But I'm not going to write about this weekend's monumental suckishness. It would just open up doors I prefer to keep closed at the moment. So you will just have to be satisfied with four little letters. S. U. C. K.
On a weekend that celebrates independence, I'm struck by how almost every saint or blessed I read about is sort of revolutionary. Most saints are famous for going against the status quo, fighting emperors and kings, giving family fortunes away to care for the poor and sick, becoming monks and nuns instead of husbands and wives. In contemporary society, being a Christian has become synonymous with being close-minded, uptight, old-fashioned, and judgemental. In short, Republican. I don't know how this happened. Most of the Christians I admire are fearless crusaders for wiping out poverty. They care for lepers and educate children from slums and ghettos. My idea of a true Christian is more Mother Teresa than Sarah Palin.
Take the two blesseds for today. Ralph Milner was an old farmer in Hampshire, England, when he converted to Catholicism. He was thrown into prison the day he made his first communion. Roger Dickinson was a priest whose mission was to evangelize England, which was pretty risky in the sixteenth century. It could provide for some pretty sucky experiences, and I know suck. When Ralph was eventually paroled, he gathered money, food, and supplies for other prisoners, and he also helped missionaries like Roger in their attempts to care for and preach to the people of the English countryside. Eventually, both men were arrested and executed for their labors. They were killed for trying to spread compassion and love, for making the world a better place. Doesn't sound very uptight, close-minded, or conservative to me. Take note. Rush Limbaugh had to hire Elton John to make his most recent wedding fun. My point: even Republicans realize being Republican is a drag.
Being Christian means giving a voice to the voiceless. Being a friend to the friendless. A father to the fatherless. A sister to the sisterless. A brother to the brotherless. A mother to the motherless.
Which brings me to the one bright moment in my weekend of suck. On Monday, July 5, I spent a good portion of the day with K, a friend from Washington state. She was home visiting with her two daughters. K's younger daughter is a pixie, full of innocent mischief and heart. K's older daughter, who is eight, suffers from Williams syndrome, a genetic disorder that can result in an array of developmental problems. K's daughter is loving and beautiful, but she is prone to what my friend calls "meltdowns." Her daughter has difficulties in speech and learning; she also has characteristics of autism. K has her hands full.
On top of all that, K was just diagnosed with MS this past November. She has to take shots that cost $4000 a month. On the salary of a Headstart teacher.
K is one of the calmest, most giving people I know. She's waif-thin, looks like a person who lives on granola and yogurt, which she probably does. When her older daughter becomes agitated, K speaks to her quietly, takes her hand if possible. K has been injured caring for her daughter. On Monday, we went to the shore of Lake Superior to wade. Her older daughter got upset and inadvertently head-butted K in the nose. "I've had a bruise there before," K said.
I know K doesn't see herself as a hero or somebody to admire. The very idea would probably send her into a spasm of "No, no .... I don't think so .... You're my hero .... You're the strong one ...." Anything to deflect the attention from herself.
K is a revolutionary for love. When I'm around her, I want to be a better person. When I'm around her, I am a better person. She makes me see light in the darkness. I watched her look at her older daughter with such affection, this daughter that bruises and batters her sometimes. It's the way, I imagine, God looks at us, His children. The tired. Poor. Huddled. Homeless. The wretched refuse who break His heart daily, hourly, minute-by-minute, second-by-second.
K reminds me what love is supposed to be. Unconditional.
I am sorry your weekend was not what you desired. I am so jealous that you have spent time with K and L. I am crying at the thought of being able to be there with the both of you. I miss our endless conversation even when they were about nothing.
ReplyDeleteI could not agree with you more about K. She inspires me to be a patient person, and a more loving mother.
I miss you both terribly.
Jo