One day, a colorful-looking young woman with pink hair, a black leather jacket and ripped jeans was climbing the steep road beside my local market. She was really weighed down with a large backpack and several grocery bags clutched in each fist.

That’s my kinda’ gal, I thought, remembering my college days when I went everywhere on foot, and I always — always — bought far more groceries than I could carry. It was a habit that was and still is analogous to my life. So, I pulled up beside her …

“Need a lift?”

A look of relief flashed across her pale, pierced-up face as she struggled into my passenger seat, which was surprisingly empty that day. I typically travel with at least one of my seven sons. But this kid-free trip turned out to be providential. As soon as the petite young woman was settled, I got a chance to check out the spiky dog collar around her neck (while her eyes silently acknowledged the crucifix around mine).

I immediately sensed we’d have a meaningful conversation. A thought flashed, Maybe I can share the gospel with her. I’m humbled to say she wound up sharing it with me.

“I’m Judas,” she said, while holding out her hand to shake mine. Handshakes are rare in this post-COVID world and are something I truly appreciate.

“I’m Sarah,” I said, returning the greeting. Judas apologetically explained that she lived across town. I assured her the journey was no problem.

We launched into small talk. I asked if she was new to the area.

“I moved here to get out of an unhealthy relationship,” she explained her departure from Center City, Philadelphia — a place I once lived too, specifically during the years when I loaded myself down with more burdens than I could carry, and I don’t just mean groceries.

Judas and I had other things in common — a love of thrift stores and Mexican food and walks by the river. But when I learned that her troubled relationship was with a “very controlling vegan DJ,” I shuddered ... paused at a stoplight ... and turned my head toward her slowly, because it had been over 25 years but …

“I once dated a vegan DJ too!”

We commiserated over tofu burgers. It was a long stoplight. I glanced in the rearview mirror, spotted my kids’ empty booster seats, and felt grateful for the signs of life staring back at me.

Judas — whose real name was probably Jennifer or Amanda — went on to describe how her vegan DJ followed her up to our quaint vacation town even though she’d broken up with him countless times. She unloaded so many other sad things about her life — an inability to work because of crippling anxiety and financial ruin because the vegan DJ had destroyed her credit.

When I dropped Judas at her apartment, her heavy spirit stayed with me for days. I found myself thinking about and praying for her often.

In time, I came to realize the only difference between me and this Judas for the time being (other than colorful hair and facial piercings) was something, or many very small somethings that changed the course of my life — like an unreturned phone call to my old vegan DJ boyfriend — a tiny action or a series of tiny actions in which I (motivated by God’s grace) did not deny my inner Divine Spark (by committing an act as small and yet as life-altering as offering a kiss on the cheek). But instead — again, only by God’s grace — I somehow, at a precarious and heavily burdened time in my life — like a drowner lost at sea reaching for a rope — took hold of the Light and Life available to me.

I thought of St. Philip Neri, the 16th-century priest who is widely credited with coining the phrase, “But for the grace of God, there go I.” Neri apparently was watching a criminal being led to his execution when he recognized that he was just as capable of grave sin as anyone else. Neri’s sentiment echoed in my soul at the same moment the pink-haired Judas’ sadness hit me like a tidal wave. I thought of the Catechism and how it reminds us about the nature of sin: “Deliberate and unrepented venial sin disposes us little by little to commit mortal sin.” (CCC 1863).

My experience with the pink-haired Judas also made me reflect on the biblical Judas Iscariot, the disciple who betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver; his name has gone down in history as one being synonymous with “traitor.” His sin must have made him very sad too, or else he certainly wouldn’t have taken his own life. And yet for a time, Judas was one of Jesus’ disciples. While Judas showed signs of infidelity prior to turning on Our Lord (John 12:4-6), he didn’t fully abandon his privileged role as friend until the Last Supper.

The pink-haired Judas not only left me feeling grateful for the graces that were present in my life when I was a struggling young woman, but she made me ponder the dire necessity of persevering with Our Lord, of seeking out more graces every day through prayer, reading Scripture, and the sacraments until the very end of my life; to not let tiny temptations for companionship, acceptance and worldly gain sway me from being Jesus’ friend forever.