Orchestration

What we often call coincidences are, in my opinion, the perfect workings of a universe and a caring God who delights when we see that the incongruities of our lives mesh in a lovely dance of grace.

I had planned a day with my friend Anne--as my husband and children were out of town--to attend a gathering of our local quilting group and later have lunch.  She called to say a construction worker had arrived to hang doors in her house and could we postpone or perhaps reschedule our date.  Things were hectic at home getting the teens off to Kenai to go fishing with dad, so I was agreeable.  Meanwhile my friend Cathie called to invite me to lunch with her daughter and my son and I told her I might arrive later at their chosen restaurant--the Arctic Roadrunner--which is famous for greasy, delicious burgers. 

Shortly thereafter Anne called, still interested in lunch, so I told her to meet me at Arctic Roadrunner, but when we arrived, Cathie and company had left, so I suggested we eat at Crostini's, a lovely fresh food place owned by the parents of a young woman with whom I had recently worked  on community organizing issues.   (I had met Choron and her parents ten years earlier at a party for a mutual friend--an event we both recalled when I learned who her parents were.)  Being directionally challenged and encountering road construction detours along the way, I drove past Crostini's once and nearly lost Anne who was following behind.

We had a delightful lunch, myself enjoying the chicken walnut salad for which this little eating spot is renowned.  It had been a stressful and emotional week for me and I was sharing with Anne how a friend of mine was in Providence Hospital, apparently dying of a brain tumor.  Our mutual friend, Laura, had called me the night before to suggest I go and visit her.

I hate hospitals, I told Anne and when she questioned why, my response of how I always seem to get lost in them, belied the terror and grief I felt at losing, within a month, yet another friend to cancer, in the same year when hypothermia took the life of my good friends' son.  Because Anne is truly a soul mate, we talked at length about this, but eventually turned to more lighthearted issues. 

As we neared the end of our meal, my friend Bonnie walked in, both of us  surprised to see each other at this particular place.  She was with another friend and the pastor of my church, Fr. Fred.  Both Anne and I were astounded when they came in as they shared they'd never been to this restaurant before--but we are all connected to this young community organizer, Choron. I joined them at their table after Anne left and I asked Fr. Fred about Phyllis, who he visited and annointed the previous evening. I told him that I should go and visit her and then, with a bit of shame, I said "but I am afraid."

The knowing silence that ensued sparkled to sound again with Fr. Fred's remark about the care and concern he experienced with Phyllis' family in that hospital room, and the palpable witness of love Tony had for his dying wife.  I resolved and stated that I would visit her.

After taking several wrong turns on the fifth floor I found Phyllis' hospital room, but besides the sleeping figure in the bed, I didn't know anyone in the room.  I introduced myself to her son, son-in-law and grandson and despite the sad tenor of the space they were engaging, interesting and made me feel welcome in a decidedly uncomfortable situation.  I remarked how young Tony looked like his father and when his sister arrived I was struck by how much she looked like Phyllis, though she had her father's dark features.  Other friends arrived and we caught up with each other on the status of children, work, future plans, etc. a bittersweet reunion.  Tony, Sr. came with their other daughter, but left the crowded room to wait in the hall.

Phyllis drifted in and out of sleep, but her gaze was intent and strong when she looked at me and though I felt helpless and inadequate in every way before her I hoped to convey to her my love and my concern, my gratitude for our recently burgeoning friendship, and dare I say, the joy that filled my heart to be with her family in this painful time.

Anne came over last night with a bottle of wine and I baked several loaves of banana bread.  We talked until 2 am this morning and again marveled at the orchestration of our lives by an unseen hand which moves in so many undetected and unacknowledged ways--especially when we are beginning to feel as if life is all random and chaotic.  I am so grateful to God for the gift of that knowledge, that ability to see that the certainty of hope we speak about is more about certainty than hope.  I keep this in mind as I steel myself for perhaps the third funeral of this year (perhaps not, there is always hope) and I am again grateful.  I am grateful to have the love of many people in my life, to care deeply enough about others to weep in hospital rooms, to embrace sons and daughters I met only an hour before. I am grateful to linger in a hug and tell Tony just before I leave this confounding place,  how I have missed him and Phyllis at church and to assure him that we will laugh again.  And laugh again we did when our friend called out to tell me  that I had walked past the elevators that would take me out of this hospital where I always get lost, but always am found.