Being in a position where I regularly faced mortality gave me the gift of valuing what has always been free, yet so easily overlooked. My devotion to love was mostly reserved for my immediate family, nature, and a few very special friends I could probably count on one hand. I’ve never considered myself a particularly social person. Truthfully, I’d much rather hunker down at home—where all my needs are met—than seek out company.
But that part of me has shifted. I’ve come to deeply value what can unfold when I choose to connect and leave space for something new to reveal itself. So when I received an invitation to my cousin’s wedding—a cousin I hadn’t seen in years—I said yes. Even though the timing wasn’t ideal and the airfare would be costly, I recognized it as an opportunity to reconnect with extended family and chose to go.
The matriarchs of our clan—as we fondly call ourselves, being descendants of Scots—are now in their mid-80s and 90s. It’s a rare and precious occasion for all of us to be together, and who knows if there will be another opportunity to connect and celebrate in this way again.
I had once travelled through India with the cousin who now, at 61, was preparing to be married. After being a bachelor for most of his life, it felt like a miracle that he had found his greatest love. I knew I needed to be there—not just for him, but for myself. This precious life is meant to be shared, and my experience has taught me that it’s always worth making the initial effort to connect with others. The gift we give by showing up is also the gift we receive.
It’s been nearly six years since Lump came to mentor me. In that time, I thought I understood so much—yet ultimately, I still understood very little. I’d like to think I’m now closer to gaining a deeper understanding of the biggest question. That question has shifted—from asking why I got cancer to a deeper devotion to how I can stay on a path of love in a world that seems to be growing more loveless by the minute.
How can I nurture connection in a world so divided?
How do I discern whether I’m being guided by an intelligence that knows what’s best for me, rather than the voice in my head that simply wants to be right?
This is how I’ve been gauging my healing: by observing the thoughts that occupy my mind, and by my willingness to examine what’s dominating my mental space—and change it if it’s not in alignment with how I ultimately want to live.
I was at the airport on my way to the wedding when I ran into a friend I’d been thinking about. I had even considered reaching out after hearing she was going through a health crisis. But, like it happens for so many of us, I put it on the back burner—letting other things take priority over the persistent nudge I kept feeling.
The truth is, I was afraid. I was scared of how unwell she might be, and I didn’t want to face it—because it would stir up my own insecurities about my health. Then guilt would follow the avoidance, and denial would mask the act of looking away. This is the typical pattern of our default survival mechanism—and even as I become more aware of it, it still takes conscious effort to break the cycle.
The moment I saw her, I recognized it as my chance for a do-over. But the airport was busy—she was heading outside just as I was going in. I genuinely wanted to connect and told her she’d been on my mind. I could feel the moment slipping away, so I said, “Let’s talk in the waiting room once we’re through security.” There was only one flight into the city, so I knew we’d be on the same plane.
She agreed, and I went in first to clear security. The waiting room was packed, but I managed to find a seat with an open one beside it. I saved it for her, holding onto the hope that we’d get a chance to catch up.
The woman beside me started chatting with me. I’ve come to learn, through A Course in Miracles, that any encounter holds the potential to be a holy encounter—a moment where the barriers between two people dissolve. It is through these connections that we can begin to heal ourselves, each other, and ultimately the world. So I chose to be present and engage with her, even as my eyes continued to scan the room, hoping to spot my friend.
Our conversation came to a natural pause when the woman beside me turned her attention to her phone. I took it as a sign to look for my friend again. I thought about leaving my things on my seat to walk around the waiting room in hopes of finding her—but I noticed an almost anxious energy rising in me as I stood. I sat back down.
That’s when I heard a clear voice in my mind say, “Don’t worry, you’ll sit next to her on the plane.”
What? I responded internally.
Then came the doubt: “Here you go again, thinking you’re hearing the Holy Spirit. You’re just making it up.”
And then—quiet, steady—“You’ll find out. Now let it go.”
So I did. I let it go, sat back in my seat, and relaxed until it was time to board the flight.
I used to always strive to be early, driven by the stress of wanting to get ahead of everyone to save time. But knowing better now, I stayed in my seat until most people had boarded. Just as I leisurely made my way to the line, I spotted my friend doing the same from across the room.
There you are! I said. Too bad we only have a few minutes to catch up while we’re in line.
I asked about her health, and she gave me the shortest version as she pulled out her passport with the boarding pass tucked inside. My eyes caught sight of the seat number peeking out, and suddenly my heart burst open—tears welled up in my eyes.
As soon as the boarding agent cleared us through, I poured my heart out to my friend about how much it meant to me that I’d received the message we’d be sitting together. I didn’t hold back—she was the kind of person who would understand. In fact, she too had been gaining a similar understanding. As she put it, “We are not the ones in charge.”
It wasn’t just that the message turned out to be true. It was the confirmation I needed—that the way I’ve been learning to step aside, to get out of my own way and seek guidance in my healing journey—is the right way. The only way for me. Because the truth is, I’m never making these decisions alone.
We were both given the gift of a full hour sitting side by side, sharing our stories and the lessons we’d each gathered along our healing journeys—each echoing the same truth, spoken in our own way. There was a deep joy in realizing that we are waking up together—in ways we may not fully understand, but with a quiet faith that something we are seeking is unfolding. And I do believe it’s happening on a collective level.
The crazier the world seems to become, the more I sense a quieter, steadier voice within us all—beckoning us to choose again. To choose alignment with peace. With love. To remember that there is always another way to see—one that brings us closer to wholeness, and closer to each other, no matter who we seem to be on the outside.
The great clan gathering at my cousin’s wedding was the most love-filled icing on the cake. I had many heart-to-heart conversations that affirmed something we all seemed to know deep down: that love is the only answer to help us through the mess of the world. Attacking and dividing only create more of the same. The wise matriarchs of our clan radiated joy, wisdom, and steadfast love—and inspired me to age with that same kind of grace.
My heart swelled seeing my beloved cousin so deeply in love, so alive with excitement to begin this chapter with his bride. My two brothers were there, and I couldn’t help but feel proud to be their sister—two kind, thoughtful, and hard-working men who carry strong family values. I spent precious time with my three cousins, each of whom I’ve shared meaningful chapters of life with, and my favourite witchy aunties—shining gems and radiant examples of joyful, spiritually-rooted living. As an added joy, my beloved friend—and friend of the family—arrived in perfect timing, lighting up the gathering with her bright, beautiful presence.
There was so much love in that intimate gathering, and I silently thanked the Holy Spirit for guiding me there—to receive gifts meant not only for me, but for all of us.
LESSON: EVERY ENCOUNTER IS AN OPPORTUNITY TO CHOOSE LOVE.
LESSONS FROM MY LUMP 