On a park bench - 200 feet above the roaring Pacific Ocean - I sat quietly, relaxing and breathing in the rays of the sun.  The day was clear, calm, sweet.  Sunset was only an hour away.

I noticed that on a bench only 50 feet further along the path was an older woman.  She was frail and bent over from the weight of her shoulders.  She had a large, witch-like beak nose.  Despite her appearance, something about this woman drew me to her. I walked to where she was seated, sat beside her, but kept my focus on the ocean.  For a very long time we sat in silence.  Without thinking, I spontaneously turned to this old woman and quietly asked, "If we never saw each other again, what would you like me to know about who you really are?"

Tears rolled down her cheeks.  "No one has ever cared that much about me," she sobbed.  I placed my hand lightly on her shoulder to comfort her and said, "I care."

After introducing herself as Isabel, she whimpered, "Ever since I was a little girl, I have always wanted to be a ballerina.  But my mother told me I was too clumsy and determined that it was a waste of money to give me dance lessons.  But I have a secret," she whispered, "I've never told anyone this before.  You see, ever since I was four years old, I've been practicing my dance.  I would hide in my closet and practice so my mother wouldn't see me."

"Isabel, show me your dance," I urged.
Isabel looked at me in surprise.  "You want to see me dance?"
"Absolutely," I insisted.

That was when I saw the miracle.  Isabel's face seemed to shed years of pain. Her face softened.  She sat up proud, head erect, shoulders back.  Then she stood up, turned and faced me.  It was as if the world stood still for her.  I could see it in her face.  She wanted to dance and I was the audience that she had been waiting for all her life.

Isabel stood before me, took a long deep breath and relaxed.  Only moments before, her brown eyes were sunk deep into her skull.  Now they were bright and alive. Elegantly she pointed her toe forward while gracefully stretching out her hand. The move was masterful.  One minute, she was an ugly, old, miserable woman; the next, she was Cinderella wearing glass slippers.

Her dance took a lifetime to learn and only a moment to do. Isabel had fulfilled her life's dream.  She had danced.

Isabel began to laugh and cry almost at the same time.  In my presence, she had become the ballerina of her childhood dreams.  We continued to speak about all the things that Isabel loved.  I listened and hung on her every word.  "You are a very great dancer, Isabel.  I am proud to have met you."  And I really meant it.

I never saw Isabel after that.  I still remember smiling and waving good-bye to her.  Since that day, I have taken the time to stop and acknowledge people everywhere.  I have asked them what their dreams are.  I have cheered them on. Each time I do this, I witness a miracle.  Like Isabel, people stand taller, smile and begin to believe in themselves and their dreams again.  They begin to dance.