A few weeks ago, I was hurrying to a medical appointment that I didn’t particularly want to go to, already cutting the time close.
As I made my way to my physician’s office, I was a little dazed and disoriented because I mistakenly parked on the wrong side of the megadeck, a 7-story parking garage adjacent to the hospital I was visiting. In my confusion, I urgently darted about, backtracked, and retraced my steps managing only to spin myself around like a blindfolded child getting ready to pin the tail on the donkey.
Of course, I began to murmur to myself, blaming all the usual external suspects for my lateness: poor garage signage, an absent security guard, and why not, the traffic. Left out of my blame-game were the main and more accurate culprits: my stubborn procrastination and endless dilly-dallying. Those extra sips of coffee and final outfit change before leaving the house didn’t help matters. Besides, I should well know by now that morning time is measured in dog years. Agitated, stressed, and hopelessly late, I resigned myself to the fact that I would miss this important appointment, the one booked nearly 3 months ago. At that exact moment, I spotted a woman about a half block from where I was standing (panting) and decided to flag her down by waving (okay, flailing) my arms. Her hospital scrubs signaled to me that she was likely a safe and friendly person, someone who would know how to help me pin the tail (my anxiety) on the donkey (my destination).
What happened next is something I won’t soon forget, and I suspect neither will she.
I explained where I was going. I was on my way to a big cancer center in the NY Metro area for a routine but necessary follow up visit. My breast cancer was successfully treated two years ago. This stranger was an employee of the center but was also a patient there and was still in the midst of her own treatment. As we clarified the details of exactly which department I was headed toward, we found ourselves comparing notes about our treatment journeys, an exchange more typically reserved for friends than perfect strangers.
It’s hard sometimes to talk about one’s cancer without becoming emotional. As we spoke, tears of recognition welled up in us both. In that shared exchange, this woman and I were sisters. And in the depth of that moment, we became so much more. Without hesitation, we joined hands and prayed together at the entrance to that parking deck. Time stood still as we invoked a higher power, summoning comfort and strength for ourselves and one another.
Our prayer was an affirmative one, meaning, there was no beseeching, no imploring as a child might when praying for a new bike. This prayer happened to call forth what each of us already knew and knows for ourselves: that by focusing on what can go right vs what can go wrong, we can call forth a higher power to support us, sustain us, lift us and fortify us in challenging times. I don’t recall the exact words we said as we prayed and there may have been some slight clumsiness involved (so what follows is smoothed out), but they were something like, “I affirm that each and every cell in my body temple and yours is infused with a vibrant life force, and I am filled with vitality and wholeness. My mind, body, and spirit are in perfect harmony, and I am strong, resilient, and at peace.”
Now, of course, everyone who chooses to pray does so differently. Everyone has her own belief system, or no belief system. All this to say that coincidentally, or … serendipitously, … or magically, … or flukishly, ours matched.
Our chance encounter turned into a sacred moment, a reminder that God/Universe/Spirit or whatever name one chooses, if one chooses any name at all, is always present, often in disguise.
We parted ways. For me, the impact of our encounter will stay with me, always. In that 5-minute conversation, it felt to me as though each of us was some version of, as one of my favorite novelists, Anne Lamott put it, “God in drag,” masquerading as strangers but embodying the Divine and expressing our exquisitely simple humanity.
This experience reminded me that even in the midst of fear and uncertainty, something greater is at work and in fact, working through me. And I believe working through my stranger-sister whose path I will likely never again cross but whose tenderness remains a fingerprint on my heart.
I began to wonder: does each of us carry the power not only to love, but to be love itself?
On second thought, no … I don’t wonder. I simply say yes.
PS
I not only made it to my appointment, but the doctor was apologetically behind schedule, and I waited for him for 20 minutes. It was a fine day.
- please make an allowance for my lop-sided use of the feminine gender in my newsletters. my intention is to include all genders, but the language is clumsy.