Ady

Somewhere in South India I have a sister. She wears a sari, a scarf covering her long black hair. Her name is Ady. One evening, Ady nervously walked into the mission at Sugar Hill in Harlem to attend the Bible study. When we knelt for prayer, she knew she had found home. Her husband, James, eventually followed her through the church door. Baby Rachel joined the family. Ady’s mother brought curry to the baby shower. The husbands decided they would not miss out on the spicy meal and so gathered in the church fellowship hall. That evening we all learned a lesson of God’s amazing power. A young man from South India came to the gathering with his (our) friend David. Much to the surprise of James, Ady’s husband, he realized he had taught this young man as a lad in Sunday school in South India!

If my big God could bring two men from South India together in a small church in Harlem then He must know where Ady is at this moment. Ady, who knocked on our bedroom door in her Tuscon, Arizona, home to serve us tea. Ady, whose husband prayed for safety every time we drove even if we’d only stopped for gas. Ady, who after prayer stood in a circle with Ed and Yvette, Kyron and Melanie, Wayne and his late wife, Letha, and Laurence and me and told us her experience of finding God and the Church. Our hearts melted together in that circle; we were one.

That night, many years ago, we said goodbye. Will our big God someday bring Ady, my sister, and me together in the same room? I believe in miracles.

Berniece

P.s. The thoughts for this post began with reading Psalm 103:2, “Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.” Ady taught this verse to her small, small daughter, Rachel. I haven’t had any contact with Ady for many years.