Before the 8 am flight home, an elderly Black woman sat with her little green New Testament open.
Our eyes met.
"My brother died," sadly, she shared with me.
"And, I have to get back home to Detroit now because my husband is ill."
My empathy was shared as she told of how the "devil is working."
Cancer of the liver plagued her husband for years, she said.
She showed me her wrist as she raised her arm with obvious pain and wrenching from her facial expressions.
"It's swollen," I said, as she pressed it gently.
"Yes, it hurts me and I will get X-rays tomorrow," she announced.
It was clear to me that this wise woman was grieving this Sunday morning.
And, the devil was getting the credit for it.