Sunday thoughts
Today is the fourth Sunday of Advent and the Gospel lesson read this morning was the story of the annunciation. The sermon was about angelic experiences. And that started my mind spinning about angelic experiences of my own.
I was 4-1/2 when our family moved to a small town in southern Illinois. My father was a doctoral student at the University of Chicago so he spent summers there and usually the whole family accompanied him. The year I was six was particularly memorable.
My mother enrolled me in activities at the YMCA, several blocks from our student housing. She took me twice to teach me the route and I told her confidently that I had it down. To this day I am the Queen of Getting Lost, so it would have taken at least 50 trial runs for me to really learn the way, but that deficit wasn't known when I was six.
The first day I set off to the Y and - you guessed it - I got lost. I mean, I really got lost. I wasn't just lost or lost-lost, I was lost. There I was, six years old, wandering around the city of Chicago (What were my parents thinking? Were my parents thinking?) and became quite frightened and began to cry. Within seconds I was in a sheer panic and racheted it to wailing.
Suddenly, from nowhere, appeared a colored woman (remember, this was 1950). "What's the matter, little girl?" In between sobs I told her my problem. She took my hand, walked me about a block and deposited me at the foot of the Y steps, at which point, propelled by relief, I rocketed my way into the building.
I remember that last running bit, I don't remember thanking her. But this story is over 60 years old and I have thought of her many, many times since then and thanked her from my heart. I like to think, when I do that, she hears me.
That's a nice memory. Hold on to it. Good luck with the treatment, too.
ReplyDeleteThanks, John. If chemobrain LETS me hold on to it, I will! Good thing I wrote it down, huh?
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