"I know this is a difficult time for you. I wish I could help." I was talking to a good Christian friend on the phone.

"You have helped me just by listening, as usual," Valerie* replied lovingly. A rush of humility flooded over me as I remembered that not long ago I had not wanted this friendship at all. In fact, I did all I could to politely squelch its growth.

My husband and I had lived in the neighborhood for almost two years, but since most of the neighbors were older or at work, I still did not have any friends around during the day. I was lonely and feeling sorry for myself one bleak January afternoon when I answered a knock at my door.

"Hi! I'm Valerie. I'm your neighborhood Tupperware representative. I just wanted to leave you a book to see if there are any damaged lids or items you would like for me to have replaced." I didn't need any and usually I would have politely refused further conversation and shut the door, but this time I felt compelled to invite her in.

She sat down and immediately, after seeing my little boy, began talking about babies and new motherhood — and plastic ware. She seemed confident and was very persuasive about the joys of home business. I hemmed around a little trying not to make a commitment, but by the time she walked out, I was a new Tupperware representative and she was my supervisor.

Our mutual "boss," Betsy, turned out to be a strong Christian woman from a large church nearby. We three enjoyed each other's company at first, discussing Christianity in the workplace and mothering. Quickly, though, I began to see some irritating qualities about my new friend Valerie.

She was highly opinionated and didn't like to be contradicted. When she saw a fault, she was blunt in pointing it out, invading my "personal space" so that I was constantly forced to back up when she spoke. She was forthright and loud; I was introspective and quiet.

I didn't understand her. Her son was of an ethnic background that was different from both her and her husband. I had no difficulty with that and had not inquired about it, but out of some sense of obligation, she offered up a justification that didn't make much sense. She obviously didn't care for it to make sense so, figuring that it was none of my business, I never pushed it. But I wondered what I had opened myself up to. In keeping with my shyness toward things and people I don't understand, I began to back away. I terminated my home business and was sure that would be the end of our strange friendship.

The more I tried to pull away from our relationship, the closer she wanted it to be. "Let's get together for tea in the morning and let our kids play in the play room," she would frequently offer — no, demand. Just as frequently, I would have an excuse. But rather than totally offend her, and since I also saw there would be no telling her otherwise, I began to accept her invitations when there was no way out.

We sat at her small, rickety breakfast table with the sticky plastic tablecloth, drinking tea from familiar plastic tumblers and eating mini breakfast muffins. She had strong opinions about almost everything, but I learned to enjoy just observing her and listening. More frequently, as the conversation would turn to spiritual matters, I sensed that God had His hand in my inability to shake this odd relationship.

As she ranted about this and that — and usually she was more righteous in her indignation than I had once thought — I began to see a determined yet tender woman who had a faulty grip on her understanding of who God is. "Just trust me and wait," my Lord seemed to whisper. So I listened and did what I could to encourage her in her understanding of God.

One day, Valerie angrily blurted out that our old boss, Betsy, had confronted her about her faith. "She told me I did not have faith like a true Christian. How can she say I'm not a Christian! I go to church! I know I don't have faith like I should, but how can she come down on me like that?" she stormed. Her eyes were large and demanding, and her bottle-red hair swung about as her index finger punched the table so that the muffins bounced toward me. In her tirade, I observed something deeper — a hurting, questioning little girl who wanted answers. I could see she was entering new territory. So was I.

What little church experience she had known in her childhood had left her with an understanding that God was distant and angry with her. What I realized, however, was that she understood His holiness and had a truer concept of humility and awe before Him than I had ever seen in all my churchgoing life. But the connection had to be made from the throne to her heart. I saw that now. God had used Betsy to take the first step and I resolved not to let Him down.

I gritted my teeth and faced Valerie's rage with words of love from her Father as we opened the New Testament that Betsy had given her and read from the book of John. We cried together as she revealed her sense of unworthiness and her unresolved guilt. I had a lot of guilt to weep over as well when I saw this beautiful creation of God blossom into His kingdom right before me.

It took many cups of plastic-tasting tea at that table over the next few months to strengthen Valerie's understanding. Betsy continued to share with her as well. Valerie complained that she only had "half a Bible" and that she wanted the "old version," so I gave her one of my King James Version Bibles. I felt ashamed because I had plenty of Bibles to give, but she was overjoyed and never stopped thanking me and calling me "friend." Many times she would bemoan that "It all seems jumbled up to me like I'm trying to read Greek!" but I found I had to study hard just to keep up with her!

It wasn't long before she started a Bible study for some neighborhood moms at that rickety breakfast table, and she insisted that I lead it. I always thought at the back of my mind that she was the better leader, but I accepted. How could I — how could anyone — ever refuse her?

Valerie insisted on praying often and long for the needs of her friends during each Bible study, but when I noticed she never prayed for her own needs I gathered up my courage and confronted her. It took time for her to get used to the fact that it was not pride or selfishness to raise her own needs to the Lord. She was clearly relieved, but she still kept her own needs briefly stated during prayer time — and always only quickly tagged on to the very end. Her humility was contagious.

As Valerie grew stronger I couldn't help but notice that she had changed. Still pointed in her presentation, but much softer in her countenance, she radiated a beauty I had never seen before. Her blue eyes, once piercingly intense, now literally shone with peace and an inner joy that was perceptible to all. She wore a perpetual smile, the beauty of which made me wonder that I had ever seen her as harsh or unlovely. Still persuasive and frank, I now could see how God takes even our worst weaknesses and turns them into tools for the building of His kingdom as she "persuaded" those she knew to know her Lord. How I cherished that frankness when she forthrightly confronted me on some inconsistencies in my own life. Since then, I have never had a friend quite as willing to be so honest with me.

Valerie moved away after a couple of years. Each Christmas, she would send pictures of her family with a note of thanks for our friendship during those years. She also thanked me for not asking obvious questions about her life. Looking back, it was her pushy persuasiveness and my reluctance to meddle in things I didn't understand that helped open both our hearts to a forgiving and merciful Savior.

Valerie pushed me into a friendship I didn't want, but God used her to give me everything I didn't even know I needed. For that, I am eternally grateful.