In the assisted living community I visited today, there lives a retired pastor whom I like a great deal. Even though he sleeps through my homilies more often now, he gratefully accepts Communion and he is always an encouraging presence. Today, as I was packing my things after worship, a tall thin woman came in. She wore a long black and white dress, a lace jacket, and a small cap. She moved silently, while softly greeting some of the residents as she made her way towards Pastor. When she reached him, a resident whispered, "That is his sister." I first introduced myself to the young woman (her great niece) who escorted her through the door, and then to the elder as she silently glided back towards us after her brief conversation with her brother.
She extended a long, thin hand to me and said, "I am so happy to meet you. This is my brother's home. They take good care of him." She spoke and moved so quietly and elegantly that it seemed she might not be real. While she stayed less than ten minutes, I could tell by the smiles that those of us whom she touched, felt really touched. I think she has been greeting people that way for a very long time.
What would it be like if we thought of our world in such terms? "This is my sister's ocean. This is my father's river. This is my mother's forest. This is my children's valley, or my brother's mountain. They are well taken care of in this home." Perhaps then we, too, could extend a hand of friendship as we gently passed through.
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