The Occasional Perspective
Opinions and Reflections
One
of my daily habits – actually, almost the first thing I do in the
morning, is to open my email and read the message from Father Richard
Rohr. He is a Catholic priest who has led the Center for Action and
Contemplation for many years. He is now transitioning into the
retirement phase of life and hosts multiple, thoughtful individuals on
various issues related to “action and contemplation.” The message from
November 14th touched my heart and so I’m passing it along to you. It’s by Naomi Shihab Nye, an Arab-American poet. I did not get permission to copy and paste but, I’m hopeful that Father Richard will forgive me for sharing. Actually, I’m certain he will…😊So, here goes…
“Wandering
around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, I heard an announcement: “If
anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands Arabic, please come to
the gate immediately.” Well, one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my
gate. I went there. An older woman in a full traditional Palestinian
embroidered dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor,
wailing loudly. “Help,” said the flight service person. “Talk to her…We
told her the flight was going to be late and she did this.”
“I
stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke to her haltingly.
“Shu-dow-a, Shu-bid-uck Habibti? Stani schway, Min fadlick,
Shu-bit-se-wee?” The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly
used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been canceled
entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment… I
said, “No, we’re fine. We’ll get there, just later. Who is picking you
up? Let’s call him”.
“We
called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay
with his mother and would ride next to her… She talked to him. Then we
called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my Dad and
he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out of course they had
ten shared friends. Then, I thought why not call some Palestinian poets I
know and let them chat with her? This took up about two hours.
“She
was laughing a lot by then, telling about her life, patting my knee,
answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool
cookies – little power sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts
– out of her bag and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To
my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament.
The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the lovely woman
from Laredo – we were all covered with the same powdered sugar and
smiling. There is no better cookie.
“And
then the airline broke out free beverages and two little girls from our
flight ran around serving us all apple juice and they were covered with
powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend – by now we were
holding hands – had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal
thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling
tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted somewhere. And I
looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought – this is the
world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that
gate – once the crying of confusion stopped – seemed apprehensive about
any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other
women, too. This can still happen anywhere.”
So, my thought for the day: I agree…not everything is lost.