"We must not allow the clock and the calendar to blind
us to the fact that each moment of life is a miracle and a mystery." - HG
Wells
Washington, D.C. is an incredible classroom. At the JVC
orientation four weeks ago, a staff member challenged us (the volunteers) to
learn something new every day and D.C. has been more than happy to be my
teacher. Some of the things I have learned here are things I could have learned
in any other major city, like how to add money to my bus pass while the vehicle
is moving without falling over. Trust me, that's a big accomplishment for
someone graced with natural clumsiness. Other things are unique to my JVC
experience, like how to live in harmony with six strangers while sharing a
budget that is drastically smaller than most of us have known, incorporate
spirituality into our normal lives, and all while sharing two small bathrooms.
I know what some of you may be thinking, and yes it does kind of sound like
being a RA again, but it is a challenge that is new and exciting.
Still more lessons I have learned are things that only D.C.
can teach me, things I would never have imagined, like how the city's quadrants
are divided not only by geographic lines but also by racial and class lines.
The segregation in our nation's capital is shocking and hearing the stories of
why certain populations are forced into or out of an area is mind boggling to
me. I and my housemates frequently, if not daily, notice other things, too.
Like how the presidential candidates talk about fixing the economy and
understanding the experience of the "normal" American, yet have both
proposed cuts to programs and agencies like the non-profits we work for that
provide much-needed resources to the families and individuals who need it the
most. We see how tourists come to D.C. to see the sites and never walk far
enough off the National Mall to see the poverty in open view a block away. We
see systems of oppression that we studied in college play out in the real world
around us and are humbled by all who are teaching us how to make things better.
Perhaps the most important lessons I have learned so far,
though, were taught to me by someone who I hope to never forget. Madeleine was
very ill when I began my time at Joseph’s House, and by the end of my third day
of work she had died.
When I first heard of Madeleine, a feisty woman from
Cameroon, I had been excited. She spoke French, a language that I had loved and
studied for nearly four years. I had every intention of walking into her room
with a big smile and striking up a French conversation. But when I met
Madeleine for the first time, she had just woken up from a nap distressed and
in pain. I was too nervous to use my rusty French and instead fell back into
speaking English, a language that was comfortable enough for me to hide behind
but foreign enough not to comfort her. I knew enough French words to soothe her
panic, but I was too scared of her pain. I regretted my decision instantly and
even more so the next day as I sat vigil at her bedside. As I held her hand in
mine, trying to ease her labored breathing with my own easy breaths, I realized
that I would never get a chance to have a conversation with her in any
language. The next day, Madeleine passed away so peacefully and quickly that no
one was able to catch her last moment on this Earth.
Life is really, really, really short. Someone you love may
be here one day and gone the next. In the short time that I had with Madeleine
she was unable to show me the knowledge of her life. But in her death, a
passing so beautiful and sacred that I still feel it in my spirit, she taught
me to never allow fear to keep me from extending love. Say the things you need
to say. Be with who you need to be with. Feel what you need to feel. Do what
you need to do. And above all, take gentle care, for every moment is a miracle
and a mystery.
