I've been thinking about a young woman I knew in college. I can't remember her name-- can hardly remember her face really -- but I remember her -- the feeling of her, the presence. She was in one of my study groups -- I can't even remember what class. She was a newlywed. (Married students were a novelty on my campus, so that alone made her unusual.) I seem to remember seeing her husband. I don't think I met him. If I did, he didn't leave much of an impression on me. They lived off campus with their really big German Shepherd. They were Orthodox Jews and kept a kosher home. She always wore a covering of some type over her head. Our blog discussion a while back about Beth Keck's uncovered head brought her to mind, and she hasn't gone away since.

We were acquainted strictly as a result of the study group we were assigned to. I think we were working on a project together. It's funny to me how many details have faded. Funnier to me is how well I remember her. I remember she was bright, self assured and confident. She seemed way older than me, even though she was close to my age. She was recognizable from a distance as a result of her uniformed clothing, her unusual (to me) head covering, and her dog. Her choice to live a kosher life was evident in many outward ways, most obviously in the context of her diet. On occasion, she would refrain from entering certain buildings or touching certain people. This seemed weird to me, but no more weird than other people I knew. She was kind and interested in me. A good friend. She accepted me as I was, so it was easy to accept her. We didn't spend an awful lot of time together, but the time we spent was nice.

The year I knew her, I lived in a place called "My Father's House" -- my housemates were a collection of representatives from many Christian denominations (there were 12 of us). The house was connected to and owned by the local Lutheran Church. My house was a place she would not enter. I wondered at the time if the house was unclean because of it's Christian affiliation. She seemed to be allowed to go into the Lecture Halls, the Library -- but not my house. Funny, she never made me feel unclean. She lived the life she was called to with grace, and never one time judged me. If anything, she made me feel valued. Loved.

Long after our project was done, I was in bed sick with the flu. She missed me in class that day. She made me chicken soup with matzah balls (homemade Jewish Chicken Soup -- from scratch). She brought it to my house in a Ball Jar and left it with a get-well note on the steps leading up to the front porch. She wouldn't step onto the porch, my house was unclean. One of my housemates saw her, leaning awkwardly to deliver the gift -- so as not to touch the porch or step foot on the property. I didn't see her do this, but I can imagine her efforts. Add to this picture snow and bitter cold. It still amazes me.

There was something magical about that soup. It has stayed in my system for 20 years now. It was and continues to be one of the nicest, most memorable gifts I have ever received. It was pure love in a jar. Every aspect of that soup has stayed with me. The effort she made to make the soup, to contain it, to bring it to my unclean house in the snow and cold was outside of the norm for even the best of friends. My own housemates didn't even notice I was sick!

You may wonder how I could let someone so precious slip away from me. How could I forget her name? She wasn't someone who stayed in my life for very long. She passed by. I had no idea how much a part of the fabric of me she would become. There are many who stayed longer, but not many who got in. There is a real piece of her that lives in me today. She comes to the surface times like now and makes me smile. She represents something I know but cannot seem to speak.

In all of this, the thing that blesses me the most is the incredible effort she made to physically place that soup on my steps without touching any part of the property. She believed me to be unclean with every part of herself, yet loved me enough to come near.

Wow.