Language of Love...

The phone rang. I had just settled down on the chaise lounge, tea in hand, for a visit with my beloved Agatha Christie. But, the phone kept ringing. "The Mirror Crack'd can wait. It might be important." I said aloud.

It was my neighbor, Mareda. "Come over, right away! I have something to tell you." She said excitedly. "I've retired for the evening. I'm in my pyjamas." I said. "It doesn't matter. I'm not really dressed up either. Throw something on and come over!" She said.

As quickly as I could, I dressed in jeans and a sweater. The mug of tea with honey came with me, as I knocked on Mareda's door. I sat in the parlour, not knowing what to expect.

Mareda was animated, her eyes brilliant with light. "I have something to tell you. But, I have to begin by telling you about the past." She was preparing me for a long story. I settled in to the oak chair, and sipped my tea.

"My father was married before he met my mother. His first marriage was not a healthy one. He and his first wife divorced. There was a child, a boy. He was my brother. But due to the war, we were separated. After the war ended, and I returned to the States from Burma, my parents were missionaries, I searched for my brother for years. But, I wasn't able to find him, at least not until the early nineteen-sixties. I found him in the foothills. We met briefly. He had married, and there was a two year old son. I held my nephew in my arms, and fell in love with his cherubic face. Once again, circumstances conspired to separate me from my half-brother. But, I just couldn't erase the image of my darling nephew from my mind. I searched for that child from nineteen-sixty-seven on. But, though I tried my hardest, exhausting all legal avenues, never again was I able to find any trace of my brother or his son. In the end, I resigned myself to the loss."

Mareda cradled her toy poodle in her lap as she continued. "On Saturday, I was sitting in my house of worship, trying to get comfortable, and hoping my hearing aids would allow me to hear the lecturer. I have trouble hearing. Well, a woman I hardly know sat next to me. Her name was Joy. She said the most amazing thing. She told me that she lived next door to a young couple with the same last name as mine. What a coincidence! I asked Joy if she knew their first name. Joy said that she didn't know about the wife, but that the young man was named Norman."

At this point, I could sense Mareda was about to share a God moment. I felt goosebumps. There was a window open in the parlour. It had been lightly raining all day. A gentle breeze perfumed the air in the room. I breathed in, and felt refreshed. I was ready to listen.

"Norman is the name of my nephew!" Mareda said gleefully, tears running down her face. "I asked Joy if she would give the young couple my address and phone number, not knowing what would happen. Well, exactly one hour ago, Norman called me on the phone. He asked me my name and to explain how I thought I knew him. I did better than that. I told him I did, for a fact, know him. I told him his full name, and all the names of his immediate family. I told him his father was my half-brother. And, most importantly, I told him how I had held him in my arms when he was just a baby of two. I explained how I had meticulously searched for him since nineteen-sixty-seven. This young man of forty-two years began crying hysterically. I cried hysterically. It is a miracle!"

Dear reader, I could no longer contain myself. I too was crying hysterically! Even now, as I write this letter to you, I cry at the glory and love that unite us all.

Mareda calmed herself, and continued, "The young man kept saying that he couldn't believe he had a family. Apparently, he too had been separated from his father for decades, and had thought himself alone in the world. I assured him he did have a family. He was no longer alone. He was so excited he promised to visit me tomorrow afternoon. Now, he and I will have each other."

I thanked Mareda for sharing her miracle with me. The language of God moments is worth sharing. It is a language that connects us all, and reminds us that what we have in common is infinitely more powerful than any perceived differences.