I actually prayed for a hug yesterday, a specific one, from a woman around my age, one that might feel like a hug from my friend.
I mean, it wasn’t a speak-in-tongues or quote-the-scripture kind of prayer. I just said in my mind, ‘I could use one of those…’ I was watching five vibrant women singing and smiling and emoting while leading worship, and it made me ache for all the awesome women in my life, who have been among my greatest assets, who are now so far away.
I have cried through every church service since we moved here. Part of it is because Sunday service provides such a sweet time to focus on God, His provision, His goodness. Part of it is because I miss my church so much. Part of it is because I feel ridiculous about feeling so ‘lonely’ when I have my husband, my three girls, extremely friendly associates, and pretty much everyone I know at my fingertips via Facebook or texting or gasp, the phone.
And yet, God cares about my petty comforts, apparently. As soon as this particular worship service was over, the pastor introduced the quintessential greeting time of the service by instructing his congregants to find someone to hug..not shake hands, not make introductions, not give ’em a good God-bless-you and a piece of humble pie, but hug. No sooner did I turn around and wipe the smears&tears from my face, then did a woman around my age, also a little glassy eyed, smiling reservedly, was there.
And she hugged me tight.
Like, she held on for a minute, so I could too, without feeling like a weirdo.
I didn’t cry, nor did I make plans to etch her in as my local BFF. We didn’t even exchange names. It was a moment…an answered little prayer, a glimmer of hope, a promise that He’s got my back, just like always.