But at some point during our Standing Stones service, she approached shyly, bringing me a copy of Alberta Native News, an Indigenous newspaper that is often found on the back counter of our worship area. I thanked her for it, bowing to her a little since she couldn't see my smile through my mask.
She came closer, murmuring something about angels all around us.
"Yes," I said, "They look after us even when we don't think about them."
She put out her hand as though she wanted a handshake. I shook it gently, holding her gaze. When we dropped the handshake, she continued to look at me, and I knew, somehow, that she wanted something more.
"Would you like a hug?" I asked instinctively.
She didn't hestitate, wrapping her arms around me. I held her tightly, and she didn't let go for almost a full minute. My eyes filled with tears, as I thought about how she probably doesn't get a lot of hugs from the people around her on the streets of the inner city, and how my own children rarely hug me anymore, either.
When the hug ended, I said, "Thank you for the hug. I needed that," and we nodded to each other as she walked away.
I hope I was as much of an angel for her as she was for me.
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