I was on a tour of San Xavier Mission in Tucson, AZ, when a young woman woman walked in crying. She dipped her hands in holy water, crossed herself, and took a seat in a small pew near the back. Her sobs could be heard from the pulpit. I thought, I should give her a hug. Instead, I followed my group as it moved farther away, to the next section of the church. I didn’t feel right about ignoring that little voice, and a minute or two later, I decided to go back. When I turned back, I saw another woman- also a stranger- already hugging her. That should have been me. When my tour ended, I shuffled over to the young woman, who was still crying, although quietly now, and put my hand gently on her shoulder. “Are you okay, sweetie?” “Just pray for me,” she replied, gulping air. “I will,” I promised, even though I don’t normally pray.
A few days earlier, while driving, I saw a van stopped by the side of the road near two circles in the sand made from rocks, both with crosses in the middle. A woman was placing balloons by the markers. I drove past, but thought, I should go back and give her a hug. I figured, anyone in that situation could probably use a little comforting. It couldn’t hurt to ask. Maybe she’d even be grateful for a chance to talk about what happened, or to talk about the people whose memories she was keeping alive. I found a place to turn around, but as I headed back, I saw the van pull onto the road and drive away. Too late.
Isn’t it strange the way we fall into some pursuits? Now, when I’m on the road, I’m hoping to catch someone wrapping ribbon around a telephone pole or setting a wreath by a sharp curve just so I can get a second chance. I’ve got two hugs earmarked for people who have experienced a tragedy, and they’re just waiting in the queue.