This weekend I was reminded again that spiritual advancement truly lays in the small trials of living.
I spent another six hours at the ER again this weekend; my significant other laying there next to me in pain. She was waiting to have her knees stitched close and hands bound. She had tripped off the porch as she went to chase some drunk young men away from our cars; they had been fighting outside and one of them had been trying to get in to the all the cars on our street. S. ran out there to scare them off. And while she has the heart of lion, unfortunately, she has the body of a lamb-a very fragile lamb. The kids jumped in their car and raced off, and as she hopped off the porch to get in a final word as they raced down the street, she tripped on one of the stairs and fell a few feet to the concrete below.
As she hit the ground, I ran out to her both annoyed and concerned. She was clearly hurt. I knew my job was to get her inside, clean her up, and make sure she was safe. I did that. But the whole time, my heart was raging. Why the hell does she have to do stupid shit like that? Who the hell does she think she is? Does she ever stop to realize how this will effect others? Does she realize how fragile life is? I love her to the ends of it all, but god damn she infuriates me sometimes.
As we traveled to the hospital in the middle of the night, I was (as my good Irish upbringing insured) outwardly stoic while inside I delivered half a dozen diatribes to S. on responsibility, wisdom, and prudence. All the while, she went on and on about the event: what happened, why it happened, how she fell, how it really wasn't her fault. As we got there, my annoyance had become outrage.
We pulled upto the ER, and as I parked the car, S. turned to me and said, "I feel like such a fool". I would like to tell you that I realized in that moment what an uncaring, small-minded ass I was being. Unfortunately, I can not. We entered the ER and waited. She was admitted while I periodically dozed off in one of the waiting room chairs.
An hour or two later, they said I could come in. She was laying on the hospital bed in one of those awful blue and white gowns; it was obvious she had been crying. By that point in the evening, the anger had gone out of me, replaced by old endurances I had learned in our many past hospital experiences. S. has been very sick in the past, very often--consequently, she hates hospitals. I went in and laid with her until the doctors came to start patching her up. We began joking, as is the custom, to try and alleviate the tension of being in that place. Finally, they came in and wheeled her to another room to sew her up.
On the way home, she apologized several more times. She felt so silly for having jumped off the porch to run after them. I told her not to worry about it, that she had done the right thing. As I said that, in my heart, I began to feel ashamed--through it all I had been so worried about how this affected me, and I had never stopped to think about how it had made her feel. I had fallen in love with her, in part, because of her fierceness, yet at the moment when that spirit inconvenienced me and my plans, I had become annoyed. I determined to do better and not be bothered by those small shortcomings in the one I loved.
It was then ten in the morning, and we both needed to eat. As we got closer to home, I pulled into a diner. I wanted to run in and order something for us to bring home to eat. As we pulled in, S. noticed a small, old man with a big, handlebar mustache bundled up next to the entrance. He was trying to sell a pile of Sunday newspapers. These men and women are common in our small city--they are often very poor or nearly homeless. Without hesitating, S. saw him and said, "can you give him something? Do we have any money?". I told her no, and got out of the car to get our food.
But as I walked into the diner, prompted by S.'s urgings, I spoke to the man.
"How are you today" I said.
"Ah, good, just waiting for it to warm up"
"Yup" I agreed, "the cold is almost gone; I'll be glad to see winter go"
He smiled, "you and me both son, I can't stand winter anymore"
We chatted for another minuter or so, then I ran in to get our breakfast. I waited for the food and thought about the man. I honestly had no money to buy one of his newspapers (I stopped carrying cash years ago). I knew S. was right though, we should give him something. What to do? The diner cashier brought out our food and rang me up. I checked through the order and noticed they had forgotten my coffee. After being awake for 24 hours, I wanted that damn coffee with all my heart. The cashier apologized when I pointed it out and ran back to get it.
As I left the diner, I saw the old man again. Having exchanged a few words, I felt like I had to say good-bye. And then the strangest thing happened.
"Hey, you want a cup of coffee" I asked.
He cocked his head for a second, "well, yeah, but..." I could hear his surprise.
"If you're out here braving the cold, the least I can do is get a man a cup of coffee" I said and smiled.
"Thanks, that will be great", he smiled a big smile back.
We exchanged handshakes and good-byes and I got into the truck. Shannon was beaming. "Thank you" she said. She had been watching the whole thing from the truck. I smiled and didn't know what to say. I had no words at that moment because I realized I had really done so little. The same fierce, almost instinctual, reaction S. had had to the malcontents out in the street was the very same thing that spurned her to give to an old man without a second thought. I realized the very trait in her that I had determined I needed to overlook at times was the trait that made her so very wonderful. She had helped that old man, I had just acted as a messenger for her compassion.
I don't often like to discuss my own religious beliefs (it usually causes debate), but the events of that day deserve it. S. who is, at best, nominally Christian transmitted to me (and thus that man) the Christ's love far better than I who practices regularly. She displayed a love that comes without judgment or expectation. Looking back, I wonder how I would have handled the events of previous evening if I had that type of love in my heart then.
I am again humbled by the mystery of God and his children.
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