My mom moved my sister and me to Boston to live closer to her brothers and sisters after my parents divorced when I was 13. We didn't have much. She didn't pursue child support. The three of us shared a dining room converted bedroom in a 3-bedroom apartment with my uncle and his friends. My mom was attending community college while working at a paper factory for $50 a day.
After a couple of months of thrifty spending, Mom managed to save up enough money for a deposit for our very own apartment. We were elated to have our place. Even though my uncle was moving in with us to help with the rent, Mom was worried. After the first and last month's rent, we didn't have enough money for furniture. I could see the worry on her face as the moving date drew closer. Our nightly prayers revolved around being grateful for a home and concerns over how to live there. Mom was firm with her faith and held onto the belief that God will provide.
Mom's prayers were answered in the form of an Italian purple-haired nun who came knocking on our door the first day we moved in. We had never seen her before. She was radiating with joy. She came because she heard from someone at church that we needed furniture. She invited all of us to a church's basement thrift shop close by and told us to pick out furniture.
Mom instructed my sister and me to pick out the necessary furniture, such as one bed and maybe a sofa. The nun insisted we should furnish the entire apartment. When Mom declined, the angelic nun picked out furniture for us, paid, and asked for them to be delivered directly to our place. The total was $250, but for us, it was millions. We went from an empty apartment to an apartment filled with cherished furniture for the length of our stay there. Mom slept on the bed given for years, even after she could afford a newer one.
Throughout the years, there have been so many instances of God's angels answering my prayers. When I was in despair, a random text from a friend to remind me I am loved. When I was at the doctor's office in tears after receiving bad news about my health, a friend called out of the blue for a dinner date. When my dad passed away and the reality that my parents weren't immortal set in, there was an outpouring of love from friends and family to remind me to celebrate the ones who are still living.
This pandemic is no different. The first month of the shutdown was rough. Disconnected from the world, I was living on my own and working from home. I did not want to talk or see anyone. Facetime and Zoom calls were insufficient replacements for face to face dinner gatherings and hugs. I naively felt robbed of life. While praying for family and friends' health, I also asked for guidance on how to get through this. Then I read a friend's sharing that started with, "I had to remind myself this isn't about me. It's not just happening to me. It is happening to everyone."
I felt God was calling me to run, sprint, toward the virtual hugs and check-in calls. Deeper intimacy replaced the lack of face to face interaction. Friends whom I've never discussed religion with asked about faith and started praying with me. My sisters and cousins from across the globe are connected now more than ever. The family disagreements faded. We treasure the life we have and each other more than the differences of our elders. While this pandemic is terrifying, God is sending me reminders that I am not alone - We are not alone. We are loved and treasured.
Kath Tran