I left church feeling tired.  Hot.  Just wanting to go home, grab what I needed, and go back.  As I drove I approached a small bridge crossing a creek flowing about 10 feet beneath.  A woman stood on the bridge.  She was tying balloons and banners onto the railing.  I had seen balloons and banners there before.  Assumedly, someone had met an untimely fate at that spot.  Generally, I would consider it briefly, maybe breath a quick prayer for whoever was grieving, and drive on.  Today I crossed the bridge, passing just three feet from the woman.  I kept going.

"Stop."

The voice in my head was gentle but insistent.  Clearly my brain was over-reacting today.  I kept moving.  "No," is the only word that came to mind.

"Stop.  Go back."

The voice, still gentle, was firm.  It occurred to me that maybe ... but probably not ... the voice was the whisper of God's Spirit.  "No.  I just spoke for 45 minutes.  My legs hurt.  My head hurts.  I want to be done."

"Turn around.  Do it now."

It became clear that his voice was not simply my own thoughts.  I have pursued walking with God for decades.  I know His voice when I hear it.  But that did not make me any less tired.  So I pushed a little harder.  "If I do back I will scare her.  She won't understand.  It is too late."

"Last time.  I told you to go back."

With a sigh I turned into the Walgreens parking lot, flipped around, and drove back to the bridge.  Her SUV was parked to the side of a driveway.  The back was open.  I pulled in beside it, got out of my car, and surely sighed again as I began walking onto the bridge.  The woman looked up.  She saw me.  I raised my sun glasses onto the top of my head.  Maybe it looks less threatening.  I waved.  She waved back and returned to her task.  I was 20 feet onto the bridge when I finally approached her.  I held back about 5 feet so as to not appear intimidating.  She looked at me.

I said hello.  I explained that I was just driving by, noticed her there, and had often wondered what happened on that bridge.  Someone was obviously grieving.

Through a half-smile and gathering tears she told me her name is Rita and that two years ago she lost her husband at that spot.  He was walking their dog, decided to cross the bridge, and a careless driver hit them, killing them both.  She recited the events of that evening, culminating in searching for her husband, finding the accident site covered with police and an ambulance. Her world fell apart in the front seat of a police car as an officer confirmed her worst fears.  She told me of maintaining the spot as a memorial, unwilling and unable to give up her place of grieving. I hugged her.  As I backed away I asked if she has a relationship with Jesus Christ.  She assured me that she did and her husband did as well.  I took her hands in mine.  We prayed as the cars whizzed by mere feet from us.  (I silently asked that we not join her husband!)  As I said "amen" she told me how important it was to her that I had stopped.  That I cared.  That her husband would be remembered by at least one more person.

Walking back to my car I realized how close I had come to ignoring this woman, her agony, her tears, her need.  The voice that sent me there remained silent.  He need not say anything.  The spirit within me mourned ... and yet celebrated.  Mourned Rita's horrific loss.  Celebrated the Love of a Father for His daughter, and His willingness to respond to her pain by sending His ambassador to the scene.

It is such an honor to walk in the steps ordained by our Heavenly Father.  Maybe someday I will learn not to hesitate.