passionate beauty

So I went to the doctor's today.
This doctor - let me tell you about her. She's probably in her 50's. She looks it, anyhow. She's probably from Russia, or thereabouts, because she has that type of accent, and her voice is that raspy high-pitched type that always sounds like she needs to clear her throat. Usually we don't say much. "Hi, how are you, how's the day..." Etc.
Today I mentioned that I couldn't do a follow-up because I'll be leaving for school, and she asked what I was studying. I told her Anthropology - unsure that she'd know what it is. She asked me if I travel, and I mentioned my trip to the Dominican Republic in March. My goodness...
She began to tell me a story of how her husband wanted to go to Turkey, and she felt like 'who goes to Turkey?' She didn't want to go. So she gives in, and she goes. Her face - it was so beautiful. It lit up with the stories of the underground aquaducts and the marble road where Antony and Cleopatra met and Istanbul and Ephasis where Paul preached. She was so passionate about it.
And she reminded me of me. Come on now - we all know how I get when I am excited about a story. Most of you remember me talking about the Invisible Children or the DR trip. When I begin a story, everyone watches out because I'll either be bouncing around, flailing my arms or walking into walls because I'm too into my story to watch where I'm going. She was like that (except she stayed put). It made me feel good. She said if she ever does anything in her life, she wants to go back there. The water was so clean, the culture was so beautiful, the stories so old. Before Christ!
So next time I get passionate about a story, I'll think of her. I'll remember that she was radiant, and it's okay.