Mother Teresa
Walking in the light of God/Source
In addition to Ben Franklin and Harriet Tubman, one of my favorite people to grace our planet is Mother Teresa.
I remember the first time I recognized she was not just walking in the light but holding the highest light.
The First Lesson: Smile at Each Other
I was cleaning house, watching the news. The media was following Mother Teresa through Tijuana, Mexico. A reporter managed to ask this question: If she could have one wish come true, what would it be?
I stopped, waiting for her answer. Like the throng of reporters surrounding the diminutive nun, I expected her to say something… clichéd. World peace. An end to world hunger. Some such.
Instead, Mother Teresa replied with a brilliant bit of wisdom:
“I wish people would smile at each other more.”
The answer struck my heart and mind. World peace or ending hunger might be beyond our daily to-do list, but smiling at people is not. It is the easiest thing in the world and has efficacious health benefits for both giver and receiver.
Some people stop, wondering: But what if the person doesn’t smile back?
Who cares? All the more reason this person needed your smile. It might be the only one they’ve seen in a month.
The Second Lesson: The Face of Jesus
The second time I encountered Mother Teresa’s wisdom, she rocked my soul. It was just after the tumultuous year my husband John passed after thirty five happy years of marriage and then eleven months later our son Jonpaul died (of an antibiotic resistant infection.) These were the two brightest lights in my life.
The doors to the spiritual realm blew open.
A year os so later, on this day I was writing about this story:
Mother Teresa stood alongside her dear friend, the musician Bono. They stood together before a long line of starving people at a refugee center.
Witnessing such vast and unnecessary suffering, Bono said with condemnation:
“When I see this long line of starving people, I see an indictment of the human race.”
This surprised Mother Teresa, and she replied:
“When I look into the face of a starving person, I see the face of Jesus.”
I realized what a powerful spiritual truth this was! How different the world would be if we extended the love we feel for our family or God/Source to everyone.
I began thinking of my son Jonpaul, realizing the truth of what Mother Teresa said: If I saw my late son in the face of a homeless person, I too would want to help them in any way I could. I’d want to take them home, do their laundry, fix them a good meal—in short, do whatever I could to help them.
The Lesson Arrives
Spirit zoomed in to make sure I understood the power and beauty of Mother Teresa’s spiritual wisdom.
That very night, I went to sleep and woke before dawn. Going about making coffee happen, I noticed the garage door was open.
My mom, an artist, used the garage as an art studio. It housed a kiln, tables, blocks of clay, and hundreds of jars of glazes. There were also two giant dog beds because the dogs loved being with my mom while she worked. The garage door was always open when she worked, as an invitation to neighbors to stop by and keep her company, but we always closed it at night to keep out the critters—raccoons, skunks, and of course rats.
I could not imagine how it had been left open, how neither my mom nor I had noticed this before we retired for the night.
I headed to the office, which had the door to the garage, to close it.
Only to discover a homeless man sleeping on the two dog beds.
While of course no one ever feels afraid in the company of a Newfoundland, I still would not have felt afraid if I were alone, because… I felt the strong presence of the Holy Spirit (which I know as God in action). I knew in that instant it all had to do with Mother Teresa and my thoughts of Jonpaul.
I knew my love for Jonpaul had manifested in this homeless man now set before me.
Ryan
He woke just then and began apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I just ducked in to get out of the rain.”
A light drizzle was falling outside.
“Hey. No worries.” I offered up a smile. “You are welcome to sleep here. It’s still dark. Go back to sleep.”
He lay back down. His eyes closed. I turned off the lights. I got dressed, left a note for my mom so she wouldn’t be afraid, and went off to yoga. I returned three hours later, and he was still sleeping.
Soon after, he woke up.
In the light of the morning, I saw he was movie-star handsome. I began making inquiries. His name was Ryan, he said.
Coincidentally (if you believe such things), Ryan was exactly Jonpaul’s age if he were still alive. Curiously, Ryan seemed mentally slow. His speech might be characterized by the word measured or cautious.
“Ryan, I have to ask. Are you on drugs?”
Unsurprised by the question, he shook his head. “No,” he said.
I stood there, studying the visitor. His clothes were clean and hip: nice jeans, a maroon plaid shirt. Even his black sneakers looked new and clean. Still, he must have mental problems. It was as if he was moving underwater.
I offered the bathroom, a shower, and laundry. He refused all of this.
He smiled at me and said he would be on his way.
I drew back, startled. What? No. I needed to give him something. To help him in some way.
“Can’t you stay for breakfast?” I tried not to beg.
He shook his head and quietly gathered his things. I watched as he walked out into the day and disappeared down the street.
The experience was now over—if it even was an experience. Perhaps an aborted experience? Though it was so odd: Ryan sleeping in our garage, just after writing about Mother Teresa’s universal love that rode on her great love of Jesus.
And there had never been a homeless person in the neighborhood, for good reason. Nicknamed Top of the World, the cluster of maybe a hundred homes sits two miles at the top of a hill straight up from town.
It takes a lot of energy to get up the hill on foot.
Why was Ryan here? In my garage of all places?
The Return
I was still pondering the mystery of Ryan, standing at the kitchen sink, when I looked out—and there he was again.
My heart leaped with joy.
“Ryan, you’re back!” I said, coming out of the kitchen to greet him as if he were a long-lost friend.
He must have gone to the park and cleaned up. He somewhat sheepishly asked for toast.
That’s when I noticed the enigma of his smile as he stood there—and his huge, gorgeous blue eyes.
Jonpaul had huge, gorgeous blue eyes.
No matter. I abruptly understood the gift Ryan was offering.
I was making Jonpaul breakfast one last time.
The Breakfast
Confession. Normally, no one wants to eat anything I cook. While people always loved our dinner parties, it got to the point where I either had to warn people to eat before they came or make the dinner a potluck.
This morning was different. I went all out in the making of Ryan’s breakfast. Julia Child had nothing on me.
Ryan soon sat down to a plate of scrambled eggs, veggie sausage, toast, a giant orange, and a glass of soy milk.
My heart was full to bursting with the joy of this simple offering.
I tried to inquire about his circumstances while he ate, but honestly, it was as if every word cost him. Little to no information was forthcoming. And if you knew me, you’d know how odd this was. I could get the life story from the supermarket checker before the groceries were bagged.
Ryan did eat every bite, thanked me, and again, he got up to leave.
I couldn’t bear it.
“You are so familiar, Ryan! Somehow! And, well, I feel like I am supposed to help you. Can I? Is there anything you need? Anything at all?”
If Ryan had asked for my bank account numbers, I would have supplied them.
But no. He paused and then grinned—that enigmatic smile again, like he was in on a joke, and this joke was on me.
Ryan asked me if I had any nicotine gum.
The Gift
Omg. I used to be a nicotine addict, and you know what they say: once an addict, always an addict. I always kept nicotine gum on hand to give to smokers—or so I always told John and Jonpaul when they came across it. It was really for an occasional indulgence. An alcohol buzz. A burst of excitement.
The thing of it was, John and Jonpaul always teased me about it.
“Sure, Mom,” I remember Jonpaul saying once when coming across it in my drawer. “It’s for the dozens of smokers you constantly run into.”
Then Jonpaul offered up a wink.
I looked into Ryan’s eyes and suddenly saw the laughter there.
I gave Ryan a whole sheet of nicotine gum. He looked at it in his hand before slipping it into a shirt pocket. He offered up one last smile, thanked me again for breakfast, and disappeared.
One Day
One day, we will all extend the circle of our love to hold the entire world.
Mother Teresa will be applauding triumphantly.