By Mickey Reed
There are things we learn so early that we mistake them for truth.
I learned that people leave.
My grandmother, who lived with us, died when I was five. When I was six, my father suffered a stroke that changed him forever. He died when I was fourteen, and my mother gradually disappeared into the fog of mental illness. She died when I was barely twenty-four.
Loss wasn’t just something that happened once; it became the atmosphere I breathed. Without ever choosing it, I came to believe that people go away, and you can’t ever count on them coming back.
I also learned another lesson that was just as untrue: If someone wasn’t with me, perhaps they weren’t thinking about me either. Out of sight, out of mind.
I didn’t know I believed that. I simply lived as if it were true.
It’s amazing how quietly a belief like that can shape a life. It shaped my friendships. It even shaped my faith.
Without realizing it, I imagined God’s attention as something I had to keep earning. If I wasn’t praying, doing good works, or consciously reaching toward God, perhaps I had slipped from God’s awareness. Silence felt like distance.
Then, years later, something wonderfully ordinary began to undo that story.
A friend started texting me.
I was a late adopter of smartphones. I resisted them long after almost everyone else had embraced them. Even after I finally got one, I used texting only for quick bits of information. Never for conversation. It seemed impersonal—almost rude.
Then I met a friend who texted me as we worked together on a project. Before long, those practical messages grew into something else: a funny quote, a cute puppy picture, a photo from a family celebration, a simple question, or “thought you might enjoy this….”
At first, I was a little annoyed, but after a while I found myself enjoying them. Over time, I came to realize why they meant so much.
She had been thinking about me before I had been thinking about her. I was living my ordinary day, completely unaware that I was present in someone else’s heart.
That tiny realization opened a door.
That’s what the Bible says God’s love is like. I am always present to God. God doesn’t require me to keep the conversation alive. He carries me through the ordinary moments when I’m not thinking about Him at all.
Then that same friend taught me something else.
She has ADHD. Sometimes we’ll be talking, and suddenly she’ll remember something she needs to do. She’ll disappear into another room without warning. A little while later she’ll come back.
And she’ll pick up the conversation with warmth in her eyes and genuine connection.
…. as though she never left
Most people might find that interruption frustrating. I found it strangely healing. Without ever trying, she dismantled one of the oldest stories I carried.
People go out. People come back.
A pause isn’t the end of a relationship. Silence isn’t abandonment.
Love is sturdy enough to survive interruptions.
I have begun to wonder if that is one of the quiet lessons God has been wanting me to understand at a heart level for so long
There are seasons when prayer flows easily and seasons when it seems to disappear into silence. There are days when God feels vividly near and days when I wonder where He is.
But perhaps those are not stories about God’s absence. Perhaps they are stories about my perception.
The conversation has never ended. God has never forgotten where I am.
And when I finally become aware of His presence again, it isn’t because He has returned. It’s because I have.
Sometimes the Gospel arrives through Scripture. Sometimes through prayer.
And sometimes it comes in the buzz of a text message from a friend who has no idea she is revealing God’s love.
She simply remembers me.
And in doing so, she shows me the face of God.
Mickey Reed, OT is an Associate with the Sisters of Bon Secours. She is enjoying her retirement from a 20-year career as a professor of Occupational Therapy with the CT State College and University System. Mickey combines her background in counseling and spiritual direction with her love for the arts and her commitment to be “Bon Secours — Good Help to Those in Need” within a variety of settings. In any given week you may find her visiting children with special needs with her therapy dogs, listening to families of children in critical care while sharing a craft project at the Ronald McDonald House, or providing musical comfort for hospital and hospice patients. Mickey is a Certified SoulCollage® Facilitator and was trained as a Boundless Compassion Facilitator by Sr. Joyce Rupp.
Mickey will be assisting with the Bon Secours RCC Women’s Wellness Weekend Retreat this September and will be facilitating a SoulCollage® Retreat in early November.