Last week I said a prayer for Bean Soup. Not the food, the person — rather, the name my five-year-old self gave to a lady I saw from a distance at least once a week.

A common Friday night ritual that belonged to me and my beloved maternal grandparents, MamMam and PapPap, was visiting Brumbach’s Auction in rural Pennsylvania. For grownups, Brumbach’s is essentially an indoor flea market, but to kids, it’s a treasure emporium.

I haven’t been there in decades, but the place housed a grocery store, a large hall with table after table of vendors selling anything from clothing to jewelry to — my personal favorite — melted plastic popcorn art. It also had BINGO, a food stand, and, of course, a room to hold live auctions.

The food stand was where I first noticed Bean Soup. With a kind, creased-with-years face and a metal cane, she walked the creaky, uneven floors of Brumbach’s just as we did. Her fingertips grazed soft scarves and resin knick knacks on the way to her weekly stop for ham and bean soup. My MamMam pointed it out. “That woman always orders the bean soup,” she noted like one mentions the weather.

That’s all my grandmother said, but each Friday, I looked for the woman I had come to know as Bean Soup. My curiosity wasn’t unkind. While I never cooked up the courage to speak to her, I genuinely cared about Bean Soup. I wondered if she had a family and felt sad that she ate alone. I included Bean Soup in my prayers every time we ate a meal at the auction house: “God is great. God is Good. And we thank Him for this food. By His hand, we are fed, thank You, Lord, for this daily bread. And please let the lady who eats bean soup know that Jesus loves her. Amen.”

When cancer slowly swerved its ugly way through every inch of my MamMam’s body, our weekly trips to Brumbach’s ended, and I never saw Bean Soup again. She’d come to mind every now and again during my childhood as a pleasant memory, but that was it. Then, last week, something odd happened. I pulled into the parking space outside my house and noticed a woman who looked familiar even though I had never before seen her.

My mind twisted and turned and dug deep to recall a memory that could help me understand why this woman looked so familiar . . . then it hit me. Bean Soup! She looked like the precious woman I remembered from tender childhood moments. I walked into my house, tossed my purse on the couch, leaned against the wall, and said a prayer for Bean Soup.

I know that might sound silly because Bean Soup was elderly and frail when I encountered her more than 35 years ago. But because the God we serve is omnipotent and transcends time, I didn’t let that stop me. So I prayed for Bean Soup, I prayed for any and every family member she may have on this earth, and I thanked God for her life . . . a life that mattered.

I decided to share my story about Bean Soup with you today for two reasons:

1. You are seen and you are never alone.

You’re not invisible to God and you’re not invisible to His people. Maybe you’re in a season of loneliness. I’ve been there and understand that ache of loneliness is heavier and more oppressive than a steaming hot, muggy day. Feeling as if all your motions and emotions slink by unnoticed hurts and rubs a heart thin. But regardless of how you feel, here’s the truth straight from the Word of God: You are not alone.

“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you.” {Joshua 3:7}

And, chances are great that someone you never even noticed saw you and is praying for you, because God moves in our hearts even if we’re too afraid to respond in the moment.

2. When you notice someone, let them know you see them.

The pace of life is fast and often uncomfortable. We sometimes look through people instead of really noticing them.

Here’s a challenge for both you and me: Instead of rushing through our days and/or brushing off encounters that could be awkward, what would happen if we asked God to tug at our hearts so we can see and respond to His people?

Let’s be people who refuse to avert our eyes when we pass a homeless man on the street. Let’s be people who smile and say hello to the woman in the wheelchair. Let’s be people who grab flowers at the grocery store to give to the mom whose toddler just had a massive meltdown in aisle three. Let’s be people who see each other, celebrate each other, and pray for each other.

Let’s be people who say, “God sees you, I see you, and you’re beautiful. You matter.”

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