The Morning of Hearts and Crosses
I groan and complain because it’s early in the morning and as my husband says, “You’ve never been a morning person.” I’ve decided, in fact, this is not my ministry. Opportunities to give back abound; it’s my choice how to respond. I’ll go one more time and then I’ll ease out. Let someone more suited take over. Life is a series of choices, and I have mine to make.
*
He sits next to me, one eye injured, the other gently making a connection. He calls me by name because I’m wearing a name tag—this has happened the entire morning and I keep forgetting the name tag and wondering, how do you know me? He tells me he hasn’t seen me around these parts before. I explain my disjointed living schedule, and I throw in that I’ve cut my hair; I suspect most folks won’t recognize me with such a radically different look. “It looks good,” he says. When I demure, he adds, “I’m serious. It lets the beauty of your face shine through.”
*
“Ellen!” he yells. He told me he wanted to read me his story before I left and, distracted, I’m walking out the door. I sit on the couch. He reads, giving it inflection where needed, demonstrating the surprise he felt at the time of which he writes. The narrative flows easily. Toward the end, he arrives at a pause in the telling where beautiful imagery rises with his words, and time begins to stand still. Slowly, he closes the story, and I must reach out and give him a hug. The story is amazing.
*
They’ve been together for ten years. His face glows as he tells the story of their recent trip to marry. They wear matching wedding bands. His spouse’s sleeve threatens to drape through the breakfast grits. He rolls the sleeve for his spouse, removing it from danger. He allows me to write a prayer of thanksgiving for their newly committed love.
*
I’m supposed to be giving. I’m supposed to be doing. I’m supposed to be volunteering. I’m supposed to be bringing. I am folding paper and cutting out hearts and crosses. I am doing nothing. I am the recipient. If I return, it’s not because I have a ministry to fulfill. It’s because I’ve left that much more indebted.
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Luanne
Ellen, thank you for making me cry tonight.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Thank you, Luanne, for reading and commenting and connecting (unless crying is a bad thing!)
Marisa
Your reflections are so good for me. They remind me of the ready threads eager to connect people, how artificial and pointless most barriers between people really are, and that finding significance is as simple as experiencing a present moment. Thank you for your time, your wisdom, and for helping me realign my eyes to shift my focus back where it belongs.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
As with your analysis of short stories, your ability to read a piece and go to the heart of it is amazing—thanks, Marisa, for the summation of what wasn’t said.
Joe Hawes
What a beautiful post. Never have I seen the ministry of presence better depicted. One of your very best.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Thank you, Joe. It’s hard to describe how affecting such experiences are, so I’m glad you felt it came through.