My teacher sent me out to "get a message from a being" and I am pretty sure she meant something like a message from a deer, or a twisted tree trunk, or the one-armed Jesus, but I was tired, so I marched right upstairs to a person -- someone who could tell me the truth with words not metaphor -- I found the nun in charge of art therapy and asked her of she would help me heal a chronic blister I have on my heart. She said, yes. It was just that easy.
I thought, ah, the message must be that line from church bible school we all learn when we are eight: Ask and it shall be given, seek and ye shall find, knock and the door will be opened.
I was done. Fifteen minutes into my assignment, I had had success.
So, I walked outside and sat down next to another nun, Sister Evelyn, warming herself in the sun. She had on a pressed gray dress that smelled a bit like a closet, red knee socks and very white white sneakers. Her purse was a "Hello Kitty" bag. I adored her instantly. We talked about writing and reading, what each of us meant by the word "Lord," and we sat, at times, in a simple trusting silence. When we rose, she said, "Now that we know each other, we should pray for each other every day." I thought -- ah ha! -- another message for free. This: we need to carry the people we meet with a lovingkindness. This assignment was a piece of cake.
I took a walk through the high grass trail I had ventured on the day before, and then I wandered down to a lower path -- an old decayed path -- to the grotto that had been vandalized in the late 60's. I crawled over felled trees and hunks of broken brick walls. I thought I might end up at the Rocky River, but I found myself at the bottom of a steep dirt and shale hill. Shit.
I could walk back on the buggy swampy path I had just traveled, or maybe wind back and forth on the hill, easing the incline. Or, well, I could go straight up, take the shortest distance between where I was and where I needed to go. I climbed the hill.
And my knees did not ache, my heart did not explode. My lungs kept working. I did not topple when I thought I might. I found foot and hand holds along the way.
It was amazing. And my third message of the afternoon.
When I emerged from the top of the hill and wandered through the high grass, I walked a cindered path by the nun's garden. There, on a bench, was a woman reading a book. As in custom at River's Edge, I greeted her. This is our conversation, word for word:
Me: Hi. How are you?
Her: Good, I'm JoAnne. You?
Me: Jean. Guess what? I just climbed the hill (I was pointing back to the north)
JoAnne: (With a the slurred voice of a woman who had had a stroke) You did! I only climbed that hill once. The kids used to do it all of the time! But I waited until I was in my late 3o's to try.
Me: I just went up, but I have not climbed a hill like that in years.
JoAnne: Well, what is the message in that then?
I gulped, not believing that this woman asked me to discern a message, just what my teacher had wanted me to receive. Then I said: My heart can take more than I thought it could. What do you think the message might be?
JoAnne: What you said must be true if you said it.
I felt like I was talking to a prophet. A saint. A one armed Jesus, again. Another one-armed Jesus.
Me: You look like my mom did.
JoAnne: I am not old enough to be your mother.
Me: No, you look like my mother looked at a younger age -- in her 50's. How old are you?
JoAnne: Next month, I will turn 61. How old are you?
Me: 48
Her bright blue eyes widened and she sat up to get closer to me. And said: I must tell you something. In Judaic lore, every 7th year is a sabbatical year. And the 7th seven is very important. You must relax, rest, gather strength. Clear up your debts, and, you must set your slaves free.
I instantly welled up. I must set my slaves free.
My ties to a love now gone. My ties to love failed. To love taken for granted. The life spent trying to fit in. The life spent trying to get more love from people not able to do so. I must release my mother. My father. My brother. I must release my fear of not-knowing. My need to always know. I must unchain self incrimination and self doubt. I must set free the people I refuse to release. All of them. Every single one. Including the me that is no longer serving my highest good.
She continued: Then when you are 50 you get to celebrate all year long. Every day of the year.
We both laughed and clapped about that. A whole year of happiness.
I reached down to hug her. I told her that my teacher had sent me out to get a message from a being, and she was the person who delivered the truth I needed most to me. I thought it was Carrie Vall, the art therapist. Then I thought it was sweet tiny Sister Evelyn, who is, I am sure, praying for me this very day. I thought it might be the hill. But what it was -- the message for me -- was JoAnne. JoAnne telling me to set my slaves free.
This one conversation, with a woman I met once for a very short time on a very hot day, on a path I just happened to wander when she just happened to be there -- all of that a perfect coincidence -- is one that will stick to me and change me, forever. And it made me realize how the mystery is so willing, every day through every kind of saint, to reveal itself. It's just so very willing to make its grace known.
No comments:
Post a Comment