Can I get a Witness?

My husband and I went on a date tonight, a much-needed evening out. We went to see 12 Angry Men, a play that, despite being written decades ago, still lands with such force in today’s world. It's astonishing how a single room, a table, and twelve differing perspectives can hold up a mirror to our society.

One part hit me especially hard: the fixation on the testimony of an eyewitness.  As someone who has personally experienced the unreliability of memory, it got me thinking.

A few weeks ago, I witnessed a car accident. I was front and center—yet what I *thought* I saw didn’t fully match what my dash cam later revealed. My brain had filled in the gaps with what seemed logical at the time, but logic isn’t always truth. It reminded me how slippery perception can be, how memory and assumption often dance together in ways we don’t even realize.

But even more surprising? No one else stopped. Not to offer help. Not to ask if the person was okay. Not even to stand by.  Maybe it’s fear.  Maybe we’ve internalized the narrative that it’s dangerous to be a witness (thank you, Hollywood).  Or maybe… we’ve just forgotten how important it is to see each other.

And then, deeper still, I started to reflect on what it really means to be a witness.

I grew up reciting the Young Women’s theme at church, confidently declaring:  “I will stand as a witness of Jesus Christ.”  But I don’t know that I ever truly understood what that meant. Not in a living, breathing, embodied way.

There’s a universal law—the Law of Witnesses.  It says: “By the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established.” I used to think that meant simply testifying to truth in a religious sense.  But now… I think it means something deeper.

A few weeks ago, I attended a retreat in the mountains. And I watched—witnessed—a woman open her heart to herself again.  She acknowledged her own numbness.  She moved through it.  And when nature called to her, she listened. She ran barefoot and free into a cold mountain stream, laughing with a joy that was reborn in that very moment.  It was a privilege just to be there.  Even if I did nothing but stand nearby and let the sacredness of that moment mark itself on my heart.

And that, I’ve realized, is what it means to be a witness:  Not to intervene.  Not to fix.  But to see.

To hold space.  To acknowledge that something sacred happened here.  That someone felt. That someone changed. That someone lived.

In that light, I’ve also come to view astrology as a second witness in my life.  It’s not here to dictate or control, but to affirm what I already sense. To give language to the unseen.  It helps me believe that the Universe—and the Divine—care.  That what I experience matters.  That there is meaning in the mess. That I’m not just drifting—I’m guided.

Because don’t we all want that?  To be seen.  To be heard.  To be witnessed.

Maybe that’s the truest form of love—just being present. Fully present.  Enough to say:  “I see you. I remember. You were here. And what happened to you… mattered.”

I feel that I have been called to be a witness for others. To see their pain and also their growth. It is something that I am learning, and so can you. Do you feel called to be a witness?