I visited a home for disabled Okinawans recently. The average age of the residents is sixty-seven. It was much like visiting a nursing home stateside, except that many of the residents still slept and ate on the floor, as is Japanese custom. It is good exercise, they tell me. Only when they can no longer get up are they moved to chairs and regular hospital beds. The buildings were old and shabby. The director explained that they had just received funding to update and add a new addition. I prayed the work would be completed quickly.

The residents smiled broadly as we made our way through the facilities. We had a few follow along with us, bowing and giggling. One gave my friend a laminated card with a phone number, and my friend politely tucked it in her bag. The translator later laughed and explained that the cards were used when residents were out shopping or at doctor appointments. If they got lost or needed assistance they would give the card to an adult who would call the center and get them home.

I could use a card like that, I thought.

But mostly, I remember the pleas of a woman who chased us down in her walker.

“I sorry, I sorry,” She cried weakly to us in English.

In tears, she spoke quickly to our translator in Japanese. She urged the translator to tell us what she said.

“She apologizes. She did bad things when she was a teen. Her family threw her out. She has a daughter who is half-American. She has not seen her in many years. She is sorry for the bad things. She seems to be channeling her daughter here…we remind her.”

Our translator’s eyes filled with tears as she offered trembling forgiveness that was not hers to give– she gave it anyway. She offered it for all of us. I could hardly maintain my composure. I grasped the woman’s hand as she stood by, and I tried to smile, praying for her peace. That dingy lobby became a beautiful sacred space for a few moments, simply because we were there, we were honest, and we cared for each other.

It reminded me to be present- to pay attention- goodness knows how many sacred spaces I rush past every day for lack of time or eyes to see.