A Sign in the Window

I recently read a blistering condemnation from a writer who claimed, or joked,  that he travelled to several cities and towns, large and small across the nation. In every place, he intently went to check out streets named for the late Human Rights leader and American icon, Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., and all he found on those thoroughfares was run-down buildings and houses, trash, graffiti, urban blight, poverty, traffic congestion and general social and economic depression. His observation might have been in jest, but it is not funny...or universally true.

I drove along Orlando, Florida's Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. (aka Route 50 or Colonial Drive) a couple days a week on and off for more than a year with that writer's

comments on my mind. I had long discounted the accuracy of his survey, even though I

had to admit there is some evidence throughout the country for support. I noticed the section of the road named after King was in a part of the city that flourished in commerce and different kinds of people. Every time I drove through the section some people call Little Vietnam, I noticed the words "Dr. Grace Lin," on a sign in the window. 

I must have driven past that sign for six months. In the U.S. we learn to ignore signs, mostly because there are so many that scream all sorts of pretensions. This one spoke of an acupuncturist who was also a doctor. I won't pretend that my knowledge of the health field is deep, and I already have a platoon of Western MDs, yet I wondered if Dr. Grace Lin might be a genuine practitioner of Eastern medicine, a healer.  One day, I finally gathered the courage and time to stop by the small Health Food City storefront. The lady behind the counter, who I now know as Alice, puttered with herbal mixes as she listened to my inquiry. 

I stumbled through the explanation of how I once lived in China, and went to a traditional doctor, and wanted to find a healer who had a knowledge of the traditional arts. 

"Does Dr. Lin know anything about traditional medicine, I asked.

Annie looked up over the slender, square black rims of her glasses with a look like she was face to face with a crazy person. After all, I walk into a place that lists the word "doctor," I can see shelves and cabinets labled in Chinese, Vietnamese and English with a vast array of natural medicinals. 

 "Man, you tell me whether you think you are in the right place," her glare said. "I don't know what to tell you, or what you really want." 

She looked up over her glasses and said the doctor was away for two weeks.

"I'll come back," I said.

"Sure," said Annie without a glance. "You come back when doctor is here."

I walked out with a firm resolution to return. I was at the bottom of a deep, deep well filled with pain, depression and despair. I had spent the past year or so, awash in the mess. I did not know if anything or anyone could improve my situation, but that is what you do when there is nothing left to lose - something. I decided to do some thing the minute I parked, walked into the shop to inquire about the doctor.

I was bothered by the fact that she was not immediately available. I even thought to take the absence as a sign that God wanted me to give up, remain steeped in a morass of pity and subliminal rage. I confess, there was a certain comfort in that miserable space, yet I have always been a person who seeks out more. I knew if I did not return I might never find out whether my useful life was really finished, or could there be more. 

I left Health Food City with a silent vow in my mind to meet the doctor. I did, but not for months.