In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.

- Albert Schweitzer, physician & humanitarian

Our family had not lived in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia very long before a world of opportunity opened for me. The Saudis were constructing their first National Park in the Asir Region of southwestern Arabia where we lived. I’d recently met the Superintendent of the U.S. National Park Service. The following week, I again encountered him at the commons area on our American compound. He quickly approached me, “Dorothy, I’d like to talk to you about a job.” “I’m actually a teacher,” I responded. “Can you type” he asked? “Yes.” “Do you know shorthand?” “Yes,” I responded. “Then you’re hired!” 

So just like that, I became office manager for three American consultants who were in-country to advise Saudi counterparts how to construct, manage, and maintain a national park. Being female, due to strict cultural/religious laws separating males/females, we Americans were required  to set up a separate office from which I worked. As the project progressed, the Saudis proudly wanted to show off their new park to international visitors; thus, my role expanded to include public relations, which required some business travel. 

One experience I’ll never forget was my first trip to the Capital City, Riyadh. Upon entering the Saudia Airline cabin, I was immediately greeted by a British doctor, Dr. Chris Bennett, who served patients at the medical clinic on the Northrup-Grumman Compound where we lived. I’d met him before and often overheard people making fun of his awkward ways and geeky manner of dress. He was a bit socially inept, but still a pleasant gent. He lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw me on board and eagerly invited me to sit by him. As I fastened my seat belt, this doctor immediately began to pour his heart out to me. He expressed anguish that his wife divorced him back in England, took their children abroad, and that his life now lacked meaning. He lamented that he was being transferred to a hospital in Riyadh, where he knew no one. I sensed a level of desperation in his voice, so I promised to introduce him to the few people I knew in Riyadh, and next day, I made these introductions.

Perhaps the most important thing we bring to another person is the silence in us, not the sort of silence filled with unspoken criticism or hard withdrawal. The sort of silence that is a place of refuge, or rest, of acceptance of someone as they are. We are all hungry for this other silence. - Rachel Naomi Ramen

Shortly after I returned home, I received a handwritten letter from Dr. Bennett, in which he revealed: had I not boarded that plane, his plan was to commit suicide upon arrival in Riyadh because he felt alone with no  reason to live. He said my caring, tender heart, and listening ear, in conjunction with introducing him to new people, renewed his hope to go forward. I’ll never forget this lesson. I hope this story ensures you won’t either. 

I’ve often reflected on that day, remembering how my parents had desperately tried to convince me not to go to live in the Middle East. Dr. Bennett’s letter was physical evidence that (a) we sometimes must leave our comfort zone to serve others, and (b) on that day, I served a much larger purpose than myself.