I’ve always believed that even during the worst of times, goodcan be found and God will provide comfort to get us through thevalley. It’s not always some big, obvious thing, like a roadmap, abillboard or a herald angel with wings. Sometimes it’s small butmeaningful. Sometimes it comes in an unexpected way.

At a time when I was fearful for my father’s life after adebilitating stroke, followed by the eventual amputation of hisleg, weeks of long days and nights at the hospital wore down myspirit and strength to the point that I wasn’t sure if I could goon putting on my happy face for him. Seeing his suffering and beingable to do so little to help him left me weary in ways I’d neverknown.

On a particularly difficult day, I took a walk outside thehospital to get some fresh air while nurses treated my father. Ifound a bench in the sunshine on a busy walkway that led from theparking garage to the hospital.

As I watched busy people come and go, fatigue and fear finallycaught up with me and I could no longer hold back the tears thatbegan to fall. I lowered my head so the many people passing bywouldn’t see, hoping I could regain my composure.

As I sat there, head bowed and praying for strength, I firstheard the footsteps approaching before seeing them. They were loudand quick — the staccato clicks of very high heels — the kind aglamorous woman might wear.

They came into view and I saw without raising my head that I wasright in my guesswork; they were bright, shiny red with tiny strapsand unbelievably high, stiletto heels. There was a long expanse ofbare legs above them, topped by a leopard-skin print skirt that wasquite a lot shorter than most women wear. And I have to admit thaton a day when I wasn’t so immersed in worry and weeping, I mighthave been a little judgmental of those heels and short skirt.

But that day, all I could think of was the suffering my fatherwas going through, how helpless and afraid I felt about it all, andhow much I missed my home and family back in Wesson.

I saw the red shoes filled with dainty feet and manicuredred-tipped nails walk past me as tears fell in my lap. Thensomething surprising happened.

The feet stopped and I saw them turn and walk back toward me,slower this time. They stopped in front of me and I felt arms goaround my shoulders.

Then this woman who didn’t know me and couldn’t even see my facehugged me tightly, as if to impart strength and comfort. She didn’tsay a word as she embraced me.

Now, if you’d have asked me if I wanted a complete stranger tohug me, I would have said no – rather emphatically. I would nothave imagined it would have made me feel better. What surprised mewas that it did.

Then she let me go and walked away before I could raise my headto look at her face. By the time I wiped my eyes so I could see,she was gone.

What she left with me was a sense of wonder for the compassionthat a stranger could show to someone in pain, and amazement thatshe had done exactly what I needed, without even knowing me — evenwithout my knowing what I needed.

And I felt comforted that, in the midst of chaos and worry,someone took the time to stop and offer me the gift of human touchand the calm assurance that God will reach me, even if he has tosend an angel in red high heels to do it.

Sarah Holcombe handles Reflections, obituaries and otherduties as part of The DAILY LEADER’s news staff. She can becontacted at reflections@dailyleader.com.