I read this story on Sunday, about a man who had been dead for over a year in his home before he was discovered. Besides being gruesome, it made me sad for him that he had no community to notice his absence.
"Neighbors said when they had not seen Ricardo, who was diabetic and had been blind for years, they assumed he was in the hospital or a long-term care facility."
Today I was in need of community. I felt every day of my 38 years. I felt un-hip, lame and just generally not with it. I felt like a middle-aged woman in elastic-waisted jeans and tennis shoes and plenty of gray hairs. Just generally deflated and fairly doubtful of my contributions to the world today.
And then I came home, and found beautiful community in the eyes and embrace of my 7-year old son. When he heard my key in the door, he came running to throw himself into my arms. He buried his head on my shoulder, wrapped arms and legs around me, and watered my thirsty soul with his hug. I sat down in the rocking chair with him. He quietly whispered to me "I love you so much, Mom."
In that moment, I felt Jesus whispering to me that I was truly valued and needed, that I had a worthy contribution to make.
When I get old, I actually think that I am going to enjoy living in some sort of retirement community. I like the idea of sitting around in my wheelchair with all the other white-haired grannies doing random crafts. I tell you what, I think that's a lot better than dying alone in front of a blaring television!