[Gocamino] Fw: Re: a personal story

[louise828@juno.com]

--------- Forwarded message ----------
From: louise828 at juno.com
To: callie.householder at mac.com
Date: Thu, 6 Apr 2006 10:54:22 -0400
Subject: Re: [Gocamino] a personal story

Callie,

Perhaps you could advise me how to send it on. I thought I attached it to
my note. Maybe this site does not allow attachments. Anyway here is a
cut-and paste job.

Thanks for your note,
Keith

I need to preface this with a word about Larry, as material and agnostic
a person as you are likely to meet. He had a great friend, Warren, our
age, who died recently. Larry was with Warren in the hospital room during
his last hours. He told us that he was palpably aware of the very instant
that Warren's spirit departed from him; there was no physical jerk, no
sigh or breath, no word in our English vocabulary to describe what the
change was, yet Larry knew he had been present at a spiritual event of
great importance - his friend's body was on the bed, but his true essence
had simply floated up, hovered for moments, and gone. 
One might expect that Larry started attending the Holy Eucharist or
preaching on street corners. He did not, yet maybe his faith and belief
in telling what he saw is enough to earn him his salvation. 
Here's what happened to me, every word. Last Friday the 23rd I was
looking for the store where Larry was working as a volunteer at a charity
rummage sale. I could not find it, but then I saw a UNO's Chicago Grill.
It was about 3:00 p.m. and I had not eaten anything all day.
I was reluctant to enter the restaurant since I still did not see the
point in eating, but eventually I drifted in and was ushered to a table
by the greeter. The space was almost empty, certainly I was aware of no
other guests. 
"So how are you today?" came a voice just above my head. 
How could I give the social answer to that? I remained looking down at
the bright table mat and muttered, "Not so good, I'm afraid." 
Seconds later I realized that the waitress had quietly sat down opposite
me. She reached across and took my hands and said, "Let me get you
something to eat." 
She never asked me to look at a menu. Just led me gently through various
ideas until she had enough information to assemble a few small dishes
that would tempt me. 
When she brought the food I stood politely and asked her to sit down
again so we might talk a little, but she shook her head. "We're not
allowed to sit with the customers," she said. She then scrunched her back
down painfully against the wall of the booth so that she was almost
sitting with me, but presumably not breaking the rules. 
"You need to walk El Camino de Santiago," were her first words. "Have you
heard of it?" 
"I think about it a lot. Louise and I even walked a few yards along it,
near Iruqa, and she often told me that I would be able to go back and do
it. We talked about starting at Le Puys and crossing the Pyrenees." 
I looked at my scrunched table companion. A name badge 
'Jen' ; straw colored hair tied back, ice-blue eyes welling with
compassion, aquiline features of great character but not conventional
beauty, small, bony, but gentle hands. 
Neither of us found it odd that our first words had perfect mutual
understanding of Saint James's pilgrimage to Compostela, nor was I
surprised that she did not ask who was 'Louise'. She knew. 
She went about her server duties, popping back from time to time, then
said, "Let me get your bill and grab some food to take out. I'm due for
my break, so we can go over to the picnic table across the mall, and
talk." 
So we talked for an hour or more. Her parents had run out of tuition
money so now she was financing herself. She told me about her
international studies at U of R. I said that she had a great future with
the State department. 
"Yes, I intend that," she said. "But I also plan on being President." 
I was convinced. 
I told her of our love story. She took a Post-It from her purse and wrote
her e-mail address - EcceFemina at Yahoo.com. It suited her. I helped her
light a cigarette in the gusty wind, using the British army field
technique. 
"Louise smoked three packs a day," I said. "It was partly the cause of
her pulmonary disease. I wish you would try to quit. You really can." 
"I know I can," she said, "but not just yet. In fact I have to get a pack
at the Mobil store there." 
We walked the short distance. She put the clerk through a catechism of
brands, eventually settling on Parliament. I thought of Richie
researching what brand would be least harmful to Louise. 
I reached under Jen's elbow with my Mobil payment wand and surreptiously
swiped it. The clerk handed Jen her cigarettes and turned to the next
customer. I led Jen out of the store. 
"How did that happen?" she asked. 
"Magic," I said. 
... 
Later I told Larry the whole thing. 
He sat and thought with his chin on his chest for some minutes.
Eventually he looked up. 
"I hope you won't mind my telling you something," he said. 
"No, of course not." 
"She was an angel Louise sent to take care of you." 
"I know it." 



On Thu, 06 Apr 2006 10:48:36 -0400 Callie Householder
<callie.householder at mac.com> writes:
> I'd like to read it. Send it on! 
> On Wednesday, April 05, 2006, at 10:49PM, <louise828 at juno.com> 
> wrote:
> 
> >I have been very moved by all the stories and reflections at this 
> site,
> >and have several times wondered whether it is appropriate to share 
> a
> >pre-Camino experience which has affected me, and is affecting me,
> >profoundly, and is bringing about a deep spiritual change in very 
> small,
> >day-to-day increments.
> >
> >It is written exactly as it occurred last September, without any
> >polishing or embellishment.
> >
> >
> >Keith
> >_______________________________________________
> >Gocamino mailing list
> >Gocamino at oakapple.net
> >http://mailman.oakapple.net/mailman/listinfo/gocamino
> >
> >
> 
>