Every now and then, in the midst of darkness or despair we might encounter a bright light. It might be a street light offering security, a person providing comfort, or a happy dog that greets us warmly.
I encountered a bright light last weekend while having breakfast in a neighborhood restaurant. A fellow diner and I exchanged pleasantries, and that conversation turned into a dialogue about life, grief and loss, God and my African American ancestors.
Mary told me she had trained to be a lawyer and a teacher during her career. Though she was retired, she moved like electricity in motion, with an energy level so high that she could lift the spirits of strangers around her. A European American with deep roots in African American culture, Mary had joined a Black church when she was younger, where she found a religious advisor who was connected to the spiritual world.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” Mary said. “You are surrounded right now by spirits, and the spirits want you to know that you are not alone. One spirit, in particular, wants me to give you a message: Remember, anyone with a purpose in life, who is heading toward a destination, will suffer and face hardships. “
I understood immediately who the message was from, and why it arrived now.
Throughout my life, strangers often have approached me to share poignant stories. More than three decades ago, I met a harried woman at Houston Hobby airport just days before Christmas. She was waiting for her children's flight to arrive. The family was being reunited after a long separation.
That happiest woman in the airport told me she could not wait to see her kids though she wondered if they would be disappointed that she could not afford to buy them gifts. I was moved to help. I gave her the money I had set aside for Christmas outings.
Many of my friends told me afterward they thought the woman was a scam artist. A few weeks later, the same woman called the Philadelphia Inquirer’s Houston Bureau, where I worked. She told me about her amazing Christmas, and said she had a story that might interest me. The woman was a teacher, and she had asked her pupils to write letters to President George Bush to advise him on the Gulf War. The letters were hysterical. The children advised him to get lots of sleep, worried that his hair was turning gray, asked about Barbara Bush, and provided sound practical advice.
President Bush had written them back on White House stationary to thank them, and let them know he was ok.
I went to the school to interview her class and see the letters; the story was prominently featured in the Philadelphia Inquirer.
On any given day, the light we see could be artificial warmth cast by a scam artist, or it might be an human who has been called to speak to us and connect.
Move toward the light.
