48 minutes...

Ashley is a stranger to me, except for the 48 minutes in which our lives intertwined.

It all began with her torn satin slippers.

The errand had to be efficient. Shoes for Zion, that was it! As I entered the mall parking lot, I noticed a young woman sloshing through the wet crosswalk leading from the bus stop to the shopping center. She wore red satin beaded slippers - torn, flat and soggy. She walked in a weary manner and my conscience stung me as I turned away to focus on my own child's lesser need.

I swung the car around to face the obvious and asked awkwardly, "Excuse me, I was noticing that perhaps you might need some new shoes. I am headed to buy my son a pair. May I also buy some for you?"

I was surprised by her immediate and simple, "yes."

And so, she climbed into the front seat beside me, while I found a parking place. I chatted about the parking lot landscaping, which suddenly seemed so fascinating. Ashley said nothing except to answer my question of her name. We arrived at the department store and easily found Zion a pair of sandals. I noticed that our clerk looked only at me, rather stiffly in fact.

The women's shoe department seemed to display even more beautiful things than usual and I felt a bit excited wondering what Ashley might choose. She looked blankly about as I sought to catch eyes with one of the many clerks, but no one would help us. Finally I touched the arm of an employee. She looked at me and Ashley in an almost embarrassed way, then bustled us over to the running shoe section. Ashley picked up a brightly colored canvas shoe, but our sales woman immediately redirected her to a more durable type. I felt an odd sensation at the sudden practicality of our clerk. Ashley obediently chose a simple blue running shoe, much more suited to walking the streets.

After purchasing the shoes I asked Ashley if she would like to slip them on. She declined. A coffee shop stood conveniently just outside the shoe section. The inviting aroma gave me a good excuse to spend just a bit more time with this young woman. As I asked her wishes she gazed hungrily at the sandwiches and baked goods. With coffee and a small feast in hand we found a quiet table.

Ashley ate and then to my astonishment began to tell me the painful story of her life. Her descriptions were simple unburdened by blame or detail. Her unguarded transparency stood in stark contrast to the unspoken condemnation of strangers around us. Their silence seemed to say," Don't you know that you do not belong together!" Brave and strong, her hard life had not hardened her.

There was something sweet between us as she hugged me goodbye, gave me a gentle smile, and slowly trudged away. Perhaps she would sell the shoes. But then again, perhaps our 48 minutes had nothing to do with shoes?