I rolled the car window down, despite the drizzle of rain that pecked at the left side of my face. Let the germs out of the car and get some fresh air, I thought. Throughout the day and evening, scores of walk-in patients had arrived in the emergency department with a battalion of viral infections in addition to the stream of ambulances that delivered the critically ill, behavioral health patients and the myriad of clients seeking medical, social and pastoral attention. Reality television shows that attempt to portray what happens in an urban emergency room is equivalent to a small appetizer before a banquet.
My back hurt and my torn meniscus was killing me after being on my feet for seven hours with no break. I reveled in my little car's cushioned seat and the silence that my vehicle provided. Hospitals are notorious for sound. Even just the beeping of monitors can drive you a little mad, never mind that human noise that even surround sound cannot emulate.
I kept the window down as I headed downtown to meet my husband for a quick bite before we headed home after the end of a long day. We know we're very fortunate; we have a wonderful marriage and family and friends. There's not a day that goes by that we don't give thanks for those precious gifts.
My car window was still open when I came to a stop sign at the corner of the hospital's main street and a city throughway. I saw her approach from my left, a young woman, maybe in her mid 'twenties. She was holding a giant carryall bag in each hand. She spotted me and walked quickly to my open window.
"I was just kicked out of the women's shelter. I need to catch a bus to Boston and if I walk, I'll miss it. The bus leaves at 7:00 pm. Can you give me a lift?"
"Hop in." I said the words like I would say "Cream with one sweetener," to a drive through coffee shop. Perhaps it was my own fatigue, my own body aches - whatever. I felt calm, as though this was the most natural occurrence in the world. Perhaps work in pastoral ministry of any kind does that to people - you lose yourself in the moment and really don't consider you're own safety. Your attention is always on the other.
She ran to the passenger side, piled her two huge bags loaded with probably everything she owned in the world and plopped her body down hard in the seat. She was wearing flip flops and a loose shirt in wet, chilly weather. She had left in a big hurry.
I veered the car left toward the bus station and continued toward destination downtown.
"I'm Denise."
"I'm L----. Thanks. I've got to stop at a bank and use the ATM. Could you drop me off at the corner at my bank so I can make a withdrawal? The bus terminal is right down the street; I can make it to the station from the bank."
"No problem. Just tell me where to stop the car."
Silence. Not uncomfortable. Just silence.
"What happened at the shelter?" I asked. There was no judgement in my voice. I'm used to asking questions like that one without any hidden agenda. Stuff happens; I just listen.
"I broke a rule and talked to someone I shouldn't have talked to and was honest about it. That's what honesty will get you. Kicked out." She might have said, "I bought jelly beans." There was no emotion whatsoever in her voice. She did it, she admitted it and now she was on the run, probably for her own safety and the safety of the women in the shelter.
Silence. The event was beginning to find its way into the back of my eyes.
"Anything I can do?"
"You can drop me off right at that corner," and she pointed to the destination bank. The bus terminal was about a block away. I pointed to the clock on my dashboard.
"You have time. You'll make the bus in time." The comment seemed to be the only thing positive words that I could conjure in the moment.
I pulled the car up to the curb at her bank. She got out of the passenger side, pulled her overstuffed bags out of the car and closed the door.
"Thanks Denise."
"God bless, L----." And she was gone.
She is millions. Whatever the stories, they all sound similar, despite their individual circumstances. The encounter seemed so brief, less than fifteen minutes, without drama other than the extraordinary one of this young women's extreme circumstances. As brief as the surreal encounter seemed, she will remain with me. I'll see L---- again, but probably not in this world. I pray that she survives this one without further harm.
October 1, Feast of St. Therese of Lisieux. ""You know it, O my God, to love you on earth/ I have nothing but today."
October 2, Feast of the Guardian Angels. "I believe in angels - they help us to make right decisions." Pope Francis
October 4, Feast of St. Francis of Assisi. "Preach the Gospel. Use words when necessary."
Coincidences or God-incidences, these encounters like my own with L----- and all the people I meet, tend to, care for and take home with me in my thoughts and prayers? I don't think so. We're never alone.
October blessings, one person at a time, one God-incident at a time.
"Discord results from population, economic and social pressures, or from difficulties which arise between succeeding generations, or from new social relationships between men and women. What results is mutual distrust, enmities, conflicts and hardships and people the cause and victim." (Excerpts from Gaudium et Spes)