Community in Moments

In the sea of carnival enthusiasts and dust, it was difficult to know where to begin.  I held tightly to the hands of Salomé, Ezra and Emmaus whose eyes shown in a mix of excitement and apprehension.  Music blared over the multitudes who screamed ecstatically amidst the dips and dives of roller coasters, claiming to terrify and winning this bet over the less courageous.  Time and again, to my relief, the height limit for certain rides excluded our two Littles.  Salomé carefully chose a few conservative rides to which Magdalene and her close friend Taylor led us with savvy enthusiasm and cheerful strides.  I was the reluctant parent, who could not hold my guard long, as cotton candy and giggly chatter overtook the youngest two, who followed willingly in the teenagers footsteps.

Within two hours Salomé, Emmaus and Ezra needed food and I wished for calm.  The massive dining facility, alive with neon lights implored every possible craving of our appetites to rule and choose their wares.  The setting promised indulgence but not satisfaction or peace.  Salomé noticed a young mother and her baby to whom she tried to direct my eyes, but I was not attentive to anything but finishing our food and stepping out of the massive feeding trough!

Finally, we stood beyond the three sets of double doors outside the mess hall waiting for Magdalene and Taylor when the disheveled mother appeared, wearily pushing her stroller.  "Look Mommy, she actually has two babies!" cried Salomé.

Sure enough, the stroller, laid flat, contained two little sets of feet nearly touching each other.  Two beanie-clad, sleeping babies, one in pink and one in blue, drew our intention in whispers.  I smiled up at the mother whose right arm lay motionless in a sling.  She wore pink sweat pants, a white hoodie and a pink, knitted beanie, which matched her children's, over her blonde tendrils.  She gazed at me through half closed eyes and hid her cigarette.

"They are beautiful," I commented, as Salomè and I peeked at the newborns.  I then looked toward the cigarette, "...don't worry about that, I understand."  She stared at the glowing embers and shrugged her shoulders, but tossed it to the dirt anyway and ground it under a canvas slippered foot.

"It's a bad habit, but I'm 'sposed to die anyway.  I got 20% chance with radiation after my brain tumor.  Had medical care in California, but I'm back up North now 'cause I need more help and me and my boyfriend get more here.  He left with the fifteen-month-old and my other two kids."

"Left?" I stammered, with my eyes fixed on the 8 and 9 pound babes dozing innocently.

"The fair...just left the fair...he's home at the 'partment, my ride's comin' soon too.  She's in church, but she'll be here."

I clutched Salomé's hand, while Magdalene and Taylor patiently entertained Ezra and Emmaus, at a polite distance from the evolving conversation.  We learned the babies' names, Miracle and Jared.  They were tiny, born three weeks before their due date, yet they appeared healthy with perfect features.  I commended her good mothering and a hint of a smile softened her care-worn face.  We said goodbye, then walked in opposite directions.  The glaring lights felt more oppressive than I'd recalled before our meal.  I felt sick and helpless as I watched the mother disappear from view.  Was someone really coming to get her?

Half an hour later, a smily, blonde gal in a light jacket, sweat pants and well used tennis shoes, tapped me on the shoulder.  Beside her stood the young mother who explained, "See...there she is, the lady I told you 'bout, the one who was worried about me..."

"I'm Jocelyn's ride, I was at church...my name's Never.  Thanks for caring for her before I got here." I hugged Never who asked me my name.  "Of course," she laughed, "Grace, that's an excellent name!"

I watched them go.  Never pushed the stroller in pace with Jocelyn, engaging her in conversation, wrapping her fragile friend in kindness.  She embodied compassion, clothed in gentleness, generosity and humility.  I felt rooted to the ground, undeserving of the compliment of caring.  What had I done to show it?

It is difficult to understand and accept the limitations placed on our lives in fleeting moments when others are in need and we feel helpless.  If it were up to humans alone to roll up our sleeves and save the world, would we?  Perhaps pride hisses such fanciful possibilities into our minds in order to trap us in guilt and render us useless in the tiny areas in which we really can make a difference.  If we take the sorrows and sufferings of our globe, as lone stewards of mercy, the burden crushes us and we stumble over ourselves in ineffective hopelessness.  Perhaps if we speak life into each moment, over every person, on the dusty road of our earthly journey, the lightening of the burdens collectively will weave a web of hope.  And maybe if we pause to be the comma in a hard chapter in someone's life we've given them just the breather they need.  I don't know exactly, but that evening at the fair, I saw two women who inspired me to talk with you about mercy and friendship.  Perhaps because of them we will be ready to do a small thing, with courage, the next time it is requested of us.  Then boldly, we will receive and release the baton of loving each-other well, in community.