Anyways, I'm on a rest day and I just woke up from 9 hours of soft, pillowy, blissful sleep! I didn't even move in my sleep which tells you how exhausted I was. My life before seems like a vacation compared to now. Literally every hour is scheduled and then other things always come up. Cook, clean, mow the grass, paint something, fix something, cook, play with the kids, clean, help with homework, cook, visit the neighbors, wash clothes, wash clothes, wash clothes. And pray. I try to pray and find I am so preoccupied with what I have to do next that the silence is filled with endless chatter. Sometimes even prayer seems like a chore, or just a chance to sit down. Plus, in the Fazenda we don't have anything soft. We sit on wooden benches or plastic chairs at wooden tables to eat. We sit on wooden benches and kneel on a stone floor in the chapel. In my house we have a "sofa" which is a wooden frame with a 1" thick old cushion on it. I am convinced that if I cut open the vinyl cover on my mattress I'd find only plywood. There is no carpet anywhere. My feet ache after cooking for hours, my knees give out when I stand up after adoration, and I am sore to the bone in the mornings. This life is hard, on so many levels.
...and then someone smiles, another laughs. Someone leaves flowers on my windowsill, draws me a picture, a child says "Ti amo" (I love you). Jesus gets through to me despite all the racket in my head. A friend sees that I am exhausted and invites me to sit for a bit drinking coffee and asks how I am. Because the laundry can wait. We are here to spread compassion, to exemplify tenderness. Sometimes I am so busy that I feel far from my mission, but maybe I can't see the forest for all the trees. Isn't all of this a reflection of "real life"? Won't there always be dirty clothes, hungry bellies, and energetic children? Won't there will always be lonliness, anger, anxiety, and the deep need for tenderness? True, my life isn't soft, but it is definitely tender. I am learning better not only how to love others, but to let them love me.
Friday I went on an apostolate to Lar Vida. It's a home for people with all sorts of disabilities. About 100 children and adults live there, some with Down Syndrome, some with cerebal palsy, some with physical deformities, and some that I just can't explain. It's become a regular apostolate for me and I go every other Friday now. I must admit the first time I went I was thinking "I can't do this, it's going to freak me out, I'm not going to feel comfortable," and then I ended up so bursting with love and smiles that my face hurt. They are always so happy to see us when we arrive, showing us their new shoes or games or flowers. We run around tickling each other, kicking a soccer ball, drawing, laughing. In one room there are those who can't get out of bed and most of them at first glance seem like they wouldn't respond at all. But then I talk to them--in Portuguese or English, they don't mind--and I touch their faces and hold their hands and you wouldn't believe the smiles. That's the only way some of them can communicate is to smile. Erica went with us a couple weeks ago and it was the first time she had been there. She told me that when I'm there I light up like she's never seen me in the Fazenda. I was surprised to hear that because there are lots of times that I absolutely love being in the Fazenda and I do like living there better than I would like living at Lar Vida. Why would it seem that I am happier at Lar Vida? I think it's because I know that I don't have to hide anything there. As much as I have opened up to my community, still there are times, maybe subconsciously, when I guard my emotions. (It's a hard habit to break.) But there in Lar Vida no one knows me from Eve, and because of their disabilities and seclusion from the world they have a sort of innocence that's not easy to find elsewhere. They are the easiest people in the world to love.
This past Friday in particular was a ton of fun because another group of visitors was there with a trampoline, bouncy house and DJ. To see the children who are usually in wheelchair squealing with delight on the trampoline was especially touching. I got up and danced with some of them, which was especially entertaining. I'm not the greatest dancer and I was trying to learn how to dance like a Brazilian. The teenagers from the Fazenda who were with me were at first horrified with embarrassment for me (I wasn't embarrassed at all, mind you) and then were laughing so hard they were crying. So in that 10 minutes I made a whole bunch of people smile, including myself. A special friend of mine is Marta. She's probably between 18-25 and in a wheelchair. Her body is perfectly formed from the hips up (her arms and back would make Madonna jealous) and then about mid-thigh her legs get smaller and smaller and below the knee are just 2 dangling appendages that are smaller than her forearms. But Friday she was out of her wheelchair and playing soccer. She would hold her body up by her arms and then swing her body so that her little foot could make contact with the ball. There's no strength in her foot or leg though so all the force was coming from her arms. It was incredible! I wish I had pictures to show you.
Ok, I'm going to hug this scrumptious pillow some more and enjoy my soft rest day. Today is Rafaela's birthday. She spent the weekend with a friend and today is at the beach with the other 9 people in the Fazenda who have birthdays in October. When I get home (home, aka the Fazenda, yes, it feels like home) I'm going to cook dinner and frost the cake I made for Friday night. Her brothers are coming over for dinner along with Irma Maria Adela, the nun who arrived last week to live here. I'm looking forward to seeing Rafa's sweet face and hearing all about her weekend.
in all tenderness,
Sunny
in all tenderness,
Sunny
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