Task: As we anticipate the Spirit’s advance, create something that is spirit-driven from materials that are around your house – crayons, markers, pencils, magazine photos, colors, cloths. Here are some sample images, but let your imagination come up with whatever the wind blows to you.
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Materials around the house: Trees + Sky + iPad + Landline Phone.
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I sit with my laptop writing a note of condolence on the desecration of yet another synagogue. Although Sun-day, it has been grey outside since morning, and when I raise my head at 6:40 PM, nothing other than grey would I expect to see.
Grey is not what I see. I grab the iPad, run out the door, select “Camera”, lift the iPad to the sky, click. I must capture, at least the memory of, "light" that is traveling through the sky, and on its travels, has lit the trees over which it passes, giving dignity and distinction to each and every one. The vision makes me ask a question I often do: What made me look in “that” direction at “that” precise moment? Body, mind, and soul know. I now have a sacred photo that no one will surmise is anything special - just the tops of trees and an area of almost-grey sky, they will say.
On Wednesday, I join a group of strangers for a walk from a nature preserve to formal gardens. There are twenty of us. Since the pandemic began over a year ago, this is the first time I participate in an in-person event. I am shocked to see my extroverted parts naturally surface. They were not lost along with other losses. The time spent is glorious. The time ends. I walk back into the empty house and am immediately squished by an avalanche of sadness. The pain is so great that I can think of no relief but sleep. Three hours later, I awake, now not sad but ill-tempered. Ill-tempered is not my usual, but ill-tempered or not, I have to make up for three hours of productivity lost. I will address the matter of why my sacred photo is strangely not to be found on my iPad. Dealing with Apple should cure my ill-temper, too.
The Apple rep listens to my issue. I listen to her child in the very near background. Be kind, these are difficult times, I say to myself. I listen to her fumble through papers. The answer is not at her fingertips. I imagine a child in her lap while I simultaneously cradle my ill temper. Breathe, breathe - they have told me to breathe. Choking, I manage to squirt: I don't have much time at the moment; may I speak with your supervisor. I am not who I want to be, but I need the photo and to know what "light" felt like.
The Apple supervisor arrives. My ill temper has met its match. I will do things her way. She asks the questions. Questions and answers orderly ensue.
She: Will you know the missing photo when you see it?
Me: Yes, there it is.
Voiceless-me: My sacred photo is back!
She: That's a nice photo.
Me: Thank you.
She: My daughter is a photographer. She has lots of equipment. You should see when the two of us together photograph the same thing. You would never know it was the same.
Voiceless-me: That sounds reasonable.
She: My daughter is blind.
Voiceless-me, excitement escalating exponentially, ill temper gone: Two people when together take respective photographs of the same objects ... one with sight ... one without ... a blank wall ... a museum ... photos side by side ... viewers in conversation as they observe what each photographer saw ... this is life ... we may look at the same scene but we may not see the same thing ... visceral teaching from the sighted mother and the non-sighted daughter ... I have dreamt a new dream, or ... a new dream has been given to me ... and is to be shared.
She: My daughter was born with cataracts. I was so upset. The doctors told me that it was nothing I had done or not done; this happens. I am so proud of my daughter. She is 21. She has a job. She lives with me.
Me: Wait, I have an idea ... (and the dream spills out).
She, laughing slightly: Oh.
Me: No, I mean it. Maybe wall space in a local exhibit, a library exhibit. Don't you realize what you and your daughter have the ability to do and to say to our world?
She: I love my daughter. I am always looking for things we can do together. We could have this as our project.
Me: So, I will be on the lookout for a book of photographs of the same objects done by a sighted mother and her non-sighted daughter.
She: Yes, my name is "M", and her name is "MM". I will speak tonight about this with her.
Voiceless me: I am awfully bossy.
Me: Do you want to see another photograph?
She: Yes.
Me: This is a photo of a mask created by an artist. I adorned it. I did credit the artist, though. I hope he would not mind.
She: I think you enhanced it in sync with the creation itself.
Me: I bought the mask because ... the face ... well, I am Catholic ... and it is how I envision ... ... ... Jesus.
Voiceless me: Gulp.
She: Yes, as soon as I saw it, I saw Jesus.
Voiceless me: Can this experience be real – I believe it is – why is it occurring – it doesn’t matter – I am filled with joy.
This call does end, this call that may have been recorded for educational and training purposes. Between Sunday and Wednesday, with doses in disguise, I have been given eyes to see, ears to hear, words to say. Do I dare de-contextualize and appropriate Jesus’ words from Matthew (10, 19-20), just as I re-contextualized the mask:
“... do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say. You will be given at that moment what you are to say. For it will not be you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you?”
Is this my conceit, or was this the Holy Spirit determined to work with the humanness of a human being named me?
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