Picking up where I left off last week … As some of you know, I took a little trip a couple of weeks ago and, for me, meeting new people is always a highlight of any adventure. This vacation was no exception.

While still at the hotel on Staten Island, Hubby and I were sitting on a bench after walking the garden path and a woman approached, asking if we’d mind if she smoked a cigarette. The bench was in the designated smoking area and since the wind was blowing away from us, we said it wasn’t a problem, and thanked her for asking. She was probably our age and for the next twenty minutes or so we talked about our lives, our children and Grands, why we were staying at this particular hotel–we were boarding a ship the next morning, she was attending a family wedding that evening. It was all so very normal and wonderful, there was an immediate ease between us. She exuded kindness and openness, and kept mentioning that I was ‘filled with light’; that I looked like an angel. (I’m sure it was only the setting sun hitting me and the fact my hair was doing its naturally curly thing.)

When she finished her cigarette and needed to go inside to get ready, she asked if she could give me a hug. She asked as if offering it like the gift a hug is, and I accepted it without question or reservation, hugging her back as well. Though we both knew we’d never see each other again, that this was just a chance encounter, we’d made a connection that was genuine and real. Yet I wondered if anyone watching would question why a woman in shorts and a tank top would be embracing a woman in a hajib and tunic. She’d told us Palestine was her homeland (she’d lived in Wisconsin since she was 17) and when we expressed concern, she only talked about its beauty, and the people who lived there. She returns annually and said as soon as she steps off the plane, she’s ‘home.’ Then she laughed, shrugged, and said, and after a month, I’m ready to come back to Wisconsin because that is home too. 

Later, while in the lobby waiting to leave for supper, the woman entered too, this time in a beautiful dressy tunic with silk embroidery, and matching hajib. She was beautiful. Immediately there were more hugs–my sisters wondered if I’d run into someone I actually knew. I finally asked her, her name. She said, ‘Ameera’ the ‘r’ rolling off her tongue. ‘In my language, it means princess.’ Along with Ameera was her sister-in-law, whom she introduced to me, and by then all the rest of my family. Again, it was as if we were all old friends meeting for the first time. I’m continually reminded how peace may come through one-on-one kindness.

Another encounter was with a young man named Ocean. Ocean was a member of the ship’s crew and assigned to clearing off tables in the ship’s café. He was from Jamaica, probably in his twenties, and had a smile as wide as I’ve ever seen. While he talked with us, another crew member came over (I thought maybe she was a supervisor), and mentioned she’d heard it was his birthday. He said, ‘Yes! Today is my birthday!’ So, we all wished him a happy birthday. I can’t remember if we sang Happy Birthday to him, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we did.

The other crew member asked Ocean if it really was his birthday, seeming a bit skeptical. He said ‘Yes! And yesterday was my birthday, and tomorrow is my birthday! Every day is my birthday. I celebrate my life every day.’

Then he pointed out to the ocean and asked us what we saw. The woman said, ‘nothing.’ Ocean laughed and said, ‘No!! It’s life! It is filled with life!’ Of course, he’s right. Life abounds even if we don’t see it. Hubby wondered if his name really was Ocean. I believe it was. I can easily imagine a Jamaican mother holding her newborn son, giving him the name Ocean, and hoping he’d have an abundant life.

Back home, this past Saturday I attended the funeral of a friend’s 34-year-old granddaughter who died unexpectedly. The church was literally packed; people being seated in the choir area even if they weren’t members of the choir. Our church holds about 350, and every space was taken. One full section was filled with young men and women; the men in suits and ties, the women in black dresses. I wondered how many–if any– had ever attended a funeral for someone their age. But even with all the tears, the joy in that sanctuary was palpable, from the older brother’s eulogy delivered while wearing a pinkish/purple sequined jacket (a movie reference and nod to a private joke between the siblings), to the New Orleans jazzy-style Amazing Grace and I’ll Fly Away. I sat with another friend who said the viewing the previous evening was just as packed. They’d arrived at 4:00 but didn’t get in to see the family until after 6. How special that young woman must have been to impact so many people in such a short life.

During the eulogy, the brother shared a family saying, ‘We get to do hard things.’ Hard things weren’t a burden, but a privilege. Dealing with this death was a hard thing, but they were choosing to do it with joy. Yesterday we talked with one of the uncles and he told us the celebration of life at her parents’ house after the funeral went on for hours with much joy.

This week I wish for you, kindness, abundant life, and joy amid whatever hard things you must do. I’ll see you next Monday.