Seeing a Shattered Soul

Her eyes were like the ocean in a tumultuous storm
Strikingly dark blue, with gray spiking through the center to the pupils

She sat on a porch, in front of a house filled to the brim with those who live off of love more than money, and sometimes pain more than happiness

Her face told her story- there was no smile there
Shadows fleeted across her expression, the rifts and valleys that were the wrinkles carved into her face over years of pain so deep it seems to grate at your very heartstrings
The crevices under her cheeks turned her mouth down in a tight frown, and her eyebrows seemed drawn together in a sadness that could not be erased

It was Halloween
Bayonne, New Jersey
2013

I was a missionary; full of life and joy; exuberant in my daily desires to share everything I knew and felt about the life-breath that the Atonement of Jesus Christ was to me

As she rocked on her porch, her hands drawn together as they pulled at each other, speaking about the ghosts of her past that haunted her, we approached her, optimistic about our interaction.

"Hello! How are you today?" We began-

She barely acknowledged us.

"Excuse us, but does Sonia live here? We were hoping to meet with her this afternoon."

"No. She is not home. She does not want to hear from you," the spanish danced out of her mouth in the familiar and nostalgic proper Spanish accent I had missed so much since I had come home from Europe.

Despite the harsh tenor of her voice and the bitterness that burst forth from her tone and expression, I was thrilled that she would know about my beloved Spain.

"Are you from Spain?!"

"Yes," a staccato syllable, a sharp turn of the head; no eye contact as she spoke.

 This was a wounded woman. Her manner, the pain apparent in every move.

All I wanted was for her to feel the love of God in that moment- so I began, building off of what we had in common, her country. She had been in the States for a long time- just about the same amount of time that the Spanish Civil War had been over.

She cut me off at every move. She would not discuss God; she did not believe in Him. I asked why, and she pierced me with her gaze and tore at my heart when she replied, "Because I have seen to many horrors in my life. God would not allow such pain to happen to us if He loves us."

Her eyes; I had never seen eyes with such a shattered soul behind them.

I testified that God does love her. I tried to help her see that sometimes we go through hard things, but God loves us even though we may not understand the difficulties we pass through. I bore my soul as I told her that through the Atonement, all of her pain and sadness could be erased.

She would not listen; she sent us away.

I barely remember her name. Maria, from Spain.

I won't ever forget her eyes though- devoid of hope, dark as a storm over an ocean, and refusing any God that could have hurt her so badly, broken her soul and destroyed the joy with which every child is born.

My soul hurt as we walked away; our efforts to bring someone happiness and hope had been futile. We had been rejected, not based on the fact that we were Mormon Missionaries, but because she had so much pain she could not even bear to hear of God. She had rejected God because she felt that over the course of so many years, He had rejected her.

I pray for this woman; I still feel pain for her often. Such tragedy in her life had led her to let go of hope. I have no idea what it feels like to have your soul broken, to have loved ones ripped form you by a dictator who used religion as a way to destroy the people you hold most dear. That was the Spanish Civil war. I saw the sites when I was there; I walked along cliffs where thousands were forced to fall to their deaths on rocks below. I have walked through the dungeon-like, vast, dank hallways of an echoing cathedral, built on the backs and deaths of those who were forced to build a monument to the man that oppressed them. I spent time among the people who were still affected by the events of a war that ended 30 years ago. I couldn't have ever empathized or even come close to understanding, throughout my traveling, studying, experiencing.

My life is something I could never take for granted after that.

Built on love, in peace, and with a Savior near to my heart who has healed my soul over and over again, I could not understand this woman, not the way she needed to be understood so that her soul could be healed.

But the Savior could.

Say I'm naive, but He has come to me in my deepest pain and healed me as I have turned to Him over again when all seemed broken and lost.

I pray that one day, be it in this life or the next, she will see the face of the Savior and know that He loves her, and that the pains she has suffered are not eternal- that she can be healed and bless others because of her experiences.

That is the power of God; He can turn the most cutting pain into an eternal healing salve for others.

Christ lives; one day, my friend with the shattered soul that cried out through her eyes will know that.