For Jazzman With great sorrow, I read your post about your beloved wife. It brought back many memories for me. Some of them happy and joyful, others very sad. Two responses from your posting struck a chord with me. One person said "there are no answers." Another person said alcoholism prevents people from "living up to their true potential." But I disagree. In time, you'll find the answers you seek, and although it may not readily appear so, perhaps Richard and M. did live up to their true potential. It just takes time for the clouds to clear to see the gift we've been given. I remember a short story I read many years ago as a young girl called "The Guest" by Leo Tolstoy. For some reason reading your post today made me think of it again, nearly 20 years later: It happened one day at the year's white end, Two neighbors called on an old-time friend And they found his shop so meager and mean, Made gay with a thousand boughs of green, And Conrad was sitting with face a-shine When he suddenly stopped as he stitched a twine And said, "Old friends, at dawn today, When the **** was crowing the night away, The Lord appeared in a dream to me And said, "I am coming your guest to be". So I've been busy with feet astir, Strewing my shop with branches of fir, The table is spread and the kettle is shined And over the rafters the holly is twined. And now I will wait for my Lord to appear And listen closely so I will hear His step as He nears my humble place And I open the door and look in His face" So his friends went home and left Conrad alone, For this was the happiest day he had known, For, long since, his family had passed away And Conrad had spent many a sad Christmas Day But he knew with the Lord as his Christmas guest This Christmas would be the dearest and best. So he listened with only joy in his heart, And with every sound he would rise with a start And look for the Lord to be standing there In answer to his earnest prayer. So he ran to the window after hearing a sound, But all that he saw on the snow-covered ground Was a shabby beggar whose shoes were torn And all of his clothes were ragged and worn. Conrad was touched and went to the door And he said, "Your feet must be frozen and sore, I may have some shoes in my shop for you And a coat that will keep you warmer, too". So with grateful heart the man went away, But as Conrad noticed the time of day He wondered what made the dear Lord so late And how much longer he'd have to wait. Then he heard a knock and ran to the door, But again it was only a stranger once more, A bent, old woman with a shawl of black A bundle of branches piled on her back. She asked for only a place to rest, But that was reserved for Conrad's Great Guest. Yet her voice seemed to plead, "Don't send me away Let me rest for awhile on Christmas Day". So Conrad brewed her a steaming cup And told her to sit at the table and sup But after she left he was filled with dismay For he saw that the hours were passing away, And the Lord had not come as He said He would, Conrad felt sure he had misunderstood. When out of the stillness he heard a cry, "Please help me and tell me, where am I". So again he opened his friendly door And stood disappointed as twice before, It was only a child who had wandered away And was lost from her family on Christmas Day. Again Conrad's heart was heavy and sad, But he knew he should make this little child glad, So he called her in and wiped her tears And quieted all her childish fears Then he led her back to her home once more But as he entered his own darkened door, He knew that the Lord was not coming today For the hours of Christmas had passed away. So he went to his room and knelt down to pray And he said, "Dear Lord, why did You delay, What kept you from coming to call on me, For I wanted so much Your face to see". Then soft in the silence a voice he heard, "Lift up your head, my son, for I kept my word Three times My shadow crossed your floor Three times I came to your lonely door For I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet, I was the woman you gave to eat, And I was the child that was lost in the street." I've said this before, and I'll say it again. Sometimes angels come in unexpected forms. Sometimes they come in the form of a beggar, a bent up old woman, a lost child, or a lonely and struggling alcoholic. And while it may not be readily apparent, there will be answers to your questions in time, and even alcoholics who succumb to their disease do live up to their potential. Perhaps their job here on earth was to teach people to have compassion for others, the importance of unconditional love, and that love--no matter how brief--is truly a gift that should be cherished. You loved your wife and she loved you. That's all that matters. |
Beautiful. Thank you, FD. God bless. |
Again FD ..... your posts are amazing. Thank you |
That was an awesome poem. Thank you for posting it. |
What a wonderful and thought provoking story. |
Thank you Jill. I remember that short story and it rings true. You're a true friend. Scott |
What a lovely story. Some would argue that believing a person becomes alcoholic is to help others know compassion and love and the alcoholic is living up to their true potential, is a bit of rationalizing by friends/loved ones. Recovering alc's will usually recount stories about "living hell", "demonic possession" and the likes. Maybe seeing someone that you never knew or never loved could help teach love but having seen, as one example, my wife with so much life, bright, intelligent, motivated; develop alcoholism, our family torn apart, a small child torn apart, .................... I just don't have words to go on. We are in a divorce but like jazzman, she is still the love of my life, but I have no control over alcohol. I empathize with jazzman as if it could be me. Maybe one day science will find a cure for addiction, a "miracle drug".. |
All times are GMT -7. The time now is 04:09 AM. |