Everyday Holiness - Carolyn Humphreys

Скачать книгу

hear no other thing,

      ’Til out of grey curtained distance,

      a bluebird and chickadee sing!

      ~Carmel of Terre Haute

      Joan was asked by a sister friend to visit a woman named Isabelle who was in a psychiatric hospital. She was without family or friends. Hospital policy permitted only family visits, but the charge nurse let Joan visit one time for ten minutes. Isabelle’s eyes showed great sadness and desolation. As Joan prepared to leave she quietly told Isabelle that she was special and much loved by God. Afterward, Joan wrote regular encouraging notes to Isabelle. They were short uplifting words about how Jesus loves her or biblical verses of support. Joan also prayed for Isabelle. A year later, there was a knock at Joan’s front door. She opened the door but did not recognize the woman. It was the patient she had visited in the psychiatric hospital. This time her eyes showed peace and happiness. Isabelle thanked Joan for her visit and notes. She saved all of them, and let Joan know how her support helped her get out of the hospital. Isabelle read the notes over and over because they gave her hope when she had no hope.

      Hope opens up human hearts. Like curtains slowly parting to admit a winter dawn into a home, hope allows beams of light to make their way into the hearts of humankind. Even when standing in cold darkness, hope reveals a verdant landscape beyond our present desolation. Hope lifts thoughts out of the dark valley toward the inner flame of light. We look forward and move forward to that which gives us a reason to live. Hope brings beauty to a repugnant environment and sustains sanity during intolerable times. Viktor Frankl, in his classic book Man’s Search for Meaning, which was based on his experience in Nazi concentration camps, shows how most people who hold on to the hope of achieving something positive can survive the worst of human conditions. To believe that something good will be fulfilled is a strong incentive for life. Indeed, living in hope is healthier than living in fear. To share darkness with God will help change things for the better. The less people rely on their own strength, the more they depend on grace from the Holy Spirit. Moments alone with him in the dark storms of life are significant benchmarks in our growth. Dark nights will pass. Even though a person may think he is alone, he knows God does not leave him. God is within, mysteriously, ambiguously, elusively, and beyond comprehension. God cannot be harnessed, but a person can increasingly surrender to him. We trust him in the darkness. Mysteries from the dark surprise us: We become content in a simple lifestyle, love God more for himself than for the gifts he gives and learn more about our faith. Indeed, hope keeps the wolves of discouragement, loneliness or abandonment from howling at the door.

      “Dark and cold we may be, but this is no winter now. The frozen misery of centuries breaks, cracks, begins to move. The thunder is the thunder of the floes, the thaw, the flood, the upstart spring. Thank God our time is now when wrong comes up to face us everywhere, never to leave us till we take the longest stride of soul men ever took. Affairs are now soul size, the enterprise is exploration into God” (Christopher Fry).

      New Spring

      “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye” (Antoine de Saint Exupery).

      Something spring like remains with me in these weeks following heart surgery, something that suggests the kind of person I wish to be for the rest of my life. An incident in these first weeks has become a symbol of the tiny shoot pushing from old soil. When I left intensive care, my nurse gave me a little pillow made by hospital volunteers. She apologized, however, because mine, unlike “adult” pillows, was covered with figures of a little bear looking at a flower. He wore a yellow shirt, short red pants, and a smart blue hat with a yellow visor. At the time, I felt only the softness of the pillow against my chest. A few days later, the little fellow became my companion.

      I was much like a child in the hospital. I did not try to impress anyone with my bravery. Being defenseless, exposed, and dependent, I held the little pillow close to my chest or face, not caring what anyone thought. I experienced, however fleeting, the susceptible attitude and posture that is all too quickly forgotten in the defensive adult world. With my little pillow, I remained a child, mostly helpless, full of wondering and tears, which I welcomed as lost companions. I expected I would graduate from the pillow, but I notice even now that I know exactly where it is at any time. If I wish to take a nap, it is all I need to put me to sleep. Last year when I saw many in Oklahoma City hugging teddy bears at the barricades or in the televised memorial service, I knew in my head what they were doing. Now I understand with my heart.

      The other day in cardiac rehabilitation I was pumping away on an exercise bike when an older man entered the room to inquire about the program. He was accompanied by his wife and another woman, perhaps his daughter. Dressed in dark clothes, he wore an indifferent look on his face, blank, hidden. My first reaction was to turn away. Then I noticed that he was clutching one of the little pillows. The way he clung to the pillow betrayed the indifference and detachment on his face. Immediately I felt my pain and his and how much we both were in need of consolation and reassurance. I wanted to get off my bike, go over to him, and tell him that his pain and fear were going to work out ultimately. I looked at him, loved him, but for the same reasons that he came into the room wearing an emotionless look, I kept on pedaling. Many times since then I have thought about both of us and what keeps us and the world apart. I think about my distance from others, and I remember the little pillows we all clutch.

      If only we could see the hidden pillows being carried by those we pass on the street, persons whose controlled faces give no hint of vulnerability, yet who filled with fear, clutch at the pain inside them and wonder about their lonely lives. If only we would overcome decorum, self protective habit and security, and get off our machines to hold them.

      Our Life, Our Sweetness, and Our Hope

      As she lived her life as a wife and mother, Mary is our exemplar of the highest hope and complete trust in God. She walked in faith and in mystery, but maintained a deep peace. She came and went quietly, her house was undistinguished among the others in her village. She tended the fire, scoured the earthenware vessels, trimmed the lamps, cooked and sewed. The secret of her hope was that her daily mundane tasks were accomplished with great love and confidence in God’s plan for her. In the evenings, we can imagine her holding Jesus close to her heart, still pondering, and perhaps softly singing a lullaby as Joseph quietly whittles a wooden toy for him.

      Hope was Mary’s stronghold. She held onto it in times of great concern, and there were many. After giving birth to Jesus, she traveled in haste to Egypt. While on another journey, she lost her son. Like most women of her time, she worked from dawn to dusk. She was a widow at an early age with a teenage son. She watched helplessly as Jesus was cursed and spit upon, and stayed with him during his agony and death. Mary lived with a vision of hope rooted in faith. Hope drew her beyond herself, her fears and her worries. God was the tower of strength to whom she clung no matter what happened. She kept moving forward even though she did not understand what was happening. She lived the will of God perfectly, and urges us to do the same. The will of God is our sanctification. Therese of Lisieux, who gave us the little way to Jesus, makes this more accessible: “I hope in him who is virtue and sanctity itself. He alone, content with my frail efforts, will lift me up to himself, clothe me with his own merits and make me a saint.”

      We are here to spread love and hope as Mary did. Mary was concerned about others. The bride and groom at Cana ran out of wine and quietly, without drawing attention to herself, Mary did something about it. To see with the eyes of Mary is to see the needs of others in our home, church and community, and to address them in quiet, loving ways. As Mary is the woman of hope, so we must try to be signs of hope to others. A kind deed, positive word or gentle smile can spark hope in the heart. Mary is our strength as we help

Скачать книгу