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A few months ago, I was assigned to our house in Winslow, Arizona. I was stationed here once before, and in many ways, it felt like coming home.
There were old friends to re-connect with, and the basics of our Madonna House life are the same no matter where the house is located. Also I had lived with most of the staff here at one time or another, and I was looking forward to reconnecting with them as well.
As for the people here, we can rest in their hearts. They never ask us what we do but simply receives us as who we are. And as anyone who has served in Winslow knows, they love and accept us as family.
For this Saskatchewan prairie girl, there is also “the solace of wide open spaces” (as the title of one book puts it) to meet me and hold me. Under these skies both at night or during the day, I feel a sense of wonder and mystery—of the finite standing before the Infinite. It keeps me little, humble, and grateful.
I experience the same mystery in the people of Winslow. I stand before them in awe and they, too, keep me little, humble, and grateful.
Last fall, our pastor decided not to hold catechism classes except for First Communion and Confirmation preparation.
Instead he is giving evening classes focused on the Catechism of the Catholic Church, classes whose main purpose is to feed the catechism teachers. However, they are open to anyone in the parish, and we have been amazed at the large attendance by people of all ages and backgrounds.
Several of our longtime friends have gotten older since I was here before. They move a little slower now, and some have dementia.
There are many courageous spouses and family members serving these loved ones. One friend shared that every day he prays that his wife may be at peace throughout the day and that he may always respect her and treat her with dignity. I am reminded to pray the same prayer for my brother and sisters in our house.
The poor know their need and see the needs of others too. At Christmas, we received a handmade card from a family we had helped the previous Christmas.
They were grateful for the Christmas angels (their name for the donors) who helped them and asked this year to be someone else’s Christmas angel. They do not have much but they want to share the joy of receiving with another family who might have less than they do. This stuns me.
Sometimes someone even refuses a gift so that it can go to another. I see this often when I deliver food to a family and they tell me about someone else who needs food.
We encounter many different types of deaths here, and so many of them are connected to addiction. The morning after the suicide of a friend, I was ironing chapel linen and standing in the poverty of my powerlessness. What could I do? I am too little and the pain was too big.
Then it struck me that the chapel linens wrap the Body of my Lord at Mass. I could join Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus and the ointment-bearing women and shroud this man and his family with the offering of my powerlessness.
When I later dropped by the family’s home to give my condolences, I was drawn in by the radiance of the grandmother’s faith and trust in the darkness. She knew she was not alone.
Over and over, I walk in the footprints of every Madonna House staff worker who has come before me pouring ointment on and wiping the faces of their brothers and sisters here in Winslow.
Our life here rarely changes a situation, but it does give light and hope. Our presence is enough.
