Activated - - ACTIVATED - By Iris Richard

I was caught in one of our con­gested city’s dreaded traf­fic jams. The end­less line of cars, trucks, and buses was crawl­ing for­ward at barely a walk­ing pace, while pedes­tri­ans, mo­tor­bikes, and bi­cy­cles man­aged to make a bit of head­way, weav­ing be­tween the lanes. The pol­luted air was heavy with the fumes of ex­haust, and I felt sick to my stom­ach. With lips pursed in im­pa­tience, I ob­served the pud­dle-strewn un­paved side­walk, still muddy from a re­cent down­pour, and amongst the ven­dors dis­play­ing sec­ond­hand wares, fruits, and veg­eta­bles on tarps, I spot­ted a crip­pled beg­gar boy, not older than seven, hold­ing out his hand.

The lane next to me was clos­est to the side­walk, and it was oc­cu­pied by a cart pulled by a man dressed in worn pants, a torn T-shirt, and muddy shoes. His face was strained and dripped with sweat and his mus­cles bulged as he tried to ma­neu­ver the heavy cart piled high with potato sacks.

Then the crip­pled boy’s and the man’s eyes met and he stopped, reached into his pocket, pulled out a coin, and placed it into the boy’s out­stretched hand. The boy’s face broke into a beau­ti­ful smile and he cheer­fully called, “Thank you, sir. God bless you.”

I couldn’t help but be re­minded of the ex­am­ple Je­sus set for us when He reached out to the down­trod­den, the lame, and the blind. My prayer that evening was to let my­self be God’s hands and feet for some­one in need, to “be ready in sea­son and out of sea­son” to be Him for oth­ers.

1 Soon after, I had a chance to put this prayer into prac­tice. When my daugh­ter was in the la­bor ward and about to give birth to her third child, the woman in the next bed be­hind the di­vid­ing cur­tain was hav­ing a re­ally hard time cop­ing with her la­bor pains.

She was a stranger, but I felt com­pelled to go over and ask her if I could help. Hav­ing been a birth coach dur­ing many de­liv­er­ies, I of­fered to as­sist her with a breath­ing pat­tern that could help her. She clung on to me and soon got the hang of it, man­ag­ing to re­lax be­tween con­trac­tions. “You’re an an­gel,” she huffed after an­other strong con­trac­tion.

“I’m no an­gel,” I replied, “but I try to fol­low what God shows me.”

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from International

© PressReader. All rights reserved.