#3 Sharing a Tattered World
Her world is in tatters. Her loved ones are threatened. By some miracle she finds herself relatively whole. So she has this day to work and love and knit together the fabric of her world as best she can.
I had in my heart a particular grandmother who lived not far from me and had been in the news. Some of her children had been lost to drugs. One had been killed, another accused in a killing. In a neighborhood ravaged by crime, she was now raising a granddaughter, trying against all odds to keep her safe. She seemed the only whole person in the picture. How could she keep going amidst such violence and despair? And how could she and I ever have anything in common?
I’ve had difficulty knowing how to deal with the ease of my life. How can it be that I’ve been spared so many difficulties that others face day in and day out--war, poverty, the heavy hand of injustice? I did not choose that ease, and it seems to disconnect me, distance me from so much of the rest of the world. I would not choose war, poverty or injustice either, but I grieve for those who carry such a heavy burden, and know how untested my strength and courage have been.
It came to me in sudden clarity that, despite all this, we were just the same. That grandmother’s world was in tatters. My world was in tatters. Not my immediate life, my family and neighborhood, but my larger life. My city was poor, my schools struggling. My country that I loved promoted grave injustice. Brothers and sisters in other countries lived in terrible need. Some of them did unspeakable things to each other. Our common environment unraveled.
By some miracle, amidst the wreckage of her world this grandmother is still standing, still able to think and work and love. It is the same with me. I have done nothing to deserve it, yet I too find myself standing, relatively whole.
Of course I could choose to tell the story another way. I could define my world smaller-- small enough to include only those who live in ease. I could wall out everything else as something alien, not part of me. There would be comfort, of a sort, in feeling no connection to poverty, injustice, war, no connection to this grandmother.
But I find the other story more profoundly reassuring. True, it means knowing things about the world that are pleasanter not to know, and claiming them as part of my life. It means stretching to find ways to love beyond my little circle of family and friends. It means working to mend the torn spots that I can reach. But it leaves me part of the whole.
In the details, my daily tasks and challenges might be very different from those of that grandmother, or of any other survivor. Nor can I pretend that a history of racial and economic injustice doesn’t weigh heavily on us all and hinder our ability to find our way to each other. But in the larger sense, we are just the same. Our world is in tatters. Our loved ones are threatened. By some miracle we find ourselves standing. So we have this day to work and love and knit together the fabric of our world as best we can.
Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, 10/02
I had in my heart a particular grandmother who lived not far from me and had been in the news. Some of her children had been lost to drugs. One had been killed, another accused in a killing. In a neighborhood ravaged by crime, she was now raising a granddaughter, trying against all odds to keep her safe. She seemed the only whole person in the picture. How could she keep going amidst such violence and despair? And how could she and I ever have anything in common?
I’ve had difficulty knowing how to deal with the ease of my life. How can it be that I’ve been spared so many difficulties that others face day in and day out--war, poverty, the heavy hand of injustice? I did not choose that ease, and it seems to disconnect me, distance me from so much of the rest of the world. I would not choose war, poverty or injustice either, but I grieve for those who carry such a heavy burden, and know how untested my strength and courage have been.
It came to me in sudden clarity that, despite all this, we were just the same. That grandmother’s world was in tatters. My world was in tatters. Not my immediate life, my family and neighborhood, but my larger life. My city was poor, my schools struggling. My country that I loved promoted grave injustice. Brothers and sisters in other countries lived in terrible need. Some of them did unspeakable things to each other. Our common environment unraveled.
By some miracle, amidst the wreckage of her world this grandmother is still standing, still able to think and work and love. It is the same with me. I have done nothing to deserve it, yet I too find myself standing, relatively whole.
Of course I could choose to tell the story another way. I could define my world smaller-- small enough to include only those who live in ease. I could wall out everything else as something alien, not part of me. There would be comfort, of a sort, in feeling no connection to poverty, injustice, war, no connection to this grandmother.
But I find the other story more profoundly reassuring. True, it means knowing things about the world that are pleasanter not to know, and claiming them as part of my life. It means stretching to find ways to love beyond my little circle of family and friends. It means working to mend the torn spots that I can reach. But it leaves me part of the whole.
In the details, my daily tasks and challenges might be very different from those of that grandmother, or of any other survivor. Nor can I pretend that a history of racial and economic injustice doesn’t weigh heavily on us all and hinder our ability to find our way to each other. But in the larger sense, we are just the same. Our world is in tatters. Our loved ones are threatened. By some miracle we find ourselves standing. So we have this day to work and love and knit together the fabric of our world as best we can.
Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, 10/02
posted by Pamela Haines | 3:06 PM
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