February 2009 The Road to Daybreak A Spiritual Journey by Henri J M Nouwen

Continue from ...... The Agony of Parents Many things today. An intimate, prayerful ligurgy with the assistants, an insightful presentation by Joe Vorstermans, the director of the wood shop, about work with handicapped people, a stimulating exchange among the new assistants about their experiences at Daybreak during the past week, and a lovely dinner and good conversation with Gus, the assistant director, his wife, and his children. But the overriding concern was Raymond. His situation has deteriorated, and his death seems imminent. At 7.30am Gus, DJ and I drove to Toronto, where Joe Egan, the director of Daybreak, joined us. When we got to the hospital we found Raymond so heavily sedated that he could not communicate with us any more. The doctor and nurse said there was still hope but also prepared us for a sudden turn for the worse. Most important of all was our time with Ray's parents. It is hard for parents to see any child suffer. But to see the suffering of a handicapped child creates an even greater pain. Raymond had lived for years in an instiution and had only recently come to Daybreak. Not everyone was convinced yet that Daybreak was the best place for Raymond, and the accident obviously called up feelings not only of guilt, but also of frustration and even anger. Many questions went through our minds concerning road safety, the freedom given to handicapped people, care for Ray, and the wisdom of past decisions. Guilt feelings separate, divide, alienate; they can lead to anger and hostility. When we all came together in our common concern for Raymond, we were able to express our feelings to each other not only in words, but also in gestures of love and in prayers and stories about our lives. Soon a new community developed. Raymond's father said to Gus and DJ, "You are as much fathers to Raymond as I am," and thus acknowledged our pain. We were able to understand why he had not always been grateful for the work Daybreak had done for his son, and thus acknowledged his deep anguish. Raymond's situation remains critical. We do not even know if he will survive the night. But all those who love him are united and support each other in their struggle. Not guilt but love guides our concern. And that certainly is a tangible way in which God has responded to our prayers. A New Future Dawns I am writing in a place somewhere between Toronto and Paris. This morning I still wasn't sure if I should return to Trosly today. Raymond's condition remained critical. Last night Joe Egan said, "It might be good if you stay a few more days. In case Raymond does not survive this crisis, your presence will be very important for all of us." I promised to stay if the community asked me to. But around 10am Ray's father called and told us good news: Ray was doing a little better. There was no immediate danger of death. Everyone agreed that I should return to Trosly as planned. At 1 pm I went with Kathy and DJ to the hospital to say good-bye to Raymond and his parents. Raymond was still in the intensive care unit but indeed seemed a little better. He responded with nodding and hand squeezing to our questions, and his fever was clearly less than yesterday. I showed Ray's father how to make the sign of the cross on Ray's forehead. He had never done this before and cried as he signed his son in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. A father's blessing is so healing. Kathy, DJ, Ray's parents, and I sat together in the waiting room for a while and talked. We talked about Ray, about guilt and forgiveness, about trips to Paris, about how good it was to have each other's support, about crying and laughing, and about staying in touch and seeing each other again. After we left the hospital, Kathy and DJ drove me to the airport, at 6.30pm. Air France flight 832 was on its way to Paris. In my nine days at Daybreak I came to feel intimately a part of the intense joy and sorrows of this community of care. I have a deep love for the handicapped men and women and their assistants, who all received me with such warm hospitality. They did not hide anything from me. They allowed me to see their fears and their love. I feel deeply grateful for having been part of it all. I know that these days will deeply affect not only my time in France but also my decisions about the years to come. The Primacy of the Heart Writing Letters It feels good to be home again, even though the mail seems a little overwhelming. But as I was writing letters today, I realized that writing letters is a much more intimate way of communicating than making phone calls. It may sound strange, but I often feel closer to friends I write to than to friends I speak with by phone. When I write I think deeply about my friends. I reflect on our relationship, and I dwell with them in a very personal way. Over the past few months I have come to enjoy letter writing more and more. In the beginning it seemed like a heavy burden, but now it is a relaxing time of the day. It feels like interrupting work for a conversation with a friend. The beauty of letter writing is that it deepens friendships and makes them more real. I have also discovered that letter writing makes me pray more concretely for my friends. Early in the morning, I spend a little time praying for each person to whom I have written and promised my prayers. Today I feel surrounded by the friends I am writing to and praying for. Our love for each other is very concrete and life-giving. Thank God for letters, for those who send them, and for those who receive them. Staying Home can be Following, Too! When Anthony heard Jesus' words to the rich young man, "Go and sell everything you own and give the money to the poor, then come follow me" (Mk. 10:21), he suddenly realized they were meant for him. He sold everything, left his family, and went into the desert. We now consider him the father of Christian monasticism. Today Madame Vanier told me how the same words that had led Anthony to the desert had brought her to L'Arche. After her husband died, she was living in an apartment in Montreal. When she came to visit her son in Trosly, one of the assistants said to her, "Why don't you come to live and work with us?" She answered brusquely, "Mind your own business, young man." But a seed was planted. When she made a reatreat later that year to discern her future, she read this Gospel and suddenly felt tears welling up in her. She knew she had to follow the suggestion of the "brash" young man. She left her aristocreatic life behind and came to live with her son in the community of L'Arche. But today the story of the rich young man has a different meaning for her. Her poor health prevents her from travelling. It was her custom to return to Canada each year to visit her sons, Benedict and Michel, but for the first time in fourteen years at L'Arche she was unable to go. Her daughter, Therese, had come from England to visit before going to Canada. Madame Vanier's original plan had been to go with Therese, but now Threrese was going alone. As we read the Gospel story, it became clear that staying home now at eighty-seven had become as hard for her as leaving home at seventy-three. Now, leaving fahter, mother, brother, and sister to follow Jesus meant accepting the hard fact of no longer being able to visit her children in her own country and realizing that it might never be possible again. It struck me that selling what you own, leaving your family and friends, and following Jesus is not a once-in-a-lifetime event. You must do it many times and in many different ways. And it certainly does not become easier.

- To Be Continued - © Copyright Shalom 2009. All rights reserved.