Malformed Thoughts

- Written Monday 9/7/09 -

His eyes dart back and forth, searching for a place to rest his anxious gaze. Tiny, malformed legs dangle beneath the table like discarded Twizzlers and a pair of greedy hands scours the plate for food. I firmly nudge them back onto his lap and scoop another mouthful of rice and beans into his mouth. Con cuchara, I tell him. Just then, from across the table, another pair of hands has lost hold of a cup, and dark red juice is splattering everywhere. I drop the spoon and run for a towel, but it’s too late. Christian is wetter than a soggy muffin and meanwhile Luis is eagerly devouring the remainder of his food with his grubby hands. Two seats down, Elias is reaching for the pitcher of juice and Javier is asking for more bread, while Enrique proceeds to touch every piece of watermelon on the table. Kids are filtering out of the comedor on their way to school and dishes are clattering in the kitchen and my mind is desperately rejecting the sights and sounds around me. Why do I get stuck with them? I selfishly ask myself.

They’d been here all weekend, three brothers who showed up at the Hogar with nothing more than a pile of clothes. When I walked into the boys’ room on Friday afternoon to help finish cleaning, I was surprised to find it full of strange faces. I was told that Oswaldo, Luis and Christian were to stay with us all weekend. I already have my hands full with 10 boys, and now there were three more. That wasn’t all, two of them couldn’t walk properly and all of them seemed slightly slow. So, for the rest of the weekend, we all took turns carrying them, feeding them, washing them and putting them to bed. I had Sunday off and even though I fed them a few times on Sabbath and this morning, I hadn’t done much else. Yet I was still bothered. I was still afraid their family had left them here for good and wouldn’t be returning for them. I still feigned busyness when I saw kids coming my way with them.

Luis’ sneeze brings my attention back to the table. He wipes a glob of green mucous away from his nose with the back of his hand and stares at me intently, awaiting help. I sigh and go back to the kitchen again for another cloth. After the table is finally cleared, I head into the kitchen to help Andrea before I have to teach. It’s Green Bean Monday, and I glance occasionally at the clock on the wall to make sure I won't be late for class. The sound of wailing grates on my ears and before I can escape or decline, Luis is back in the kitchen on the floor. Andrea is talking cheerily to him, and all I can do is glare. Where are his parents? I secretly gripe. Why aren't they coming? I glance down at his ugly legs, my mind churning with exasperation.

Once again I'd failed to love as I should. My thoughts were more useless and ugly than his malformed legs.

Lord, give me strength to love.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames,but have not love, I gain nothing."

[1 Cor 13:1-3]