#68 Three Gifts

There have been some unyielding challenges in my volunteer/work life
recently that have left me feeling more discouraged than usual, trying my
hardest but battered by circumstances beyond my control. So I’ve been
hungry for more hopeful and sustaining perspectives. One, I note with some
surprise, comes from a column I wrote many years ago. My point of view is a
little different now, but it’s been on my mind enough that I want to share
parts of it again. And I’ve received three wonderful and totally unexpected
gifts in the past week that remind me of what is tangibly and immediately
hopeful about this world.


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? I did not choose that ease. 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.

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.



THREE GIFTS

1. I was walking to my vegetable plot in the community garden a few blocks
away, intent on a quick errand, when I paused at a little barbeque grill set
out on someone’s front step (surprising, since people usually barbeque in
back). The woman tending it asked if I wanted a hot dog. Hungry, I
stopped, reaching into my pocket to see if there was any money. “No”, she
said. “They’re free.” Really?! She insisted that they were a gift, and
delighted, I chose to accept. Who would turn down an angel, or cheapen her
offering with money? I told her that the big flower bed in front of the
community garden was my gift to the neighbors, and went on my way, eating
the hot dog. When I finished my errand, I took a few minutes to pick some
flowers from the garden—-a lovely little spiky collection of pink, purple
and blue. I was excited to offer her something in return, and she showed the
same shock of surprise and delight that I had felt receiving her gift. I
went home warmed from the inside out, reminded of what a blessing it is to
give and to receive.


2. I’d been up early, worrying when I should have been sleeping, and was
hurrying to fit in this one last errand to the post office after a long day
at work. There was a package to collect. As I gave the little slip to the
woman at the counter and reached for my drivers license to show her my ID,
she said, “You don’t need to do that. I know your face.” Really?! I’ve
been to this post office many times over the years, and have often been
treated well, but the lines are usually long and it’s not my favorite place,
and I have to say (with considerable embarrassment at this point) that I
don’t know the people who work there. But this woman knows me. I’m part of
her community even though I have been inattentive. It’s another unexpected
gift. I feel seen, and deeply reassured.


3. I download my e-mail—-always with mixed feelings because of the deluge
of messages that will be released—-and start the work of dealing with it.
Then a name jumps out. Castine. One of the young men in northern
Uganda—-the one with the sweetest face and the hardest questions. It has
been two months since I’d written him, throwing a line of love across the
ocean. And things have not been going well there. I open it up, eager but
braced for disappointment. There is none. He had been in the countryside
with his grandmother, light years from a computer. He is glad to be in
touch, thankful for the skills we offered that he is now using to help
others, struggling economically as always, but looking toward the future
with hope. I smile, resting in his goodness and in this simple human
connection—-the heart of what makes life worth living.