One of my fellow volunteers on the Thursday crew at Martin’s (the soup kitchen) is an Alzheimer’s patient. To protect his privacy, I’ll call him Eric.
Eric has been coming in with his caregiver for well over a year now. He serves bread to our guests. He loves it. I’m pretty sure that his Thursday gig is a really, really important part of his life – just as it is of mine. We get to have a chat from time to time, and because of that, I’m able, in my small way, to keep up to date on his progress.
Last week, as I was bussing some tables, I smiled at him from across the room. He smiled back. We locked eyes. His smile back to me was way, way more than the simple friendly greeting that I had initiated. It came from a place so deep inside him – from some place altogether beyond Eric, or his consciousness. I was overwhelmed – almost hypnotized.
It was too strong for me. I couldn’t hold it. I had to break off eye contact.
I think I remember that in the old testament, it’s written that when Moses was getting a set of instructions from his creator, who had manifested for the occasion as a burning bush, he was unable to look at the sight. Too big to handle.
I’ve been wondering if I too was looking at God’s smile.
Be kind to yourself,
Metta,
Michael
