A few years ago, I underwent a lower back surgery. I remember waking up after the procedure and realising with shock that I could not move any part of my body. I was in a state of total immobility. It was as if my body no longer belonged to me. I could not move a single muscle; my body had become insensitive to even the slightest command.
I could not see clearly either, but as my eyes grew more accustomed to my new environment, I began to see blurred shapes of people, resembling “trees walking around,” to borrow the words of the blind man from Bethsaida whom Jesus healed in the Gospel of Mark (Mk 8:22-25). As these shapes became clearer, I distinguished two nurses standing beside my bed, both wearing broad smiles, talking to me. It did not matter what they were saying; their words only made a hollow sound in my ears. I tried to speak, but my voice was weak, and barely audible.
Finally, when I was able to express myself more clearly, I asked where my wife was. I was told it was still too early for her to be at my bedside. Visits were not allowed until 11 a.m. I remember trying to nod my head, but it refused to move. Then, I asked for my rosary, which was in a bag next to my bed. One of the nurses exclaimed, “Oh, you’re Catholic! So am I!” The warmth in her voice as she handed me my rosary and the recognition in her eyes were unexpected but deeply comforting. It was a moment of connection that transcended the physical barriers between us. Here I was, immobilised and vulnerable, yet in that instant, this nurse and I shared something deeper—a silent bond of faith and mutual understanding.
Not only did she hand me the rosary, but she also offered me a moment of consolation and companionship that touched my heart in a way words cannot fully express. In this exchange, I found inspiration—an uplifting reminder that even in the darkest and most difficult times, connections can bring light. Her smile, her kindness, and the simple acknowledgment of our shared faith gave me the strength to face the uncertainty of my condition with renewed hope.
Is it not amazing that sometimes the smallest gestures—like a smile or a common faith—can make all the difference in someone’s life? These gestures provide the comfort we need when everything seems uncertain. In that precise moment of vulnerability, the nurse’s response reminded me how powerful human connection can be and how faith can lift us, even when our bodies seem unable to do so. Not only did I feel the comforting touch of my rosary, but also a renewed sense of gratitude for the unexpected sources of strength we find in one another, regardless of race, gender, or nationality.
