A Week in L-11

After the beautiful snowfall we had last week, I came down with a cough.  This very usual winter phenomenon did not take me by surprise, as both Anamaria and Redempta have been sick and "sharing air" with me, but the way it took hold of my whole life was a bit of a shock.

I spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in my bedroom, L-11.  I pulled my desk up to my recliner, watched movies, tried to read books, and dozed on and off.  I wasn't really-really sick, but in order to protect the vulnerable immune systems in the community, I stayed in my room.  On Tuesday morning, I attempted to go to the store to get some more cough medicine, but a very concerned S. Damaris told me it was impossible to get up our driveway because of the snow.  The two inches of snow!!  My Minnesota mind rebelled, but I walked outside and discovered that it wasn't the snow, but the slick ice covering everything (and not treated with sand or salt) that was keeping me homebound.  I retreated back to L-11, pulled my covers over my head, and tried not to think about being confined.  How many times did I wish during my college years to have just a moment, a day to do nothing?  It was a gift, a beautiful opportunity to be alone, to think and be. 

I discovered, however, that I was not prepared to take this opportunity.  As my friend Laura so accurately put it, "You hate being sick!"  The physical discomfort doesn't bother me as much as the debilitation it causes.  I panic about having nothing to do, about not being able to do things.  As I sat in my chair, swaddled in blankets and surrounded by books, cough drops, tea cups, and my computer, I tried to count my blessings.  I tried to be thankful for everything I have been given.  I tried to see the beauty in having time to recover and be healthy again.  But my selfishness got the better of me most of the time.  I was lonely, I was trapped, I couldn't do anything, I was coughing.  And then it was Thanksgiving.  I was away from home, from my family and all the things I usually do and love.  The loneliness hit pretty hard.  It was the first time I've thought about just giving up and going home. 

The next morning, though, the rain came.  That Washington constant, the always-dependable healing tears.  The roads were finally clear enough to drive on without anyone worrying about me, so I took myself to the mall and pretended I was part of secular society again.  I took a wrong turn on the way home and enjoyed a lovely detour through the misty forested countryside.  I felt alive again, like I could do something for myself (like find the right road once I'd lost it), like I was a human being capable of life outside L-11.  The rain was truly vivifying, and its familiarity gave me hope and strength to not just get through this holiday month but to really live it and embrace it. 

I've learned this week that it's easy to get off-track.  It's easy to be self-pitying and lonely and homesick.  And sometimes, as Beate reminded me, I need to acknowledge those feelings.  But after I cry, after the rain falls, I need to wipe the tears away and see the bright, shining world around me.  Life here is so beautiful.  I am surrounded by amazing women who see the extraordinary in every ordinary thing.  I am loved and cared for and showered with blessings.  S. Redempta has started calling me "Mama Sinner" (pronounced "See-nah" if you're from Tanzania) because it's a sign of "big respect" in Africa.  My work is valued and significant - I feel like what I do matters.  I have freedom to grow and love and learn here.  So even though it was hard to see at the time, a week in L-11 really did teach me something.  As Kevin put it, "Tears are healing, hugs are building, love is binding, and God is providing."

Peace and love!