sisters

She sat alone.

The rhythm of an African drum began to rumble. Soon a chorus of strong, exuberant voices began to ring. The voices owners moving individually to the beat of their own song a choreographed manner.

She sat alone.

Fixed in the center of the room was young woman with a shy smile. The singing was for her. Every face in the room was meandering towards her general direction and flashing looks of graceful pride her way. Her eyes could endure the emotions of the glances for only a few seconds until her inner bashfulness caused her to look away.

She sat alone.

But she was use to being noticed. For almost eight years she endured the stares and mocking of the world around her. Her foul stench and wet clothes invited attention. She wasn’t like everyone else. And she knew this painfully well.

She sat alone.

A smile was fixed on her face. A tranquility of soul was reflected in her eyes. Hope was formed in her lips.

She stood alone.

With a soft, determined voice she testified. She thanked the doctors and nurse's in the room for her miracle. She was dry for the first time in eight years. Crystal dew glistened from the corners of her eyes as she spoke.

“I cannot talk long about what you have done for me or I will cry great tears. All the nurses are good nurses. For years I was alone but they touched and played with me like a little girl. Thank you so much.”

She danced alone.

A dance of freedom. A dance of restoration. A dance of hope.

She had gained more than physical healing as a room full of adoring eyes watched. The outcast was loved.

And she wasn’t alone.

The room was full of sisters.