Frustration's Gift

     I marvel at the words I hear regarding Gabrielle Giffords' condition as she arrives in Houston for her rehabilitation.   I feel so good for her.
     The doctors are pleased that Gabrielle has acknowledged the speech of other people around her.  If the doctors did not express the optimism they have, two layers of frustration would set in.  Most acknowledge the first.  When she regained consciousness, the efforts to use the human faculties impaired by the traumatic brain injury impose frustration that all may understand.  Yet, far more frustrating than being unable to perform--to exhibit--any given task, is the unspoken frustration that screams to be heard--unspoken screams to loved ones.  
     "I can hear you talking to me.  My body is not cooperating with your orders.  But, I am here.  Be still. Listen. Pray. I can hear you.  I am here.  Let us not despair.  Let us be together in this moment's challenge."
     As I listen with others to Gabrielle's recovery, I cringe.  I pray.  Will she return to normal to satisfy her family, friends, colleagues, and doctors--her healers?  Or, will she be allowed to be turned to a new life that may emerge from what has changed her? Will she be given, not the old words to be spoken that acknowledge healing, but, the instruments to re-create her life anew?
     I hope--I pray--that Gabrielle may be spared the full onslaught of Frustration's Screams.  May she be given enough that she may open Frustration's Gift of Appreciation.

The Breaking of the Bread

     Just now, I rediscovered a reflection written last winter, after Mass one Sunday.  It is easy for me to make my pronouncements. They--my pronouncements do not represent achievements being lived.  They are realizations that I hope I can achieve at some time.  
    I have been relinquished of the daily pressures and deadlines that are integral to everyday life for most everyone.  That is not lost on me.  I am eternally grateful for the relief I have been given, so that I may navigate my journey.

     Leo fell several times and severely injured his leg.  He had a metal rod implanted in his leg.  Since his surgery in mid-March, he has used one crutch to walk.   I feel closer to Leo than I did before his fall, and surgery.

     On Sunday, someone behind me commented that he was still walking gingerly.  He meant no malice. I said nothing.

     Yet, I at a very deep level, I hoped that he could have been awakened…jolted…into the vital reality so clearly before him.

     We are called to bring our imperfections into our walk….our journey….toward perfection….a perfection that is far from our own making, however repulsive that seems to our mental faculties--our reasoning self.

     Do we?

     Hardly.

     I am as guilty as the next person at wanting to put forth my best exterior inside the door of the church, and to my “reserved” seat.  It makes me feel good.  Likely, I will continue to do so.

     We are not called to exhibit deliberate foibles to the public square.  We are not called to project with a megaphone for all to hear our foibles, so that we may be credited for being “imperfect.”

     We are called to listen.  We are called to bring a keen ear to our lives--to our foibles.  We need to resist nothing other than to give alms, to do acts of penance to avoid facing…re-forming our imperfections.

     As it is, we try to time human healing, when whatever life force imperfects us.  We try to run toward the safety of convenience--a convenient life lived on our human deadlines--at our human pace.

     On Sunday, I felt betrayed by my brace that I could not walk perfectly at my own pace.  I thought I saw tears in Leo’s eyes as he broke the bread.  Whether he did have tears in his eyes is unlikely--almost irrelevant.  The sense of betrayal at that moment brought me to tears.  

     Quick. Find a tissue. 

     God forbid someone see me vulnerable at the moment of a revered offering.  Yet, it was the breaking of the Bread, after all.

Am I One of THOSE People?

     By my persona, some might say, "Patty is an enlightened advocate of individuals, who are often thought of in low esteem in society."  Yet, truth be told, I find myself desperately trying, without wanting to admit so, that I am better than other people--better than those people.  Other people?  Who?  The very people for whom I claim myself to be an advocate.
     I do not want to believe that this describes every ounce of me.  But, today, the unattractive truth was revealed to me.
     How you ask?  Receiving certification to use a paratransit service, which will help me to get out, gave me knots in my stomach.
     Ungrateful?  I should be happy.
     Yet, as I walked down the sidewalk to get my id picture taken, loud and clear came the Voice, "You are one of those people now...unable to be spontaneous in motion--spontaneous in your daily living.  You are wholly dependent on other people to meet your needs.  You are needy.  You are one of those people.  Your are at the mercy of other people.  You have NO control over your life."
      Needy is SO extreme.  Is it possible to soften his edges--discover her acceptable soul that makes me human--and become an intimate with her human heart?
       He continues to question me.  She eludes my answers' box.

Courage. Bravery. Heroes.

     The words "courage," "bravery," and "heroes," re-present themselves through the stories in the Tuscon Shootings tapestry.
     Never have I been comfortable with any of these three words.  Yet, others gravitate toward them--blare them proudly from a megaphone.  Why do I shun the words?  Why do others claim them worthy of admiration?
    Courage.  
    Twelfth century Old French defined courage as, "heart, innermost feelings; temper." 
    In my humble opinion, to laud any human being as a hero serves only one purpose.  "A hero" is an excuse not to aspire to living beyond ourselves--beyond what we imagine we of ourselves.
    Bravery.
    In the 1540s, the French braverie was defined as "daring, defiance, boasting." I doubt that bravery is used today intent on conveying boasting.
    In the 14th century, hero was defined as "man of superhuman strength or courage."  By virtue of the 14th century definition, it seems impossible for any human being to be a hero.  How is it possible to be super-human?  
    To laud any human a hero serves nothing but a selfish purpose.  A hero prevents any of us from striving for--aspiring--more than what we imagine we might be capable of being.
     Bravery.  Courage.  Hero.
     We have yet to embrace a word that nurtures a curious spirit committed to learning, and exceeding what any one of us has accomplished yet today.
     I have resisted admiration for precisely the same reason.  Yet, my view has change.  I feel deep admiration--a quality that in no way is encapsulated in deep respect, or deep regard.  I have been given deep admiration for my family, my friends, and my life.  Deep respect, nor deep regard do not go deep enough to embrace the fullness admiration offers.
    So, I continue to search.  Deep respect is the pathway to deep admiration.
    May deep admiration be the journey toward a companion more worthy than a brave, courageous hero.  May we admire deeply--may we be admired deeply--for the companions we may be on this journey.