Just now, I was sitting in my car, after work, texting my beloved wife. As my car was warming up on this winter day, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, someone approach and get into the car next to me. This was especially noticeable, because I had pulled into my spot front first and this person had backed in, so the person was right by my door as they unlocked their car.
A few minutes later, as I was ready to leave, I noticed the car next to me was still there. I glanced over, and saw a man, wearing sunglasses, with his head leaning on the head rest. I also noticed a single tear trailing down below the sunglasses.
I paused for a moment, put my car in reverse, and backed out.
Immediately, the thoughts started pouring into my consciousness:
I don't know this guy.
I just spent the whole day helping others put their broken pieces back together!
He'll be alright.
I've got things to do...I can't save everyone.
But then another voice came through. The voice of my spirit guides:
What's the matter with you?
You could see he was in pain...help him!
You are a healer! You don't get to punch out at the end of the day!
That voice of truth reminded me...Always on call. Always ready to bring peace. That is the life that chose me. It's the life I have chosen.
I turned around and headed back for the parking lot, but the car, the man, and his pain were gone.
I said a prayer for him. I pray that his pain passes quickly and that whatever caused the single tear I saw resolves harmoniously.
We are creatures of habit when it comes to parking, so maybe I'll see that man again. Maybe I'll have the chance to ask, "Is there anything I can do?"
Asking if everything is okay is stupid...clearly when tears fall, things are not okay.
I know that I've been the one crying in my car at the end of the day. Maybe there's nothing I could do for that man directly. It doesn't matter what causes the pain. Sometimes it's enough to say, "Hey, I get it! Life can be scary and frustrating and confusing and sometimes things just suck. I get it. You're going to be okay. You'll get through this."
If I don't get the chance to say these things to that man, I can at least be grateful for the lesson he unknowingly taught me:
It doesn't take some grand therapeutic or healing gesture to say "I see your pain, and I get it."
It just takes choosing to roll down the window, instead of backing out of the parking space.