Her Name Was Eloise...

She was like a shadow, a wraith that didn't belong in our brightly colored world. We were loud and boisterous, all swirling colors and brashness like a small town carnival.

She was shades of brown and gray. Quiet. Withdrawn.

She was in pain every minute of every day from the rhuematoid arthritis that had invaded her body. She was tall but walked hunched over, almost folded in half like she was trying to disappear inside herself. Lank, stringy brown hair framed a face that appeared far older than its years. Haunting and filled with sadness, I saw her eyes for a long time after she left our church.

Our church, where she should have found comfort, solace and peace but instead found disdain. A crazy circus of spiritual show offs that offered nothing but cotton candy when she needed so much more. The memory of our pride leaves me dizzy.

Her pain would not allow her to sit for more than a few minutes at a time so we let her lay on the floor in the back. Behind the last row of chairs. Out of sight. Weren't we nice? We even let her bring her pillows. For awhile we pretended that it was okay for her to be there. I think we expected her to join our carnival. We believed that if you were sick or poor it was somehow your fault. You didn't have enough faith or weren't spiritual enough. But she wouldn't put on a mask for us. She refused to be as "spiritual" as we were so we looked down on her.

One day the leader of Women's Ministry voiced her frustration. "What are people going to think of our church with her laying around!?"

I felt as if I had been slapped in the face. When it had been unspoken I could try to pretend we weren't really that shallow. But here it was out in the open, and I was ashamed. I wish I could say that I took her to task, that I took Eloise's pillows and plopped them right up front! That I restored righteousness!

But I didn't.

I stayed silent, too afraid of this woman to stand up for Eloise. Not surprisingly she left our church soon after that. She hadn't heard what was said but I'm certain she could feel it.

I tried hard to forget her. I convinced myself that she'd found a better church where they were nice to her. "Maybe she's even been healed!" I thought. The carnival went on.

The end? Not exactly. About a year later I saw Eloise on the news, or rather, a picture of her. She had in fact found a new church. It was in the basement of that church where she was murdered while trying to protect her friend.

My carnival came to a screeching halt. This woman we had thought of as weak and below our standard of spirituality understood the heart of God better than any one of us. She gave her life for another. I mourned for Eloise and I mourned for us because we had so completely missed the point. And I repented.

I didn't have the chance to tell Eloise how sorry I was for how I treated her, but someday I will. I pray that I will never forget her or the lesson I learned at her expense. Everyone has value. There isn't one who isn't loved by the Father.

Not the homeless guy with the ratty backpack. Not the man in Burger King who talks to his milkshake. Not the woman whose five kids all have a different dad.

God is not ashamed to call any one of us His child. He marches us right up to the front row and gives us the best seat in the house...right next to Him. When He walked this earth He touched the unclean and talked to the outcast. He loved the unlovable. I'm so glad He still does because I am all of those things.

So next time you see someone who seems undesirable, think of Eloise and offer to carry their pillows up front for them.

"By this we know love, because He laid down His life for us. And we also ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. But whoever has this world's goods, and sees his brother in need, and shuts up his heart from him, how does the love of God abide in him? My little children, let us not love in word or in tongue, but in deed and in truth." 1 John 3:16-18