A few years ago, i was walking through Chinatown in New York City. As i crossed an intersection, i suddenly sprained my ankle and yelped in pain. My sister and phan helped me hobble across the street; and as i paused to rest, leaning wearily on a newspaper dispenser, i fainted.
The next thing i knew, my sister and phan were frantically trying to get my attention, and i was trying to figure out why i was lying down on the ground in the middle of New York City.
As i sat up, a few people had gathered to see what the hullabaloo was all about. And because this was Chinatown, people were not hesitant in offering their suggestions and advice. One woman said, “You should have eaten breakfast.” Another person said, “Drink some tea with sugar in it.” And yet another person said, “You should be more careful. And watch where you’re walking.”
Suddenly everyone was a Chinese mom.
Listening to Ashley’s message this week about John 5, i found myself wondering about that paralysed man, sitting near the healing Pool of Bethesda. Here was a man who had been here for 38 years. And in those 38 years, how many countless numbers of people had offered him advice? How many times had he tried to get up and walk? How many times had he tried to even get to the healing pool?
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