When I originally wrote this column a few days ago I began with “Now, this is personal. Perhaps too personal. But it speaks to the goodness in some peoples’ souls, so I’ll tell it.”

Well, now. After more than a little thought about it, I have concluded that it was, indeed, too personal. Much too personal. And also too long. Much too long.

So. I’ll try to pick up the story about one-third of the way through the original rendering of my tale. If what I’m excising was any good, germane to the piece, then leaving it out most surely will diminish the impact my experience had for me in the telling of it to you, kind readers. So be it.

When I left the restaurant, still experiencing burning (and a headache) from a just diagnosed urinary tract infection, I pulled onto John Small Avenue. And then it happened. Oh, Lord, did it happen.

Within seconds I was in excruciating pain in my lower back, on the right side. Big league pain. I became nauseated, probably from the pain. I was hurting so bad, and was so nauseated, and I thought my head might burst something too. Friends, I had a real “sit-u-a-tion” on my hands. I was groaning, even hollering with pain, and knew I had to get the car off of John Small Avenue. A traffic light showed red interminably so. Help me, Lord, I said.

He did. I managed to pull just off the road and stopped in a neighborhood. Even getting out of the car was going to be a real challenge.

When I finally managed to get out I tried to throw up, tried to find a position to ease the pain, by the curb, standing, sitting, or lying down, but to no avail. The pain persisted.

Now. To the point of this too lengthy tale. A lady was taking groceries out of her car into her house. She asked if I was alright. She was concerned. After a couple of minutes she came over to this complete stranger who was definitely not doing well. An understatement if ever there was one.

Then, after offering to call someone, she asked if she could pray for me, put her hand on me. Now, that wasn’t a hard question. And she did pray. With fervor, conviction and in the unassailable belief that God would hear her. Would help me.

Well, now. In a few minutes the pain began to subside. Not disappear, but subside.

I drove away, but at the next traffic light the pain began to ramp up again. I pulled into the Trade Mart across from the Food Lion, managed to get myself out of the car and into the restroom, after which I then called Sally and asked her to come and get me. My driving for the day was over.

The beautiful lady who prayed for me did not do so to no avail. The pain decreasing gave me a bit of a window to gather my wits. Was this because of Divine intervention? I can’t prove it was; but it can’t be proved that it wasn’t.

This good soul who came to my aid — Mrs. Mildred Downing — and who is 80 years old, demonstrated that which I truly believe: we are all brothers and sisters.

Amen.