Day 10: The Right Stuff

A's fine. No appendicitis. The doctor at the emergency room gave her an anti-inflammatory and a Pepcid AC. Who knows if it was stress (which she's feeling a lot of) or something bad she ate or a pulled muscle from being thrown over her teacher's shoulder in Movement class. Hopefully it doesn't return and she finds the time for sleep and regular meals and some relaxation; I don't understand why a 19-year-old drama student should be living the life of a medical student (or why, for that matter, a medical student must succumb to such torture), but it seems pretty common... Anyway, after we left the hospital I helped her with an errand and then I went to the grocery store and bought as much food as I could carry, hopefully enough to ensure that she and her roommate have something decent to eat for the next week. It felt good to be able to help her in some small way. It was my Halloween treat.

In his sermon this morning, our minister said something that really resonated with me: Your life may be the only gospel that someone else ever reads. I've typed it up and taped it to the edge of the bookshelf in my office, where other pearls of wisdom hang in the hope that they will stay with me and inspire me, keep me on track and inform my actions and decisions, or just make me laugh. I try to lead a just life, to lend a helping hand as often as possible and to love my neighbor, but it's not always easy and I often fail. I need reminding, and a lot of it.

The time it's easiest for me to do the right thing, the time when I most feel that I'm living my life the way that God intended, is when I'm building houses in Nicaragua, which I've had the privilege of doing for the last three years. I won't be going this year and will really miss seeing my friend Mayra. I helped build a house for her family the first year I went and I've managed to spend a few minutes visiting with her each time I've been in Nicaragua since then. That I don't speak any Spanish and Mayra doesn't speak any English is irrelevant -- something clicked between the two of us, something that language and distance and lifestyle played no part in, and neither one of us will ever forget the other. At the dedication ceremony for her new home, she looked me in the eye and spoke from her heart; I did the same. We knew what the other was saying.

Thinking of Mayra is akin to looking at the pieces of paper taped to my bookshelf. She inspires me when I'm feeling lazy and selfish and self-absorbed. It doesn't have to require as much effort as going to Nicaragua, although for me that's a pleasure; it can be as simple as buying groceries for my daughter or writing a note to an acquaintance who has lost her mother or letting a car pull out in front of me in traffic. I just need to make the time for it and I need to remember to do it. These small gestures mean a lot and are the things that make up the story of my everyday life, the gospel according to Nancy. There are lots of cautionary tales in there, but I've managed to get some things right, and that's a start. In the meantime, I have Mayra and my bookshelf.