Simply Norma

It is always (I think at the time) at the most inopportune moment that Scriptures I have memorized pop into my head.

When I get upset with someone, lose my patience, want to give “friendly” advice, want to have credit given to me instead of someone else for something I did, want to prove myself right — a Scripture edges itself to the front of my head:

Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails.  1 Corinthians 13:4-8

I always take issue with the Scripture and the conversation with God goes something like this:

Are you kidding me God?  This is not the time to be putting that Scripture in my head.  You know I should have gotten credit for that.  How come I have to be the one to apologize for getting angry?  It’s always me who goes first.  I’m not boasting.  I’m not proud.  I just want the credit due TO ME.

And the response from God this time is:

Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.  Matthew 25:40

Another Scripture.  Another reminder that I am not flawless.  That I am imperfect.  And that in spite of the imperfections, He loves me.

I am reminded that 1 Corinthians 13 is the principle that my Father follows in His relationship with me. He asks that I give to others what He has given to me.

It sounds simple on the surface but in practice is sometimes hard for me.

Yet, He’s right and I thank Him for reminding me.  A reminder that I shouldn’t need every day but somehow I do.  He gently tells me it’s okay.  And I compose myself, remembering who I represent, and repair any damage I may have done in my relationships.

I was about 12, and my father, who had not been around much since my mother had to leave him, decided to come back and visit us.

We lived in an apartment on a boulevard.  It had 6 units — 3 stories high and 2 units on each floor.  It had a beautiful cement balcony and I liked to look at the cars go by or at the people walking past.

My father’s visit lasted about one week.  During this time, he painted our kitchen yellow. My memory of that time stops there.

But something else must have happened because later in the year, around Christmas time, my family (including extended family) decided that we were going to Indiana for the holidays.  I was adamant that I was not going because my father had told me that he was coming back for Christmas.  My Mama tried to tell me that he wouldn’t be coming.  But I believed my father.

Still having the naivete of a child, my father’s word was pure gold.

When the car arrived to take us to our destination, I hid.  They found me and physically had to pick me up, screaming, kicking and biting. I was determined not to miss my father’s visit.  Being overpowered by the strong arms of adults, I was shoved into the car where the rest of my siblings waited.  I was the only one who knew about my father’s promise to return.

At our destination, I stubbornly refused to get out of the car. They pulled me out and took me inside kicking and screaming.  I hit my head on the edge of a table and my Mami Saro (grandmother) yelled dejala quieta (leave her alone, in Spanish).  I pretended to be unconscious.

If nothing else, I gained a little pity having lost the valiant fight to be there for my father.

But he never came.  And from that day forward, I learned that promises are not always kept.  That those you love can and will disappoint you sometimes.  I learned mistrust.  I learned betrayal.

Then I read these words:

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me, that you also may be where I am.  John 14:3

Jesus speaks of His return for us, for me, in this verse.  Can I believe it?  Yes.  For He has never backed out of a promise.  He has always been there for me.

Sometimes, I can sense His presence so close that I reach my hand up to the sky to try to touch Him.

This time, I won’t be disappointed. This is one person I can believe and trust and He will come back for me.

The Badlands

Last evening, I stayed up late to watch a movie called The Soloist.  I’m not one to stay up late for too many things but this movie caught my attention even though I didn’t start watching it from the beginning.

The movie is about a journalist, Steve, who is looking for something newsworthy to write about.  He goes out into the streets of Los Angeles and finds a homeless man, Nathaniel Ayers, who has extraordinary music abilities playing the cello.

He writes about Nathaniel and does everything he can to help him.  But Nathaniel has a mental illness.  In one scene, Steve had set up an appointment for Nathaniel to meet with the philharmonic orchestra and Nathaniel could not leave his “things” behind.  “Things” such as a broom, an old pillow, cardboard that he slept on — important to Nathaniel although Steve was trying to move him in a “better” direction.

At one point in the story, Nathaniel beats Steve up because he believes that Steve is trying to have him committed (Steve does try to get Nathaniel psychiatric help but it has to be voluntary).

The movie ends with Steve making this statement:

“A year ago, I met a man who was down on his luck and thought I might be able to help him.  I don’t know that I have.  Yes, my friend Mr Ayers now sleeps inside.  He has a key.  He has a bed.  But his mental state, and his well-being, are as precarious now as they were the day we met.  There are people who tell me I’ve helped him.  Mental health experts say that the simple act of being someone’s friend can change his brain chemistry, improve his functioning in the world.  I can’t speak for Mr. Ayers in that regard.  Maybe our friendship has helped him.  But maybe not.  I can, however, speak for myself.  I can tell you that by witnessing Mr. Ayers courage, his humility, his faith in the power of his art, I’ve learned the dignity of being loyal to something you believe in.  Of holding onto it, above all else.  Of believing, without question, that it will carry you home.”

The movie was based on a real person.

It was only this morning that I realized why the movie stirred my heart.

I too have tried on many occasions to “help” only to find myself beaten in the end.  And I have believed, as the statement above quotes, “that the simple act of being someone’s friend can change his brain chemistry.”

Sometimes I just have to be and let life play itself out.  The results may not be what I want or expect but I still have to be “loyal to something you believe in.”

That’s the message God taught me from this movie.

1 Corinthians 13:7  Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.