A moodling revisited... Patience and Love

This week, I am thinking of and praying for a dear friend who was admitted to ICU this week because of a heart attack. This little story about her was written nearly ten years ago, but what I have learned in my relationship with Sandy (not her real name) is timeless. She is a wonderful and valued member of our L'Arche Edmonton community, and I post this in her honour, and in the hopes that her health will continue to improve. Please, my friends, pray with me for her.

* * * * * * *

While I was working at the L'Arche offices this morning, Sandy, one of our members with a disability, came into my office. Sometimes she comes in while I'm in the middle of something important and starts fiddling with the books on the shelf or the boxes of brochures. She likes to help, so when I don't have shredding for her to do, she often "makes" her own work. Unfortunately, she doesn't know the kind of assistance that's helpful. Today, by the time I freed my brain from the document I was typing, Sandy had a handful of fundraising envelopes that she was spreading across a table. "How you?" she asked, when she realized that I was watching her. 

It's easy to get impatient when work is interrupted, but at L'Arche we do our best to see the interruptions as part of the job. "I'm fine," I said, as I got up from my desk, gently took the envelopes from Sandy and put them back on the shelf where she had found them. Instead of shooing Sandy back downstairs as I often do, I took her hand and said, "Would you like to help me go find something in the community room?"

" 'Kay," she said. As we walked down the stairs holding hands, she counted the steps from one to nine, and echoed me as I counted the remainder. At the bottom, we reached the door of the Day Program where Sandy and the other core members engage in all sorts of activities. The sounds of drumming and singing emanated from the room, and Sandy suddenly remembered where she was supposed to be. "Bye," she said, and left me standing in the hallway. She loves music; I had to finish my errand alone.

About an hour later, I was engrossed in my work on the computer screen again, and didn't really notice Sandy slip into my office until she put an arm around me, kissed me on the top of the head, and said in her soft, squeaky voice, "I love you, Reea."

"I love you, too," I said, as she disappeared again. I guess patience with Sandy's little interruptions reaps rewards. She never told me she loved me until today.

Patience for something beauty-full

My six-year-old blooming
Lionheart amaryllis

Some years ago, I asked a florist to send an amaryllis to my dear friend in Belgium as a Christmas gift. Gaby was delighted and wrote to me, saying, "she is very beauty-full!" So the next fall, I ordered a bulb for myself, and planted it so it would bloom for Christmas. And yes, she was very beauty-full!

She also managed to produce a roundish pod where one of the flowers had been -- because I transferred pollen between the blossoms with my fingers. I allowed the pod to ripen into a hard brown shell, and eventually it cracked and opened to reveal many black, flat and crinkly seeds about the size of a loonie (dollar coin here in Canada).

I turned to the internet for information about how to grow an amaryllis from seed, but all I could find was that they produce the plants in Florida, and it takes about four or five years from germination to flower stage. Wow, that long, I thought.

I was game to try for germination at least, curious what those flat black seeds would do. So I spread them out in a large-ish shallow pot, covered them with a fine layer of soil, and kept them well watered. Before long, the pot appeared to be growing fine grass.

That fall, I transplanted a dozen of the grassy plants into small pots and left them to grow in a sunny window through the winter. By the next spring, they looked like baby leeks, and I put a half dozen into four slightly larger pots and set them outside, bringing them indoors before first frost. The next summer, I kept only the three healthiest specimens. For three years, they spent their days in the sunny back yard or the south-facing kitchen window, depending on the season.

But last fall, as they were ending their fourth year, I cut the leaves from bulbs about the size of medium onions, shook the dirt from their roots, and put them in my basement cold room for a winter's nap with my original bulb, which has bloomed every year after its winter break. 

I promptly forgot about them all -- until after Easter!

The one that didn't bloom

In the middle of an episode of insomnia, I remembered! The next morning, I planted them in some good potting soil and set them out in our little greenhouse, where they put out some healthy looking leaves... and two of the three plants sent up a flower stalk! All that patience had paid off!

I gave one amaryllis to my sisters and one to my mom, and the flowers didn't disappoint! As Gaby said, they were "very beauty-full." Perhaps the third plant hadn't stored quite as much sunlight as the other two, as it hasn't blossomed. Maybe next year!

The lesson I am taking from this is that people are like amaryllises. We all grow at our own pace -- especially when it comes to discovering and accepting the truths of life. For some people, it takes much longer than others. 

In this season of uncovering many painful truths about Canada's colonial history and its myriad injustices against our Aboriginal Peoples, we need to be patient with one another, not to give up on each other. If we can bring each other along with gentleness, kindness, atonement, forgiveness, and healing, hopefully we can all bloom together into something very beauty-full.

Please pray with me for that, and let's all do what we can to further reconciliation...

Lent again, sigh

Remember the beginning of Lent last year? When we received ashes on our foreheads instead of having them sprinkled on the crown of our head like this year? Lent began, as it usually does, before the pandemic, and then it went on, and on, and on... as a friend said, The Longest Lent Ever!

In many ways, to me it feels like Lent never ended. In the past, I've spent my Lents fasting from certain things so as to appreciate their Creator more, and to remind myself to be more grateful for the many blessings in my life. But the pandemic means that the thing I value most, being close to family and friends, is replaced by staying away from them indefinitely. Even with the vaccine coming, it still feels like it's going to be a long wait.

So this year, I feel like a two-year-old ready to throw a tantrum. "What, You expect me to do another Forty Days, as if these 344 days of pandemic weren't enough? I don't wanna! Waaaaahhh!"

But then my sad little heart gets up off the floor and says, "Well, okay, Holy Spirit, I guess I can continue with your plan at this time. I can continue to fast from being with the people I love for the sake of the health and well-being of my community. I can spend a bit more time in prayer, fast from a few daily things that I know I've been taking for granted. I can creatively give the alms of my time, talent and treasure by reaching out to those who need the support I can offer from the abundance with which you have blessed me."

And I know that, in the giving of myself, my sad little heart focuses less on its losses and more on the joy it can bring to others. In not taking things for granted, I savour their goodness more. And in spending more time in prayer, my heart shifts from preoccupation with my petty concerns to a deep desire to rest in the heart of the Creator who sustains us all, and to follow the Holy Spirit's inspirations to do her and his will.

And in doing those things, my sad little heart becomes a joyful little heart set on serving others and making Lent worth living, even in pandemic times.

Sunday Reflection: A pandemic's gifts

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Job 7:1-4,6-7.

These days

it's easy to feel like Job,

that biblical character 

who lost everything.

We complain 

about how hard life is,

the long labours we face

until things are better.

We see the months of emptiness,

the blandness of our days

behind and ahead,

the nights of worry,

the misery all around us

(and especially,

in the news).

Honestly,

though we are body- and soul-weary,

more often than not

it's a relief 

when our nights

give way to morning.

It's like we are 

wishing our lives away

in feeling hopeless,

though we know life is short.

We forget

that

God surrounds us 

with good,

visible 

if only we lift our eyes.

Remind us,

You 

who made all that is,

that Creation

and our puny selves

are held 

in hands 

much gentler

than our own.

Help us 

to let go of our misery

and see you...

and to gentle our own hands

and hearts

to care

where care is needed most.

+Amen.

* * * * * * *

I don't know about you, but lately it feels like there's so much complaining going on that I want to stick my head under a pillow and stay there. 

Yes, all that we have lost because of this pandemic -- our connections, our freedom, our sense of security, our old ways of doing things, our very equilibrium -- is weighing us down, depressing us, shortening our tempers, and trying our patience, if we have any left.

So we might be able to relate to Job, who lost everything dear to him. Have we really lost everything dear to us? Really? I hope we can see that there is always something good that comes, even out of loss. I've been dealing with a rather serious loss for the past couple of years, and though it hurts, it holds gifts in its hands, too. In the end, Job came to understand just Who was in charge, and once he did, when he put his faith and trust in the right place, things dramatically improved for him. As they have for me. Life is about learning to let go.

We don't know when the pandemic will end, but we have to believe that we also will see things improve if we have the patience of Job, and put our faith and trust in the right place. Freaking out about the things we can't control (vaccine shortages, for example) only makes life more miserable. Focusing on "months of emptiness and nights of misery" (Job 7: 4) only dims the light of goodness around us.

Last night, I participated in an online gathering with a dozen girlfriends from High School who hadn't met since a party at my house in 2015. We shared about the things that have changed in our lives and how we are coping with this strange time we are in. With educators, moms, health care professionals, caregivers, an engineer, a librarian and a chef in our group, it was an interesting evening... one that filled me with hope. Though we all face different challenging circumstances, we celebrated our long term friendships and the recent marriage of one of our group, and we listened to and cared for each other even though we were scattered around five cities in two provinces. As one friend laughed through her tears, "Thanks for the therapy," I suspect we all felt the value of our connection. It was better than therapy in my books (and I know therapy)!

It reminded me that when we reach out to each other and find common ground, hope rises from our brokenness and brings us light to move us forward. Even though this pandemic causes a lot of pain, it has the power to remind us of the goodness in you and me.

In the week ahead, I invite you to connect with a friend you've lost touch with. Perhaps that reconnection can be one of the pandemic's gifts for you.

Let all families be holy

I hate it when I end up crying through Sunday morning mass, and lately, it happens more often than I like. You see, God and I have what I would call a wonderful relationship. In fact, I can't get along without God. It's just that some of the people who speak for God make me cry, and that's painful, period.

Today, the last Sunday of the year, is the Feast of the Holy Family. Really, it's a liturgy that is all about love. We heard about love, respect, and honour among family members in scripture from the Book of Sirach. Paul's beautiful letter to the Colossians (3:12-21) reminded us to clothe ourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience, to bear with one another, to forgive each other and to love. And then we heard about loving parents Mary and Joseph taking their infant son to the temple at the beginning of his faith journey. All beautiful and inspirational words!

It was the first few lines of the homily that set me off. Family values are under attack, we were told, by gay marriage and transgender activism. And the tears began to roll down my cheeks. I grew up in a Catholicism that brainwashed me against homosexuality, even as several of my Catholic friends who were gay or lesbian struggled with depression and self-loathing because our Christian culture labelled them as "disordered." It seemed to be a direct contradiction to the adage, "God does not make junk." As a young performer in a travelling show, I became friends with peers of many different backgrounds, cultures, and sexual orientations, and my friendships forced me to question the anti-queer mindset I grew up with because of my faith.

In the years since, I have realized that God loves queer people every bit as much as God loves me. Otherwise, why would God have blessed them with their different orientations? They are oriented differently not to spite the world, but because they have to be true to who they are, just as I do. And judging them helps no one.

In the last few years, I have witnessed the love and marriages of many queer friends who are being true to who God made them to be. And for the life of me, I can't see how Greg and Roy's marriage undermines anything. Karly and Inge and their two sons are as loving a family as mine. Their marriage is more loving, balanced and blessed than any of my heterosexual divorced friends' marriages ever were. And my neighbours, Leo and Markus*, are excitedly planning their wedding for September with every bit as much joy and anticipation as Lee and I did. They are a loving couple who deserve to be together for life, heart and soul. We need to remember that many marriages are about a loving unity that doesn't include procreation.

Love is love. And God is love. And since nobody I know can actually tell us the exact thoughts of this God who is love, and who clearly creates so many different forms of love, how can we speak against these other kinds of love, sexuality or gender simply because our experience is different? God is in Leo and Markus' relationship too, I'm convinced! It's full of goodness, truth and beauty,

I wish our homilist this morning had simply focused on the holy family as a model of love, and talked more about the beautiful qualities mentioned in the readings and how they feed our souls. I suspect I'm not the only person who needs to hear how every family that does its best to love one another is a holy family, even through our struggles. Perfection isn't possible, but love is, and families with trans-gendered or otherwise queer members don't need to be judged as somehow undermining family values, especially when we are all doing our best to love and support one another just as Jesus, Mary and Joseph did. God made us all holy!

God of love,
Thank you for the billions of love stories
that brought us into being,
that surround us,
sometimes challenge us,
and always sustain us.

Open our hearts to your love in its many forms.

Help us to act always
with love,
respect,
and honour
toward all members of our human family.

Clothe us
with compassion,
kindness,
humility,
meekness
and patience,
to bear with one another,
to forgive each other
and to love everyone who crosses our path.

Bless those families who struggle,
and help us to reach out to those in need
just as you reach out for us.

Bless us in this new year of 2018,
and let all families be holy
by our sharing in your love.

+Amen.

*I have used pseudonyms in place of my queer friends' names. 

All we need is radical love

After listening to the reading of the Gospel (Matthew 5:38-48) this morning, my mind went off on its own homily. I couldn't help but reflect on how Christianity is failing. And I think the reason for its failure is that too many of its churches have turned into tribal councils or morality police more concerned with ensuring that their "own flocks" follow the rules than with how we need to work together for the common good of all.

Of course, it's not Christ's fault, he who said that we need to live non-violently, go the extra mile for our sisters and brothers on the margins, love our enemies, be perfect as God is perfect and a few dozen other basic things that we seem to have forgotten in our relatively comfy, privileged pews. It's a rough, raw, radical love that Jesus expects of us, one that takes a hit without hitting back and still moves forward in humility, generosity, patience and compassion. It's how he lived -- his kind of radical love reaches through the centuries -- otherwise we never even would have heard of a small town preacher and healer from a backwater town in the middle East.

The word radical comes from the Latin word for root. Radical love roots our lives in the important things in life so that we can ignore the inconsequential ones and live simply, out of love. The only way our world will survive is if we return to radical love for our planet, for others, for creation, and for ourselves. We need to work for the common good, to turn the other cheek, to give our life energies to goodness, to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us and do all the other radical things that Jesus himself chose to do right to the end.

A tall order. But we're seeing far too much radical hatred these days, and it's clearly not the way our world needs to go.

What acts of radical love will you engage in this week? They don't have to be anything heroic, just rooted in love.

Patience and love

At work at the L'Arche offices this morning, Sandy, one of our members with a disability, came into my office. Sometimes she comes in while I'm in the middle of something important and starts fiddling with the books on the shelf or the boxes of brochures. She likes to help, so when I don't have shredding for her to do, she often "makes" her own work. Unfortunately, she doesn't know the kind of assistance that's helpful. Today, by the time I freed my brain from the document I was typing, Sandy had a handful of fundraising envelopes that she was spreading across a table. "How you?" she asked, when she realized that I was watching her.

It's easy to get impatient when work is interrupted, but at L'Arche we do our best to see the interruptions as part of the job. "I'm fine," I said, as I got up from my desk, gently took the envelopes from Sandy and put them back on the shelf where she had found them. Instead of shooing Sandy back downstairs as I often do, I took her hand and said, "Would you like to help me go find something in the community room?"

" 'Kay," she said. As we walked down the stairs holding hands, she counted the steps from one to nine, and echoed me as I counted the remainder. We soon reached the door of the Day Program where Sandy and the other core members engage in all sorts of activities. The sounds of drumming and singing emanated from the room, and Sandy suddenly remembered where she was supposed to be. "Bye," she said, and left me standing in the hallway. She loves music; I had to finish my errand alone.

About an hour later, I was engrossed in my work on the computer screen again, and didn't really notice Sandy slip into my office until she put an arm around me, kissed me on the top of the head, and said in her soft, squeaky voice, "I love you, Reea."

"I love you, too," I said, as she disappeared again. I guess tolerance of Sandy's little interruptions reap small rewards. She never told me she loved me until today.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Debbie!

It's not about speed

At my work at L'Arche, one of my responsibilities is shredding confidential documents for our community leader. It's a somewhat tedious task, unless I ask for help. Then I'm never quite sure what will happen.

The first time I asked one of our core members for assistance, "Thomas" was more than willing. The Community Leader and I invited him into her office, where I was supposed to be doing some filing while she went elsewhere to take a conference call. Not too surprisingly, I didn't get any filing done. Instead I spent the afternoon affirming what excellent work Thomas was doing, occasionally unjamming the shredder, and answering the same questions many times over. In the end, Thomas left the office quite pleased with himself, and I enjoyed my time with him even though I accomplished next to nothing. His happiness was worth it. When I commented to my boss that I hadn't finished the filing, she laughed and said, "Welcome to L'Arche, Maria."

When I arrived at work last Friday afternoon solely to get in an hour of shredding, I learned that "Sandy" had spent part of the morning helping the Office Administrator with hers. I asked Sandy if she wanted to help me during the afternoon. "Yes," was her immediate response, and she took my hand and led me upstairs to the offices, not letting go for a minute. I told her she could sit in the "community leader's chair," since my boss was away at the time, and I moved the shredder into her office, where my pile of shredding was waiting.

What I didn't realize was that Sandy would gather and bring everyone else's shredding with her, but no matter. The two of us got to it. At first it was very slow going, as she fed one or two papers at a time into the machine. Aware that I only had an hour and a half to finish the job, I decided to see if I could speed up the process by handing over a dozen or so pages at a time. It worked; my friend shredded them without comment, then reached for the next bundle.

We went on like that for about a half hour, making great progress... until the shredder quit, the little status window shouting, OVERHEATED. PLEASE WAIT. We hadn't even touched my fairly significant pile of shredding yet.

Sandy looked at me for a moment, then said, "Paper, please." I handed her some of the paper we were intending to shred, and using the blank sides, she began to write her name and the names of her family in large print, one name per page, and put it into her "outbox." She was taking her position as "community leader" very seriously, doing very important work, making the most of her time while we waited for the shredder to say READY.

I, on the other hand, had nothing else planned since I'd already done the week's filing, so I waited, watching my friend, her unhurried work making me wonder. Sandy, who does everything at pretty much the same pace, wasn't fazed by the overheated shredder, but I was feeling impatient and somewhat frustrated because I realized there was no way the job was going to be done before it was time for me to move on. Until I got involved, Sandy would have been content to shred two pieces of paper at a time, but I pushed paper more quickly, and probably pushed the shredder to its limit much sooner than Sandy would have. Besides that, I couldn't help but have the sense that, had we raced through the rest of the shredding at my pace, she would have been disappointed to finish early. For her, life is not about speed.

But for so many of us, it is. We complete one job and race to the next without taking any pleasure in a job well done, or in anything, for that matter.

As someone who wants to live simply, more appreciatively, and with less stress, I could take a few pages from Sandy. And not just literally.