It wasn’t our first time meeting, but there was something about the occasion that made it different. Maybe it was the reflection I had already done that day through the blur of Hebrew flashcards and snow window panes or maybe it was something she had read earlier, but it was different.
“Are you wearing cowboy boots?” she asked as we got our tea and scones.
“Yeah, I went to the dog park earlier and I just never changed.” I replied.
“I used to wear cowboy boots when I was young too, but that was because I was cleaning horse stalls.”
And yet our conversation wasn’t about cowboy boots, it was about women in ministry. It was about a fight she had fought for years and being the only woman pursuing her doctorate in a time when that just didn’t happen. It was about her looking at me, just starting on this unexpected journey, and seeing her young self.
And I wondered, if she hoped my cowboy boots would toughen me up for what lay ahead.