Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Another Letter to The Big Guy

Dear God,

I'm sorry to go straight to the top on this one ( I know we Catholics usually use a more circuitous route) but I need to ask you a question.

It's about my friend Dora. . . we've spoken about her before. . . you know . . . she's the 450-pound-mildly-retarded woman who cares for her 500-pound-bedridden-husband, Meke (of course, I've changed their names around a bit for the sake of their privacy, but, hey. . . you know who I'm referring to . . . right???)

Well, my question is . . . and I don't mean any disrespect. . . but. . . (Oh, don't I hate it when my daughters preface a statement by saying. . . No offense, but. . . ) well anyway . . . my question is. . .Why is life so damn miserable for some people????

And the reason I'm asking, God, is because yesterday she came to me in her motorized wheelchair to pick up her monthly food vouchers and she looked at me with those big brown eyes and cried, Liz, who can help me with Meke? I gotta talk to somebody!!! And although I can't elaborate on her woes right here (for they concerned a lack of hygiene and some bodily functions which I would rather not discuss with the general public. . .) I was overwhelmed by a sense of sadness for poor Dora and the daily trials which she must be enduring.

And more than that, I was humbled by her trials.

Her trials. . . so much greater than having some teenage daughters who drive her to distraction. . . who push the envelope. . . who break the rules. . .

For there she is. . . barely able - both physically and mentally - to live alone in a cold-hearted society, much less to be burdened by another whose needs are greater than hers. . . . living in the "projects" . . . scraping by on only the generosity of others . . . And (I dare say) knowing that if she makes the unthinkable choice of putting her husband in a Medicaid-accepted nursing home, her own precarious living situation may be compromised.

And so I ask you now, dear God, to be with her. . . to see that perhaps those small steps I made with her. . . the only phone call that I knew how to make. . . will be enough to provide her with some relief. . . some comfort . . . some reprieve. . .

And I guess I don't really need an answer to that Why is life so miserable? question. I guess I just need to know that you will hear my plea on her behalf and do whatever it is that a God like you decides to do.

And yes, I thank you for the dose of humility which I so desperately need from time to time. . .

and don't expect a p.s. 'cause I don't want to push my luck here. . .