Stories of Faith

Digital Art by Stella Kalaw

Whenever God redirects my life or to circumstances that didn't make sense at that time, He always sends someone to help me through the journey. I thought of John, Mrs. Thakur, Brian, and Trevor after hearing part of a homily last spring. Fr. Aidan Troy from St. Joseph's Parish said, “When you're in the basement, when you're lost, always look for the brightness of the shore and you will find Jesus. He will never, ever appear to you as Jesus for he will be Tom or Jean, maybe Mary.”

JOHN

My very first job in the US was at the front desk for a large convention hotel in Boston. It didn’t last long. The face-to-face interactions left me flustered and I couldn’t perform simple tasks. I also loathed the navy blue polyester uniform worn together with the required stockings and low-heel pumps. The day after my first full shift at the desk, I walked to HR bawling and handed in my resignation letter along with the uniforms. One of the managers reached for a box of tissues and slid it in front of me. She waited patiently until I calmed down before mentioning an opening in Reservations–no uniforms needed and I would be on the phone instead. I agreed to give it a try.

Dealing with aggressive behavior was the roughest part of the job. The yellers were the bain of my existence. “Don’t take it personally,” my reservations manager kept reminding me. “There’s always the hold button when you need to take a break,” she added.

John sat behind me, two cubicles over. He was always the first to offer help whenever he heard me struggling over the phone. “You ok there, Stella? You can transfer that call to me and I’ll take care of it.”

He wore a variation of the same outfit: a heather gray sweater over a white t-shirt, and well-worn jeans paired with sneakers. During the cold months, he layered his attire with a weathered brown jacket. When it snowed, his sneakers were replaced with tanned lace-up winter boots. He loved to read. He would bury himself behind a book whenever the call volume was slow. He was a history buff and often framed his thoughts and conclusions with references to historical events. He was naturally adept at handling the most demanding guests over the phone. He was cool under pressure and he knew exactly what to say to calm them down. He was firm but polite when guests were unreasonable.

We had the same habit of stopping by St. Francis Chapel at the Pru next door. I’ve caught glimpses of him praying during lunch or after work. Later on, he revealed that the reason for his chapel visits was his wife who was newly diagnosed with lupus.

I don't know how many times John saved me from those horrible calls. He always had my back. He was like a big brother to me. He helped build up my confidence until I could hold my own. His support and kindness meant so much especially since I was an immigrant trying to learn the ropes in a new country. He was God-sent.

BRIAN AND TREVOR

We headed back to our camper van after we finished our first day of sightseeing around Crater Lake National Park. I turned the ignition key several times–click, click, click. Tina and I held up our cell phones out the window and couldn’t get any signal. We were panic-stricken. It was late afternoon and the crowds were thinning out in the parking lot. 

“Oh, God. Help us,” I prayed silently as we both got out of the vehicle to figure out what to do next.

“Let's open the hood,” I suggested. 

Good Samaritans: Trevor and Brian. Crater Lake National Park, July 2014.

Lo and behold, Brian and his teenage son Trevor, appeared a few minutes later and asked if we needed help. We told them about the van's condition. “Looks like your battery’s dead,” Brian replied when he heard the click after I turned the ignition key. He signaled Trevor to drive their pickup truck close to our location. He retrieved the jumper cables from the cargo bed and popped both hoods while Trevor connected the clamps to their proper terminals. The engine briefly caught on and then sputtered. I made another attempt. Voila, it roared back to life! I left the van idling for several minutes longer. We made our introductions then Tina and I expressed our gratitude. Afterward, they offered to accompany us back to our campsite in case the battery failed again. As we pulled up to our spot, we waved and said thank you. “Try to run the engine for an hour just to make sure, ok?” Brian called out one last time. We nodded and they drove off.

MRS. THAKUR

Tina and I switched to a plant-based diet 12 years ago for health reasons. When I first came to visit my parents in Manila, my father, who usually remained silent at the dinner table, spoke up. “Ikaw na ang bahala sa pagkain mo, ha. Wala kaming alam diyan.” (You’re on your own with your food. We don’t know anything about it). He made it crystal clear he did not want any disruptions to their food routine. This has always been the modus operandi and I never complained. I made the choice and was committed to staying consistent with my diet to avoid any health flare-ups. A 10-day visit with a simple menu rotating a cacophony of sauteed vegetables with rice, mushrooms, and sometimes beans, was manageable.

In 2019, when my father was hospitalized and I stayed longer, it was a different story. By the third and last week, I was exhausted from having to fend for myself at every meal. Coordinating schedules was half the battle. Add traffic congestion, the sweltering heat, crowds, and long lines to the mix. I was at my wit's end. Then, a surprising text came through my phone. It was Sonny, a fellow photographer, friend, and next-door neighbor. 

“Sending you over some food.” his text message read.

A few minutes later, a bright-colored floral tray with five freshly made, home-cooked Indian dishes and a container filled with flat bread appeared on the dining table. “Galing po kay Mrs.Thakur sa kabilang bahay,” Georgit informed me. (Ma’am, it is from Mrs.Thakur, the neighbor across the street).  

Lunch Tray from Mrs. Thakur. Deep-fried potato Tikki, caraway seed flavored rice, chickpea stew, clear soup with carrots, potatoes and spices, eggplant stew, and flat bread.

God has repeatedly done this over the years that I knew it was Him again. That sense of awe that He continued to look after me brought tears to my eyes. I looked up at the ceiling and mouthed a thank you for His blessing. I wiped my tears, put the flat bread aside, and eagerly consumed the meal. I wrote a thank you note and instructed Georgit to return it with the empty tray. The following day, Mrs.Thakur sent another lunch ensemble. It was above and beyond! Hands down, these were the best meals I've had on this trip. Before I left for the US, I walked across the street to Mrs. Thakur’s home and thanked her for her kindness and how much I enjoyed her cooking. She had a broad smile on her face and told me she was glad to do it. She was God-sent as well.

If you’ve experienced something similar to these stories, I would love to hear yours!