Seen and Unseen

for Bebe

Beatrice with Aunt Anna on Thanksgiving 2024

My friend Margaret and I were commiserating over our long to-do lists. She recalled once complaining to her ailing mother over the futility of trying to get through it all. She would never forget her mother’s response. I expected her to share something reassuring like “It’s a myth that you can do it all” or “God understands.”

Instead her mother said, “I wish I had something to do.”

Margaret reminded me that having things to do is a blessing. It means you’re still relevant.

But of course everyone is relevant. That some seem more relevant than others is an illusion.

When I visit my sister-in-law Beatrice in her group home, and witness her decline, and observe her non-verbal housemates, who have so little to offer this world in terms of what it demands, I consider that illusion, and the reality hidden behind it.

On the surface, it seems certain people are merely a burden, that some of us are important, others less so.

Today I woke up with nerve pain extending along the left side of my body. Simple movements trigger the pain, and occasionally my leg will give way when walking. I’ve taken up precious time to stretch and roll around the floor on my foam roller. Moving is a problem.

Consequently, I’m behind in the day’s tasks. The dinner I’d planned to cook for my husband and a friend is getting less elaborate by the hour, and may soon become Mexican takeout. I’m punting on ambitions like tidying the kitchen desk and sweeping the porch. Standards are lowering.

My temporary impairment is a minor inconvenience compared to what many others deal with on a daily basis. And yet it made me question my self-worth. I found myself wondering where I would find purpose and meaning were I truly incapacitated.

So many are.

My friend Irina passed away from cancer in 2020. When she was sick I would visit occasionally. A couple of times she mentioned friends had stopped calling. She didn’t say it in a manipulative or guilt-inducing way. I believe she actually meant to affirm me. But I was—and still am—all too conscious of my fear-induced shortcomings in this department.

At her memorial service I connected with a new friend who had spent time with Irina during the excruciating end of her life. Kathy would provide comfort and companionship lying beside her in the bed. Hearing this left me with a mixture of feelings—gratitude that my dear friend had this support, sad regret that I wasn’t more present, and envy of someone who was able to meet her need in that moment.

It strikes me that, had I been there, Irina would have been the one meeting my need, not the other way around.

It has worked this way with my sister-in-law, Beatrice, whom I wrote about one year ago here. In the year since, her sentences have gone from incomplete to one word if we’re lucky. But when I bend down and look at her, the recognition in her eyes, and the faint smile that lights her face like a slow sunrise, meet an inexplicable need in me.

In that piece I wrote about visiting a local coffee shop with her, and experiencing a taste of how it might feel to be among the unseen.

We all long to be seen. But perhaps, in a sense, being seen is overrated.

Two passages from Paul’s letters to the Corinthians ring in my mind:

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are acheiving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 
-1 Corinthians 4:16-18

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. 
-2 Corinthians 13:12

What does it mean to be relevant? To be seen? Unseen? Temporary? Eternal?

All I know is that the mystery is entered into, the veil thinned, by what Paul goes on to call “the greatest of these” among faith, hope, and love.

Our (my) most beautiful and life-affirming words are no more than clanging cymbals without love.

One day I trust I will find words, truer than any I could ever write, to tell Beatrice how her relevance lifted mine, how a mere glance from her invited me into the eternal.

Here is a poem about Beatrice from just over one year ago:

Cadence

i want
she said
to see
the sentence
not unfinished
but changed
mid-flight
softly gathering
its forgotten 
bloom together
with swallows
and stars
with arias
oceans and
cathedral spires
children’s prayers
and acts
of mercy
to see
once more
her mother
will be
to see
in full
as she
the seer
is 
fully 
seen

Another illusion

That I fell from the face of the planet of Substack was only an illusion. In fact I was bunjee jumping over the side. The cord was, obviously, extremely long. But along the way I enjoyed some intriguing and beautiful views that promise to feed my writing, already in progress.

Now I’m springing back and feel I owe my loyal readers some makeup material. So my goal will be two to three posts per week over the next month, after which I’ll post every week on the same day. Because you deserve better consistency.

These are my goals anyway.

As always, leave a comment to let me know what you are most interested in reading.

One of those aforementioned beautiful views was at the Mockingbird NYC conference. Stay tuned for a report of one weekend chock full of spiritual enrichment from Chelsea.

my sons and their friends enjoying the view from Cat Rocks, on the Appalachian Trail in Pawling, NY

Please join me on Wednesday, June 11 at 5:00 PM EST for a Zoom discussion of Bishop

Jake Owensby

’s A Full-Hearted Life. I have loved reading this and look forward to chatting with some of you about how meaningful it is, and how very timely. "Following Jesus means to navigate our way through life with the Spirit of love, because we know ourselves to be loved beyond reason."

Pretty much sums it up.

Leave a comment below if you haven’t already let me know you’d like to join us.

Not to spill my secrets but…

I would not be writing here on Substack, or writing a memoir, or bouncing back from setbacks, or maybe writing at all, were it not for

Janisse Ray

. Many others feel the same debt of gratitude. She is as generous a teacher as she is a writer, and that’s saying something. As tempting as it is to keep this to myself, I know better. Her memoir class starts very soon, on my birthday in fact. Maybe you’d like to join me. Here’s what she has to say about it:

Someone interested in the upcoming memoir course said to me recently, "I have stories I want to tell. Even if only for myself, I want the stories I tell to be pleasing to my spirit, to ring true, to be a soulful reflection of my journey thus far."

What a beautiful goal, eh? To write stories that ring true for her, that please her spirit. I very much applaud and admire that.

If you are in the same camp--if you have stories to tell and you want to tell them well and tell them true, I sincerely invite you to write memoir with me this summer. We'll be doing some writing and a bit of studying and a bit of reading.

For more details click here.

Thank you, as always, for your comments, likes, shares, messages, for reading and subscribing. I appreciate you.