An Early Lesson

As I was leaving the middle school to walk home in sixth grade, Wendy was waiting by
the basketball court. When I said hello, she walked up to me and put her open hand out, palm up. I think she wanted me to hold her hand. I hesitated and she smiled. I smiled back and walked on home. I don’t know why I didn’t take her hand. We were both innocent enough. And that hesitation stayed with me like a stain on my heart I couldn’t quite clean. It made me sad the rest of the week.

That summer, I was playing with friends in the reservoir down near the railroad
tracks. It was the closest we had to a park. We were running around in the tall, uncut
grass when I came upon a small turtle, belly up, struggling to right itself. I wanted to
turn it over but was afraid to touch it. Just then, Roy called and said we needed to get
home and I left it there. Again, I don’t know why I hesitated. This made me sad and
incomplete. When my mother asked what was wrong at dinner, I just shrugged and went to my room.

There were other times I was stalled by a hesitation I didn’t understand. But
these unlived moments eventually taught me not to hesitate to enter life, but to live life, to take the hand that reaches out, to turn the stuck piece of life over and let it find its way, as much for me as for them. These unlived moments weren’t about romance or
being a good Samaritan. More deeply, they were quiet cautions against watching life
instead of entering it.

Later, in my thirties, I woke in a hospital bed, some twenty hours after having a
cancerous rib removed from my back, and there was my dear friend Paul reading a
magazine at the foot of the bed. I wasn’t sure what had happened and where all this was going. At that moment, a doctor came in to take the tube out that was draining blood from my lung. I looked to Paul and he didn’t hesitate. He dropped the magazine and rushed to my side, holding my arm as the doctor removed the tube.

I’ve since learned that to be alive, to stay alive, we have to lean in and cross over
in order to receive the mysterious force of life that restores us and enlivens us. I’ve since learned that hesitation can be numbing. It creates the first molecule of distance that can drain us of life. Like an air bubble that seeps into our bloodstream, no good can come from it.

And hesitation is different than reflection. For reflection brings us closer, while
hesitation pulls us away. While presence, stillness, and reflection can lead us to what is
true, the stall of hesitation keeps us from acting on what we know is true. Oh Wendy, if you’re still alive, I’m sorry I didn’t take your hand. But please, know this: your open
hand showed me a way, and the many I have met and loved all began with you.

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To be alive, to stay alive, we have to lean in and cross over in order to
receive the mysterious force of life that restores us and enlivens us.

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Questions to Walk With

In your journal, describe a moment when you refused the help and welcome of another. How do you understand what happened? If that person is alive and within reach, thank them now.

If not, tell their story to another, keeping their gift of welcome alive,

In conversation with a friend or loved one, have each of you discuss a moment when you hesitated to reach out or get involved though your heart was urging you to do so. 
Discuss what made you hesitate and how you deal with hesitation now.