional about loving others and do it with no expectations. Remember the names of people you meet.  Love is so impactful. So love right.