Update on Rocco: he died. That's pretty sad, and I still keep thinking he'll come wagging up to the gate when we get home, but it's part of life. Hopefully we'll get a new dog soon. He's the fourth dog at our vet who has died from multiple organ failure after eating these tiny beetles, which apparently become addictive to the animals, causing them to eat more.
I'm reading a book called One Child by a woman named Torey Hayden, who used to be a teacher for disturbed children. There's one part where the six-year-old girl that Torey is teaching and with whom she forms a very close bond gets very frustrated because she messes up on a math worksheet that is above her grade level. (She is very bright and can do 4th grade math, but this was a 5th grade workseet.) The scene is portrayed this way:
"I done them wrong, didn't I?"
"You didn't know, kiddo. No one showed you."
She flopped down beside me and put her face in her hands. "I wanted to do them right and show you I could do them without help"
"Sheila, it's nothing to get upset about."
She sat for a few moments covering her face. Then slowly her hands slid away and she uncrumpled the paper which she had mashed. "I bet if I could have done math problems good, my Mama, she wouldn't leave me on no highway like she done. If I could have done fifth grade math problems, she'd be proud of me."
"I don't think math problems have anything to do with it Sheila. We really don't know why your Mama left. She probably had all sorts of troubles of her own."
"She left because she don't love me no more. You don't go leaving kids you love on the highway. And I cut my leg. See?" For the hundredth time the scar was displayed to me. "If I'd been a gooder girl, she wouldn't have done that. She might still love me even now, if i could have been gooder."
This broke my heart. I dog-eared the page. It makes me think of Li'l J, and his breakdowns about doing homework sometimes, and how much he dislikes having to be taught to do something new, even when it's explained to him that there is no way he can know (how to write, for example) without help from someone older.
Then there are some of the other kids who won't even try anything unless they know beforehand that they will be successful. So they sit, passive, unwilling to try to "earn" respect by their actions, but also unwilling to even be helpful if they don't feel like they already HAVE someone's acceptance.
And it reminds me of a friend from back home who is brilliant and wonderful, but who came to the realization that no matter how much he studies, how many degrees he gets, what kind of great job he has, or how many times he gets published or otherwise honored... his family won't love him, won't give him what he so desperately needs and wants from them.
Does it remind you of anyone? Of yourself?
We are all broken, to different extents. In that injured state we try to earn love, and unjustified love doesn't make sense.
If only I'd been prettier, smarter, more talented, wittier, more helpful, willing to do or be something different... things would've turned out differently. That person I loved would have reciprocated, wouldn't have changed, wouldn't have left me.
We all need a healer.
Today is Easter in the Christian faith. The day that we remember that pure love, unmerited reward, jolted into this world and tore apart the system of earning acceptance.
A cross, a tomb: the symbol of Roman imperial oppression; the symbol of the unavoidable fate of every man and woman
Christ on a cross, an empty tomb: the symbol of love we can't earn, nor nullify; the symbol of abundant life, and hope as a firm anchor for the soul.
The eucharist, the Lord's supper, Santa Cena: as we eat a bit of bread and drink a bit of wine or juice, we say, "YES! Count me in! I need a healer and I want one, too. I want more of this counter-culture love and grace and open-armed acceptance. I can't do anything to increase it and I can't explain it away. It's beyond me, and that's just the sort of healing I need."
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