The Healing Pool

(Photo courtesy of DeviantArt.com)

I was standing at the very edge of a pool – the kind used in ancient days – a healing pool.  Suddenly, children were walking toward me.  Each one reaching out a hand for me to pull them out of the water.  They ranged in age from 2 years to 18 years old.  As I grabbed them, they stepped aside and stood behind me.  No one spoke – not even me.

With the last one lifted out of the water, her hand in mine, I turned to survey the sea of children.  The older ones held little ones in their arms.

We all understood that each one was responsible for the other.  But, I knew that ultimately I was to care for all of them.  Somehow, I needed to find a safe haven.  They needed food and clothes and a place to stay.  How can I feed all of them?  I wondered.  There must be at least a hundred children.

Flowing together, I lead the river of lives as we streamed down the crowded streets.  Even now, we made no sound.  Not knowing where to go, I wandered – each step with the weight of a hundred souls.  As if it were the line from a psalm, the words How can I feed them? kept cycling in my mind.

Winding our way through unknown streets, I became disoriented, but the children continued to follow me unheeded.  Where will these children be safe?  I can’t take care of them.  Look at how the older ones care for the younger ones.  What am I going to do?

We came to a clearing – a piazza akin to the kind in Rome.  At the far end stood a Cathedral.  I headed there.  Certainly, they will help me.  As I drew closer, the lines across my brow disappeared, and I smiled at the children nearest me.  I nodded my head in the direction in which we were headed, for an orphanage stood 300 yards away.

Nuns dressed in the traditional habits worn in the 1960s or earlier stood in the courtyard of the orphanage.  Brushing dirt from her skirt as if the swiping action of her hand could remove the stains from a garment that had been worn beyond its useful years, one of the nuns approached me.  Her clear, brown eyes scanned the children and came to rest on me.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a voice as pure and clear as her eyes.

“Hello,” I replied – hoping that my panic was not too evident to the children.  “It seems as if I need some help.  We need food and a place to stay.  Actually, the children need food and a place to stay.  I am not asking that you care for me, also.”

Tears flooded her eyes.  “We have no food, and we are at full capacity – beyond full.  There is no room for more.”

“I understand.” As I reached out my hand in farewell, she closed the short distance between us and hugged me.  The embrace felt natural as if she were my sister, and I hugged her in return.   Then, I pulled back and looked once more into her eyes.  She understood, also.  No words were necessary.

Turning away from the orphanage, I noticed the faces of the children.  They calmly stood before me, waiting to follow.  They understood, too.  They always had.

“We have not found home, yet.  Let’s continue onward,” I called out to them.

They said nothing in return.  Their silence was a comfort to me.  It was at that moment that I knew that my search was over.  There was no other place for them; they were my children.  Hadn’t I pulled them out of the healing pool?