I was having a late lunch, sitting on some steps in front of a building near our office on a bright October day. A fellow in a black jacket and a tie was sitting nearby, but I wasn’t paying much attention to him. I was enjoying the sun, the New York street traffic and my lentil soup.
Out of the blue the guy said, “What do you do when you feel stressed?” I turned to him. He was youngish, late 20s, with dark hair, a slight mustache and an earnest expression. I wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Sitting outside helps,” I said. “I take a break. Send an email to a friend. Go for a walk.” Should I tell him I prayed, or would that freak him out?
“I get so stressed at my job,” the man said. “I’m ready to quit. Everybody is so hard on me.”
“You look like you work hard.” I would try encouragement. “Maybe you’re too hard on yourself. I’ll bet you’re really responsible. People probably appreciate what you’re doing. They just don’t say it.”
“I’m too much of a perfectionist.” He looked down at his hands. “I worry so much that I can’t sleep. I didn’t even want to come to work today.”
“Does your family know?” Why was he asking me?
“My family loves me,” he said. Good, I thought. At least he had that going for him.
“Can you think of three things you’re grateful for?” I asked. “I’m grateful that it’s such a beautiful day.”
“Yes,” he said, seeming to notice the sun for the first time.
“And your family,” I suggested.
“I’m grateful for them,” he said.
“I also pray,” I said. “I take a deep breath, even if I’m in front of my computer, close my eyes and pray. What’s your name?”
“John,” he said.
“Hi, John. I’m Rick.” I stuck out my hand. “I come here for lunch when I’ve got a chance. Maybe we’ll see each other again. Until then I’ll pray for you, John.”
“Thanks.” He shook my hand vigorously. I got up to go, with one stranger to add to my prayer list. I hope I see him again. By then I ‘m not sure he’ll be a stranger.
