Their names were Sonia, and Kay, and Sally, and Jeannie. These are the women who brought sanity into my life, during a difficult peroid. They came as encouragers and people of compassion, part of an early intervention program that my two youngest children needed.

Each week, there would be two or more visits to my home. There were techniques to encourage my daughter’s lungs to expand, and exercises to strengthen my son’s legs. But more than that, they came as friends.

Every time one of them walked through my door, their concern was not only for my children, but also for me. Job titles said they were physical therapists and occupational therapists, but oftentimes they were mom therapists . . . Listening to the worries and concerns of the mothers of the children they cared for.

I lost track of these women, when my children no longer needed the program. Yet, the memory of their help, the care they gave me, and the love they showered on me, lives in me.

Conversations that took place in the midst of exercises for my children, allowed me to see the world differently. Their genuine care not only supported my children’s physical development but also expanded my worldview and sense of worth. Sally, Jeannie, Kay and Sonia will never know how big and lasting an impact they made.

Thinking of them, I reminded that each of us has a calling. Each of us has a purpose in life. Each of us can be ambassadors of love, compassion and care. Each of us, carries our own gift to share.

“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.” 1 Peter 4:10