what it is to be human.what it is to love-- cont'd

Part Three:

The next time I was visiting N the school year had just begun!! And the family had such exciting news!!! R was allowed to move up to Gymnasium, rather than staying in the regular middle school. That means she gets to go to a better school because of her performance in the past years, which is rather unheard of for a foreigner/immigrant!! N was beaming with pride and R with joy and excitement! I didn't doubt it for a second--A is so bright and dedicated to her studies, through the discipline N has raised her with.

So I spent the afternoon with them talking and hearing all about their first day back at school! We played and began to eat lunch together, but N got sick half way through and went to lay down while I hung out with the girls. Sometimes she just needs a rest of the exhaustion catches up to her. It was such a wonderful blessing to spend time with the sisters! If they had it their way, I would be over everyday! They have officially adopted me as their sister...I had to write it officially in R's diary!

I asked them if they play with their friends after school or if their friends come over to play, but A told me that if their friends saw where they lived and knew about their family, then they wouldn't be their friends anymore. Instead, they would make fun of her or look down on them and call them poor. She said it with such dejection and sadness. It broke my heart, but also showed me even clearer the blessing of being allowed to come visit and them not thinking twice about whether I was judging them or not! They really trusted me! And I have to think back on that first time I was ever invited over....what a step that must have been, what a risk--the rist that friendship requires.

A little later, N came to join us and we began talking. She asked the girls to leave and began sharing with me about her life, husband, past, etc. Her husband was already living here when he asked her to come with the girls and join him in Austria, leaving behind everything in Pakistan. But as soon as she came, she said that it was like waking up from a bad dream--he had completely changed. His family was awful and treated her like a slave. He rarely spoke to her, but abused her instead, often in front of the girls! She asked herself, "What happened? Who is this man? What have I done?!" At one point, the abuse was so bad that she had no choice but to call the police--she stayed in the apartment they owned together and the police kicked him out---according to Austrian law. He moved in with his family and she lives a completely separate life with full custody of the girls. She doesn't want a divorce but the Austrian government says it is necessary if they will continue to live apart like this--so strange what a government can force! Then she said that her husband found a new wife--his boss at the hotel where he worked--a young, beautiful, and very intelligent woman. They had a child together. N, of course, knew the woman but didn't have much contact with her. All she cold see was that her husband hadn't changed and the second wife was caught in the same abuse, terror, and slavery.

One evening, the wife appeared on N's doorstep with her child, gave the child to N, asked her to look after the little girl and turned around to leave. N immediately called her back, invited her in with a cup of tea and a compassionate ear, and said that she wouldn't allow her to go back to him. She could live with N and N would take care of her and her daughter. The wife, weeping, but filled with new hope, agreed and stayed--and that is how S and I came to live with N and her girls!

N went on--"Of course it isn't easy! The marriage bed is the marriage bed and for her to need to be taken in and cared for and even loved because of that awful man isn't easy." To see the other child from her husband and his second wife was horribly difficult at first. Her family and friends think that she is crazy and argue with her all the time, telling her that it is wrong to take in and provide for and befriend and love the second wife of your husband, but she simply says, "But she is not just the second wife of my husband, she is a human being." She was shattered by him and she needed security and love--just like any other human. She needed a refuge and escape--something that no human should ever have to need. She kept telling me--I knew what she suffered because I had suffered it as well and there is no human being who deserves to suffer like that. She is a human being and we need to take care of one another--human to human. I never want the details to allow us to rob one another of our dignity. "I cannot hate her, and I must love her, but I love her because I want to, because she is a human and deserves love."

N said that now, helping raise I (S's little daughter) is like getting a second chance. She loves her daughters the most, of course. They have beautiful mother-daughter relationships--full of the normal up's and down's of course. But N wasn't able to really enjoy the childhood of her daughters because of her marriage, her work, and her single-motherhood while her husband was in Austria. So now, I gives her that chance. And the love and friendship between N and S is unbelievable. Just being around them gives you hope for humanity. Believe in the possibility of and strength of forgiveness. Mercy. Love.

N shared with me her dream of setting aside money so that one day she can do something to help people who experience similar situations. Women like herself, like S, to give them a refuge and to welcome them into a home, with security to help them back on their feet.

What an  unbelievable, unexpected, and touching afternoon. I cannot believe the path the Lord lays before us here. We need not search or strain ourselves too much for friendship is a miracle. Friendship is a gift. A gift He gives us at exactly the right moment with exactly the right person.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Since August/September last year our relationship has grown deep, close and strong. The girls are growing up, life goes on with its million things to do and not enough hours in the day, but Nazli somehow still manages to find time to catch a little shut-eye, the girls get their homework done, and participate in Christmas plays--which were such a joy to watch!!--birthdays and holidays are celebrated,   time is spent playing, talking, doing homework or quizzing for test preparation--and the months pass.
It is almost February 18th--my birthday and the day S, N, and the girls have invited me over to celebrate my birthday combined with A (who's birthday was in January) and I's (who's birthday is the 13th). They asked me already at Christmas if we could all celebrate together in February--I couldn't be more excited.

But back in October-we celebrated R's 11th birthday. Alina and I were invited as was Lily. We played, danced, watched a little TV, lip-synced, ate a fantastic meal, blew out the candles on the cake and opened presents. Just a few cute little things to note:
1. Their birthday cake tradition: After blowing out the candles, the birthday child cuts the first piece and goes around to every guest in the room and holds the piece for each guest to take a bite out of, and then after everyone hast taken a bite, she gets to eat the rest of the piece, and then the cake is cut and shared. The birthday child is the servant first, showing thanksgiving to those who are there to celebrate her life!


2. The birthday child isn't the only one to get presents! Everyone there gets a little present! And in their case...they all got big presents!! PILLOWS!!! I tell you this because I was so unbelievably struck with their excitement and joy about receiving a pillow as a birthday present. I was immediately humbled at their joy--because up till then, they hadn't had the luxury of a pillow. They couldn't wait to try them out...and in fact, :I: didn't wait....she plopped hers right on the bed and laid down next to where I was sitting. Just like children everywhere, :I: couldn't wait to play with her new toy. :)

what it is to be human. what it is to love - cont'd

Part Two:

The second time I visit N, S and the girls I had been invited to an EID fest--a fest celebrating the end of Ramadan...a "sweet" fest! Monika had lent me her traditional Pakistani dress which she had received several years before from a family for whom she was a German tutor. A and R were so excited that we were all in pink!! 

From 8pm till 12am we played UNO, danced, sang, ate, talked, drew pictures, and experimented with Henna! It was a beautiful time together and I sit in awe of how they have just adopted me into their family...so simply...so quickly. I was so happy to get that time with N, especially. Of course, it was great to talk to S and I also got to meet one of her best friends, Lily, who is the only other person who is ever actually invited to their apartment. Lily is a canadian woman of German descent who lived in America before marrying an Austrian and moving to Vienna. She has been here for 9 years and is a teacher--in fact, that is where she and S met! She was S's teacher when S was learning English and they became instant friends! And acutally, it was Lily who was there at S's side being with her and helping her throughout the pregnancy and birth of Irena! It was lovely to get to know this other soul so dear to my new friends! 

R was anxious to teach me all about Islam and Islamic prayer--she showed me the two prayer books they have and how they say their prayers, how the read the Qu'ran (always with their head covered, with the book rested on a pillow in their lap, and making sure never to turn your back or your feet to the book because it is not just a book but the holy word of Allah which is to be revered). What was so beautiful to me was the respect the two girls have for their religion and to see it also through their young eyes--they explained every little aspect to me in their own way of understanding it! They explained that they show so much respect to the Qu'ran because "it is as if there was a king sitting in the room with us!" 

Then N came from the kitchen and started to explain more to me about the prayer five times a day, when they have to pray, what it sounds like, etc. She told me aout her life (the life she LOVED) back in Pakistan where she was a talented and acclaimed teacher of English, Math, and General Studies to children in the local school. She could keep a beautiful and convenient prayer rhythm (not that I could ever be convinced that praying at 5am every morning could ever be convenient!) and everything in life was more in order and she was a successful woman and mother. All this led me to ask...."Then why did you come to Vienna?! Why did you leave it all?" To which she just smiled and shook her head at me--which I have come to learn in only two visits that it means either 1. the girls are around and we don't talk about these things in front of them because instead of being dishonest or superficial or sugar-coating things for the girls, we teach them to respect privacy and honesty and we respect their innocence and our responsibility to protect them, or 2. it is not that time in our friendship to share these intimate things. ....So we moved on...

There is so much mystery as of yet in N's story. But it is a beautiful witness to see the distance and mystery that is important in friendship. She is so open, loving, genuine, and welcoming, already showing such delight in spending time together, but friendship with another doesn't exclude privacy and distance. In fact, Father Jacques has said that many times--that friendship truly requires a distance because you are not the fulfillment for the other person---only God is. It keeps your friendship from being exclusive, but instead, open and fruitful. 

A "henna-ing" one of my hands

R "henna-ing" my hand

N and me

R

Lily and :I:

what it is to be human.what it is to love

yes. i know. how could such important things from August be let until February....shame on me. but don't worry. I wont be leaving any detail out....i'll start from the very beginning of a story that has turned into a beloved history, 5 women/girls who have turned into family. 

Part One: 

"My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together." -Desmond Tutu

In August, Alina and I took a German course! It helped a lot (now if only I kept studying on my own!) but I learned so much more than how to build conditional sentences than I was expecting. 

During a break one day, I went on a walk with three of the women from my course, one of which was N, a woman from Pakistan who has been living here in Vienna for three years or so. We got to talking--you know how women are--and by the end of the class, N was inviting me over for dinner--she absolutely wanted me to meet her daughters! We walked to the bus that afternoon, her telling me all about her girls, and me promising that we would find a free evening soon! 

The next week N invited me to dinner at 7pm, but since it was Ramadan (fasting period for Muslims) we were not allowed to eat until 8pm when they break their fast. N has two daughters--R who is 10 and A who is 9. Another woman named S and her daughter :I: (who is 2) live with N in her apartment. N started to explain who S was after class one day, but then we got cut off. As far as I understood--S is also a wife of N's husband, whom she is actually in the process of divorcing. N is from the 2nd largest city in Pakistan and she speaks Urdu with S and the girls when they don't want me to understand what they are saying....otherwise we speak English just because it is easier. 

When I arrived, N was out with little Irena on a walk, so I sat and talked with S and the girls. I was so astounded--I was treated like a queen! I have never experienced such respect for guests  before, and to see the two girls treating me so and serving me so and speaking with me so (and it being completely NORMAL for them...without the poking and prodding of S or N) --I was completely dumbfounded. It was not a distant, fear-filled respect or forced kind of behavior, but one so welcoming and loving--as if they just wanted to do everything for you to make you the happiest you could be, because only when you were happy, they were happy. As N explained to me later, respect and serving guests in this way is so important to their culture. Even when bringing someone a drink, you learn from childhood on that you never touch the glass yourself--you always bring it on a tray--otherwise, it is impolite. But to follow these traditions and cultures not begrudgingly, but so full of love was something totally different! At one point, A and I were playing UNO before dinner and R brought me a glass of water....on a tray...to which I responded--"You two make me feel like an absolute Queen!" and R answered--"Good! Because you are! You are our new sister, but first a queen." And so it was...within the first 15 minutes I was no longer a foreign guest, but a sister and a queen! 

A and R

S explained to me what Ramadan is, how it is celebrated and lived, and the symbolism of each little aspect. The philosophy and spirituality behind it all. She also explained every little thing we did involved in their customs, for which I was super thankful. It was so beautiful to be included, but also to be learning at the same time. For example--they always break their fast directly at 8pm after having had absolutely NOTHING to eat or drink since 4am. And they break it by eating a Date. Everything they eat, and in what order they eat has meaning! All the while, to be with them, feeling so welcome as I would in my own family, I was so filled with joy! To be invited wholly into their lives, not as a stranger but already as a sister was something I had no yet experienced in the Austrian culture which is usually at first meeting distant, formal, and closed. Here, I was instantly adopted! 

After dinner N, A and I went for a walk while S and R said their prayers. N couldn't fast this Ramadan for several reasons, but a major one being her work schedule. I'm rendered speechless as I discover little by little the beautiful, quiet, humble strength of this woman. She works from 6pm until 6am in a workshop preparing the meal trays for airline catering, then she sleeps for an hour before going to the German course we take together, and then maybe sleeps for 3 more hours after the course in the afternoon. Her patience outlasts her fatigue and the joy is never wiped from her eyes, even if they are encircled by dark circles from lack of sleep. During our walk, N went to a friends house to pick something up and A and I walked up and down the streets talking. N is worried about her because of the influence of the other kids at school and her great lean towards the dramatic, materialistic, and disrespectful aspects of modern society rather than the richness of the respectful culture and religious tradition in Pakistan. She really asked me to befriend A and spend time with her because she needs a good influence. Especially since N can't be around so often, or is especially worn out. 

A

the present....forever ago

a lot of times getting to the computer, with adequate bandwidth, and free time is exactly what I want, but not what is possible. if I happen to be so lucky and have my journal and a working pen within reachable distance and don't happen to be on some moving form of transportation and in a peaceable enough mood to write--i write. with the intention of sharing. its not that I am selfish. its that I can come up with a million excuses to cram this blogpost with...but lets stop that now. pretty much im just trying to tell you that in the desert of inspirational dryness (lack due to myself/state of mind/exhaustion, not a lack of miraculous and wonderful things to write about)  in which I was living for the past 6 months (hence the either lack of writing or posts consisting entirely of photographs), the Holy Spirit did manage to squeeze through my lack of receptivity and help me catch a handful of beautiful moments with words. hence, although they happened long ago (several months) I am writing them in the present. just as they are written in my journal, intended for your hearts, as the true heavenly Presents they were to me.

Yesterday I was with Mathilde at Ines's concert in Votivkirche. She is very talented--her voice ringing among the group of 30-some-odd other blessed singers, filling the gothic church with the sounds you imagine people enjoy in heaven. But even better than the concert was afterwards--when she invited us to her apartment for tea.

We lit candles on the kitchen table in her little, dimly lit apartment. Huddling around our steaming mugs of "Glück Tea" and the warmth of the tea lights, we slowly draped on scarf after sweater after blanket, keeping just warm enough in her unheated apartment for three hours of asking questions, discussing life experiences, and sharing our journeys--learning one another.

She is from Portugal and after doing a social project here last year in Vienna helping in a school with the children, she decided to stay, spend full time hours babysitting and enjoying her life in Vienna, till she moves on. She shares the flat with two others that are merely names to me--names I can't remember even though still pictured in my mind are the names written in black marker on the chore wheel hung on her kitchen cabinet. Ines was in charge of cleaning the floors this week.

She is a very restful spirit--open and warm and welcoming as if the love she radiates fills her so much that there is no space for distance, rules, or staunchness. Just noticing her ears--each one home to a different earring which are in no way matching--tells you that her spirit is free and lives imbibed with freedom and openness.

But what her earrings don't tell me is what each question she phrased, every story she told, every glance or inflection of her voice hinted at--her SEARCH. for truth, beauty, God, the spiritual, love at its core, the eternal, faith. She is thirsty-in a way that each cup of hot coconut tea with a few drops of delicious Austrian milk can never quench.

How did you meet him?

Christ, I mean.

Why do you believe?

What is your faith like?

Do you ever doubt?

Asking Mathilde about wanting to be a lay consecrated member of Heart's Home--how can you imagine not having kids or a husband?

and what struck me the most:

 "If you believe God is always present, do you ever feel lonely?"

I wanted to jump our of my seat and scream it so loud...

YES!   all the time. 

sure, he's there...but  HE'S HIDING. and I am so lonely. 

Yeah, He's always there. Cosmologically speaking you are never alone--but still, you feel alone sometimes.

I think she was a little taken aback by my answer. by my bluntness.

And then as I was explaining to her how lonely I have felt being here--among many of my struggles, Mathilde spoke up and simply added--Yeah, AND THATS FAITH.

And I realized that through all this loneliness, sometimes downright leading me into such darkness, I don't give up as much as I always threaten myself, or sometimes as often as I would like--because there is something immovable grounding me here. Something that I won't question no matter what other questions I have.

My belief in His existence.

My trust in the Church as His Bride.

that He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life--MY way, MY truth, MY life.

But the question only stops there if you are easily convinced. which neither Ines, nor I, am, in fact.

So, WHY? Why am I so convicted of these things?

BEAUTY ...beauty revealed to me the Truth after piercing me with its arrow. it was and is the splendor of truth.

but, where was, where is this beauty?

in

...the smile of someone I didn't know.

...the understanding of someone helping me.

...the beauty of another's conviction

...the tears of love, joy

...the peace in faith

...the strength and courage

                                               ...of people.

The beauty came through friendship.

The beauty was friendship.

The beauty is friendship.

which then pierced my heart with desire.

and which now always pierces my heart with a desire, but even more than that, with a renewed conviction.

I am lonely. I said--in what I have experienced spiritually in the recent past--if I didn't have a deeper faith and conviction that outlasted feelings and comforts, than I would be deep in despair. I would doubt the existence of God. He has hid Himself very well.

But, the conviction that remains, remains exactly because of this giving, thirsty, beautiful, scared, soft friend. The beauty of her search, her heart, her example. her presnce, her friendship. It takes me back to the beauty of those friends who I met who lead me to first meet this conviction.

And it is this new friend who leads me deeper.

Her beauty makes me hold on, makes me DIG.

and in the midst of darkness...

in the absence...

in the loneliness...

her presence brings me the presence of the most high...

                                                                                         and HOPE.

At that kitchen table--shivering next to our tea light campfire talking about pasts, presents, futures, scars, dreams, men, God, friends, family, vocations, universes, husbands, habits, hairstyles.....I experienced something I hadn't in a long time....

...my heart started burning.

there lies Passion.

in friendship.

in the presence of another.

Wonder&Joy

On the 23rd of December we made an Outing with several women and children from our weekly apostolate. The second floor (of where, I will leave out for discretion purposes) houses refugees mainly from Chechnia and Slovakia--women with whom we have become dear friends and children with whom we have become playmates. To be honest, they rarely leave the house unless they need to pick the children up from school or obtain visa information or visit the doctor--necessities during which they are always risking the chance of being caught and deported by the police. Pretty much they are hiding out with the sisters, attempting to work from Vienna to learn German and receive the right immigrant papers. So we spend our Tuesday evenings with them--playing, helping with homework, learning german, drinking tea, chatting, etc. 

But for Christmas, we wanted to do something special--so we organized an outing! Alina, who, due to her fluency in Russian, really coordinated the entire day, went to the house to pick up the women and children who had enough money to pay the public transportation fare to come over to our house (about 4 euro for roundtrip). Alina recalls that at one point, some policemen were riding the U-bahn not far from where Alina was sitting with our friends. The anxiety in their eyes was visible as every bone in their bodies tensed and they remained very silent and serious. Despite having U-bahn fares, they always fear. Even the children are used to the fear. But they made it to our house safely and with lessening anxiety. We welcomed them for lunch! Three women from Chechnia whom we have become good friends with--Louisa, Luba, and "E" (I call her E because I cannot spell or pronounce her name) joined us with their children for the day--Louisa with her daughter, Ramnat, and her two sons (names, unpronouncable), "E" with Ela, Akhmed, and Ischmael, and Luba came without her son (who is an adult). Then, as a little surprise, a new addition to the second floor community decided to come as well--a woman from Afghanistan with her daughter and son. 

After lunch we played and colored and hung out together, talking and drinking tea. Alina had coordinated a Russian cartoon for us to watch after lunch, but we soon realized that we had planned for our guests to all speak Russian--the Afghani family was a little surprise--and they couldn't understand the cartoon! So Alina attempted to translate the cartoon as it was playing. But the little Afghani boy was NOT interested in Alina's translation and he was bored out of his mind as the cartoon played for the other children to enjoy. I glanced his way and racked my brain for what I could give him to play with--he had already colored, drawn, and hung his pictures up on the wall; he had already played with the one toy truck we have (now lying on the floor scattered in pieces...children can be vicious sometimes) and we were saving the UNO deck from being destroyed in one afternoon. But then I remembered the Color&Hug - WeeBelievers dolls my aunt and uncle had sent me in a Christmas package just the week before. So I grabbed the first one I could reach in our toy cupboard. I pulled out St. Francis and handed it to him, handed him the markers, and then showed him that he could color St. Francis however he wanted. He was so delighted, not just in having something to entertain him, but that someone noticed him, him alone, that he was bored, and wanted something to do. So he joyously began choosing his first marker and his starting point. I sat on the couch half watching the russian cartoon and listening to Alina's translation, but continually being distracted to watch this little boy, sitting with his mother, both of whom are muslims from Afghanistan, both of whom were thoroughly enjoying coloring the crucifix hanging around the waist of the St. Francis doll. All I could think--only in Heart's Home. I think St. Francis was there with a huge smile on his face, repeating the refrain: "Lord make me an instrument of your peace." It was a little moment that gave me such a smile--one of our first Christmas presents. 

After finishing the cartoon we searched and found and unwrapped and enjoyed Christmas treats, bundled up and boarded the #2 Straßenbahn and took a tour around the Ringstrasse (the famous street that used to be the city limits of Vienna--now just the street that encompasses the first of twenty-three districts), taking in the lights and sounds and smells of the season, getting off the tram at Rathausplatz to discover the Christmas Market and take advantage of the lack of snow, allowing us to play on the playground! 

I will never forget riding the Straßenbahn ride with the kids who never go out except to walk to short distance to their school. Their delight and wonder awakening joy in me that has long been washed away by routine and indifference. 

What is it to look at the little joys of Christmas as a child? 

It is to ride the straßenbahn not merely to get from one place to another but to have the best moving seat from which to admire the Christmas lights and decorations on the hotels and buildings lining the Ringstraße, letting "oohs" and "aaahs" full of wonder and delight escape your mouth in a gasp, not only to join with children and excite their wonderment and be with them in their childhood, but to catch the "oohs" and "ahhs" coming from a true sense of childhood delight as you see these lights, really see them, for the first time. 

Exiting the Straßenbahn and walking up to the Rathaus Christmas Market, my hands were filled by the squirming hands of Ramnat and the littlest boy as their excitement was made physically manifest and the could hardly hold themselves back from the spectacle of lights and Christmas magic before the famous city hall. 

The Afghanistani girl had my arm and at one moment, with her face lit up not by the glow of the lights but the glow of her joy, looked up and exclaimed to me,

"WOW! This is really Christmas!!! This is such a gift!!! DANK SEI GOTT!"

Echoing her prayer of praise and thanksgiving, full of astonishment, I said my own,

"God, thank you for their joy and gratitude. Thank you for reminding me what my heart should look like, should be moved to exclaim"

We enjoyed going through the Market and seeing the creche exhibit and then spending time on the WET (not snowy) playground, swinging or climbing and singing Christmas carols. 

As soon as the women and children were back at their home and we were returning to ours, Mathilde turned to me and said, 

"Now that is gratitude!"

What a beautiful reminder it was for what this holiday is really about:

DELIGHT in the little things. 

GIVING THANKS to God, no matter what you call Him or what you believe about Him.

a GRATITUDE that leads to pure ADORATION

that is the wonder and joy of a child-like heart. 

Christof

I gasped and stopped in my tracks just having stepped off of the escalator descending into the Schottentor U-Bahn Station. I was busy telling Ulli * how cold I was and how much I couldn't wait to get home after spending 4.5 hours in an unheated Church (like all Church's in Vienna) as well as outside greeting people in the street and inviting them inside to hear music, light a candle, and take time on a Saturday night to say a little prayer. Here, they call it Nightfever**.

I saw him fall backwards and seem to slam his head on the bench behind him, eyes no more than slits, beer can crushing under the pressure of his hand muscles bracing against the impact. I saw it out of the corner of my eye and gasped, every muscle in my mind oriented in his direction, wanting to reach out an catch him.

I looked at Ulli stopped next to me. I saw in her eyes that her heart was already at his feet, so my quick question, "Sollen wir gehen?" (Should we go?) oriented in his direction and asked more out of habit as a young woman, usually alone, late at night in a city metro station, was barely regarded and instead found its answer in Ulli's non-hesistent stride in his direction. There was no question to be asked.

The splash of beer left dark traces on his jacket, becoming neighbors to those stains long calling his worn, leather jacket home. He only wore one glove; his hands were red and swollen as he grasped the beer and continued swaying, seated on a bench. Ulli asked him in dialect*** if he was ok, if he was hurt or anything. I knelt in closer to better decipher his mumbled words.

I saw the drops forming on the stringy long hair that hung over his face outside of his pulled up hood and which had been victims of the splash of beer arising from his can as he fell backwards. He also had a few droplets on his cheek. The urge was so hard to resist--to want to not just squat a respectable distance away from him and try to listen, but rather, to kneel at his feet, to hold his gloveless hand in mine, taking the place of the crushed beer can and offering some real warmth. To wipe his hair dry and out of his face, in order to see his whole face. To look into his eyes, to entice them to open, to come alive--the ones that he could at this time barely open. He was so tired. so cold. is throat so sore that we could hardly make out his words. All we really understood were: "Schlafen" (sleeping), "scheiße" (shit), "kalt" (cold), and "Christof" -- his name.

He did have a sleeping bag, our of which was peeking a box of white wine. The two together would serve to keep him warm most of this bitter, January night.

I couldn't understand him. Ulli spoke a little but mostly we just sat there, squatting before him, and let him mumble or simply sit there in silence. I tell you, its not as easy as you would think. I think silence and stillness is the hardest thing to live before a soul that suffers. Here, only prayer makes sense.

I couldn't hold his hand or wipe his face--I could only sit there and desire to be Veronica wiping the face of God before me as he lives his agony, as he carries his cross.

We said we hoped he felt better soon, that he would be able to sleep, and finally, goodbye.

Speechless, Ulli and I waited for our U-bahn home. Thankful, I realized how much of a blessing it was to have Ulli by my side at that moment--as a companion but more so a teacher. teaching me to be WITH--in the silence and unknowing. to be mercy in His Eternal River of Mercy.

and also for this little memo from God to myself who had been only seconds before complaining about being cold.

Please say a prayer for Christof, wherever he ended up and wherever he is on this below-freezing January night.

-Sometimes footnotes are helpful-

*Ulli: Ulli is Monika's new roommate as of October. She is the first volunteer with Heart's Home from Italy (South Tyrol-so a former part of Austria-she speaks perfect German) and did a mission with Heart's Home back in 2005 or so in the Philippines. After spending some years in Stuttgart, Germany she has moved to Vienna and become a 'regular groupie'--which means she has become a dear friend, a prayer warrior, a loving teacher, a beautiful example, and a much referred to translator and helper in all things german--including when it comes to speaking dialect to Christof!
**Nightfever: a monthly mass and adoration night, sponsored and run by young people in various cities throughout Germany and Austria, starting after the World Youth Day in Cologne.
***Dialect: think thick, southern American accent compared to a Brooklyn accent....thats sometimes how different accents sound to one another and thats how difficult it is for me sometimes to understand Ulli when she speaks in dialect

consistency

Her little body law sprawled out on the tile floor, but she can't feel the chill coming through the stone because her puffy jacket is keeping her nice and snuggled. Backpack the size of her whole torso and creeping up the back of her head--it is slid right up under the nape of her neck. Her arms still strung in the straps but stretched out on either side of her, her legs sprawled out in the same way. Her boots look two sizes too big and I notice that her pink striped hat is falling down over her closed eyelids as I lay down next to her. A whole day at school and the walk home in the brisk, January, Viennese air is the last straw for Ramana. She is exhausted. But living in the upstairs, sprawling apartment of the Missionaries of Charity house on the Gürtel with 5 or 6 other families (only women and children), she has to play dead to get any peace. And she doesn't know yet that I am there.
I mean, we're there every Tuesday. Nothing new. But its so easy to forget what day it is when you're six and too busy living in the present. Its so easy to think that a week is a month and three minutes, three hours. So I lay next to her on the cold, tan, tile floor of the entryway, until she realizes the still presence laying next to her, and opens her eyes. Her eyes look more like they are squinting as a smile broadens across her face, immediately occupying every muscle in her round, blushed face, framed by untamed dark locks and emanating a bounding spirit full of energy and love. It only takes her a moment to leave her exhaustion behind in the place where she formerly laid and jump on my back, resting her head on my neck as she wraps her arms around me.

"DU!!! Du bist da!!!!! JUHU!!"   (you! you're here! yay!)

It hasn't always been like this. walking back that evening with Alina I count back the months that we have been visiting the third floor of the sisters' house. wow. Its been five months since our first visit, full of formality, homework help, and shyness, later giving way to quick-paced Russian conversations and shoulder rides. Its been five months of new and old faces, of Tuesday afternoons, of UNO games, playing hairdresser, doing homework, drawing pictures, fighting, tickling, crying, reprimanding, pretending to be human jungle gyms, playing tag, drinking tea, cracking walnuts, peeling potatoes, smiling, hugging, loving, growing....

CONSISTENCY

the most important ingredient. One that has a sneaky way of being easy to forget in leu of our tendency to give into tiredness, timidness, annoyance, SELF. But it is the ingredient that makes all the difference. it is the leaven in the dough. it is the foundation of friendship. 

Not just in our visits to Luba, Louisa, Jeanette, Ramana, Ela, Ichmael, and everyone....

its in every aspect of life, every visit, every relationship. Being "there" requires consistency, a necessary dying to yourself and any momentary anti-inclination--not out of duty or obligation, but out of LOVE. 

Like after being away for two weeks with my parents, I hadn't been to the nursing home in two weeks, where we are normally visiting the residents of "Station 7" every Friday afternoon. But I didn't really feel bad. I figured--they barely remember me when I come every Friday anyway. So it is not a big deal. No one will probably even ask where I had been. 

I couldn't have been more wrong. 

"Where have you been!! Why haven't you been to visit? I wasn't sure if you hadn't gone back home to the USA or not!"

They didn't know exactly how long it has been since the last time, but they knew. They knew that the two girls that usually visit every Friday hadn't been there in 2 weeks and while we were being occupied with other things, they lived our absence. 

CONSISTENCY

In the nursing home I have learned its importance through an event of inconsistency. and with Ramana and the women and children Chechenian refugees, I learned it through the fruit of consistency. Now, after ringing the bell an obnoxiously super-fluent number of times, and walking in the door now, calling to our little friends to come out of their rooms and hiding places, I am greeted with faces shining with joy and excitement. I have truly never before seen such a sweetly twinkling look in the eyes as they gaze up at me upon our arrival. The arms that cling to my legs. The little boy voices and little girl voices filled with excitement yelling "Du bist da! Sie sind da! Schau!! JUHU!!" (You are here! They are here! Look! Yay!) The momentum of the little legs running down the halls, arms held out to you waiting for a welcoming embrace and the fulfillment of what they had anxiously been waiting for since we left the Tuesday before. 

It comes slowly and all of the sudden. This love. This ease. This comfortable excitement. The security and trust that leads to such moments of pure delight. That is the fruit of consistency. Of never giving up on love. 

Its slow, and all of the sudden. And slowly, those Tuesday afternoons and Friday afternoons become not something to live through but to live for. Because the consistency is the fertilizer of friendship and your delight is as much a part of the afternoon as theirs! 

Sitting around the table one evening while Alina helped Ahkmed with his math homework, and I held Ishmael and fed him a bottle, both of us surrounded by several others practicing their superman tricks, flying from the tabletop to the floor, we were joined by a sister coming upstairs to check on things. She is the mother superior of the house. Romana sat next to me and hung out as I fed Ishmael. Then Ramana, all of the sudden, catches Sr. Gabriela's attention and very matter of fact-ly states: "Schwester! Die Zwei--Ich liebe sie so sehr!! SO SEHR!!!!"  (Sister! These two--I love them so much! So much!!) Giving each of us a big hug and smiling her largest, sweetest, smile. 

my heart jumps and responds in a breathless whisper! 

o Ramana! I love you too! 

the way people look

its Friday night. School of Community night. Nine of us were gathered around the table, some veterans of the friday night readings and discussions, some new-comers bringing fresh, sometimes innocently-off-base additions to the conversation, and of course Alina, Mathilde and I (Fr. Clemens is on a trip in Poland, and Fr. Jacques in India). This week's text was one written by the founder of Heart's Home, Fr. Thierry de Roucy, entitled "No Friendship without the 'I'". In essence it was an argument for the necessity of embracing the being of oneself, one's wishes, desires, preferences, weaknesses, struggles, strengths, every minute detail encompassing one's I, and BEING this I, completely living as this "I" in order to live deep, genuine relationships and friendships. One must continually see himself as united to the Holy Spirit, as standing as Himself before the loving eyes of God in order to first accept himself in all he is, and to act of himself and present himself to others in freedom and love. Viewing oneself, the "I", as united to the Holy Spirit and every standing before the feet of God the Father ensures humility and love which grant freedom to the person to live fully his being in relation to himself and others and thus give himself authentically in friendship. 

Yes, it was a very interesting reading and even more interesting discussion, but it didn't all really sink in until after the reading, discussion, and dinner together when I found myself in my room talking with a friend of ours on the little couch stuffed oddly in our room between the collapsing armoire and the foot of my bed. Its been a really difficult couple of months for her, and we spent an hour or so discussing some of the difficulties she is facing right now particularly in a relationship with someone she loves very dearly. We talked and talked in circles--the heart being something difficult to convey to another, feelings always needing to be further elaborated and explained as only women know how to do for hours. I don't need to expand on the details. 

Then there came that moment, her lip quivered a little as her chin tried to find the right resting place in order to secure her jaw and hold her strength against the rising emotion in her throat. Her eyes got a little red and dewy at the corners and she kept looking away. She tried to keep explaining her thought, while continuously interrupting herself with the pursing of her lips. This is what she looks like when she tries to hold back tears. I had never seen her before. The her that tried to be strong in the middle of immense pain. A very authentic "her". 

She looked at me and I looked at her and I knew that I felt both sincere compassion for her, as well as sincere gratitude. And so are most of the moments I have come to live in the past 13 months--bittersweet. The bitterness arising out of the pain which the other allows you to share with them, the stinging of the eyes that just want to cry and release the pressure, the temptation to despair in sight of the lack of clarity, lack of love, lack of strength. The sweetness from the immense gratitude arising in my heart as I let myself be allowed in these moments with our friends. When they let me be in the presence of their "I". When they are free, because they know that they are loved. When it is a friendship that was completely given, not won over or earned. 

That is what I learned in school tonight. Children are perfect examples of our innocence, or simple "I"-ness. As children we are who we are, we say what we think, we do what we want to, what we reason is right. And then we begin to grow up, fill in molds, listen to the do's and don'ts and somehow along the way layer on the masks and masks over our genuine selves that we need in order to make sure we are pleasing the most people we can at one given time. We make ourselves fit into the nice little boxes other people set out for us, and in the mean time forget what it means to be ourselves. We are so busy looking at others that we forget to be us. Why? I believe it all goes back to love. Our purest, most characteristic yearning as human beings--our desire to be loved--love, an inner necessity to freedom. When are we most free (and not the freedom that plays itself out in angst-y rebellion and selfishness)? I think about the times  when I have been most free to share what exactly I am thinking and feeling without thinking twice about whether the other person will judge me or think differently of me. I know those people who, no matter what I say, do, or reveal in the confidence of a conversation over coffee or whatever the occasion may be, will never stop loving me or think worse of me. My soul flies at those moments in sharing my thoughts or struggles--I can stand open and share my truest self without thinking twice or hesitating because there is some inner certainty that no matter what I say, they will never stop truly loving me. That to me is the moment in which the Holy Spirit is fully present,  those moments and relationships in which God is freely allowed to be present and work His Will. The way in which we can stand before God fully ourselves is because He is our eternal, merciful Lover. When someone on Earth represents and lives out that unending love of God with us, then so that "I" is free to be completely itself. I am free to stand naked in all my strength and struggles and still be loved. I am free because of the love. I am "I" because I am free, and loved. That is why the "I" means Freedom and the Freedom means Friendship. That is why its all about love. 

And this evening. It was just a little space in time in which the "I", Freedom, Friendship, and Love we had just discussed, was incarnated. My friend didn't just smile, tell me some superficial news on the recent events in her life and move on, guarding herself and leaving her problems for her to carry alone. She trusted me. She saw me as a friend who would love her no matter what. And act on that love by carrying her with me in prayer. She knew she could be her "I" with me. 

This "I", I have realized, is what I have come to cherish in the past 13 months. Not only this friend's but many of my friends with whom I share those bittersweet moments. I once read the following quote which seems to put it just how I would have liked to:

 {I'm not fascinated by people who smile all the time. What I find interesting is the way people look when they are lost in thought, when their face becomes angry or serious, when they bite their lip, the way they glance, the way they look down when they walk, when they are alone and smoking a cigarette, when they smirk, the way they half smile, they way they try and hold back tears, the way when their face says they want to say something but can't, the way they look at someone they want or love....I love the way people look when they do these things. It's....beautiful} 

This "I" has raised my understanding of "beauty" to a new dimension. I have gotten to see so many PEOPLE. really. the person as he or she is. and every time it is as a new discovery, a new burst of gratitude springing open in my heart. a new understanding of what it means to stand in the presence of a God who is Love, and to meet His Holy Spirit in those friends He alone has lovingly given me, and me to them. For whom He has called me to be His presence, and in whom He is incarnated in their mysterious beauty.