Recently, my wife and I embarked on a cruise, and one morning, as the entire ship converged upon the breakfast buffet, I witnessed a scene that left a profound impact on me.
Amidst the bustling crowd, I noticed a man in a wheelchair accompanied by a young woman, whom I assumed to be his granddaughter. He struggled to speak, pausing to catch his breath between words. The young lady patiently helped him navigate the menu and engaged in a thoughtful conversation. After a few minutes, she disappeared briefly and returned with his meal. Shortly thereafter, another older woman joined them, sitting down to feed him.
Amidst the cacophony of voices and the ceaseless movement of the crowd, this tableau caught me by surprise. In that moment, they seemed to exist in their own world, and I was a mere spectator, privileged to witness something truly beautiful.
As I contemplated my own plans for the day and those of others in the room, I couldn't help but wonder how I would react if I had to set aside my agenda to assist this man. Would I show mercy? I continued to watch, realizing that I was witnessing something sacred. I was witnessing God.
This was a holy moment for me, and I understood that God had a lesson for me in that scene. Over the past week, I've pondered its significance and what it means to me.
I reflected on my own life journey—times when I navigated lonely roads, when dreams crumbled, and true friends were scarce. Yet, in those moments, there was Jesus. He manifested Himself through various situations and people, much like those women caring for the man in the wheelchair. God was always with me, just as He is with each of us. We are never truly alone, but often, we fail to recognize His presence right before us. Because His appearing always comes through a secondary cause, an intermediary. We expect the dramatic but God enters into our lives quite silently.
I believe God is more vast and visible than we can fathom, but our limited perception often blinds us to Him. Nevertheless, if we look carefully through the fog of daily life, we can discern God's hand at work.
We all need to pause and contemplate our lives, seeking the sensitivity to recognize those moments when God was present to us. I've seen God's presence when a friend selflessly donated a kidney to a stranger—such acts are undeniably divine. I've felt God's touch in the warm embrace and kiss from my grandchildren—these tender moments leave us transfixed if we allow them to.
I see God at work when I visit mothers at the Visitation House in Worcester, witnessing their nurturing of their children. God is all around us, and there's no need to search the heavens. His Kingdom is here, suddenly and always has been. Why do we look up as if we need to coax God to be with us? He is with us right now.
As I continue to reflect on God's movement in my life, I wonder if suffering and hardship serve as avenues through which God reveals Himself. Is that their purpose? I've contemplated the man in the wheelchair and am grateful for having witnessed that poignant scene.
Closer to home, I reflect on my brother's granddaughter, Ava. Recently diagnosed with leukemia, she is a vibrant 4-year-old undergoing chemotherapy at Boston Children's Hospital for the next five weeks, with treatments extending for a year or more. Her mother resides at the hospital, while her father supports them through work and caring for their son.
What strikes me most is the selflessness of this family. Many of us have witnessed such acts, but can we glean spiritual insights from them? This calls for us to pause and contemplate, to view these experiences through spiritual eyes.
In my brother's family, I see mercy prevailing over individualism. I see family members traveling great distances and taking shifts to allow mom to rest. I witness the support of friends and strangers. Above all, I see grace and mercy, mingled with tears of sorrow and the temporary postponement of a little girl's dreams.
If we look closely, we'll also see something extraordinary, something that takes our breath away—we witness God at work, as He always has done.