Give the Best you Have

Being

"We are so obsessed with doing that we have no time and no imagination left for being. As a result, men are valued not for what they are but for what they do or what they have - for their usefulness." ~Thomas Merton

Mom and I circa 1993

One of my mother's laments is over her loss of a sense of usefulness. All her adult life, she has worked, first at home raising seven children, and when my parents divorced, she spent long hours working, sometimes two jobs, to put food on the table and a roof over our heads. In her later years, she worked to provide for her own living expenses (as best she could). She helped others by opening her home to various children and grand-children as they needed a temporary place to land. After she retired, she moved back to our hometown and obtained part-time work to keep busy. Eventually, the position was discontinued, and with her declining cognitive abilities, it became difficult for her to consider another job, although she still mentions finding work so that she can feel more productive.


Her days have dwindled to washing her own clothes, putting dishes away in the cupboard (although this is also becoming difficult for her), taking out the trash, and tiddying up her living space. She has no interest to organize or engage in any sort of hobby. She spent so many years working a job, that she didn't develop any, and even if she had, I'm not sure at this point she'd be able to manage them. She did enjoy reading, but that also has become difficult, not only because of failing eyesight (macular degeneration), but also because of her decreasing ability to follow a storyline. It's difficult for her to remember what she read on the previous page.


Unfortunately, visiting with others, friends and relatives, has created more agitation instead of relieving it. Her perception is that others are visiting to "check her out, critiquing her" to see if she is crazy. She thinks I set these visits up so that I can get their critique in order to put her away. Nothing could be further from the truth, but that is her perception and she knows what she knows. She still needs the visits, even if they disturb her. 

Her interests now are watching her movies, eating out, and going for rides. Riding in the car, seems to calm the periods of agitation that creep up on her.

Mom 2010

I've been thinking a lot about "being" in comparison to "doing," as I watch mom's abilities decline and also as my ability to ease her distress is limited. Mom is not unique in feeling that it is what you "do" or "what you have" that matters, not who you are. It is not only prevalent in society at large, but also in how we view "ministry." I remember a conversation with a fellow Catholic who just couldn't quite render equivalency to the ministry of contemplatives (those that live in cloistered religious orders and spend the majority of their time praying) and those out in the world actively involved in ministry of some sort, relieving the sick, ministering to the poor, evangelizing those that are considered outside God's will.


A high premium is placed on that which can be seen, rather than the unseen, that which can be measured, counted, and visualized as successful. It makes us "feel" of worth, a sense of accomplishment. This is not to say there isn't a need for actively engaging society in order to minister. Jesus warned in the coming judgment that the shepherd will divide the sheep to the right and the goats to the left according to whether or not they ministered to Him. "I was hungry and  you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me." (Mt 25:34-37) Those that inherit the kingdom are those the King recognizes, those that ministered unto "the least of these my brethren;" because as they did to the least, the King says, they "did it to me." (Mt 25: 40).


But there is a need to be actively engaged in prayer, contemplation, and meditation as well. As water is to a garden, so prayer and meditation is to the world around us, that those in it might bear the fruit of righteousness and holiness, for in the end, that is the goal, not "usefulness." Prayer is a mighty weapon and an effective means to holiness for us and for others.


Even at that, in the end, to pray might be too much for some. To value my mother because of her prayers would also be to miss the point. She is valued because she is and this world, certainly my world, would not have been the same without her. As she continues to pull inward, and as my ability to relieve her distress, lessens, I hope and pray I remember that being together in this, no matter what shape "it" takes, even if mom seems "far away," is exhibiting a sweet, fruitful fragrance in a world that seems more and more to devalue the unseen and unproductive among us.

Somebody's praying

Ruby Mary Ann Gagnebin Fried

At an early age (7 yrs), my grandma died. Her death left "a hole" in my life. She was my comfort. I'd crawl into her lap when darkness created scary shadows on my wall. She'd hold me in her arms as she rocked me to sleep singing softly in my ear. Christmas day, 1955, my dad sat me on his lap as he told me the angels came and took her to heaven.

Since that day, I haven't escaped dark times, when those shadows again stretched across my life and I felt the loss of grandma's physical comfort. Some of the darkness has been because of my own choices, some because of the choices of others, some just because this world is not perfect. Darkness knocked me off my feet as if I were caught by an undertow at the beach. The tumultuous waves sent me thrashing, unable to get my bearings as murky seaweed seemed to entangle itself about my head.  Even when I was thrashing, being assaulted by waves of grief or pain, there was one thing that kept me from succumbing to the waves, and my feet reaching for solid ground. I knew, among others, my grandma was praying for me.

There were also times in my life when it was as if I was allowed to go just so far and no farther down a road that would lead me in a direction I ultimately, in my heart of hearts, did not want to go, because there was a higher calling on my life, beyond the immediate, beyond my own desires. Strong arms captured my heart about the time grandma died and have held onto me ever since, and to that end, I believe my grandma, among others, was praying for me.

I know as long as I'm living in this world dark times will come, when the shadows seem scary and I'll long for grandma's lap, long to hear her singing in my ear, so I can listen to her heartbeat. In the darkness of those times, I'll always know, someone is watching over me, and I'll thank the Lord for my grandma, who, among others, is praying for me.

Somebody's Praying by Ricky Skaggs
Somebody's prayin', I can feel it
Somebody's prayin' for me
Mighty hands are guiding me
To protect me from what I can't see
Lord I believe; Lord I believe
Somebody's prayin' for me.

Angels are watchin', I can feel 'em
Angels are watchin' over me
There's many miles ahead 'til I get home
Still I'm safely kept before your throne
'Cause Lord I believe, Lord I believe
Your angels are watchin' over me.

Well, I've walked through barren wilderness
Where my pillow was a stone
And I've been through the darkest caverns
Where no light had ever shown.
Still I went on 'cause there was someone
Who was down on their knees
Lord. I thank you for those people
Prayin' all this time for me.