the strong and the weak

"Sometimes today people have difficulty with the phrases “the poor” and “the weak”. The words “poor” and “weak” go against certain cultural norms that want everyone to be strong and powerful. Weakness is frequently considered a defect. However, little children are weak; they cannot fend for themselves. People with severe intellectual disability are weak; they cannot cope all alone. This does not mean that they have no value. We all have our limits and handicaps. We all need each other. But some people recognize their poverty; others do not." Jean Vanier, Ark for the Poor, p. 14


Since coming to work at L'Arche, I've begun to look at the words "strong" and "weak" differently.

 In our society, people are considered strong if we are independent. If we can do things on our own with no assistance from anyone else, that is considered a sign of strength. If we can support ourselves financially, emotionally and psychologically without needing help or intervention from someone else, then we are recognized as strong people. This is a good thing. It's the ideal. It's the way we want to be. It is good to be seen as strong.

But if, for some reason, we do not have that ability to be independent, if we need help to perform everyday tasks, it is seen as a sign of weakness. If we have to reach out and ask for help when we are struggling to pay our bills or buy our food, if we need to seek support for a particular situation or problem that is burdening us, it is seen as a lack of strength. If we were a strong person we'd be able to push through, to shoulder the burden on our own with no help from anyone. Being weak is seen as a negative. It's something we do not want to be. It is a thing to be avoided at all costs.

So, by society's standards, I would be considered a strong person. I am able to be independent. I can live on my own, work to earn the money to pay my own bills, purchase and prepare my own food. I make decisions for myself. I am educated and have a Bachelor's Degree and a Master's Degree. I don't have any health concerns, I don't need any medications to help me function appropriately.

My housemates, however, would fall into the category of what society would consider weak. Most of them would be unable to do all of the things they'd need to do to live on their own. They need help with daily tasks that they are unable to do themselves and sometimes need reminders to complete the tasks of which they are capable. They don't have the skill set or the capacity to get and keep a job that would provide them with a salary that would allow them to be able to live on their own and provide for themselves. Some of them are on medications that help them function appropriately both psychologically and physically. Some of them are unable to communicate their wants and needs in a way that society considers effective.

So, I am strong and the core members I work with everyday are weak. At least if we define "strong" and "weak" the way that society tends to define them. But it's not that simple. Life in a L'Arche community, much like the Beatitudes of Jesus upon which these communities are based, turns these things upside down.

There are many places in my life where I am weak. For instance, I can have a short temper. I can be quick to get upset and sometimes slow to forgive. I can be quick to judge people. I can let other peoples' opinions of me have too much power. I can be slow to ask for help, wanting to prove that I can do something on my own. I can sometimes hold back my emotions, not wanting to let people know how I really feel. My ego often gets in the way of even the simplest things.

The core members, however, are often very strong. They can see joy in the small things. They can forgive easily and let go of grudges quickly. They can be accepting and loving of just about anyone. With just a smile, they can bring joy to an entire room. They can be quick to laugh. They can stop what they're doing and dance to a song they enjoy no matter where they might be. They can have no problem relying on someone else for help with their everyday tasks. They often have no trouble being honest about what they are thinking and feeling.

These are just some of the ways that core members have shown me that they are strong. Of course, not every core member does all of those things and not any core member does these things all the time. Like all people, we are strong sometimes and at other times we are weak. Sometimes we can do things on our own, sometimes we need help and support. There are times when I'm the one who is strong, and I am helping the core members. Then there are times when they are the ones sharing their strength with me. We take turns.

And that is one of the beautiful things about life in L'Arche. It isn't about what I can do for the core members. It isn't about how I, the strong, capable, able-bodied non-disabled person can help them. It's about how we can share life together and what we can do for each other. It's recognizing that each of us is strong and each of us is weak in our own ways, with our own gifts and talents to share with the world.

true hospitality

I've been thinking an awful lot about hospitality lately.

It's something I have thought that I'm pretty good at. I enjoy having people over to the house and to cook food for them. I like to make donuts or muffins or other baked goods to welcome new people to our community. If we have a guest or a friend of the community who is visiting, I'm always quick to offer to host them at my house. I enjoy having people over for conversation. I've even started inviting my coworkers out for coffee (which I pay for), to foster relationships and to get to know them better.

So, I like to pat myself on the back. Hospitality? Yeah, I got that.

But, recently, through some things I've been reading and through situations that are present in my life, I've come to realize that hospitality is more than that. And often, I'm not as good at it as I'd like to be.

Oh, sure, I'm good at welcoming people into my house. I can make a good spinach and mushroom lasagna or whip up a batch of chocolate donuts for people to eat at my table. I can let someone use the spare bedroom in my house for a couple nights, or offer them a cup of coffee and a spot to sit on the couch.

But real hospitality is broader than that. It's more than making a space in your house for someone. It's clearing away the clutter and other things that can get in the way, and making a space of peace and welcome for the other not just on your couch or at your table, but in your heart, as well.

Sometimes that can be easy. The person you want to welcome can make you feel at ease or comfortable. They can make the act of welcoming them seem easy and natural. It can be no problem to offer hospitality to someone who looks like us, thinks like us, acts like us or smells like us.

But hospitality isn't just about offering a space to people we like, or with whom we are comfortable. It's also about offering a space for the other, for the stranger, for people we might prefer to ignore. It is making a space of welcome for all people.


Hospitality is also about welcoming people as they are, not only if they will become as I want them to be. I can't say to someone, "You are welcome here, but only if you change this part about you." Those are not words of welcome and that is not hospitality.


L'Arche is about hospitality. It's about making a space of welcome and inclusion for people who are often on the margins of society. It's about creating a space for adults with developmental disabilities to be able to call their home. When people hear that this is what I'm doing with my life, they often respond with comments about how I must be some sort of saint, or how they could never do anything like that.

In response to being called a saint because of her work, Dorothy Day responded: "Don't call me a saint. I don't want to be dismissed so easily."

For me, I don't want to be called a saint because most days I don't feel like one. Ok, pretty much every day is a day I don't feel like one. In my interactions with the people I live with I see all sorts of ways I could have been more hospitable, more inclusive, more welcoming and accepting of who they are and where they are on their journey.

But the thing about L'Arche is that they don't let me off the hook that easily. These people with whom I could be more hospitable are with me everyday. So, when I lose my temper and snap at someone for asking me a question for the 507th time, I can't really just get up and go away and never see them again. Instead, I have to sit next to them at supper that same day.

In L'Arche we strive to welcome all people as they are, realizing that it is these things about us that seem broken or imperfect that make us who we are. Living in this community I have been gifted to see that these people who are often seen by the greater society as somehow lacking or incomplete are really quite remarkable people. They have such amazing gifts to share, if we are willing to take the time to slow down and receive them.

Life in L'Arche is not easy. There are things I have had to give up to choose to live here. Sometimes I have to miss out on things that I would really love to do because I have made a commitment to life in this community. And it can be easy to focus on what I do not have, but if I do that too much than I can easily overlook all that I am gaining.

Jean Vanier, the founder of L'Arche, sums it up quite remarkably in one of his letters: "L'Arche is a school of love where we learn to love others who are different. This requires each person to grow in humility and to work on themselves. It means learning to see each person as somebody in whom God dwells, a person from whom we can receive gifts and who can help us to grow in love."

I have a mug that I use to drink my coffee every morning. It was made by a core member from the L'Arche Daybreak community in Canada. On it there are drawings of four people, two of whom are in wheelchairs, and above them are the words "All Are Welcome." That is true hospitality. That is the vision of L'Arche. And I pray that I might make a space where all can be welcome in my house and also in my heart.

the muffin incident

or "The Great Muffin Caper"

In my previous post, I make reference to a time when I "practically threw a plate of muffins" at my community coordinator. Having read through that post multiple times, and thinking about that phrase, I can envision all sorts of different scenarios that someone might think of after reading it and not having witnessed it firsthand. So I decided I would write a post to share that story with you, so that you'd know exactly what happened and not have some image of me as a horrible and violent angry person.

It was a Wednesday morning. It happened to be the day of the week we have our assistants' meeting, where we all get together and go over the schedule for the next seven days, and we also would have a time of prayer or formation. This particular Wednesday also happened to be a special day for Thomas, our community coordinator. I'm pretty sure it was his birthday, but it could have been his anniversary in our community. I don't remember which, right offhand.

I enjoy baking goodies to bring to our meetings. I've made muffins and donuts on a couple of occasions, often times for special occasions like birthdays or anniversaries or if it was a new assistant's first meeting with us or someone's last meeting. But often I would just bring treats for fun. But, since today was a special day for Thomas I decided I wanted to bake some muffins to bring to the meeting.

I woke up earlier than normal that day, and had arranged it with the other assistant in my house that she would drive the guys to work on our normal route that day instead of me, so that I'd have time to make the muffins. Now, when I bake stuff in the house, even if I'm planning on using them for some other occasion or place, I usually make enough so that the guys in my house can have one of whatever I'm making because I'd feel guilty if I baked something, and filled the house with a wonderful smell and then they didn't even get to have one. So in the first batch of muffins I ended up with nine muffins, and I gave four away, one to each core member. That left me with five muffins. I figured if I made a second batch, with another eight or nine muffins in that batch, I'd end up with 13 or 14 muffins and that would be plenty to take to our meeting.

Well, as that second batch was baking, I noticed that, for some reason, the oven didn't seem to be getting as hot as it should. The muffins were taking longer to bake than the last batch. After this batch was done, I still needed to take a shower, and then go pick up another assistant from the auto mechanic because he had dropped of his house van and needed a ride to our meeting. So I needed this batch of muffins to bake on schedule. I waited and finally they were done so I took them out. I left them in the pan to cool, next to the five muffins that had already cooled and were sitting on the counter, and I went up to my room to take a shower.

When I had gone upstairs to shower, all but one of the core members in my house were either already at or on their way to their day services. When I came downstairs I was in the house alone. I walked over to the muffins to take them out of the pan and put them in a container with the others to take to the meeting when I noticed that they, in fact, were not done and every single one of them had sunk. They were inedible. I couldn't serve them like that and I couldn't put them back in the oven. Even if that would have worked, for some reason the oven was not working well enough, and I certainly didn't have enough time to wait for them to finish baking or to make a new batch. So I grabbed a plate to put the five edible muffins on, when I noticed that there were only four. Someone (and by someone I mean the only core member who had been home when I had gone upstairs) had decided he needed a second muffin and so he had snatched one when I was out of the room.

I was upset. I had wanted to make muffins for Thomas, to celebrate this occasion. I had wanted to make enough muffins for everyone to have one. I pride myself in my baking skills, because I often get a lot of compliments for the things I bake. But now, because of that stupid oven and that certain core member I had four muffins for more than four people. This was not how I envisioned things happening. For some reason, that was enough to practically ruin my whole morning.

The entire drive to the auto mechanic I was fuming. I just sat there and went over everything that went wrong that morning over and over again in my head. That oven didn't get hot enough. Those muffins didn't bake all the way and then were ruined. That core member stole one of my muffins.

When I picked up my fellow assistant he saw the muffins and made a couple jokes about them. He saw that there were only four and that we had more than four people at our meeting. He thought he should eat one now, just to make sure he got one. He was trying to make a joke. That's how he is. But I was definitely not feeling it that morning. I tried to tell myself not to get too upset about it, but I just couldn't talk myself out of that bad mood. It was planning on hanging around whether I wanted it to or not.

I tried to tell myself that I was just going to walk in and put the muffins on the table and explain to everyone what had happened. And then we'd go on with our meeting. I envisioned it happening that way in my head as I pulled the van into the parking lot and turned it off. But that is not how it happened.

I grabbed the plate of muffins and walked into the office. Thomas and a few of the other assistants were already sitting at the table waiting for the rest of us to arrive for the meeting. He was in conversation with another assistant when I walked over to the table. All of those good intentions went out the window. I was suddenly overwhelmed by my disappointment and anger and I tossed the plate on to the table in front of Thomas and said something along the lines of, "Here's your stupid muffins." Then I said something like, "I am in the worst mood ever." Then I walked into Thomas' office and shut the door and proceeded to have a little bit of a meltdown.

After I had composed myself I walked back out into the main area of the office and started to try and calmly tell them what had happened, but as I relayed the story and got to the point about the core member taking an extra muffin, I got angry again and kicked a chair out of frustration. But then we went on with our meeting, and as we talked and discussed the week ahead I began to calm down and my anger subsided.

When the meeting was over (and after people had split the muffins so everyone who wanted one got to enjoy at least part of one) and most of the other assistants had left, I apologized to Thomas and Kathy, our community leader, saying that I realized that it was just a bunch of muffins and it was really no reason to get upset. Kathy said that she figured I'd come to that realization sooner or later. Then we all laughed at the situation and Kathy called the electrician to go to the house and check out why the oven wasn't working right.

It turned out that something was wrong with our main breaker, and it was getting overheated and so the entire thing was not working right. He said we were lucky it didn't start on fire. I figured then that the entire morning went far better than it could have. At least I didn't have to come to the office that morning and say, "Here are your stupid muffins. And the house burnt down."

life in community

When I expressed interest in coming to live at L'Arche Heartland, in the e-mail that I sent I wrote this lengthy paragraph or two about how I had become interested in Henri Nouwen's writing, and my good friend suggested I read Nouwen's book "Adam: God's Beloved." So I did, and I immediately fell in love with the idea of L'Arche. After that I looked for just about every book I could find that was written about L'Arche. I read more of Nouwen's work, and I read books by Jean Vanier, the man who founded L'Arche. I read a book by Sue Mosteller, who was the community leader at L'Arche Daybreak when Henri Nouwen was there and she was also the International Coordinator of L'Arche after Jean Vanier.

When the community coordinator of L'Arche Heartland got back to me, he said that often times people who learn about L'Arche through the writings of Nouwen and Vanier can sometimes be disappointed in the reality of community life once they arrive. Both of these authors have had a lot of experience living in community, and their writing is often full of wonder and deep spirituality. But when someone moves into a L'Arche community and is faced with the day to day life with the people in their homes, they quickly learn that it can often differ from what they've read in the books.

I've noticed that many of my blog entries share some of the more uplifting or holy moments, or as a friend would say the "kumbayah moments." And sure, they are there. I wouldn't be able to write about them if they weren't. But the reality is, those moments are only a portion of what happens in my house. There are meals to make, dishes to clean, floors to sweep, toilets to plunge, messes to clean up, people to drive to work, people to pick up from work, medication to be administered, documentation to be filled out, groceries to be bought, cars to be filled with gas, laundry to be washed, garbage to be emptied, ledgers to be balanced... And then sometimes, in the midst of that, I manage to catch a glimpse of something, or to hear someone say a word or phrase that strikes me in a different way. Sometimes I'm lucky to be aware enough to catch those fleeting moments. But I think, all too often, I'm much too focused on the mundane tasks at hand, and I often miss the opportunity.

Or there are the times that I lose my patience, where I handle a situation in a less than helpful way. Where I get frustrated with someone, or they get frustrated with me, or we get frustrated with each other. Times like these all of that wonder and holiness seem to leave the room, or at least go hide behind the couch. Then I'm left feeling all flustered or upset, most of the time with myself because I didn't handle the situation with the patience or compassion or gentleness or humor that I would have hoped.

Then I look at my life in L'Arche as it is right at that moment and I can't help but think that it would never make it into one of those books by Nouwen or Vanier.  I can't recall ever reading anything they wrote about a snippy, short-tempered assistant. I don't remember seeing anything about an assistant who practically had a wrestling match to retrieve an object from a core member that they shouldn't have had. There's nothing about the assistant who slammed their car door and shouted at a core member in the front yard of their house, or the assistant who had a spectacular meltdown and practically threw a plate of muffins at their community coordinator.

But that's life in community. Or atleast my life in community. And I'm guessing that it's not really all that abnormal or different. I'm sure the specifics might vary, but I'd be willing to bet that anyone who has spent much time living in intentional community in general, and L'Arche in particular, can share plenty of their own less than stellar moments. It's all a part of the deal when you sign up for a life in community.

Another part of life in community, though, is the need to forgive as well as to ask for forgiveness. So, when those moments happen, I have to stuff my pride away and muster up the humility to admit that I was wrong, or that I could have handled the situation differently, and ask for forgiveness. I also have to be willing to extend that same forgiveness to others, even in the midst of hurt feelings or a bruised ego.

And I suppose that's where the wonder and holiness comes into the situation. In the fact that, no matter how many times I've screwed up, or said something wrong, or made a fool of myself, every time when I have asked for forgiveness, I've received it. I've been given a hug, or a smile, or a kind word to let me know that it was forgiven and forgotten. We were able to mend our relationship and move on, to wipe the slate clean... at least until the next time I can find a way to mess up!

this house

(Note: I wrote this about a week ago but didn't post it at the time because I didn't have internet access in the house. Today, our internet was hooked up and two of the core members who I will be living with moved their stuff into the house. Already our life together is starting to take shape.)

As I write this I am sitting in a house that is virtually empty. The only furniture is a twin sized bed, an end table and a dresser. There is nothing in the dining room or the living room. The three other bedrooms sit wide open and empty. Right now, I’m the only person living in this house. I’ve been here for a little more than a week. I’ve spent my time cleaning, sweeping up mounds of dog hair that was left behind by the previous owners. I’ve been mopping and dusting and putting up shower curtains and installing smoke detectors. I’ve been assembling vacuums and putting together shelves for storage. We’ve been shopping and buying furniture which is set to be delivered in the middle of this week. We are getting ready to open another house here at L’Arche, a house that will become a home for me, and at least three other people, all of whom are living with some kind of developmental disabilities. So, yes, this house is currently pretty empty. But while it might be empty of furniture, it is full of possibility.

I can’t help but stand in the dining room, and envision where the table will be. When I see the table, I see it surrounded by the core members and assistants who will share meals there. I know there will be much laughter and conversation shared over good food. I know there will be times spent together in prayer, with a candle lit to signify the holiness of the occasion. I know there will be house meetings where each one is encouraged to share what is important to them in their life together in this house.

When I turn to the living room, I think of the couch and chairs that will go there, encouraging people to sit and relax and spend time together. It will also be the area where we will host our weekly community prayer nights when it’s our turn. We’ll move the chairs and couch out of the way and put up a few extra tables and more chairs. The other houses will come and join us and we’ll share a meal all together and then some singing and an activity afterward, followed by prayer. I imagine the joy and laughter and communion that will fill the house then, when we are all gathered in this room. 

Then I move to the kitchen, and think of all the meals that will be prepared there. I think of all the bowls of cereal that will be poured, all the pancakes that will be made, the lunches that will be packed, the spaghetti that will be boiled, the cakes that will be baked to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. I think of the coffee that will be brewed in the mornings, the dishes that will need to be washed after every meal, the pots and pans and dishes and cups that will fill the cupboards. I look at the fridge and can’t wait to cover it with pictures of people who are important to us, our friends and family, both in and out of L’Arche.

Down the hall are the bedrooms, and as I walk by each one I think of the members of our community who will be in these rooms. I think of the two core members who will be moving here from one of our other houses. I think of our relationships as they are now, and wonder how they will change as we share a home together. I imagine how their energy and wisdom and spirit will shape this house. And then I look at the bedroom that will belong to a new core member that we will be welcoming. I think of the times he’s visited us, and the little bit I’ve gotten to know him, and wonder what it will be like to live with him, to learn how best to help him lead a full and happy life, and to learn American Sign Language so that I can more fully communicate with him. Then I look at the last bedroom on the right-hand side of the hallway, which is mine, the only furnished room in the house at the moment, and I think about what my life will look like in this house. I wonder how I will change and grow, what I will learn, what the core members will teach me, while I call this place my home.

So right now this house might be empty in the material sense. It might not have all of the things that people think of when they envision what a house looks like. But it is brimming with possibility and hope and ideas and promise. And very soon the people will be here to fill that promise with flesh and bones and laughter and noise and joy and love, and that will be what makes it our home.

Candle Light

From June 3rd-9th, I was blessed with the opportunity to be a delegate at the L'Arche International General Assembly in Atlanta, Georgia. Members and friends of L'Arche from all over the world came to be together for a week, to celebrate and to make some important decisions together. I was also asked to be a daily reporter, and to share my thoughts and experiences during the week which were shared in the daily newsletter. If you are interested in what happened during the assembly, you are more than welcome to head on over to the L'Arche International website and read my updates, look at the pictures, watch the videos and get a taste of the Assembly.

I encourage you to go and check out those daily updates. It was quite an amazing experience, and I feel deeply honored to have been able to participate in the ways that I did. But, since I wrote daily updates, and there are so many wonderful pictures and videos, I'm not going to write my thoughts and perceptions of the event here on my blog. But what I want to write about is something that happened the last evening of the Assembly, after I had already turned in my final thoughts.

We gathered together outside (despite the wind and threat of rain) for a Prayer of Thanksgiving service. It was a silent service, accompanied only by some instrumental music provided by our wonderful musicians. Representatives from each of the zones, or regions, of L'Arche International were candle bearers, and they stood in front of the assembly holding their candles. The idea for the service was then for each member of the assembly to have a candle, which would be lit from the candle bearers at the front, and then the light would travel all the way through to the back of the people seated as the flames were passed on.

Because of the wind, however, this plan did not work out quite like it should have. Many times, shortly after a candle was lit, it would get blown out by a gust of wind. If you held your candle up, to show off the light, the chances were good that it wouldn't stay lit. If you kept it down and closely guarded by your hand, it had a better chance of staying lit, but then only a very few others were able to see it.

While this might not have been what the liturgy planners had intended, it seemed to me to be a more fitting way to end out time together. It seemed to me to be a more fitting image of life in L'Arche.

We believe that each person has a gift, something special and uniquely their own to offer the world. But, like the flame of a candle, this gift can be fragile. The words people say, or the way they treat us, can cause us to doubt our gifts. The society we live in can value other things, such as competition or beauty or productiveness, or something else that might make us to feel that our gifts are inferior. This can cause us to doubt our gifts, to wonder if there might be something wrong with the gifts that we have.

The wind can easily snuff out the flame of our candles, much like the world around us can cause us to doubt or hide our gifts. Our reaction to this is to hide and shelter our gifts. During the Prayer of Thanksgiving service, I noticed that I was keeping my candle low, and close to myself. I had my hand next to the flame, sheltering it from the wind. It stayed lit for a long time, but the only people who knew that it was still lit were those right beside me. The other people at the service had no idea that my candle was still burning. But sometimes, even with my best efforts to keep it safe, the wind would find its way in and blow out the flame.

But there was something else that was going on at that service. Whenever someone's candle would go out, someone nearby whose candle was still lit would reach over and relight their candle. The light from someone else's candle would reignite the light of another's.

I believe that that is the gift of life in community and L'Arche in particular. When the flame of our candle is extinguished, when we feel as if the gifts we contribute are of little or no value, we have those around us who are ready to relight our candle, to remind us of our giftedness and uniqueness, to tell us, again and again and again, how important and valuable we are to the community.

At least that is what I've found to be true. On days when I am frustrated or upset, when I'm feeling insignificant or wondering if I have anything worth sharing, I have received blessings from my L'Arche family that lift me up and remind me of my value. Sometimes those are verbal comments, sometimes they are as simple as a hug or a hand on my arm. But each time I have found that my flame has been reignited and my spirits have been lifted. I have also been blessed to be able to do the same for others, on days when they needed a gentle word or a kind gesture, I have been able to share that with them, helping them to continue to shine their light.

That's the joy of living in community, and it is a great joy I have found living in L'Arche. It is the gift of people with different abilities choosing to live life together. It is strong and weak, working together, looking out for one another (and believe me, in community we all take turns being the strong and the weak). It is sharing our light, to relight the candle of our brother or sister who is in need, and trusting that same light will be given to us when we need it. It's knowing that the community is not complete without each one sharing their light and lifting it up so that everyone can see.

My blog word cloud

So, I wanted to see what kind of "word cloud" my blog would make, so I went to Wordle and gave it a try. I guess we see what I blog about the most, don't we?