Wednesday, February 14, 2024

What If Mercy Was Like Water?

cheryloreglia

February 14

What If Love Was Like Air?

"Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does."

― Margaret Atwood,

The Setup

I don't want to get all preachy or use language that doesn't resonate with anyone, but I do have a story about love and mercy that I want to share with you.

Today is both Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day, all wrapped up in one. As if God was so frustrated, she connected the two as if a hose to a spigot, and hoped for the best. For some, it marks the beginning of the Lenten journey, which is ultimately divine love wrapped in mercy. It is a time of prayer, fasting, and sacrifice, which releases one's burdens, and makes repairations of the heart, which some believe is the gateway to eternal life.

For many, this makes no sense.

But think about this, If you are not defined by the worst thing you have ever done, you are forgiven, freed from the burden of guilt, misery, and blame, then who the hell are you?

Some say at our core, we are simply an expression of love, a love that has no beginning or end, an eternal spring in the desert of life. In the scriptures, it says God formed us from the dust of the ground and breathed into our nostrils the breath of life, and we became living souls. Now, that's something to consider in the quiet of the morning as the sun recasts the sky in hues of liquid gold; somehow, life stirs within each of us.

I know, let's not get all theatrical.

Here's my take. When I think about mercy, which, as we know, is compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one's power to punish or harm, then all I have to say is we all have this power over someone, maybe this person is vulnerable, someone we dearly love, but who has failed us in some way.

Yes, I realize, this can also be ourselves.

Therefore all of us are capable of showing mercy, divine love, if you will, and one that defines the giver more than the reciever.

If you believe in God as a triune being, sort of like a mother, child, and the love they share all rolled up in one, then you understand how this entity took on human form, not so we could be forgiven, but so that every single one of us over a span of more than 2,000 years, could have an experience of forgiveness.

There's a difference.

Imagine a clogged pipe, the water does not flow, but sits in the basin stagnant, poisonous, and putrid. Then something dislodges the blockage, and everything flows again like it was designed to do.

I'm not calling you a clogged pipe, but our love is meant to flow, because love is an action, it moves between people, and is never stagnant.

The Story

Larry came storming into the house at 10:00 am yesterday and said, "I need your help."

For a brief moment, I'll admit a tirade of unmentionable words ran through my mind, but we'll leave that to your imagination.

I'm supposed to be writing a post, but instead, I've been sitting here for an hour, allowing my mind to meander, muse, and mull, but I haven't actually written a single word.

I tell myself it's part of the creative process.

Of course, I'm not so keen on being a team player right now, leaving my chair, and offering my unwarranted assistance to my valentine.

But I say, "How so?" That seems reasonable, merciful even.

"I need you to turn on a hose at the apartments."

I can think of a thousand things more important than turning on a hose, but I bite my tongue and ask, "Why?"

"I can't seem to clear the old pipes, and I thought I would blast it with the hose, but I can't be two places at once."

"Or you could call a plumber."

"If this doesn't work, I will. Just follow me in your car, after I clear the pipe, you can head home."

I grumble but ultimately concede, "Okay," because I realize even the smallest form of mercy can bring peace when recognized and appreciated. Clearly, the man needs my help.

After making a cup of coffee, I drive four miles over to the apartments, the same ones my sister and I lived in when we were in our early twenties.

Side Story (skip if you're in a hurry)

Nancy lived in apartment number four, and I lived in number five, right next door to each other before we were married. We moved in after graduating from college because my parents sold the family house, and we were suddenly homeless. Thank God my grandparents owned the building, gave us obscenely low rents, and we spent an entire year living independently, before our engagements to David and Larry.

One time I got a crank call in the middle of the night from one of those creepy guys who dials a random number and proceeds to tell you about his sexual fantasies when you're half asleep. This was before caller ID or cell phones.

It's shocking to realize some anonymous creep is calling you in the middle of the night. I hung up on the caller and immediately dialed my sister. Keep in mind it's like 1:00 am.

I can literally hear her walking into her kitchen (which is on the other side of my bedroom wall). She clears her throat before answering the only phone in her apartment, which is located on the counter by the sink.

She says, "Hello," all cheerful and sweet as if she has not just been awakened in the dead of night.

I scream, "I just had a crank call. Can I sleep with you"?

She sighs, "Bring your own pillow." Merciful, right?

And I dash over to her apartment with my pillow and gratefully slip into her warm bed.

I remember trying to sneak back into my apartment at 6:00 am, wearing only a t-shirt and panties, unfortunately the paper boy was delivering the newspaper, and I'm sure he thought I was having a rendezvous with the neighbor. I smiled and slipped through my door.

Memories…

The History

Anyway, when Larry and I were first married, we bought a small apartment complex and lived in the front unit while we managed the three in the back. We were on a tight budget at the time, so to keep expenses down, Larry was the handyman, and I was the housekeeper. We spent the next few decades acquiring more rental units (including the building Nancy and I occupied in 1982), eventually managing ten doors (apartment lingo) while working and raising our kids.

Owning those units helped put our kids through college, paid for weddings and vacations, and allowed us to retire when we were still healthy enough to explore the world on a tandem bike. It's not what I imagined I would be doing in my 60s, but it's better than the alternative.

Larry still does most of the repairs for the units, but we have a handful of electricians, plumbers, and carpenters we can call if we get stuck.

The Story Continues

So I pull into the back of the building and follow Larry out front while he attaches the hose to the spigot.

He cusses. Grabs a wrench. Cusses again. Then he unscrews the hose from the faucet and says, "It doesn't have a washer. It's not going to work. This is what happens with these old buildings. Nothing fits," and he walks back to the truck to look for a spare washer.

I'm standing out front with my purse and my coffee, trying to untangle the two gigantic hoses lying uselessly on the lawn.

I'm not a huge fan of washers, it reminds me of the laundry, and all those crazy cycles of life. I think to myself ~ we don't need no stinking washer.

I pick up the hose, gently reattach it to the rusty faucet, and tighten it with the wrench like Larry did a few minutes ago. I turn on the water. It does spray a bit from the spigot, but in my opinion, the water pressure is fine.

A washer? Meh!

I yell to Larry, who is now pacing in and out of the unit with his hair standing straight up as if he's been pulling on it, "I think there's enough water pressure to clear the clog."

So I demonstrate by turning on the faucet full blast.

He gages the water flow and says, "It might work".

Then he drags the hose into the apartment and into the bathroom, where the drain is blocked and the water is pooling.

He says to me, "Okay, you stand right here by the door. When I yell for you to turn it off, you need to run as fast as you can back to the faucet and turn off the water."

Is he batshit crazy?

But I'm a team player, so I set my coffee on the ground, next to my purse, and say, "Okay, I'm ready."

I turn on the hose full blast and take up my position by the door. In like two seconds, he's screaming, "Turn it off." Then louder, "TURN IT OFF! NOW. DAMN IT! CAN YOU HEAR ME? TURN IT OFF!"

I run as if Travis Kelce back to the faucet, almost slipping in the wet mud, and turn off the water as fast as I can. I'm sort of expecting a compliment because I did it so quickly.

He comes out of the apartment, and he's not smiling. In fact, he's sopping wet. I try very hard not to laugh. But that took more willpower and self-control than I currently was in possession of, and one small giggle slipped out.

He says, "The balloon exploded, and the bathroom is flooded."

"But did it work?"

I get the look. He returns to the bathroom with a bunch of rags from the truck.

Well, my work is done here.

I noticed there were ripe oranges on the tree in the back of the building, so I gathered half a dozen in my shirt before heading back to my car.

This is when Larry came out of the apartment, all smiles, arms waving in the air as if he was the one who who saved the day instead of me, and now he's doing a victory dance. He says, "It worked." I think he wanted to high-five me, but I had an armful of oranges.

"I'm like Taylor Swift, a good-luck charm."

"That you are."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you, and hey, I appreciate your help." I'm not sure he said it exactly like that, but I felt the sentiment all the same.

The Conclusion

On my way home, I was thinking about all the crazy things we've done over the years to fix plumbing problems at the units, help mitigate arguments among the tenants, secure rents, and keep the buildings up to code. The same kind of energy that went into raising kids, keeping our own house in working order, and holding our marriage together.

It seemed as if we were so busy fighting the river of responsibilities that we didn't have time to laugh at the unexpected breaches or bestow a lot of tender mercy on each other.

I've come to believe that mercy is like water, and air is like love. They should flow. When you shower someone with mercy, it should feel like a caress, defining the one who offers it, not the receiver. And if perhaps there is a bit of the divine still bubbling up within each of us, then nothing can stop us from being an oasis for each other, an unexpected source of replenishment for those in need. What if we are not defined not by our failures but by our acts of mercy and how we shower each other with love. Remember, we're half water, designed to flow with a love that is never stagnant, poisonous, or putrid. If mercy is Swift enough to push through obstacles and free us from our burdens, then clearly, love is in the air.

Happy Valentine's Day and Ash Wednesday!

I'm Living in the Gap, the 49ers didn't win the Super Bowl, but I'm celebrating with the victors nonetheless.