Lovingkindness
Not Bestowed, But Sowed. Sarah gets it.
I was talking on the phone to my daughter Sarah in North Carolina. She told me she was coming up upon an elderly man was sitting in a wheelchair. I heard her say, “I like your hat. Did you go to Yale? I’m from New Haven.”
He said he didn’t know that it was a Yale hat; he’d always assumed it had something to do with the YMCA. They both laughed. Then he asked Sarah if she went to Yale.
“No, but I love New Haven, and I miss Connecticut every day,” Sarah told him.
The man kept talking. He’d recently lost his wife, and meeting Sarah was an incredible coincidence because he was about to move to Connecticut to be with family. He was nervous about the move. “I’ve lived in North Carolina my whole life, and I’m afraid people won’t understand me with my accent.”
Sarah assured him that he spoke quite clearly and that he’ll love Connecticut, because people there are very kind and welcoming. Connecticut is beautiful, she told him, and the woods and hills in that part of the state are lovely.
“I’m Jim,” the man said, and asked her name. When she told him, his response was “Sarah, like in the Bible?” He said he felt so grateful to have met her. When he told her goodbye, he added, “I love you, Sarah.”
Sarah has that effect on people.
“Aw, Jim, I love you, too,” Sarah replied.
This is why Sarah has that effect on people.
“Sorry, that took longer than I thought it would,” Sarah said, when she got back on the phone.
To which I would say, after the lump in my throat cleared, that it took as long as it took, which was exactly right. Lovingkindness isn’t bestowed, but sowed. Sarah has always understood this. Hearing their sweet interaction unfold felt like the best gift. And, as for overselling Connecticut, there’s no chance. Because of Sarah, Jim’s not only going to love it, he loves it already.