It was a cool morning. I think I must have been about 10.
I could see my breath and feel the cold of my hands beneath the warmth of my gloves. I was humming along my walk to school--lost, as I often am, in my thoughts.
I could see my breath and feel the cold of my hands beneath the warmth of my gloves. I was humming along my walk to school--lost, as I often am, in my thoughts.
A stray dog just ahead brought me back to the sidewalk.
He was angry and dark. He growled and barked at me. I don't recall who started running first--him or me. But in the biting cold of morning, he chased me.
He was angry and dark. He growled and barked at me. I don't recall who started running first--him or me. But in the biting cold of morning, he chased me.
My heart pounded and my lungs stung. With hot tears streaming down my face, I ran as hard and fast as I could. I was terrified and screaming. I ran all the way back home.
My dad was there, but he didn't understand my fear. I don't recall if or how he consoled me, but he sent me back. I had to go to school.
Reluctantly, I left my house and retraced my steps back down my street. How could he send me back?
Just then a red truck approached and pulled up beside me. I saw a friendly face inside. He handed me my backpack, which only then I realized I had dropped.
This man I didn't know drove me to school. He asked nothing in return, and I never saw him or his truck again. But in that most important moment, he mattered in a way he'll never know.
I wonder now if my dad made a mistake. I don't think so. I know he loved me like he knew how. "There's no need to cry," I'm sure he said. Then he sent me back to face the dog. He loved me like he always did--constantly reminding me that I was more than enough and I could do it. He pushed me back into the arena.
I know that's how it needs to go sometimes: I need to face my fear. And other times I need to wait a while before I get back to it. I need to run, hide, and cry hot, sloppy tears to feel OK. Even still there are times when I need help to feel safe, warm, and brave again. To feel my feelings, get back on my feet, remember who I am, and find the peace I lost along the way.
Most of the time, that's when love shows up. That day, love showed up for me in a red pickup truck.
In a random act of kindness, a perfect stranger met and cared for me. He neither rescued nor eclipsed me. But instead, he created space for me to feel safe and seen. He picked up what I dropped and returned it to me--without expectations. I don't remember what he said--he must have said something. But I certainly remember what he did and how I felt. I feel it now.
Today, love showed up for me again. In the midst of sadness and uncertainty, I came across an old, unfinished essay about a dog and a red truck. It brought me back to the page for a while, reminded me who I am and what love can do.
I know that's how it needs to go sometimes: I need to face my fear. And other times I need to wait a while before I get back to it. I need to run, hide, and cry hot, sloppy tears to feel OK. Even still there are times when I need help to feel safe, warm, and brave again. To feel my feelings, get back on my feet, remember who I am, and find the peace I lost along the way.
Most of the time, that's when love shows up. That day, love showed up for me in a red pickup truck.
In a random act of kindness, a perfect stranger met and cared for me. He neither rescued nor eclipsed me. But instead, he created space for me to feel safe and seen. He picked up what I dropped and returned it to me--without expectations. I don't remember what he said--he must have said something. But I certainly remember what he did and how I felt. I feel it now.
Today, love showed up for me again. In the midst of sadness and uncertainty, I came across an old, unfinished essay about a dog and a red truck. It brought me back to the page for a while, reminded me who I am and what love can do.
