Reconciliation Light
By Mike Musgrove
Some days, I ride my bike to work. It is a short commute, so I sometimes take a long route home. On one of these extended returns home I had to cross a pedestrian bridge a couple kilometres from my house. As I left the road and approached the bridge I noticed two concerned women, one on the phone and the other had her eyes on what looked like a pile of clothes at the end of the bridge.
I rode on to the bridge.
“Please be a pile of clothes,” I muttered, prayerfully, under my breath.
As I got closer, my fears were confirmed. A woman was lying on the ground, mouth open . . . gray. This is the colour that years of an overdose crisis have taught me to fear. Approaching the woman, I started to think through to contents of my backpack. . . no naloxone.
“No,” I yelled loudly. Followed by a, “Hey” at the top of my lungs. I dropped my bike and ran to the still body on the ground. “Hey, hey, hey” I continued to yell as I tapped her feet with my foot. “Please Lord”, I prayed
She moved.
I yelled.
She groaned out a “what?”
Without thinking, I answered, “I thought you were dead.” My heart was pounding as I hunched over her with my hands on my knees.
“Sorry,” she replied.
“Carol?” I recognized her from SUMS. “It is Mike from SUMS.”
She stood up, teary, and said, “I know.”
Then the reason I am telling this story occurred. She hugged me. Not an A-frame, pat on the back, hear hear, hug, but a squeeze with all your might, teary, who cares about COVID hug. The hug continued past my universal “pat on the back, loosen grip, this hug is over” signal. I then cast “safe distancing” aside and just let the hug and the tears roll. I needed this too. Life and death, distance and love, vaccine or none, choice or no choice, fight or love were all reconciled in a hug.
After a long hug. I asked her if she needed anything, and she said no.
She picked up her stuff and said, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I replied, and added, “God bless.”
“Thanks”
As I returned to my bike, I thought, Jesus knew I needed Carol.
Sometimes it looks like there is no light at the end of this pandemic tunnel, but what I realized is that there is great potential for light in the tunnel. It is you. It is me. It is the people I walk by on my way into work. It is the man sleeping under the awning. It is in the moment we reach out and love.
Jesus said,
You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.
Matthew 5:14-15
