The Kindness of Strangers

The Celtic Christians believed that there were mystical spaces, called “thin places.” Where the line between the spiritual and physical is so close that we can literally feel our soul move. As if for one “God Moment” we have transcended our natural world to feel the spirit of God walking alongside us.

And, that’s where the story begins…

I’ve walked the hallowed beaches of Normandy, France. Thousands died on those beaches in pursuit of freedom from the Third Reich.

The German bunkers are standing tall and ominous, with their rusty metal guns pointed to sea, as they did on that fateful day. I put my index finger into a bullet hole and my soul moved. Immediately I was one with the pimply faced 18 year old kid from Camden, South Carolina. He smelled of American tobacco. His cold and wet hands held the rifle. His trembling finger squeezed off the round. It missed it’s mark, leaving a permanent blemish in the wall of the bunker for me to insert my trigger finger 75 years later.

Everything is frozen in time.

When the Celtic Christians envisioned thin places, I think they envisioned Normandy, France. If you cannot find God there, you need to check your pulse cause you might be dead already.

These thin places are hard to explain.

The most important things are the hardest to say, because words diminish them.

-Stephen King

The Irish describe these places as “the places in the world where the walls are weak”, where the separation between the ordinary and the divine is suddenly changed. Some people refer to these kinds of experiences as God-moments. Moments where we are jolted out of our old, ordinary way of seeing the world. As if a pebble has been tossed into a pond. The pebble quickly disappears, but the energy creates ripples. Those ripples move outward. They touch anything in their path, long after the pebble hits the bottom of the pond.

All this mysticism got me thinking. What if the whole world is thin? What if every moment is actually a God-moment, but we are too busy to notice? Too busy driving in a hurry to get some place “important”. Too busy looking down (at our phones) to look up. Too busy to stop and care for others. Crazy thought, huh?

Religious, smarty-pants people call this Providence. Everything – every breath, every encounter – is a God moment simply waiting to be recognized.

A few days ago I was driving alone on a Sunday afternoon through Rabun County in Georgia.

I saw a group of people gathered on the side of the road. Then another group-and another-and another. You get the point. Then I started to see the First Responders. They were everywhere. It appeared to be a terrible accident. A few seconds later a convoy of tow trucks were parked in the median.

A mile or so later there were two fire trucks hoisting a giant American flag on the overpass. So clearly it wasn’t an accident.

I witnessed enormous crowds waiving at the passing cars. It was the epitome of #nothingbeatsnice. People apparently putting some kindness out in the universe. Downright refreshing.

Finally after about ten miles of fire trucks, ambulances and crowds waving American flags, my curiosity got the best of me. In an extremely uncharacteristic move for me….I pulled off the highway into the dirt and put the car in Park. I walked up to the first person I saw on the roadside:

Me: ”Excuse me, ma’am, I’ve been driving for ten miles. What’s the deal with all the crowds and waving flags?”

Her: “My brother died.”

Wait, what? Out of the thousands of people lining the highway, you really think I just randomly found her? No way, Jose’.

Her name is Cheryl. We chatted on the roadside for a few minutes. She felt it. I did too. It was a strangely emotional God moment with a complete stranger.

She told me that her brother was David Burch Ramey, age 50, of Wiley, Georgia. David served in the United States Army’s 82nd Airborne Paratrooper Division. He deployed to Desert Storm during the invasion of Kuwait.

Like a modern day Cincinnatus, the local hero of Desert Storm returned home to Wiley, Georgia where he quietly served his community as a firefighter and an EMT. After a life full of enormous risks, David simply died in his sleep a few days ago. He leaves behind three young children.

I touched her gently on the arm and offered my condolences. The moment got “thin”. We both knew it. In full disclosure, I had a hard time holding it together. She did too.

A few minutes later the fire truck (above) carried David’s body down the highway. His firefighter buddies made that flag-draped, pine casket for him-with their own hands. Gulp.

They say that when you have one of these God moments that you feel your physical presence lean into the spiritual world.

My friend Steve describes it this way:

“When it happens, I feel this sudden lightness of my soul and an energy coming through the top of my head like I am being “plugged in”. All I know is when it happens I want more of it.”