It's only my second Sunday at this new, big, unfamiliar church. A few seats down she stands, a perfect stranger. As we sing songs that I've never heard before, I can't help but glance over. She's still crying.

The voice comes back again.

Go to her. 

What? God. No. I don't even know her, which makes it all the more uncomfortable for both of us. I'll just wait. 

The nudging doesn't go away, so I just stubbornly try to ignore it. Then I start reasoning my point and begin to bargain. 

I don't want to, God. I'm scared of what could happen. What if she thinks I'm a total freak for giving her a hug when I've never even met her before?

Go. 

Ok fine! If she is still crying when the next song starts playing, I'll go.

The next song plays, she still cries, I break. "Ok, God. I'll go. It doesn't matter what she thinks of me, anyways. If you're telling me to do this, I'll go do it."

Go. Go now. 

The voice hasn't changed it's tune one bit. In fact, I feel the prompting stronger than the first time. Apparently my worries and fears don't matter. I surrender. All that matters is that He's telling me to do something, and I need to do it right now. 

My heart begins beating uncontrollably as I start walking towards her: head bowed, arms slightly raised, tears still falling. My hand shakes as I reach out to embrace her. And I feel it, a wave crashing over both of us. The Holy Spirit, I believe. I feel her body collapse in harder sobs as she turns to look at me, music still ringing loud in the big room. 

She reaches out to me with both arms wide. Our eyes lock before she presses her cheek against mine, whispering "thank you" then buries her head on my shoulder. I hold her tight. 

Earlier, I had protested that I shouldn't go over to her because what if I make it worse? I don't even know what to say to her, God! 

Now, words fill up and fall out. 

I speak them into her ear. 

I know they're not my words, because I didn't have any words. 

He is speaking to her. 

Not me.

"He's going to be faithful to you. . . " I say and choke. These are words I need to hear, too. Maybe I needed this just as much as she needed this. . .  Drowned in melodies and mingling tears, I see that she is the one blessing me. . . that He is blessing us both. 

The song ends and the pastor says to turn and hug someone next to you. She holds on tight. "Thank you. . ." she starts to say. "I can't even say. . . how much I needed. . . thank you, thank you. . . bless you." She kisses my cheek. We give one last hug and her teary eyes are lit up as she smiles. I find my seat, thankful that my body has finally stopped shaking. 

I reach to brush back hair from my eyes and am surprised to find tears on my face. But they aren't my tears. . . they are her tears.

This is the body of Christ.

Her tears are now my tears.

Her mess, my mess.

I walk away different.

He

is

faithful.