There is an outstanding exhibit about Anne Frank and her family's Amsterdam hiding place open right now in New York City. I have been lucky enough to visit The Annex in Amsterdam three times in my life thus far and I've visited the New York exhibit twice. Anne has - as she has for millions - always felt like a kindred spirit to my soul. I have long been fascinated with her diary and her family's story as a whole; even writing my college admission letter about her. Again, not unlike many other readers, I have always felt that I knew her - that if we'd met - different circumstances, different lives - perhaps we would have been friends.
Miep Gies was one of the six brave helpers that the eight people hiding in The Annex relied on to survive during their years in hiding. Many years ago I read Miep's account of her life. After visiting the exhibit earlier this winter I was compelled to re-read the book; to understand her experience from a new, middle-aged adult perspective. She is a hero in my eye; a woman (much like Anne) that I wish I had the honor of knowing in real life.
In re-reading Miep's book I was struck by a passage she had written about life in The Netherlands immediately in the months following the end of World War II. "After the liberation, the unity quickly disappeared and people again divided into groups and factions that were at odds with each other. Everyone returned to his old ways, to his own class, to his own political group. People had changed less than I would have thought."
From my seat in 2025, I could not help but relate that passage to our lives post pandemic. Remember that brief month or two when we really were all in this together?
I don't completely have a point to these paragraphs other than to marvel repeatedly at some of the heroic acts that happened not too far away and not too long ago and to sing the praises aloud about the smallest acts of humanity, faith, and kindness. What will get us through.
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I have been dealing with several health-related issues this year. There have been a lot of doctors appointments, a lot of information gathering, and a lot of insurance battling. I will save my rants and raves about our broken medical and insurance system for another day. Today, as I reflect on small acts of kindness, I am nearly brought to my knees over two incidents.
In March, I needed a MRI. I will spare you all the details, but know, if you've never had one, that they are not what anyone would describe as a good time. I was on my stomach for this particular MRI which I personally feel is far better than being on your back because you're a bit more unaware of the machine and how far you've been moved into that claustrophobic tube. Still, yes, of course, I was nervous about this MRI. During one portion of it they had me half in the tube/half out. The doctors instruct you to stay very still and breathe lightly so the images come through clearly. As I laid there, face down, unable to see what was happening and worried about what the doctors might be doing or finding, I felt a warm hand on the middle of my back.
"I'm right here," the nurse in the room said. "I'm right here."
She kept her hand on my back through the rest of the procedure. She said nothing else. When the whole experience was finished and they had me get off the table I honestly wasn't even sure who in the room had done that - some people had already left, others were busy doing other things with my images. I didn't even know who to thank. But I will tell you - I am telling the internet now - that those six words and that supportive hand on my back meant everything to me. I am misty-eyed even now, weeks later, thinking back about how much that simple gesture meant.
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Yesterday morning, I was back at the doctor's office for another procedure. This one was not as intense as a MRI thankfully and I knew I would be in and out of the office pretty quickly. Still, it was an all new procedure and I was a little unclear about how the whole experience would go. You know how it is - they call you back from the waiting room and suddenly you're in another room with all of this equipment and your vitals are being checked and they are confirming your name and date of birth for the 500th time that day and you still really don't quite understand what all is going to happen. It is nervewracking to say the least.
My technician though, another angel on this earth. Without going into too much detail this procedure was a bit painful and involved some needles and the like. I was doing my best to not watch the doctor, once again stay still and not breathe heavily as instructed but mygod that is hard. The doctor was on my left, the technician about a foot or two away on my right. I locked eyes with her; mentally pleading with her to help. Without a word between us she stepped right next to me and put her hand on my right arm. (What is it about that comforting touch during times of distress?) "Tell me about this Italy trip you're going to take in the fall," she said. "I'll be going in May with my son." And that did it. She and I talked about travel and Italy while the doctor continued his work and suddenly I didn't feel as nervous or scared. She distracted me and before I knew it, he was done.
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We know these lessons already. These acts of kindness cost nothing, they are so small. Maybe my nurse or my technician hasn't thought about me again even once. But I clearly have thought about them and the love they shared by helping me through a scary time. This world is such a mess lately. It feels like we're living in an era of bullying; where spewing anger and hateful rhetoric is more the norm than it ever should be. More and more it feels like we need to put armor on every time we step outside and my goodness, can't that get exhausting. So perhaps my simple point is this: don't ever discount a small act.
I swear, there are angels among us, we just need to look closely to see them.
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