She was lovely, a school teacher for impressionable third-graders, and every bit as gracious as you would hope for the person caring for your child. She asked me what I do for a living vs. what I do in my dreams, and we discussed matters of passion and vocation.
Eventually the topic of church came up and we discovered that we used to be a part of the same congregation. When I asked her why she left, she expressed, in very simple terms, that she didn’t feel like there was a place for her there as a woman.
She shrugged as she offered in complete graciousness, “there was no representation and no invitation.”
I stood there for a moment as I processed what she had just shared.