While taking my dog Lucy for a walk, I heard a rash of sirens near
by. When we got to Granby St. my soul led my self to the scene of an
automobile accident that, from the looks of it, had been extremely
exciting had one been there to witness it or experience it.
As Lucy and I approached the scene on foot, a small group was
gathered across the street from the site of six firefighters working
to remove a body from the drivers side of a late model silver Lexus.
The front end of this car was a mangled mass of steel, or is it
aluminum that car engines are made of? My eyes told me that a person
couldn't survive the damage done to that mermaid in the median, the
wounded oak tree 30 feet from her clipped off tail, or the empirical
evidence of the remains of this sedan now 25 feet from either of
those two obstacles that failed in ceasing the rocketing forward
momentum of a vehicle not intended for flight.
The small group gathered on the sidewalk in front of DePaul's
emergnecy room were mostly men, one woman. One man kept saying the
same thing, over and over. "We were coming by here not 15 minutes
ago..." the subtext was his disappointment at not having witnessed
the actual event. I asked if any one cared to join me in prayer.
The only black man in the group was the one who nodded and joined me
at my side. I took off my glove, I took his hand and we started to
pray. And you know who showed up? JESUS did! And his mother too!
I was so surprised to find myself praying with Jesus on Granby St.,
since I've so recently come to the conclusion that he just isn't my
God and try as I might, I haven't been able to make that connection
with a male God. I have come to think of myself more as a Buddhist
rather than a Christian; the spiritual aspects of Buddhism surely
have led me much further into my beloved walk with mysticism than the
Episcopal church ever has.
But...this is what I learned: when you need to pray for someone's
life, when you find yourself taking the dark and beautiful hand of a
perfect stranger who, out of half a dozen is the one willing to
conjure up some God with you, praying that if it be His will, and
that means saving a life, than by all means, please Jesus, intervene
and do that...Christ is the guy for the job.
So, thank you Jesus. Thanks for being present and such a huge source
of healing and love for so many wounded and broken and frightened
people. Thanks to Mary for being there with her nurturing maternal
essence. Thanks to those amazing firefighters, whose work is so
clearly laid out for them when they show up to rescue. Those men and
women never cease to amaze me when I see them do what they do. I
just know that that's how God shows up at the scene: with the
firefighters... through them, with them, in them. Thanks be to God,
which ever one works for you. Thanks be to the God that shows up!
Connie Hanna
2 comments:
Your words are sheer poetry Connie. I hadn't realized you had this gift until I poured today over your blog here, taking my time to get to know you better opposed to the great rush that most days are. How beautiful to have met Jesus on your travels, I call on Him for every need. :) Blessings to you this New Year, I'm so grateful to have been able to cross paths with you & to be a part of the treasure box experience. xo, Monica
Hi Monica, your comment makes my heart sing. Thank you for tuning in! The treasure box is not at all finished and I must say that your exquisite beaded mermaid is the central figure of beauty in the box.
Thank you my friend.
Connie
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