A Shift in the Garden: Mind-Melding with a Crying Child
Yesterday brought one of those quietly profound moments that stays with you long after the chaos has passed.
My wife and I found ourselves in the emergency room after she took a bad fall while tending to her garden—a curious irony, as the garden had always been a place of healing and beauty for her. The injuries required stitches, and we were placed in a shared space, partitioned only by thin curtains.
Next to us was a crying baby. Not the gentle fussing of a restless child, but the full-throated scream of distress. In the past, that sound would have grated on me—triggering irritation, discomfort, even anger. But something shifted in me.
Without planning it, I made a quiet decision. I chose to connect—to join with this child’s spirit, not in frustration, but in love. I entered a stillness inside myself and imagined extending peace to her mind, not through words or effort, but with silent, willing presence. I simply wanted her to feel safe. I cannot but well up with emotion as I write this, for in those quiet seconds, something changed.
She calmed. The crying stopped. A soft coo replaced the cries, and a gentle peace seemed to fill the space around us.
I sat in amazement. I hadn’t tried to “fix” anything. I didn’t even know what I was doing, really. I was just willing. And as A Course in Miracles teaches, “Your willingness is everything.” (T-9.VII.6:9)
I was reminded of the lesson: “To give and to receive are one in truth.” (W-108) That moment wasn’t just about soothing a baby. It was a shared healing. In offering comfort, I received it. In extending peace, I experienced it.
And truly, “There is no order of difficulty in miracles.” (T-1.I.1:1) Sometimes they happen not with thunder, but with stillness. Not in the fixing of a body, but in the joining of minds.
This wasn’t just a crying baby in an ER. It was a holy encounter. And for a few moments, I remembered who I was—and who she was, too.