In the Strangest of Places

She was a  corporate executive, with high potentials in her career.  She was sent to attend a leadership seminar obviously in preparation for higher responsibilities in her job.

Young, tall and slim, and very charming in a very natural way, she sat in a corner on a seat at the back of the room and was really quiet and withdrawn. She participated minimally, and kept to herself all the time.

More than anything, I noticed the sadness in her eyes. She seemed to be struggling over some thing, and seemed like the burden was getting too much to bear.

I could see she was trying to focus, and as we progressed, she tried to contain whatever her thoughts and feelings were, which made it difficult for her to speak up and share during the group discussions.

On the third day, we discussed Life Purpose and Personal Vision. That was the day she actually broke down. I saw tears streaming down her eyes which she tried to wipe away unobstrusively, hoping that he person beside her would not notice.  That was when I decided to come to her and asked if we could talk in the next room.  She obliged without any delay.

This was how I got to hear the story of Lina (not her real name). She was 26 years old and lost her husband after a lingering illness two years back. She has not moved on in her life and to hear about life purpose and vision made her grieve even more for the lost loved one and an uncertain future.

I got those information after about 15 full minutes of crying, non stop. Soon as we got into the  room, I asked her if she was alright. Instead of answering, she started to cry uncontrollably.  We just sat there and I held her hand, and she just cried her two years of grief.

At times she squeezed my hand so hard, I could feel the blood circulation almost cut off, but compared to the pain she was sharing with me, it was nothing.

There was no need for words. She was bursting from inside out in ways beyond words.

When the tears and the sobs subsided, I had to get her some water for her throat was so dry and could barely talk, when she tried to make sense of her behaviour.

After a sip of water, she looked at me with her puffy eyes,  and calmly, she said that she has never cried that much in her life, and that it felt so good to feel light from within.

According to Lina,  her marriage to her husband was arranged by their families, in keeping with their culture. But while it had not been a personal choice on both their parts, they had really grown to love each other in the three years they were married.

Not long after they were married, her husband was diagnosed with leukemia.  He was given medication and they thought he would get better in time.

Then, they had a baby boy which even made their union most complete. They both got good jobs, and not long after, they decided to buy their own house.

A few months later, her husband got very ill, and it did not take long before he was hospitalized for a long time. At that point, Lina was in denial about the possibility of losing her husband, despite the warning of the doctors.

The next year, the husband’s illness got even worse and the doctors talked to her about the limited time he was likely to have. All this while, Lina took everything in without showing any emotions, most especially, when she was with him in the hospital.

Nor did she show any of her fears and grief when she was with her family, his family, and with friends. All those time, she remained composed  and showed a brave front.

To make things even more painful for her, the final process of the purchase of their first home was approved at the time when her husband was so close to death. It was unbearable for her to have a home without the person she loved most.

While her husband suffered in his illness, she struggled in her pain, but showed no tears.  Fortunately, extended family members took turns in caring for her baby while she attended to her husband’s needs.

After her husband passed away, she still decided to keep their first home. Despite protests from families on both sides, she decided to live in the house together with her son.

With tears flowing anew, she shared how she tried to live alone (with her son) yet for the longest time, she continued to talk to her deceased spouse. When she unpacked their things, she assigned a room for him, where she laid his clothes like he were there. She even wore his pyjamas at night just to feel his presence.

Up until that day that we talked (and she cried most of the time), she had not given up the habit of talking to him, hoping and praying that she would see him, feel him, and be assured that he was still there.

Processing her feelings after the tears, now entertaining options and possibilities to engage her to look forward to the future,   she finally saw the light to help her to move on, with her son.

All I needed to do was to be present and to listen.

About six months later, I received an email from her, telling me how grateful she was and  how her life  changed after that week with us.

She has put all his stuff in a box, did not wear the jammies anymore, and she has moved on. She was doing well in her career, and her little boy was the spitting image of the dad, and gives her reason to live and look forward to the future. She was finally happy and at peace with herself.

Lastly, she said that she did not expect to experience that catharsis in a leadership seminar because she did not expect those issues to be part of it.

Like I say, God brings us to the least expected places where He can reach us.

The All-too-Common Story

On an early morning flight home to North America after our work stint in Asia, I was only half awake  as I plowed my luggage  through the sea of people at the international airport, to keep up with the hurried strides of my husband.

As we moved closer to the check-in  counter, a  hand clutched my arm so hard all of a sudden,   I swear if the grip was any stronger, it would cut off my blood circulation! I jumped up and out of my reverie (of a warm bed and puffy pillows) and found myself face to face with tearful, middle aged woman, about up to my shoulder in height.  The hand that still held on to my arm looked almost like a young girl’s hand. She looked frail and apparently in a distraught state.

“Please help me. I cannot go home. I have no money, please, please help” she cried. With a very thick Arab accent, and in between sobs, she tried to tell that she did not have anymore money to pay the terminal feels and nobody would help her.

That is where the “all-too-common” part of the story comes in. Have we not heard of these lines in various forms a million times around the world? No money for food, no money for transportation, no money for medicine, and so on. They tug our heartstrings and our purse go wide open, falling into the oldest trick in the trade.

But that is one side of these kinds of stories. The other side is – what if they are telling the truth?

 I tried to listen and I asked her questions. Still unclear, I looked at  her silently, when fortuntely, the security guard standing close by the door towards immigration, volunteered to explain the situation to me. She tried to ask for his help, too.

She was from Qatar, on her way back there, and she ran out money to complete the required terminal fees. She had asked other passengers to help her, and according to the guard, nobody took her seriously.

What struck me most in the whole incident was the comment made by the security guard about the situation. He said, “nobody wants to be involved to help… maybe if she is not from the middle east, it would have been easier to get help. Besides, she does not look like she does not have money, so people do not believe her!”

That comment was like a cup of strong, black coffee, that made my pulse race and my heart beat so fast. Are we taken for a ride, or is it for real… The Lord protect us from evil. With that prayer in my heart, I took a deep breath and told her to dry her tears and we will work things out.

I explained the situation to my husband who came from the check in counter, and in no time, all three of us were on the way to pay for her fees.

 Without doing anything yet, she was profusely grateful and in her broken English asked where we were from and how she can thank us back. I told it was not necessary to return the favour, and so we proceeded to the terminal fee counter and paid our dues together.

Then, we told her to move ahead to immigration while we waited for our receipt at the terminal counter. Immigration counters were within sight, and I urged her to move on and go ahead. Reluctantly she walked ahead, and I  heard ask other people, “Where is the boarding gate?”

People looked strangely at her, and not too kindly, at that. It really made my heart sink, to see her rejected by others, and this time, with no cause! She was not asking for  money — just trying to find her way to the boarding gate (which was two inspection gates away). To those seasoned passengers (I guess, unless they were only pretending to be) her question was too stupid and irrelevant. (It’s like saying – hey lady, do you not know the routine?  You have to go here and there, the gate is not within sight!  Obviously you cannot read! And you cannot speak either! You are nobody).

After she approached three people and she did not get any kind assistance, I hurriedly tried to catch up with her and told her just stay with us in the line. No , she could not read English. Well, very limited. I ended up filling up her immigration documents for her, and many of them I had to ask her to write in Arabic character.

I felt so relieved when she got through  Immigration. It has now become clear to us that she totally does not know her way around, and the fear I saw in her eyes earlier, was not just about the money—  the implications should she miss the plane would be horrific. She would not know what to do at all.

To the pragmatic mind, there was no reason to panic because there were many options. To seasoned travellers, there were lots of ways to handle this not so complicated scenario. And so, it was easy to frown at some amateur traveller in distress.  Ahh, but that would be looking at the situation from one’s own lenses, not of the other.

The fear in her eyes were so real, that she seemed to me like a lost child hoping to find her way home… and the kindness of others was the only way to get her home.

We brought her right to her gate and she cried again and hugged me tightly, and shook my husband’s hands gratefully.

What was her story?According to this stranger, she came to visit her son who was currentlytaking up a Medical degree in the university. Her husband is a doctor back home.  There were other members in her family who are doctors, too. I did not ask about her story at all. She only volunteered these information.  For us, we saw her as a person trying to reach out to another. Status,. language, color, race, or religion did not matter.

 My husband and I are grateful for the chance to be around for her when she needed help. There is always the risk that we have to take, but in the end we believe that we are not the judge of any one. We just do what we do with charity.

AS Blessed Teresa of Calcutta  said : In the end, it is between God and us, so help them anyway!

What can be significant about this all-too-common story? Many times when we get the chance to give even a little help, we over analyse the situation and as a result, we preserve ourselves instead of helping others. If Christ did that, we would never have been saved at all!