There was an elderly little man wandering on the road. He appeared lost. I watched him from the comfort of my sky-blue 1920's French lawn chair.
It is always so much easier to make the choice to not involve oneself with the pain of others. We have troubles of our own, or so we convince ourselves.
But, the comely old man smiled at me from afar as he held his arms out in front of him, reaching out, searching.
Perhaps, I only imagined him smiling. My eyes have weakened in the last six years. I can no longer see distant images clearly.
I made the choice to stand up and walk towards this stranger. Though, as I looked back at my antique chair I wondered anxiously if it would be stolen. The allure of things is powerful. Berating myself for such selfishness, I continued to walk towards the distant figure.
"Hello." I said.
"Hello." He answered in loving gentle tones, and embraced me as if I were a long lost grandchild.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Home." He said.
"May I walk with you?" I asked.
"Yes, I would be happy for the company." He said.
Arm in arm, we walked in silence under the trees.
In time, he whispered, "I used to live in a very large house. There were many fruit trees that I had planted. I would tend my trees each day. They grew big and strong. I enjoyed their fruit. But, now I live here."
"Are you happy here?" I asked.
"It is like a prison." He said.
His words made me uncomfortable because I too had recently felt the same, and had shared the exact words in my conversations with God during prayer.
"No one speaks to me. I am all alone. If people would only reach out to me, I would return their love a hundredfold." He said.
Again, his words made me feel exposed, and ashamed, as I continued to hear my words coming out of his mouth.
But, how could this man know my innermost thoughts, and secret feelings?
Nervously, I asked, "What is your name?"
Yes, I felt nervous because I was no longer quite sure what was actually happening. Who was helping who find his way here?
Sometimes, in our desire to help others, we end up helping ourselves.
The old man told me his name was Yervant, and that he had been born in the Holy Land.
I held him tighter as he spoke. He told me he had a very large family with many children.
Then, he turned to me, looking into my eyes, and said, "You are my only friend."
I cried when I heard him say this. But, I turned my head away as we continued our walk, so that he would not see my tears.
There is a community garden behind the building where I live. I left Yervant sitting on a bench. He sat there happily gazing out over the tomatoes and corn.
Before, I walked away, I asked him if he needed any further help getting home. He looked at me and replied, most graciously, "I am home."
There are no coincidences. God allows Himself to be found by us, if we search for Him with sincere hearts, in the silent stillness. In the distance, He who appears to us as stranger, in the light-filled nearness, becomes intimate Friend.
