on Friday evening, I was in a hotel in an office park in Houston, Texas in advance of a high school friend’s wedding on Saturday. I had planned to rent a car, so I could see some of the city, but I didn’t have a credit card with me and did not realize I would not be able to pay for one with my debit card. I felt slightly stranded, not wanting to take a bunch of Lyfts all over the place.
The afternoon was extremely tearful, for many reasons, and I knew I needed fresh air. I was in the lobby on the phone with my mom trying to figure out what to eat and what to do; trying to pull myself together. As I approached the hotel exit, a stranger approached me and said, there’s a taco place where you can get a Texas taco and sit at the bar — it’s a short walk across the footbridge over there. I don’t know what you’re looking for, there’s also an upscale place, but Torchie’s is walking distance. I heard you on the phone.
After spending much of the afternoon crying, I was nearly moved to tears again by this man’s kindness, by his willingness to insert himself to offer guidance. He said he was about to go get dinner with the wife. Was wearing a baseball cap, a plaid short sleeve shirt, cargo shorts maybe. He had such a gentle spirit.
Mia Birdsong described a woman who teaches an exercise class she goes to in this way, “This is one of the things I love about Teresa. She will enthusiastically insert herself into people’s lives when she sees a gap. If you’re on a plane with her and your baby is crying nonstop, she will come and hold your baby. It doesn’t really matter if she knows you or not; she is willing to step in and help you out so you can take a moment to pull yourself together.”1
That description has stayed with me ever since I read it over a year ago. Sometimes people do things that make me feel like I am in good hands, feel awe that is somehow pride and relief.
The world reaches for me. Earlier this week, I heard Hameed Ali say that everything is possible only because of grace. There but for the grace of god go I, some also say.
There I go.
How We Show Up, 95 ↩