Clothes
Who would have thought that helping someone pick out used clothes would be so humbling? I mentioned that I would talk more about my service at the CSC. While I was there, I did several jobs, but mostly I worked with the clothes: sorting, hanging, sizing and replacing. On my first day, at the very end of the day, I was called to accompany a gentleman through the clothing section to pick out some items. I had a list of the items available to hi and how many of each he could choose. I knew nothing of the man’s story – only that he had a need. I began walking him through the clothing “floor” and we started with jeans and pants. He took a couple of pairs of jeans, but when he started looking at slacks, he suddenly got an insecure look on his face. I didn’t want to pry, but after a minute he leaned close and whispered, “Can a person wear jeans to church?” a myriad of thoughts and words spead through my mind in a brief second, but my answer was firm, “Absolutely!” based on my answer he decided he didn’t need the slacks, but as we moved on I remained moved by that simple question. I have no idea what prompted it, what his experiences are or what he might be wanted to atone for, but I know that my answer was not only right, but what he needed to hear. It was an affirmation that gave hima moment of confidence. As we continued on to the shirts, he asked how many he could have. I told him 10 and he suddenly got a funny look on his face. My first thought was that he was scoffing at the number because it was too low. I quickly learned that he scoffed at the number because he was overwhelmed by our generosity and had no idea how he was going to choose 10 shirts. He didn’t. He took only what he felt he really needed. I did find out that he had “been locked up for a long time,” but I never learned anything else. What I do know about that man was that his gratitude for some hand-me-downs humbled me and his uncertainty about how to dress for church tells me that we too often miss what people really need – unconditional love.
On another day, I was “culling” the clothes racks. (Even donation centers sometimes get more than they need of certains types and sizes of clothing, so they go to other centers or third world countries.) There was a mother there choosing clothes for her and her oldest daughter. She had been there the day before to get clothes for her youngest three. I wasn’t responsible for helping her, but I happened to be nearby and noticed that she was having a difficult time choosing her clothes because of the constant interruptions of her 4-year old (who has been diagnosed with severe ADHD among other things), her daughter (who was supposed to be watching the 4-year old, but has issues of her own) and the 9-month old (who was doing a great job of doing what babies do best). The elderly woman attending the family was trying to get the 4-year old and the daughter situated, but the little one was hungry and had no one to hold his bottle. Here was this mother of four, embarrassed and distracted byt the behavior of her children, trying to hold and feed the littlest AND pick out clothes. She obviously needed help. I struck up and conversation with her. I told her that I didn’t know if I was allowed to hold the baby, but how could I help her? I got her a small clothing cart and we rigged a bed for the baby in it so he could be comfortable and have his bottle propped up. I watched hi and pushed the cart along beside her as she “shopped.” At one point, I sat with the 4-year old while his sister changed the baby’s diaper. In all of this, I continued to make conversation with the woman. She ran away from an abusive situation in Florida when she was still pregnant with the littlest. I asked her how she ended up in Abilene. She told me the story of her research and hunt for a safe place that would help her get back on her feet and how she eventually found the Noah Project. Two of her children have diagnosed disabilities (perhaps results of the abuse they endured) and she is a single mother raising four children. I tried to encourage her that she did not need to rush or feel self-conscious as she was choosing her clothes. We were there to help her and I did my best to relieve some of the pressure of watching her kids. She laughed and said that it was hard not to be self-conscious. I don’t know if I touched her life in anyway, but I was left with a profound respect for her courage and strength. I pray that her and her children’s future is much different from their past.
Italy
We arrived. Safely.
It is by the grace of God we arrived to our final destination in one piece. Neither my husband nor I sleep well in planes, but we expected to get a little. Nope. Nothing. Nada. Then we had to drive 2 hours from Rome to the beach house near Naples. I had to keep myself awake so I could keep my husband awake. So there I was making annoying, “lalala” sounds because I was too tired to make intelligent conversation. We did stop at a gas station, and my husband went in and I stayed in the car with a blissfully sleeping Ilaria. Yes I was jealous. First of all, we barely found parking because we had forgotten that it was the first Sunday in August when the first real mass vacation exodus takes place in Italy. The North moves South for a month. I asked Massimiliano to pick me up a Coke to help me stay awake. I fell asleep while he went in and when he came back after a really long time, it was without my Coke. Evidently there was a line to wait in line and so he gave up.
We did finally make it safely and had a joyous reunion with Massi’s mom and the dog that we had to leave here. While we are all still struggling some with jet lag, for the most part we are getting settled in and are enjoying some beach time and some reunions with some dear friends. Oh, and food. Can’t forget the food.
Expectations
Over the years, I have learned to be careful and realistic in my expectations. How many arguments, misunderstandings and frustrations could be avoided by having realistic expectations. We so often set ourselves and others up for disappointment because we have unrealistic (sometimes widly unrealistic) expectations.
Somehow, in planning this trip to Italy, I was not as careful to guard myself against unrealistic expectations. Perhaps I just forgot how some things are. For example, when we went to get our rental car in the airport, I expected a well-organized, speedy line. What I got instead (after 15 hours of travel and no sleep) was a blob that took us an hour and a half to wade through. Not a huge deal, I guess, but it caused me more stress than necessary because I was expecting something different. Then – and you’ll laugh at me for this – there’s the food. I have been dreaming about my mother-in-law’s linguine with fresh tomatoes for weeks. I make it at home, but it is not the same as when you have tomotoes grown in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. The other day she made linguine con pomodori freschi…and I looked at it and was confused. I asked what tomatoes she used, and she said regular tomatoes. Now, in the ten years I’ve known her, she has never used “regular” tomatoes, so I have no idea why she did this time. She has always used cherry tomatoes. It was still good, but I was disappointed because I was expecting something different. Since being here, I have had to adjust my expectations. Nothing earth-shattering, but an adjustment here and there all the same.
My husband has also struggled with his expectations. He has experienced disappointment due to his expectations of people more than events, though. In the end you tell yourself that you knew it would be that way, but you really had hoped that something would be different this time.
My husband lost a cousin to cancer a year and a half ago, and we knew that his aunt has had a particularly difficult time since – as is only normal when losing a daughter, of course. What we did not expect, however, were the rancor and disgust on her face when we greeted her. She was like a statue except for her facial expressions. My mother-in-law says that she is that way with everyone now, but we found out that she and her husband (and vicariously, one of their daughters) have been holding against us a specific event involving the daughter that died. The details don’t matter to anyone but us, and who is right and who is wrong matters little as well. We had left relations strained for other family matters 2 years ago, but we certainly did not expect this level of hostility. We had hoped to repair those relationships to some extent, but another brick has been laid in the wall. Anything is possible, especially through prayer, and we still have two weeks to make more attempts. My husband spoke for a while with his uncle yesterday and who knows what seeds where planted.
Drama
I would (lovingly) say that drama is the national passtime of the Italians…especially in Naples. Neopolitans are like the volcano they live near: they are constantly letting off steam, but they’re not happy if they don’t have a spectacular explosion every now and again. Then everything returns to normal – as if nothing ever happened. Have you ever watched a soap opera? That’s like everyday life for a Neopolitan. Italian soap operas and movies are ridiculously cheesy because they already have so much real-life drama that they have to crank it up on the screen.
My husband’s family is no different. Thankfully, since it is just us and my mother-in-law right now, we are able to keep things to a minimum, but there is always that “something” that is there, waiting to cause an explosion. We made a choice, however. We are here to spend time with my husband’s mother, to rest and to visit friends. We have no time or place for drama.
Beach
It’s time for our afternoon outing to the beach. I’ll close for now and try to include some pictures next time.