Every Friday, I took a one-hour bus ride to meet my team at the church for our weekly healing day. Fridays became sacred to me, not only for the healing work we offered but also for the chance to reconnect with my dear friends and fellow healers. There was a quiet joy in those gatherings, a sense of shared purpose that nourished my spirit.
I always tried to make the most of the journey. With meditation music playing softly in my ears and prayers whispered under my breath, the ride became a time of inward retreat. I carried my grandfather’s Bible with me, an old copy in Armenian, filled with his handwritten notes tucked between its pages. Occasionally, I would leaf through it, finding comfort in his scribbled thoughts and the presence they still carried.
One afternoon, a young woman took the seat beside me. I noticed her glancing at the Bible in my lap. She looked weathered, as though life had not been kind to her. Yet there was a gentleness in her gaze that stirred something in me. I smiled. She asked whether the Bible was in Hebrew. I told her it was Armenian. To my surprise, she leaned in, genuinely curious, asking thoughtful questions that revealed a quiet familiarity with faith.
Her appearance might have suggested hardship, but her manner was soft, almost delicate. I’m not sure what moved me, but I asked if she prayed. She looked ahead and blushed, then quickly wiped away a tear. Whether the next stop was hers or not, I’ll never know. She stood up, turned to me with a faint smile, nodded in silent thanks, and stepped off the bus.
That brief exchange lingered with me. I sensed she had lost her way, and something in our conversation, perhaps my simple question, had touched a tender part of her soul. When I arrived at the church, the day unfolded with patients waiting, hands to hold, and hearts to lift. Still, throughout the long hours, her image stayed with me. I kept seeing the tears in her eyes.
To this day, I regret not inviting her to the church for healing. I felt she was in need, not just physically but deeply, spiritually. That moment taught me a quiet but powerful lesson. Never let hesitation interfere with service. Since then, I have carried a quiet promise in my heart: to remain open, to listen deeply, and never to let an opportunity for compassion slip away again.
