Something I want to be

He stood up to make his presentation and some of the first words out of his mouth were, “I don’t get uncomfortable, but I’m uncomfortable.” And I know the guy a little bit, so when he said, “I don’t get uncomfortable,” I laughed. It had the ring of truth.

I could see that he was sincere. He’d been given the assignment to teach his audience, many of whom were parents of teenagers or whose kids are grown already, how to teach and engage with teenagers. And, as we knew, he’d never been the parent of a teenager himself.

He said that he sat down to prepare, and he had nothing. He had no ideas, nowhere to start from.

As I said, I know the guy, and he happens to be one of the youth leaders my teenagers love and connect with the most. So I knew that part of why he was uncomfortable is that he cares SO much. And I’m guessing that  “I don’t get uncomfortable” usually works where he can move himself into “I don’t care much about this.” But he can’t do that here. I know he really does care about the young people in our community. He is all in. And they feel it. 

But he stood there saying he felt he had nothing to give us. And he wasn’t saying it to fish for compliments or get us to feel bad for him or anything. He was being honest.

This guy standing up there being honest and owning what he saw as his weakness or inadequacy for the assignment was totally disarming. It’s not what you expect. And it softened my heart a bit. 

Because maybe my heart wasn’t as soft in that moment as it could have been.

The man opened things up for discussion and a couple of people shared their thoughts. 

Then another man raised his hand. He said, “I’ve seen you teach and engage with young people on multiple occasions. I’ve watched you, and there’s almost no one better than you are at it. Here’s what I’ve seen. You do five things that really connect you with the youth.” 

Then the man listed off the five things. As if he’d been keeping notes or preparing in advance, he rattled off the five things and why they work. If they planned it in advance, they executed flawlessly. But I didn’t think they had.

The first man said thank you. The second man went silent. The discussion continued. And the word builder came into my mind. For the rest of the day, every time I saw the second man, all I could think was, “He’s a builder. He builds people up.” 

Builder. Builder, I thought. I want to be a builder like that. There was nothing about the second man’s comments that were about himself. At all. He wanted to share what he had observed in a way that contributed to the discussion and built the first man up. 

And when I saw the first man after the meeting, I told him, “we need more of this.” Because the meeting had gone too quickly. And he hadn’t been able to share all that he wanted to share. And because I need the help to know how to teach my teens. 

But also because, as I think about it, to be taught and led by someone who is able to start from a place of vulnerability is something I think we all need more of. 

Now, doesn’t this story give you hope? 

I don’t even know if the first man NEEDED what the second man offered him. But I needed it. I needed to witness that. 

Because that's what I want to be: a builder. I want to build people up. 

 

My friend the human being

I want you to meet my friend Nora. 

I hope it’s appropriate for me to call her my friend. You see, I’ve only spent time with her 3 or 4 times. 

 

I saw her most recently on Thursday.

 

Nora has advanced Alzheimer’s disease. She lives in a care facility especially for people who share her same struggles.

 

Nora is the mother of a dear friend of mine. 

 

But Nora can’t do very much anymore. Anything that you or I might do to strengthen a relationship with someone else, she can no longer do. She can’t give hugs or show affection. She can’t do kind things to help you out. She can’t give gifts. She can spend time with you, but it will always be because you came to where she is. 

 

About the only thing she can do when she’s with you, is look in your eyes. But she doesn’t do this very much. 

 

She can’t even say words anymore, though she tries. She makes lots of sounds, putting them together with the cadence and rhythm of natural speech, but without any actual words or sense. 

 

On Thursday, her daughter and I sat with her. Her daughter asked me to sing to her, because Nora has always loved music.

 

I sang Amazing Grace. As soon as I started, her attention was riveted on me. She wanted to sing along. That was absolutely clear. She tried, but even though I was singing slowly, she couldn’t match the pitches quickly enough. And she couldn’t form the words at all. 

 

Once she held out a beautiful note. But that was as close as she got.

 

Her daughter finds the visits both happy and painful, comforting and frightening. Each time she fears what more deterioration she will find, always afraid her mother won’t know her. But when I looked at Nora’s face and spoke her daughter’s name, Nora immediately turned and gazed at her daughter. Recognition, for sure.

 

This time. 

I never knew Nora when she was whole. I can’t love her for her abilities, for her strengths, what she offers to me or the world. I can see that she raised a tremendously kind and loving daughter, so I can assume she was that same way, but I can’t know for sure. I can’t tell much about who she was.

 

And all of this leaves me wondering, what does give a person value? Because I sit with her and I sing to her and I hear nonsense sounds from her mouth, see her wring her hands almost compulsively, and I love her. 

 

Trust me, you would love her, too. She is pure humanity sitting in a wheelchair before me. Do I love her because my friend loves her? Sure. That’s part of it.

 

But she has value because she is human. She breathes. She needs. She lives. That’s the only qualification. She is worth as much love as we can find a way to give her. More. That truth imprints on my mind as I look at her. 

 

She’s not trying to prove herself. She’s not trying to look good. She’s not comparing herself to any other human around her. She can’t do those things, nor does she care to anymore. She only wants, now, the most basic thing any human wants. To be cared for.

 

I said Nora can’t offer anything anymore, but I suppose that I lied. Because every time I spend time with Nora, I learn something about what it means to be human. 

 

Seeing Nora is seeing pure humanity, and I want to hold onto it. I want to think about Nora anytime I see someone whose abilities aren’t what I expect them to be. Think about Nora when I see someone struggling for words or wringing their hands in nervousness. Think about her anytime I'm having a hard time seeing the good in someone. Anytime I see someone sitting alone, needing someone to reach out.

I hope I will. I want to remember that anyone, their abilities and gifts and even their memories stripped away, still shares my biology and my struggle for connection. 

 

I want to remember. I want us all to remember.

We're all just humans. And that's truly all we have to be.

We had a year! Here's an update.

 Here's a little update on the Darringtons of Morrisville, Pennsylvania. Twenty things about 2020.

photo cred: Steve Ross

1. We went on a family trip to West Virginia. To be away and to do some exploring. We saw waterfalls and beautiful mountain vistas, and we played games (Uncle Jordan came!) and looked (in vain) for restaurants and watched Chopped and Fresh Prince. Ann dropped her diamond wedding ring down the sink at our rental house but got it back thanks to some very kind West Virginian strangers.

2. John (13) worked as a ref for a youth flag football league. He liked earning his own money and developed the skill of not reacting while adults yelled at him. 

3. Jeremy received the most compliments on his pandemic work-from-home zoom background: our sun-bright sunroom, often graced by his home grown sprout plants. He also grew us lots of tomatoes, squash, and greens in the garden he built.

4. Mina (7) performed in an outdoor dance recital and then decided to take a break from dance classes. She has not, however, taken any breaks from actually dancing.

5. Charles (15) was in the Pennsbury Jazz ensemble and the marching band (before everything got cancelled). They were going to perform in China in April (almost!), then pivoted to France, before all plans were scrapped. He worked at a mini-golf course in the summer and Fall. 

6. Edmund (10, almost 11) played center (usually) on his flag football team and made a goal to pull lots of flags on defense. He improved throughout the season and did pull lots of flags at key moments.

7. Jeremy and Ann celebrated 20 years of marriage by sneaking away to hike and see waterfalls in Ithaca, NY and sample all the sparkling water flavors. Two decades in, they still love being together.

8. Ann taught Sunday school classes via zoom, and Jeremy helped her. 

9. Jeremy and Ann started doing yoga again in the mornings. They are both very happy about that.

10. We bought standing desks, loft beds, office chairs, and ethernet cables. We bought ear buds and headphones. We bought sweatpants and stretchy pants and sweatshirts. And we bought lots and lots of chips and chocolate. 

11. Jeremy sang with his choir while on mute. Then recorded himself singing alone for his virtual concert. Jeremy and Ann both practiced and played handbells at home and recorded to a director's track for a virtual performance that was featured in our Christmas worship service. How we miss making live music with others!

12. Ann trained for and ran a 10k with a friend (gotta start somewhere!) and also did a lot of pushups this year. Jeremy even did some running! He also bought himself a rowing machine with award money received from a prestigious professional award he received in June.

13. Charles practiced all the instruments in the house. Including trumpet, cornet, baritone, trombone, saxophone, piano, recorder, and ukulele. He's also developing drumming skills. Often he played these instruments during his virtual "gym" class. Often his siblings told him to be quiet. 

14. John still plays trombone and he also plays video games. Not necessarily in that order (definitely not in that order). He's also now the caretaker for a tiny hamster.

15. Edmund loves to draw, and his parents love it when he gives his drawings to them as gifts. Mina also gives drawings as gifts and writes good letters.

 

16. Ann worked for the US Census this year as an enumerator (she knocked at peoples' doors and asked them census questions). It was tough, hot work but she learned a lot about the people in our community. She also worked as a writing coach helping people with various writing projects, from short stories to scholarly papers. She loves this work.

17. Homeownership is bringing out the handyman in Jeremy. This year he has fixed appliances and leaks and generally figured out how to solve a bunch of problems with his top-notch brain. And sometimes we just call in the pros. 

18. We all love to read, but Mina might have us all beat with her heartfelt devotion to that pastime. "Some people think books are just words on a page," she told us recently. "But to me they are more than that. They are excitement and chaos and . . . so much more." She's been reading Harry Potter and Dogman in equal parts. And anything girly. Edmund has been reading Percy Jackson, John has been reading Artemis Fowl and Hunger Games and anything by Stuart Gibbs, and Charles has been reading whatever he can find on his parents' shelves that looks interesting, including some nonfiction. And of course they all just pass their books around to each other.

19. We read the entire Book of Mormon out loud together this year. We had church at home and on Zoom. We fasted and prayed for friends and loved ones who were sick and grieving. 

20. We made lots of mistakes and forgot to be kind to each other. We got thoroughly sick of each other and wondered if the house would ever be quiet or empty again. We cried for what we've lost and said what we were grateful for. And we laughed and laughed and played guess what song Amazon Music will play next. We had Sunday game nights and Friday Mandalorian-watching nights (though on most nights nobody could agree on what to watch). And we got through it all with the help of God, who is very patient and gracious.

We love you, our friends and family, no matter what year it is, and look forward to hugging you one day soon. Happy New Year!