The Gift of Love

 

By Mary Anne Moresco

   


December 21, 2006

The town where we live borders one of the strongest orthodox Jewish communities in the country.  It is because of this that I often have the chance to witness their way of life as I drive through their town to morning Mass.  I also witness their way of life at the pharmacy, the grocery store and the doctor's and dentist's offices.

Recently, I took one of my daughters to a pediatric dentist and as we walked into the dentist's office I heard singing in a language I could not recognize.  After signing my daughter in, I sat down across from a mother with a baby in a stroller, a toddler, and her own aged mother.  It quickly became clear that she was singing Jewish prayers with her mother.  The mother would follow along for a while, then her mind would wander off, her head would turn and look about, as if senility had, or was, setting in.  Patiently, the daughter guided her mother back to her prayers, as if speaking encouragingly to a child, by saying "come on, Mom; remember, you wanted to say your prayers."  The mother would reflexively begin praying again only to be distracted, like a child, over and over again.  The daughter persevered to the end, continually bringing her mom back to her prayers.

After a while the woman's older two children, having finished their appointment, appeared at the doorway holding their prizes from the dentist and their brand-new toothbrushes.  There was a boy of about 10 years old and a girl of about 5.  Quickly they approached their mother and sat down next to her.  Without speaking a word to the boy, the mother took the hand of the five-year-old and headed back into the office, presumably to straighten out financial matters.

Grandma must have been a little bit sharper than she was letting on, because she waited until her daughter was out of sight before she became somewhat feisty.  Her grandson had emerged with two prizes from the office of the dentist, and she promptly grabbed one and began trying to open it.  Her hands were weak and feeble.  But she was determined.  I'm still not sure what the prize was, except that it was the kind of prize that could make a mess everywhere, because the grandson began to gently coach, "Oh grandma, don't open that here, it will make a mess all over the place."  Grandma wanted none of that, and persisted — until her grandson slowly reached over and took the prize away from her.

As this was going on, the two-year-old began toddling toward the front door and succeeded in pushing it open and making her way half-way out before her hawk-eyed brother caught up with her and calmly brought her back.  He sat himself down again next to grandma, who didn't seem to appreciate having had the prize removed from her grasp.  She reached over and began hitting her grandson on the back with her fist.  She was a weak and frail woman and in response to her punches her grandson acted as if he was being assaulted by puffs of cotton.  He sat still being hit for a while then took his grandmother's hands and placed them in her lap  "You don't want to do that, Grandma,"  he calmly explained.  Just then the two-year old was again on her way out the front door.  The boy again jumped up and pulled her back.

As if this was not enough, Grandma then picked up her grandson's new toothbrush and began hitting him over the head with it.  You would think at this point the average ten-year old would start running for the hills while yelling, "Maaaaaa... Grandma is beating me up."  But that was not the answer for this lad.  He gently reached for the toothbrush, and took it away from his grandmother.  Instead of moving away from her, he moved closer.  He held onto her hands then snuggled up close while tenderly weaving his arm through hers.  He was a young boy who knew how to love.

Love is the gift that the very young and the very old bring to us all.  The young and the old force us to slow down and think about what is important.  They push us beyond and out of our own innate selfishness and desire for comfort.  They force us to love beyond what we think we have to give.  And when we love more than we think we can, somehow we are transformed.  We ourselves become more loving.  When we make that act of love, whether we are ten or twenty, we grow more like Christ.  Mother Teresa said we must "love until it hurts."  The gift of love truly is the "greatest gift of all."

And that is what the euthanasia and abortion promoters of this world do not understand.  They think that by avoiding the pain of the elderly and the unwanted — by doing away with them — that they themselves will become better in their comfort, and more free to do what they want with their lives.  But comfort never makes us better.  It only makes us comfortable.  Heroes are not born from comfort.  Love is not born of comfort.   So often true heroism and true love are born, not when we at last stumble upon paradise, but in the midst of abject pain and suffering — the same suffering that the babe in the manger would one day be called to endure.

I don't know what will one day become of this little boy.  But I suspect that some day, he will be a kind and loving father.  I suspect he will one day be a patient husband.  I suspect he will one day take good care of his own mother when she is old.  I suspect this will happen because he learned young and he learned well that to love is to be kind and gentle and patient — patient enough to accept human beings as they truly are.  He was only ten, but he had more wisdom than some men who have lived four times his years.  He had the gift of love in his heart, and he knew exactly what to do with that gift.  He eagerly gave it away.