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.

Sandy's Christmas Pageant

My friend Sandy* doesn't see very well. Her hearing isn't great either. But you should have heard Sandy sing last night!

At the L'Arche Christmas Pageant, Sandy joined the choir. It was a good place for her to be as she's not very steady on her feet on a darkened stage. She held onto my daughter, Christina, or Christina's friend, Jessamy, and sang her heart out. Sandy definitely knows the melodies of all those Christmas carols although her lyrics lack most consonants. Of course, her enthusiasm more than makes up for everything else!

I'm not far wrong if I say that a lot of the smiles on the choir's faces last night were due to Sandy. Every time we started to sing, she threatened to drown us out with an incredible surge of volume, but then would settle down and blend in -- a little. When 17 different language groups came up to sing Silent Night, Sandy sang her AHHHs in the background, and loudly cheered and hooted as each group concluded, like you would at a rock concert. Though it made us chuckle, it seemed right somehow -- we were building up to the crescendo of Joy to the World and Go Tell it on the Mountain, and it all worked together for the glory of God.

For me, and for many other people I spoke with during post-pageant refreshments last night, Christmas begins at the L'Arche Edmonton Christmas Pageant. Its joy and exultation is like nothing else. By the end, some of the kids in the crowd were literally bouncing off the furniture -- which, if you think about it, is the only appropriate response to God's coming to be with us!

If you missed it, there's always next year!

*I use pseudonyms for the names of my L'Arche friends.

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!