Emily Belle Freeman



Accept Blessings

Screenshot 2014-09-15 08.50.33 I hurried out of the hotel room, hurried down the elevator, hurried into the taxi waiting there on the curb.

He put the suitcase in trunk, I put my purse on the floor, and grabbed my phone in my hand.

The drive to the airport started with me busy on the phone ––opening the app, checking flight status, checking in.

The driver, he drove in silence allowing me to be completely absorbed in my life.

Once I checked in to my flight I decided to check in with my life.  Messages, Mail, Memories on instagram…and the driver drove in silence while I absorbed myself into my life.

In the moment it took for my life to load, I glanced up and saw him.

Driving in silence while I absorbed myself into my life.

White turban, white beard neatly combed, white shirt.

For the first time on that Sabbath morning I felt peace.

I turned off my phone.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"India," he replied in a soft accent, flowing goodness.

That's where most conversations begin…at the point where you come from.  A profound lesson was waiting, but it first required me to come to where he was.

It's amazing how two people who come from such different beginnings can meet in the middle and learn.

He, from India.  A Shia.  Me, from Utah.  A Mormon.

He spoke of what was common among us, the Mormons live by each other, so they can learn from each other.  It's easier.  He spoke of the warmth he feels when he walks into a Mormon house.  "You are Christian."  He told me.  "I like Mormons."

I asked him how he knew so much about what I believe.

"I am passionate about learning knowledge from everybody I meet."  He replied.  "I have read parts of your Mormon book," He said, "I have found that it enlightens me."

I asked what he believed and he taught me about God.

"He is everywhere…" He told me, "He may be right here in this taxi."

It was the Sabbath.  And again, I felt peace.  You know, I almost missed God there in that taxi because I was so absorbed in my life.

That taxi driver, he wore his religion.  It was where he came from.  It was who he was.  His holy heart preached pure peace.  Apparent in silence, made beautiful in his words.

We pulled up at the curb and I got out slow.

"Maybe you will pray for me," he said looking me straight in the eyes, "I'm just a cab driver from India, but maybe you will remember me in your prayers."

"I would love to pray for you," I replied.  "Thank you for asking."

"Oh," he said with wisdom slow and peaceful,"I have learned that you should accept blessings from everyone."




Emily Freeman