A Stranger, Reaching Out

Often, we look for miracles to be big, dramatic events – occurrences that suddenly alter our lives in ways we never expect. Certainly, they can and do come that way. But those kinds of miracles are usually rare. Spectacular and breathtaking, yes. But definitely rare.

More frequently, though, I (Michael) see miracles occurring every day, quietly, subtly – just as unexpectedly and just as profoundly. These miracles – of goodness and grace –remind us that we are not alone, encouraging us in our struggles, giving us the strength to keep going even when the path ahead is littered with great challenge and obstacles that threaten to defeat us…

The day begged for us to be outside. It was the first Saturday in March and a record high temperature for the day was on its way to being set. The bleakness of late winter was shattered by spring’s sudden burst of life. People were out everywhere, throwing off overcoats and knit hats, donning shorts and flip-flops. Even if it was temporary, it felt great to grasp the weather’s respite, to enjoy it as long as it would last, even if only for a day.

It was a perfect day for a long walk on a wooded bike trail I had discovered last year. I looked forward to a couple hours of exercise and refreshment for my soul, taking my son Matthew to spend the afternoon breathing warm, fresh air, soaking in the day, without having to steel myself, to brace from the cold. Out we went.

Matthew loves to ride in his wheelchair, curious as he takes in everything around him. I knew this would be a great afternoon for both of us and I was ready to enjoy it, the first extended, comfortable time outside since winter began.

The trail was full of people, everyone smiling, greeting, taking pleasure in the sweet anticipation of spring.

At one point, a young boy rode his bike toward us, his father riding closely behind. The dad and I exchanged “hellos” as we passed, and we continued on our way.

A little while later, the father and his son passed us again, this time coming from behind. The father slowed and turned to me. He looked intently at Matthew and asked,

Do you mind if I talk with you for a moment?

No, not all, I replied.

He introduced himself and his son. I introduced Matthew and me.

Do you mind if I ask about Matthew’s condition?

 Certainly not. Matthew has severe mental retardation and autism.

 How old are you, Matthew?

I replied for him.

Matthew’s 21. But he cannot talk. He still wears diapers. His mental ability is less than a two-year old’s.

Then he asked me something that took me very much by surprise, something no stranger had ever asked me out-of-the-blue like that before:

Do you mind if we pray for him?

Of course not.

I was touched by his concern, his unashamed show of compassion.

He asked his son to put his hand on Matthew and he did the same. He began to pray:

Lord, I just ask that you…

Matthew, who as a result of his autism dislikes being touched, shook off both of their hands, interrupting the prayer. But then he continued and concluded with…

…Show them your healing and your love. Amen.

All the while, an incredible sense of peace and calm washed over me. Here was a stranger, reaching out to us, in empathy, because he recognized the challenges I had with Matthew. I recognized this as a very special moment, a unique moment, bonding us. But I had no idea how much we shared until we kept talking after the prayer.

I thanked him for it. I learned he was a music teacher. I told him that my full-time work (at that time) was to people living with cancer, counseling, leading support groups, writing, directing programs for those with cancer. We learned that we each had three sons; his older two were actually riding on the path ahead of him. He told me his youngest son also had a developmental disability, a problem with reading for which he was receiving special help. He told me that 25 years earlier he had worked in a group home for people like Matthew. I realized he could understand in some way our challenges.

Then I told him my wife Kathy had been diagnosed with breast cancer four and a half years earlier, that we were so grateful that it was discovered early and that she was now doing well. I told him I had taken Matthew out for the afternoon, to give her a break, because I knew at times the weight of Matthew’s care could be incredibly heavy.

What he said next was not what I expected.

He told me that his wife also had breast cancer, that she was diagnosed around the same time as Kathy. But she was in stage 4, end stage, he indicated. He and his sons were out riding just to take a break, to find a little respite, while a friend stayed home to care for her.

It was hard to know what to say. I could tell he was in pain. I knew that his challenges were heavy too. I could only imagine how difficult it was. I wondered how to encourage him.

Here he was, providing me with a moment of grace, reminding me that even strangers could express profound concern and care. We were connecting on a deep and yet common level. Three sons. Special needs. Breast cancer. Faith in something beyond ourselves.

I know this must be so hard, I responded, quietly.  I’m so glad you can take this small break. I know you need it.

His mind suddenly seemed to be transported to another place.

And then,

I need to be going, to catch up with my other sons.

I told him I’d pray for him too.

They rode away.

I stood watching them go, trying to process what had just taken place.

In the magnificent warmth of that Saturday afternoon, I reflected on the fact that I had just encountered an angel. He was an angel of mercy and understanding, coming to me when I least expected it. I hoped he felt that he had encountered and angel too. We were like mirrors for one another, reflecting so much of our circumstances and ourselves in each other’s eyes. Each of us was praying for the others’ needs, for the brokenness to be healed, for the pain to be soothed, for the burdens to be lifted.

A small miracle. An everyday encounter. Someone showed his interest, showed he cared. These miracles can – and do – happen all the time. These miracles – of goodness and grace – remind us that we are not alone, encourage us in our struggles, give us the strength to keep going even when the path ahead is littered with great challenge and obstacles that threaten to defeat us.

Photo by Victor Furtuna on Unsplash