That’s Faith
Nearly 20 years ago, I took my younger son, Quinn (who’s now 33), along with his friend and teammate, Kevin, to play in a weekend AAU basketball tournament in Albany, New York. After the games, as we wound our way out of town on a chilly, overcast Sunday afternoon, we saw a Starbucks. I pulled in. The boys opted to wait in the car. I took their drink orders and went inside.
As I took my place in line, about five people deep in the queue, I noticed the woman directly in front of me. She had thick, wavy, dark brown hair, barely streaked with strands of white. She wore a cardigan that matched the brown of her hair. As she turned to greet me, I saw the left side of her sweater was depressed in the front. Just above that depression, she wore a button that said, “Breast cancer: Say it. Fight it. Damn it.”
Love Is Only What We Come to Live …
Her eyes were radiant. Her smile was luminous. She said, “Well, hello!” as if her only reason for being there was to greet me.
In her amazing presence, all I could do was ask: “Why do I have the feeling you’re so much more alive than I am?”
Love is only what we come to live,
The waking, breathing, and all we give,
A crystal passing, reflected in our eyes,
Eclipsing all the jealously and lies.
(Mountain, “For Yasgur’s Farm”)
She proceeded to tell me, unabashed and without artifice, about her cancer diagnosis, about the support of her husband and her children, about the professionalism and compassion of her medical team, and about her belief in God. Then she pointed at her hair and said, “God even gave me this. Before chemo, my hair was thin and straight. Now it’s thick and wavy. That’s a gift.”
Our conversation continued as the line inched forward. She told me her name was Lisa May. She’d driven from Long Island to bring her son to the same tournament in which mine played. Within the field of her energy, I felt like a battery being re-charged, like a sponge absorbing light. We talked for another 10 minutes or so. Then her coffee was up. She took it, said goodbye, and left.
You Hold the Key to Love and Fear …
A moment later, with my coffee and the drinks for the boys in hand, I headed out the door. To my right as I angled toward my car was a slight embankment. Atop it was a strip mall like the one Starbucks was in. I saw Lisa getting into her car up there. Putting our drinks on the roof of my car, I asked the boys to stay put for another minute. Then I ran up to catch Lisa before she left.
If you hear the song I sing,
You will understand.
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand.
Just one key unlocks them both.
It’s there at your command.
(Lizz Wright, “Get Together”)
I approached her and said, a little haltingly: “Do you know how things happen sometimes, and you get the distinct sense they’re supposed to happen?”
She smiled and said, “Yes.”
“I was supposed to meet you today, Lisa May. I don’t need to know the reason. I just need to know there is one.”
Still smiling, Lisa said only: “That’s faith.”
I would not have been surprised at all if she’d sprouted wings and flown away.
