Sylvia

the person that would change my life for the rest of my life

My family and I were living in USA in the late 90s. Neither of us had any family living near us. My husband worked full-time and travelled a lot, I was lecturing in Spanish at a university at the time and we had two small toddlers. Like many couples, we were juggling jobs, children, travel and a marriage and things were sometimes difficult without the help of the grandparents or aunties and uncles. We had great friends who stepped in but they had jobs, too, so it would have been easier to have my mother around just to take up the slack sometimes. My husband was, then, given the opportunity to take a job in England. At his suggestion, I went to London with him to see if, indeed, it was prudent to make the move.

Making a move to another country with toddlers, leaving jobs, friends and family behind, seemed daunting and unwise. I needed wise counsel. I needed God’s view of the situation. I felt at a crossroads in my life and I needed his help in this decision about which there were many unknowns and about which I was profoundly unsure. So He sent Sylvia, the person that would change my life for the rest of my life.

Here is the story of that fateful day.

Is this the path I take? photo by Dana Allen

Having just attended a matinee performance of John Barrowman and Elaine Paige in Sunset Boulevard in the West End theatre district in London, I was on a high. It was one of the best theatre productions I had ever been to in my life. I am a huge musical theatre fan, and seeing such a stellar performance by two of the great musical theatre artists brought me great happiness. With shows like this, I would never have a bad day! I saw this as sign from God that my destiny was in the England. Wouldn’t God want me to be happy? I would soon learn that maybe happiness was not God’s ultimate goal for me after all.

After the show, I went to a late lunch in the basement at Littlewoods, a London department store. A small sandwich and a coffee would do, because my husband, who was interviewing for a job in London, would be finishing soon and we would make our way back to his parents’ home for a big dinner.

After eating, I made my way up the stairs from the basement of Littlewoods. Then I heard that still, (not so) small voice in my head. I believe we all have that still, small voice in our heads. Some call it intuition, some call it the universe’s communicating and I believe it to be the Holy Spirit but whatever one may call it, I have found that this voice can guide me into situations that may bring about change in my life. The voice often, but not always, requires my participation. The Spirit was urging me, “Ask her if you could buy her lunch.” “No,” I said, silently, so that my strong Arkansan accent did not totally expose my visitor’s status in London. Once again, I heard “Ask her if you could buy her lunch.” Once again, I said no but, this time, a little less forcefully. The third time I heard the voice I knew that resistance was futile. To me, the Spirit’s voice was irresistibly lovely and, from past experiences, the requests always turned out to be life changing and, usually, fun. This time, with a wee bit of attitude, I said, “Ok. Fine!”

I had seen the woman, while I ate lunch, scrounging around the café, looking for bits of biscuits that were left on saucers by half-drunk cups of tea. She left the café around the same time I had and I assumed she was homeless. Heeding the call, I turned around on the stairs and said, “Hi, I’m Dana. Can I buy you lunch?” “No, thanks, but I’d love a cup of tea,” she said. We both walked back down the stairs to the basement towards Littlewoods’ café and proceeded to the counter. We ordered tea and sat at a table.

Her name was Sylvia, a woman who found herself homeless for these past many years and who was now enjoying a cup of tea with me, a foreigner in a foreign land. When in Ohio, I had helped deliver food to homeless shelters in Columbus. The homeless in Ohio, the homeless in London? Could this be another sign pointing to the UK? I’m on fire with these God messages! He’s being very obvious to me about what he wants. I thought about how good a Christian gal I was for helping this homeless person. Sylvia would remember this kind deed for days, if not, months to come and wouldn’t that bring her joy and comfort. But, my pats on my own back would be short-lived. I would soon learn to recognise the foul smell of arrogance as it oozed from my pores.

“Where are you from?” I enquired.

“Up north.”

“Why are you homeless? Don’t you have any family you could stay with?”

“You sure are asking some very personal questions of someone you don’t even know,” she scolded.

Ouch! She was right. How dare I ask such a personal question? It was none of my business and, yet, out of my arrogance, I violated one of the most basic of human rights, the right to privacy. Ok, Spirit, I’m listening. I quickly apologised, embarrassed that I had been so insensitive.

Sylvia proceeded, unprompted, to tell me that she often stayed at the Catholics' shelters. She wasn’t so keen on the Catholics because she didn’t believe you had to go through a priest to get to God. I grew up a good Methodist girl and we didn’t believe you had to go through a priest, either. Spirit, why is she talking like this? Is this another sign for me to pay attention? She said she liked Billy Graham and you could know where you stand with the evangelists. I simply couldn’t get my head around this God talk. I hadn’t mentioned it and, yet, here she was talking about one of my favourite Christians, Billy Graham, whom I had heard speak at a revival meeting. Say what you will about the evangelists, but that man could preach a sermon! Sylvia was speaking my language and her words touched my soul. Once again, I took this as a sign that the Spirit was with me and would be with me in the England.

She asked why I was in London and I told her that I was there because my husband was interviewing for a job to open up a London office for the company he was working for. It was going to be a difficult decision due to personal reasons, so I was in London to see if I wanted to move there, too. We chatted for a few more minutes and then I had to leave to meet my husband at the train station.

Figuring all homeless people needed and wanted money (what IS that foul smell?), I offered the small change I had in my pocket. She refused it; I insisted, urging her to have a cuppa on me the next day and to remember our conversation. She took the little I gave her and I got up to leave. As a privileged western white woman, I wish that I had given her more; I feel very stingy now for not having done so.

I turned my back to walk around the table next to us. As I proceeded around the short wall dividing the café from the lingerie department, I turned to say goodbye, but I could not see Sylvia. How could she be gone? It had only taken me 15 seconds to walk that distance and, yet, she was nowhere to be seen. There was only one exit and, as I looked around, I could not find her at all. Had I imagined Sylvia? I couldn’t understand what was going on.

Confused, I walked up those stairs to leave Littlewoods. Then it dawned on me. I had been very reluctant to commit to moving to London. We had a two toddlers and I still hadn’t recovered from the birth of our youngest and the trauma of the sleepless nights and frequent marital arguments. I told the Lord that I needed a sign, a very distinct sign, that a move to London would be part of His plan, for my good, the good of my family and for His glory. Sylvia had talked about things that were important to me, had shared her life and had taught me about arrogance and human dignity. She then was nowhere to be found! How could she have disappeared without a trace? Had she been a messenger from above to tell me that England was to be my new home and that God would be with me? Had Sylvia, also, been ‘a sign’? Had I just been in the presence of an angel? This had never happened to me before but I was willing to entertain such a being.

That day in London changed my life. We decided to move to England and I knew that, come what may, I was not going to be alone and that God was with me. I thought it was extraordinary to meet this woman, at a time when I would not have normally done something like that and at a time when I was seeking answers to my questions. It all seemed too 'coincidental'; the timing seemed too perfect. I'm a scientist and, yet, there have been things in my life like this incident that can't be explained away with science. Throughout these years, as I think about that encounter, I realise that it is I who ruminate, ponder, and chew on that cuppa with Sylvia. It is I who feel the impact of that angelic visit some 30 years later and know that He had generously given me a sign. It is I who have learned that arrogance has no place in my life and human dignity belongs to all. The connection with Sylvia, someone that is not like me and that I might consider to be the "other", which I find abhorrent but have had to learn the hard way, was and continues to be fruitful to my soul and I think has made me a better human being in this world full of judgement and condemnation.

So, I thank you, Sylvia, for agreeing to share a cup of tea with me, for being available to talk to me, for showing me your dignified humanity. I will always be grateful for your kindness and generosity and for your willingness to deliver me such a vital and life-altering message.

Many thanks goes to my fellow

Write Hearted

members

Kathy Ayers

Dominik Gmeiner

and

Chao Lam

for their invaluable input to make this a much better essay. THANKS Y’ALL!!