Last week we hosted Sister Gaudiosa, a nun from Tanzania, in our home. This was her fifth visit with us and, coming on the heels of headlines involving school shootings, assassinations, rioting, and hateful rhetoric, I was craving serenity. And as always, I found that with Sister.
We spent the first evening talking, on the back deck, then
at the kitchen table, finally moving to the family room. Sister told us about
her work with disabled adults. Every day she provides the basic necessities of
bathing, feeding, dressing. She told us stories of the residents—the woman who
has to have a radio with her at all times; the man who eats so fast that they cut
his food into tiny pieces so he will not choke. It is not an easy job, and many
of the residents are not even aware of her presence, but she spoke of them with
such love and tenderness.
And she spoke with gratitude. This is one thing I had
forgotten about Sister, how she walks through the world with a grateful heart. She
says “God is good” and “thank you” so often that we start thinking like that.
Yes! Thank you! YES! God IS good!
As in past visits, we had made plans for the week, the first
being a day trip to the University of Georgia.
When Sister first met Timothy, he was just three years old. Over
the years, through letters, photos, and visits, she has watched him grow into a
young man. But she had yet to see College Timothy, so we drove to Athens for
the day where Timothy and two of his housemates greeted us, lined up like the
von Trapp children, freshly showered and beaming. (And the house was spotless.)
Timothy gave us a campus tour, we ate lunch at Bolton so Sister could
experience a college dining hall, and we visited the Catholic Center. She was
very impressed with Sanford Stadium.
We also visited my sister in Columbia who fed us a delicious
lunch and taught us how to make beaded pens. Sister loved the colorful beads,
and I loved seeing them, two sisters, seated side-by-side at the dining room
table, one biological and one just as dear. Sister left Columbia with over twenty
pens to hand out to her fellow sisters back at the convent.
One afternoon Joe was watching golf and Sister wanted to
know about the game. He explained the basics and the next day we took her to Putt-Putt.
When we got out of the car, she was excited to see Africa so
well represented: an elephant (tembo), a giraffe (twiga), and a
hippo (kiboko)! She wanted to take photos to send home to Tanzania.
Then, because we did not want her to think that a round of golf always includes
fun animals and waterfalls, we explained that this was PRETEND golf, that Joe
played REAL golf. And right there, on the FIRST hole, Sister made a
hole-in-one!
Oh, how she laughed!
(An aside: I also made a hole-in-one on that very same hole.
And Joe, who plays REAL golf, made it in two.)
When we finished playing, we noticed a large group of
disabled adults who were sitting under the patio waiting for their caretakers. Sister
walked right in their midst and boldy, yet humbly, stood there with a smile. “Hello!”
she said quietly. It was a beautiful thing to see, this way of being bold in a
humble way. One by one, everyone perked up. A few of the adults waved, or responded
verbally, and the caretakers came forward to talk to Sister.
I love witnessing how people respond to Sister. For some, the
response comes from a shared faith. For others, it is a curiosity. But what I genuinely
love is the response from those who are not Catholic, or who do not belong to
any faith, but who will still recognize her outward expression of faith and are
moved by it, this “something” that they cannot explain. And it brings out “something”
in them that they cannot name. I witnessed this when we drove to Athens and stopped
at a gas station where, inside, were men playing on video poker machines. They
all looked up when we walked in. Instantly, one sat up straighter, one smiled, and
another one actually tipped his hat.
The week went by so quickly. We stayed busy during the day,
and in the evening we talked and watched two movies: Hidden Figures (the true
story of three African-American women who were essential to the success of
early spaceflight at NASA) and The Way (the story of a grieving father making a
pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago while carrying the cremated remains of his
son). She loved both movies and wrote them down for the next time the sisters at
the convent have a movie night.
On the morning of Sister’s departure, I drove her to the
airport for her early morning flight. It was very dark on Bobby Jones
Expressway. There were no other cars around. And because the world was still
sleeping, we were taking quietly. Sister led us in prayer. As I drove, I
realized that I could not see beyond the beam of the headlights. If I thought
too hard about it, it would have been scary, but I trusted that as I moved forward
in the darkness the headlights would reveal the road ahead.
And that is what Sister taught me this week. Having arrived
in the midst of political, social, religious, and cultural upheaval emblazoned across
the headlines, her presence reminded me that if you surround yourself with what
is good, pure, brave, and humble, if you are grateful, if you walk by the light of God, carry it
with you and allow it to be your guide, then not only does the world where you
are standing becomes a brighter place, but you can light the way for others who
come into your path.
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