There are certain moments in one's life when one feels the presence of the sacred. This is an account of one of them.

     The first few months after I arrived in the U.S., I would ask David to take me with him when he had to go downtown. He would drop me at the steps of St. Joseph's Cathedral and come back for me after about an hour. I enjoyed those quiet moments of prayer.

     I had befriended the worker who cleaned the church. We would occassionally chat while I was waiting for David.  On one of these visits to the Cathedral, I brought a box of cookies for him.

    When I got there, I did not see him so I proceeded to the south transcept (right of the altar), knelt before the statue of the Blessed Mother and started my prayers. It was a cold winter morning and the church was not well heated so I decided to move to the apse (behind the altar where the choir would be seated during Mass) and finish my prayers seated on one of the chairs for the choir.

     As I continued with my prayers, arms crossed due to the cold, and with my eyes closed, a black homeless man sat beside me. He was shabbily dressed but not disheveled. He had a big knapsack which probably contained all his earthly possessions. He looked at me and said something which I could not quite catch. I thought he was asking me for money. I left my wallet  at home and did not have money with me. The only thing I had was my celphone and the box of cookies. 

     By this time, I was getting apprehensive because there was no one else inside the church but the two of us.  Not so pleasant and, shall we say, negative stereotyped thoughts starting running through my head. I gave him the box of cookies wishing that he would go away and leave me alone.

     Instead, he bent over, opened his knapsack and started searching for something. I shifted  from anxious to scared while trying hard not to show it. He found what he was looking for and offered it to me. It was a heart shaped lollipop. Someone had probably given him the day before (Valentine's Day). 

     To say that I was touched would be an understatement. I was in awe. I was also ashamed and a little guilty, but somehow the shame and guilt were not of consequence. What mattered was the recognition that that was a moment of grace. It was one of those moments when time stood still and I realized that I was given a special blessing.  

     I sincerely thanked him for the lollipop and he continued to sit beside me. He asked me if I was alright. It dawned on me that he was not asking me for anything when he approached me. He wanted to know if something was bothering me. I must have looked troubled sitting alone inside the church, so he came to ask me if I was ok.

     I told him that I was fine and that I was praying the rosary. He nodded in understanding when I showed him my rosary beads. He stood up and told me, "Sister, if you want to talk, if you have any problems, I am just here." I smiled and thanked him. He then took his bag, stood up and left me to my prayers.

     I will probably never see that man again. He will probably not remember me. He will never know that this new Filipino immigrant needed that inspiring moment on that cold winter morning and will never forget him. He will never know that his appearance was an answer to a question my heart was asking, "Will I be alright in this country?".

     The lollipop he gave me is still on my altar as a reminder that that moment of grace, that small act of kindness, that answer to a prayer did happen.