The first time I remember something bigger than me talking to me, I was about four-years-old. As I closed our apartment door, the words "it will get better than this" came to my young mind. And as the vision of an old steam radiator and a too-dim light came into focus, I thought, "Good." Suddenly, whatever weighed on my mind, regardless of the unpleasant errand, in spite of what others sometimes predicted for me just evaporated. I felt lighter, unencumbered, and special. In that little moment, when those six tiny words strung together in my mind, I felt connected to something larger than myself. I walked taller, and possessed a deeper sense of connectedness to something larger, and more reassuring than my two little legs.
About two years later I took quite a tumble. Some kids I'd never before met were playing with me at a new house, in a new part of the world. We were on a country dirt road. I'd thought dirt was for gardens in the country, because I played in parks and back alleys. These were real streets made of packed-down, pebbly dirt. They were riding bikes, and allowed me to join them. I was all out of my element. I had to use the one with training wheels, even though I was already six-years-old. It didn't matter, they didn't wait up for me, much anyway. Still, I was riding! And then I saw it: a pick-up truck was headed our way. It was a long straight road, and you could see it coming at us from a long way off.
When my companions scattered I yelled to them: "Hey! We forgot our bikes!"
"Just leave 'em!" someone shouted back, and then they disappeared into the woods. There I stood, a stranger in a strange land, in the middle of a dirt road, littered with bikes, and a truck coming at it all, including me. It's hard to believe now that at such a young age I still felt responsible. Connected to something bigger than me. So I hooked all those handlebars together, and drug the whole lot of metal frames and rubber wheels back, off the side of the road. And then I was tumbling in mid-air. First rocks. Then sky. Then rocks. Then my glasses were knocked off. Then I was wet. Water flowed around my calves, my shoulders, and I could feel it on my finger tips. Then black. Then an older couple running down the bank. The panicked look on their faces remained as they gathered my glasses, me, and one of the bikes. I just wasn't my time to die that day.
The next time I was looking for an apartment in a strange city. Yes, I could read a map. Yes, I had the address, and yes, I could read the bus schedule. All of that had little impact on my ability to find an apartment for myself. An older woman stopped to help. She steered me in the right direction, and I did the rest. I managed to accomplish something that felt significant, without the help of my parents. That moment inspired me again and again throughout my young adult years.
And then one day I was sick. I needed help getting to the doctor's office. And I was late. I couldn't find my way, and I felt down-right disorientated. And I swear, it was God, or someone, but he pulled up by the sidewalk in his old, maybe Volvo wagon. "You look like you could use some help."
Before I knew it he was giving me a ride to my doctor's office. He somehow knew right where it was when I gave him the address. His acumen just left me dumbfounded. His car was loaded tot he gills with papers, files, maybe ledgers. He apologized several times for the mess, I think telling me he worked out of his car. He offered to take me into the building. Maybe I said something like: "It's OK. You're busy, and I'm OK now that I'm here." And then he was gone. I forget the moment when he drove out of sight. My heart ached for the love and kindness he showed me. I missed that terribly for days. He was no hunk. I'm sure he was in his 50's. He was certainly a fine-looking man, but nothing my 21-year-old self fancied. His heart, however, was the size of Texas. Bigger, probably. If a time-space continuum could be altered in standard reality, I'd attest that it was my now husband, having lept forward in time to help me.
And then a few years later my now husband asked me to marry him. Without hesitation I said "yes". Later I began to wonder: "Is this the right one?" And the source of powerful words entered my mind again, only this time with only one word: "Yes." I pressed: "Are you sure?" And then I felt scolded: "Are you doubting me?"
Call it what you will, it's what happened for me. I choose to believe it. Thank you God. Thank you guardian angels. Thank you real live people who genuinely want to help others for the good deed itself. Thank you for your time. I am here. I am loved. I am truly blessed with a loving heart towards others. And I have the privilege of showing loving care to over 200 children every day. We show others that their faith is well-placed when we make room for them in our lives.
It's giving our time that supports the well-being of human kind. It's in the moment I close my magazine to look at what Anne has brought to me. It's when I look up from the computer to talk with my husband. It's when I put my thoughts aside to really listen to a child. That moment when we all choose between pressing on with our mission, or pausing for another. It's in the pausing that love shows its reassuring presence.
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