January 14 Simple Notion of Calm, Humanity, Fed-Up

...[Dominguez]'d call Ives Eduardo, never Edward, and would sit at lunchtime writing out certain words in Spanish, alongside their English counterparts, on a pad of paper.  In his foundling's loneliness Ives tended to associate such simple kindnesses not with foreign lands, not with bent-over white-haired men with exhausted eyes and filthy lead-blackened fingers, but with a simple notion of calm and, perhaps, love.

This book is full of notions of calmness and love.  There really isn't a "bad" character in the entire novel.  There are flawed characters who do horrible things.  They cheat on their wives.  Murder choir boys on church steps. Beat their children.  But there is also redemption and forgiveness.  That's why I love Mr. Ives' Christmas.  Nobody is completely good, and nobody is completely evil.  Everyone is human.

I like to think I'm a good person.  I love my kids and wife.  I work hard.  I go to church on Saturday nights and Sunday mornings.  I pray all the time.  Yet, I also struggle with emotions like anger, jealousy, lust, and envy.  I covet people's cars and clothes and money.  I envy people's jobs and careers.  I judge people's talents and good fortunes.  Somebody wins some kind of literary award or title, and I immediately think, "Well, sure.  He's an asshole." 

I try to be kind and understanding.  I try to do and say the right things always.  But I'm human.  And, tonight, I'm tired and crabby and a little overwhelmed.  I don't feel like being a good person.  I don't feel like thinking of other people's needs first.  I feel like being selfish.  I wonder if Mother Teresa ever wanted to just lock her bedroom door and ignore the world for a little while.  Even Jesus Christ had to sneak off by himself every once in a while to get away from his needy disciples. 

It feels like nobody understands my need to be not-nice sometimes.  To say "no" when asked to do a favor.  Because I'm supposed to be positive and happy all the time.  Tonight, I'm a little empty of the milk of human kindness.  I've used it up.  My well is dry. And, because I'm not feeling generous or understanding, my wife if angry at me.  My humanity is on full display tonight, and it isn't pretty.

Saint Marty isn't a saint tonight.  He's exhausted and a little fed-up with the world.

Jesus being a little human