She, this sixty-ish black woman, walked along a major road in her community. On her head was a straw, wide-brim hat. On top of the hat was attached a miniature umbrella with a little less than a half-foot handle. She wore multi-colored socks and a blue-jean dress; the length of which almost touched the top of her ankles. Her feet fit into white sneakers… and her lips moved as she read from a Bible.

Driving by, that was the first time I saw her. I wasn’t a Christian then. I thought her to be a crazy woman.

Daily, this scene repeated itself throughout the three years that I worked in the area. I returned to that job some fifteen years later, and sure enough there she was—walking; reading; talking to the Bible as she read it.

By this time I had become a Christian, and I thought her to be a devout woman.

A couple of years later, a local newspaper article reported that, eyes looking down into her Bible, she stepped out in front of a car and into eternity.

She was known in the community as the Bible Lady. Newspaper interviews with those who knew her, told not only of her love for God, but of her willingness and eagerness to tell others of God’s love for them. In line with that, the article went on to say that a particular delight for her was to listen to and give godly counsel to the young students on her route as they waited for their school buses to arrive.

The students loved her; the neighbors loved her; and I find myself loving her, though I never met her.

But I plan to remedy that when I get to heaven. The Bible Lady will be one of the first ones I’ll search for.