People don’t necessarily think about doctors as
philosophers. Yet as I approached the
unit desk the other day, a physician was waxing philosophical to the unit
clerk-secretary about Love. Yeah. Really, he was. Their starting point was the familiar holiday
commentary we all make about “Christmas being too commercialized.” Let’s face it: we ALL say it. Sometimes we say it right before or after we
go out and buy the very presents we are protesting. But we say it.
My mother remarked last year to me, “Well, you know it isn’t
all about the presents.” I reminded her
of two things: my birthday is Christmas
Eve and I think that was God’s message to my parents that I SHOULD get presents
too – and lots of them. And also, the
baby Jesus was visited by Three Wise Men bearing gifts for Him. If they showed up empty-handed, I bet even they would have been booted out of the
stable at Bethlehem. But that’s just my
take on the situation. You know, if I
was Him and all.
So, back to the doctor.
He was explaining that the most important gift we can give to someone is
not something we buy or manufacture. It
is ourselves. WE are the present. WE are the gift. Then he got tricky. He asked me, the Somewhat Innocent Bystander,
what the implication was for us AS the gift.
I stabbed in the dark: “Um, that
we take care of ourselves so that we can give the best gift?” (Just to clarify: I was not thinking of me going on a
diet. I was thinking of the Valentine’s
Day card my friend and her husband sent to me one year. On the cover was the picture of a guy holding
flowers. But he himself looked like he
was a World Wrestling Federation reject.
How someone can look obnoxious is a mystery that he achieved on that
card. It made you not want the flowers
either. As the old Arabic proverb says: “be careful when the nose of the camel comes
under the tent, pretty soon the whole camel is coming.”)
I do think the doctor was right. And I reserve the right to disagree with
physicians in areas philosophical and theological because that is my field of expertise. I told one of them once: Look, I won’t take out anyone’s appendix if
you agree to stop misquoting the Bible.
We chuckled. Message delivered.
But isn’t it true that sometimes we forget the core of life
is Love? And we truly have a million and
one opportunities to spread that love on a daily basis – and that doesn’t have
to involve legal tender or expensive gifts.
It is the busy social worker who helps a patient just by spending extra
time with her to calm her fears. It is
the friend in the lunch line that loans you a dollar when the cafeteria barons
have overcharged yet again. It is the
person who picks up the pieces of your emotional system when someone has hurt
you intentionally. It is the chaplain
that gives you a book to read just because he wants to be a good friend. It is the friend who sits behind you and lets
you bounce your insecurities off her to get some stable ground. It is the sweet girl that empties your waste
baskets with a smile and a cheerful hello.
All of these ways, people are showing love, giving love, giving
themselves to you.
Last night as I drove through the darkness towards the
veterinarian’s office with little Bonnie, the black cocker spaniel puppy curled
up in a small crate on the front seat, and as they say in baseball, “I kept up
the chatter.” She was nestled on a hot
pack and traveling quite quietly. I had
the heat high in the car and my feet were starting to feel that clammy feeling
in my winter boots. But I was taking one
for Team Spaniel, so I’m not complaining.
I just didn’t want her to get nervous, be nervous, or kick into the
puppy crying mode. “It’s okay,
Bonnie. We are just checking you out
with the vet. He is going to be very
nice to you. I am with you.” No response, just two little wide eyes
peeking in the dark back at me. “Aw,
honey. Don’t worry. Mommy is just paranoid as to why you have
sniffles. I’m here.” Again, the quiet trust in the darkness. (And she is perfectly healthy, per the
veterinarian.)
Then it hit me. This
is what parents have done for children since the dawn of humanity. Presence.
Soft assurance in the night.
Comfort. “I am here with
you.” It seems to me that as long as we
as humans feel we are not alone, we still retain some emotional starch in us
through the most trying of times. And
the Catholic world in my head heard the familiar collecting-prayer in
church: “The Lord be with you,” says the
priest to the congregation. And they
respond, “And also with you.” These are
the words of comfort in our dark night of the unknown which we call: Life.
I’ve heard them at least 50 something times a year for the last few
decades and last night in the darkness of my vehicle with my precious puppy, I
finally got it: Presence. Divine presence. Human presence. Canine presence. And that presence that each of us gives is
the most tangible form of love we can offer.
“I am here with you.”
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Cma12.08.2016
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