Letter to a Stranger

— June 2018 in Dublin, Ireland

It was my first full day in this beautiful little city that I would try to make my home for the summer. I had a temporary home in Dublin, Ireland for a summer internship at a nonprofit social and emergency housing organization. I was already learning and seeing the housing crisis that Dublin was going through; the homeless were living in St. Stephen’s Green across the street from the lavish shopping center here on Grafton Street. On this gorgeous mid-June day, the city wasn’t yet feeling like home to me either. I had arrived in this new country with not much Irish Luck — my phone was disabled when I tried to replace the sim card. Unable to communicate with any new acquaintances in the program — or use GPS or my phone camera — on that first Saturday in Dublin I memorized directions and set out alone from my dorm at the university on the edge of town.

I was sweating by the time I reached the city center; the first thing I did was purchase a digital camera from a nearby shop. I was now happy at least to be able to preserve precious memories. I entered the gate of St. Steven’s Green for a bit of rest in the shade. Around me were shirtless Dubliners on picnic blankets, bottles of wine and cans of beer strewn around, their laughter filling the air along with the chirping of the birds and the ripple of the stream close by. Feeling awkward to be alone among their Saturday revelries, I walked along the path and was struck by the beauty of this pocket of nature in the middle of the city. I took photos of the swans and heron bathing in the pond right next to the busy Dublin street, undisturbed by the above-ground rail car that rumbled past.

Watching these birds, as well as couples walking past in their unabashed European romance, I was once again struck by my loneliness, my aching heart, and the uncertainty of the months ahead. I became bogged down by these thoughts for a few moments, when all of a sudden the faint sound of music drifted through the park entrance nearby. It was such a beautiful voice, my curiosity led me out of the trees and through the gate, back into the direct sunlight, and across the street to where a crowd was gathered. And there I saw you singing.

“Well, maybe there’s a God above But all I’ve ever learned from love Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya. And it’s not a cry that you hear at night, It’s not somebody who’s seen the Light, It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah Hallelujah, Hallelujah Hallelujah, Hallelujah Hallelujah, Hallelujah Hallelujah, Hallelujah Hallelujah, Hallelujah.”

Your voice rang out clear and pure, echoing against the buildings surrounding the courtyard. The chords you played seemed to hold the audience in a still, silent acknowledgment of the beauty they were witnessing. People walking past with their shopping bags stopped and turned, a peaceful look settling over their faces. The same peace no doubt could be seen on my face; I certainly felt it settle into my heart. The truth and the passion of the words resonated with every note you sang. It seemed in that moment that you had been placed there just for me, to sing the song I needed to hear.

On that mid-June Saturday in Dublin, Ireland, I was still jet-lagged and was still haunted by mistakes I’d made in the past few days. I was dissociated and distracted by lingering thoughts of those I’d left behind. I was experiencing loss, I was lost, and I had yet to encounter any welcome or assurance that I was in the right place. I was wondering if I had completely jumbled my life and if I would ever get back to where I was meant to be. Amid all of this I heard your song, and in your song, I heard love.

This was the moment of assurance I had been looking for. This was the moment of profound beauty and peace that I so desperately needed after such a confusing few days. I know you were just singing the same song you probably sang every shift, going through your weekend routine there on Grafton Street. But to me, your beautiful voice was a balm for my wounds and a light on the path I hadn’t been sure was there. The beauty of this song reminded me that in the heartbreak and confusion, love is still present. God is still guiding me. Peace can still be found. I was where I was meant to be.

I don’t remember if I dropped a euro in your guitar case; I know I felt drawn to thank you and express these feelings, but the reflection of my own face in your sunglasses and my own anxiety held me back. At any rate, I left the city center that day feeling much lighter and much more safe and held. I went back to my dorm room feeling much more at home. And this was all thanks to you.