One morning I stood outside the large gates of a local police court and temporary prison. As the gates opened, I witnessed a woman, two policemen walking in front of her and two behind, one fellow had her by the right arm and another by the left. Her hair was uncombed, matted and disheveled. Her right temple was blackened with bruises: clots of dry blood stood upon her left temple. Her clothes were torn and bloodstained. The atmosphere of the morning was laden with her curses and her oaths, she tossed her head wildly as the six policemen dragged her away.
What Could I Do? One more moment and the golden opportunity to be of help would be gone. Could I offer prayer? No, there was not time. Could I sing? It would be absurd. Could I give her money? She could not take it. Could I quote a verse of Scripture? She would not heed it.
Whether it was a Divine suggestion or not I did not stop to think, but the impulse of a burning desire which filled my heart as she passed made me step forward and kiss her on the cheek. Whether the police were taken off their guard by my extraordinary action and relaxed their grasp I do not know, but with one wrench she freed her arms and clasped her hands, as the wind spread her matted and disheveled hair and she looked toward the grey skies and said, My God!
She looked around wildly for a moment and then said, “My God, who has kissed me? Nobody has kissed me since my mother died.”
Lifting her tattered apron, she buried her face in her hands and like a little lamb was led away to the vehicle which took her to prison. Later I went to the prison in the hope of seeing her. When I approached the warden she said; “We think her mind has gone. She does nothing but pace up and down her cell asking me every time I go in if I know who kissed her.”
Would you let me go in and speak to her, I asked. I am her only and best friend. And so the door was opened and I slipped in. Her face was clean, her eyes were large and beautiful and she said; “Do you know who kissed me?” And then she told me her story.
When I was a girl, seven years old, my widowed mother died. She died poor, in a back basement, in the dark. When she was dying she called me to her, took my little face in her hands and kissed it, and said to me My poor little girl. My defenseless little girl. O God have pity on my little girl, and when I am gone protect her and take care of her. From that day to this, nobody ever put a kiss upon my face until recently. Then again she asked me, “Do you know who kissed me?” I said, “It was I who kissed you.”
Then I told her of He who went to the cross and bore our sins upon Himself and was wounded for our transgressions, that He might put the kiss of pardon on our brow. In Him she found light and joy and comfort and salvation and healing and love. Before she was released, the warden testified not only to the change in her life, but to its beauty. She was made, through Christ, the means of salvation to numbers of others who were down as low as she had been and who were bound with as heavy fetters as those which she herself had been bound.4
Be in the places where the people are...the prison, the street corner, the Laundromat, the coffee shop, the alleyways...
Follow those Divine suggestions When Holy Spirit gives you an impulse toward action, obey Him!
Don t be afraid of what bystanders will think of you.
Follow-through and seek people out.
Weep o'er the erring one, lift up the fallen tell them of Jesus, the mighty to save.