Where am I?

What a weekend. I worked until 10pm on Friday, and came home to a houseful. My buddy John, his friend Randy, and Randy's brother Ken were here. R&K have disabled parents who live in a town near here, and their home has fallen into a state of toxicity. Mold has been allowed to grow unrestrained in their basement, causing a hazardous condition. The three men spent Saturday cleaning up the basement, and hauling off trash. They stayed here because I will let people just stay here, and then I feed them. John's youngest son, who has a seizure disorder, just HAD to come along and spend the weekend with "Woof". This little boy is 7 years old, and has belonged to me since he was about a year and a half old. Saturday was something of a semi-controlled chaos. All day I attempted to entertain a young man who seems to have lost a great deal of his ability to remember, and his ability to concentrate. He has a stimulator implanted in his small chest, which sends electrical impulses to his brain. It looks and functions much like a pacemaker. This has reduced his seizure activity from several seizures per week to about one per month. If the child has a seizure, you can manually activate the little unit, sending a charge which ideally stops the seizure. It has yet to be tested. Thankfully, there were no seizures yesterday! J used to work out of one of the detachments for which I dispatch. During that time we became very good friends - like siblings. He has no local family to speak of, and neither do I, so it has worked out well. During the course of the seizures and all the things that family went through, including the death of J's mother, we have become quite close. John's son is not subtle in his deep love for me, and I love that little boy hugely.

I feel like someone replaced my eyelids with sandpaper, so I'm hanging out at home today, in the quiet. Ok, not QUIET, I have music blaring and the laundry is going non-stop. *sigh*

I had to wonder how the two friends digested the odd offering of a place to sleep, shower, and eat for the weekend. I know that it saved tons of money. These days it isn't that common for "strangers" to take you in, though. We've moved from friendly to cautious. Maybe it's society's fault, but I think we can create a micro society if we so desire. I believe I live in a loving little micro society where my daughter is safe in several other homes, and her friends are safe in mine. In the "old days" travelers did not make reservations at the Holiday Inn. They received a warm welcome, and food however humble, from folks along the way. In those days one would be considered rude to turn away a tired and hungry soul. Where are we? Where am I? Maybe I belong in a more gentle time.

In that time, the time I wish was still here, it was not uncommon for the older females to teach the younger females how to be a mother. It was not uncommon for children to find shelter with adults who would care for them honestly and safely, and would infuse into their lives the feeling of worth and God-giftedness which would help them stay true.

I'm still there. Come into my home, and you will be fed. You will also be loved and accepted. You may not find wealth or opulence, but what you will find will stay with you much longer. You can put your feet on the furniture. You can wear shoes on the carpet. You can dig through the cabinet and find yourself a snack. You can pick from two refrigerators that are always full; not of expensive gourmet fare, but of things from which you can make a meal. If you need a bed, chances are I can provide one. Don't inspect for cleanliness that approaches perfection, but expect a welcome. Do not bring immorality in with you. Do bring your need. Here you can know where to find the wealth that is in and of God, to meet all of your needs. And there is extra toilet paper under the sink.

Where am I? Hopefully I am not in this micro society alone. There was something beneficial that I experienced by having strangers in my home. I got to know them. I got to see the dynamics between to adult siblings who were raised very differently than I was raised. Compare the experiences of parenting teens with K, who has much the same outlook as I have. He actually is excited about, and enjoying their late teen years, and dreads having them leave home. Hmm. There are other oddballs out there.

We are called to hospitality. There is a unique blessing for answering this particular call. My hands are pretty raw from all the dishwashing. I'm not looking forward to re-making the guest bed and all the other post-guest tasks. BUT - I feel satisfied and I know I sent three men and a baby (!) off with blessings. Maybe they'll pass it on.

"I expect to pass through life but once. If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again." Wiliam Penn

Mom Shap

It's an age thing

Evelyn is confined to a wheelchair, a bed, or a recliner. The place to which she is assigned at any one time is not decided by her, but by a caretaker. She is told when to eat, what to eat, and when she may use the bathroom. Evelyn wants to go "home" because she is certain that Mama is worried about her. She pleads with anyone who passes by, crying out "Won't somebody help me?" She wonders if she has to stay in that chair forever, even if a caretaker has placed her there in the past few minutes. Evelyn has no sense of time. Her days are a blur of being taken from her warm bed and placed into her wheel chair, then lined up against the wall with what must seem to her to be hundreds of other wheel chairs, as she waits for breakfast. She's one of the fortunate ones who is able to feed herself. The hour that she spends waiting may as well be a day, or three days. "Won't somebody help me? Do I have to sit here forever?" Her constant fussing angers the other residents of the home, and so during the times between meals she is sent to a room alone, to sit near the office staff. Looking out the window she longs for the home she remembers. She says, sometimes, that she knows Mama is gone, but she still has brothers and sisters who love her. She wants to go home. "We all want to go home" the secretary comments from within the small office. Evelyn becomes determined and says she will just walk home if nobody will help her.
It is possible to engage Evelyn in pleasant conversation. She is polite and grateful for every little thing done for her. Mostly she loves lollipops. She was not aware that they came in watermelon flavor until I brought her one. I pat her hands and straighten her lap blanket. I rub her little thin shoulders and she says that makes her back feel so much better. I remind her that Mama is gone, but there are people who care for her in her new home. Although she can't believe that she will have to sleep there tonight, I reassure her that she has a nice room in which she safely sleeps every night. But each new day brings the same lack of memories the day before did, for Evelyn. "Won't somebody help me?" The voice is filled with anxiety. Her little face is drawn with worry. "I'll help you, Evelyn." We put on a movie, and suck on our lollipops. I wonder what sort of woman she was before her memory left. "That's better, dear", she says happily. The worry of five minutes ago is long forgotten. She has no idea how long we've been sitting there in the sunshine of the front office, watching 'Babe' for the hundredth time.