Needs Assistance

So the journey begins to Sydney.

I have ticked the 'needs assistance' box on the budget airline form, providing wheelchair assistance for the long trip from arrivals to departures and the DPL - Disabled Person's Lift to the airline cabin. A fellow traveller is an elderly Chinese gent who recently underwent hip replacement. "This is so hard", he grimaces, but smiles when I offer him an arm to get out of his seat. Blind leading the Blind.

In 8b beside me sits a young blond woman from British Columbia (Canada). Over the one hour flight from Melbourne to Sydney she reveals she is a student missionary, on route to a three month course in Sydney. She doesn't know what polio is, so I explain about the 30 nanometer sized enterovirus that paralysed legions of children, and the vaccine war against it.

She goes for her Bible as meditation calls me.

Once descent into Sydney is announced, she asks if she can pray for me. "I dont know what your beliefs are", she begins. Show her the image on my ring "I'm a yogi, with beliefs incorporating the essence of all religions. One of my books was The Faithful Garden, exploring the importance of plants, flowers and Paradise Gardens not only in the Bible, but Koran, Dharmapada, Tao de Ching etc. The same threads of truth are there."

"I haven't read any of that," she confesses.

You can't understand Christianity without appreciating the context, thought to self. She gives me the line about Christ being the One True God, then asks permission to put her hand on my shoulder while she prays about Jesus coming into my life and healing polio.

She hands me a folded paper on which she had been writing in the odd way young people hold pens today, with little elegance, using Ephesians as her text. Couldn't think of anything from Ephesians that might be relevant.

As fellow travellers reach down First World baggage I shove her note into my bag. "Find the thread", I farewell her.

A kindly Jetstar lady with runs in the uniform black stockings, wheeled me the long way to Airbus, beyond her call of duty. My roomy to-be Yen Tran, recommended Airbus, she was coming in earlier from Adelaide and should already be at the hotel.

Chaos at the bus stops. Folk had been waiting for two hours to get into town for $16 instead of $40 for a cab after spending $4000 on airfares. Airbus materialised and we rushed it. As much as one can on sticks. There was yelling at the poor driver who explained it wasn't his fault. With two other ladies I make for the back row while the men argue it out. One lady from Brisbane and I chatted about our journeys as the bus wound its way inexplicably around Sydney CBD in peak hour looking for each passenger's hotel.

The driver whose name was Safari (!) Iranian from Copenhagen, used a GPS voice to direct him. Turn left at the next intersection 'Lola' (our name for our GPS voice) insisted. No-one seemed to be finding their destinations, the lady and I continued to chat - about polio. Her English grandfather had it. She was fascinated to talk about its legacy today. "Fran?" a voice across the aisle. Yes? "I am Yen". My roomy had waited two hours for Safari and we ended up in the same bus. Serendipitous! Finally, as darkness fell, we reach our five star hotel and are checked into the room by an Indian reception staffer wearing the name badge Chaitanya (divine spirit). He gleefully advises we have been upgraded to a room with a view of the Opera House. He is right. Stupendous. We take many photographs through our window of Mr Utson's magnificent piece of architecture, sailing nowhere on Sydney Harbour in the dark as brightly lit ferries lumber across black waters.

We need food, so Yen and I wander across Circular Quay seeking the Chinese restaurant recommended by a concierge. We end up in a creperie The Four Frogs, opened by four Frenchmen. Delightful. On the way back to the hotel, a homeless person lies ostentatiously at the entrance to the ferry terminal. Yen and I talked for hours about polio, our polio lives, taking more photographs of the beguiling view.

Sleep was difficult. Air conditioning too hot, no fresh air, eight stories up. So I woke with the dawn, took more photographs of the opera house at first light, then decided to read the young missionary's note.

"Fran, Jesus loves you so much! He thought of you before the earth was formed and created you with purpose. He loves your heart of compassion and your love for children. He sees you and knows your name. Your are never alone. He is the great healer and I believe he wants to heal you. I will be praying for you. Bless you, Amber-Lynn, Ephesians 1.3.9 Psalms 139"

Inside the fold was a $50 note. It took my breath away, brought tears to the early morning bleer. Why would she do that? I had no need for so much money. When Yen woke I showed her the note. She too was gobsmacked.

First thought was to give it to someone in real need, like the homeless man at the Quay. Yen rightly suggested a polio destination.

Tonight I shall find the homelessman and give him a small donation of my own money and save the $50 for a polio cause.

Today is the wedding anniversary in Sydney of Mr and Mrs Henke 41 years ago. I maybe away, we are never apart.