Loaves and Fishes
In order to keep my head-shrinker's license current, I must
endure receive 40 hours of continuing education every 2 years. Last year, I got zero hours. I was too ill to sit all day in a hard chair under fluorescent lights and listen to someone dumber than I for 6-8 hours. (I have an attitude about continuing ed. in my profession. Not that I don't think we should be required to pursue it; I absolutely do. Just that it has become a big money-making racket for the providers, and their offerings are often of little value to those with years of experience in the field.) Anyhow, last year, I kept thinking that at any minute, someone would diagnose and treat me, and then I would feel more like sitting all day in a hard chair . . . yadda yadda. Well, ya'll know that didn't happen. So now, because I still hope to return to my work full-time some day, I must get 40 hours this year. And I'm more ill than I was last year, but that reality just is what it is. I try to pick out continuing ed. events that are of maximum interest, and require minimum travel; then I pick a seat from which I can exit quickly if I just can't bear to be there any longer.
A couple of weeks ago I attended such an event, just five minutes from my home. And there was an excellent presenter, and an interesting topic, and a remarkably comfy chair in a very pleasant ampitheater kind of place in a resort hotel. And I had the seat just by the back exit. All good. I remember much of what the presenter said, because it was interesting and educational, but I remember more vividly a moment that was not officially part of the "show."
About ten minutes into the presentation, the back door opened, and in walked a handsome young man with an open face and brown skin, in a waiter's uniform, carrying a large tray. He paused for a moment when he entered, taking in the room. He then proceeded to the front and presented the tray to our speaker. He appeared slightly flustered as he said something to her, quietly.
She then said to us, "They screwed up my breakfast this morning and I had to get started, so they're bringing it to me now, and I'll eat it at our first break."
The gentleman then stepped to the microphone and addressed us, in a thoroughly charming Caribbean accent, "I am sorry I do not have enough for all of you. If I were Jesus, I would bless this breakfast and make it enough to share with you all, and we would have baskets of food left over."
We all laughed and applauded, as he smiled warmly, and the woman next to me called out to him, "If you were Jesus, we wouldn't need to bother getting our continuing ed. hours." Amen, sister. And thank You, Lord, for the unexpected delightful people that happen across our paths from time to time.