A modern fictional account based on Luke 10:25-37

Luz’s brown eyes blinked and squinted as she lifted her hand to block the glare of fluorescent hospital lights. Stabbing pain alerted her to the intravenous line in her arm.

Where am I? The question suspended itself in her semiconsciousness. Her head throbbed as snippets of memory provoked self-accusations. 

Estupida! You thought you were so smart to stop while you were winning. How did you not notice someone following you? You made yourself an easy target.

 She didn’t normally gamble, but that night she’d gone with her friend, Michelle, to try her hand at blackjack. I’m an adult, she reasoned. Besides, her mother’s surprise at the cash she hoped to win, would outweigh her disapproval of gambling. She’d buy cake-making supplies for her mother. Mom’s special occasion cakes were prized by friends and neighbors and made it possible for her to contribute to household expenses.

When a nurse appeared, Luz, with trembling voice, forced out the question. 
“Where am I?”
“At St. Joseph’s Hospital, and you are safe. We need some information from you. Is there someone you’d like us to contact?”
As the only member of her household with legal status, Luz cautioned herself.
Don’t say anything to compromise your family’s safety.

Later, her mom, dad, brother, and three nieces came to see her, but only her mom stayed. Sitting mutely in the corner, her mom, whom Luz had long considered a force of strength and courage, appeared small and fragile. Fine lines around her eyes and greying roots at her temples accentuated her worried countenance. I hate burdening her. Thank God I have a respectable job with health insurance.

Three nights before, Luz had fought fiercely. Still, she was no match for the tire iron’s brutal blows. Her attacker had taken everything of value and left her unconscious. Presumably he thought she was dead. How did I end up here?

When she learned that an anonymous benefactor had brought her to the hospital, leaving a credit card for any expenses not covered by insurance, a question burned inside her. Who? Who would do that? 

The casino had been Michelle’s idea. Had she seen her car on the side of the road and come to her aid?  Michelle wasn’t answering her texts, adding credence to Luz’s theory. She knew that even though Michelle talked tough, she would do anything to help someone in need. That had to be it.

But when Michelle came to the hospital and saw Luz’s lacerations and bruises, she wept, apologizing that she hadn’t helped her friend that night. She’d seen a car following Luz’s a little too closely but turned toward her own home instead of trusting her gut and helping her friend. 

After Michelle left, Luz ventured another guess. “Mom, could Rosa Maria have brought me here? She’s all up in everybody’s business, so she might’ve seen or heard what happened. Everyone knows she likes to make big donations.” 

Luz’s mom dismissed the idea. “Rosa María? Ella nunca daría nada a menos que recibió reconocimiento.” (She’d never donate without being acknowledged.)

Luz’s extended hospital stay provided ample thinking time. For the past ten years, beginning in high school, she’d earned wages at every opportunity while simultaneously working toward a degree in education. The house where she lived with her parents and older brother and his family was in her name. Though her family helped as they were able, Luz shouldered the weight of responsibility. 

Unaccustomed as she was to weakness and vulnerability; the kind, gentle attention of nursing staff felt unfamiliar, uncomfortable. Her mind circled back to the question. Who rescued me and arranged for my ongoing care? How can I possibly repay them? 

When a nurse offered a visit from a Catholic deacon, Luz accepted. His presence brought memories of her ten-year-old self dressed in a beautiful white dress and veil. She recalled the joy she’d felt having dared believe that she was washed clean from all sin and that the bread and wine were really Jesus. She recalled the scent of the oil applied to her head during the sacrament of confirmation. It was the only time she’d been called “Guadalupe”, her confirmation name. She’d known God’s love in the depths of her being that day. She confided none of this to the deacon, but afterward she picked up the prayer card he’d left. Unexpected tears flowed at the sight of the familiar image of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
Even when I forget her, she keeps praying for me.

Finally released from the hospital, Luz decided she’d go with Michelle to Mass at Sacred Heart Parish. The church’s beauty overwhelmed her. A larger-than-life, intricately painted image of Jesus clothed in royal garments and wearing a king’s crown beckoned her with arms stretched wide and eyes that seemed to know and fully accept her.
Her brain and body still processing recent trauma, she wasn’t fully present to all that was happening around her. But when she heard the Gospel, she saw herself in the parable of the Good Samaritan. 

I know I’m the one who was beaten and left on the side of the road. But who is my Good Samaritan?

The priest spoke about Jesus being the Good Samaritan, caring for all, even those who don’t see themselves as outcasts or despised. 

I get what he means, she thought, but Jesus didn’t have a credit card. 

After Mass, the crisp air made coffee and donuts especially appealing. As Luz put a couple of dollars in the donation can, something about the man behind the table grabbed her attention. I’ve seen him before.

“Have we met?” 

“I’m Miguel.”

Why did the sound of his voice sound familiar?

In the car, Luz asked, “Do you think Miguel could be my Good Samaritan?”

Michelle considered her friend’s question.

“No, no, no, he doesn’t have papers. Fr. Paul said it’s been fifteen plus years that he has applied for citizenship. I don’t know what all businesses he owns, but he has employees, and he has funds. He wouldn’t never be the one to draw attention to himself and put workers and families in jeopardy.

Luz interrupted, “Exactly, he’d want to stay anonymous! Michelle, I have to ask him. I can respect that he doesn’t want it known. I don’t have to tell people. But if it is him, I need to say, ‘thank you.’”

At Luz’s insistence they headed back toward Sacred Heart.

Miguel folded the legs under the last of the tables as they approached. Meeting Luz’s searching eyes, he spoke first.

“You figured it out, didn’t you?”

Stunned, she paused, then asked, “How can I ever thank you?”

 “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Miguel’s tone was almost pleading, “I need you to understand. You, showing up here at Mass, that’s enough for me.”

Luz was baffled, yet Miguel’s eyes betrayed no insincerity. 

“Are you for real?”

Miguel nodded. “I can’t imagine life without God, and I know you encountered him today. That’s everything. Knowing you are here thanking God makes me happy. It really does.”

As Luz turned to leave, a mixture of joy and trepidation flooded her entire being. She didn’t know what was next. She only knew she wanted to love like the Good Samaritan.