The hard path of love

I have spent the last 9 years of my life wanting to be like Jean Vanier. Through his writings and listening to him speak, I saw a man who was gentle, patient, kind, compassionate, and uncomplicated. He came across as authentic. Who he was when he was with his community mates with disabilities was the same as who he was when he was with dignitaries and academics. Always wearing that blue jacket. Always slightly disheveled. Always with that gleam in his eye and a kind smile on his lips. 

And he chose downward mobility. He could have gone many other routes. He could have been an important professor or risen the ranks of the military. But he chose to live in that small house, that didn't even have indoor plumbing at the beginning, with people who were marginalized. He saw beauty and worth in them and wanted to help them see it in themselves. 

I thought that if a life lived in community with my friends in L'Arche would fashion me into that kind of person, then it would be a life beautifully lived. 

But now, we see a different side of this man. A side lived in shadow and in secret. A gross misuse of power and an abuse of trust and relationship. It makes you question everything else about him. How much was true? How much was authentic? 

And if this man isn't the person I thought he was, then what does that mean about the story of how L'Arche was founded? What does that mean about the person I was trying to become? If we can't share the story of Jean, then how can we share the story of L'Arche?

And that is when I think about all of the people that L'Arche has brought into my life. All the beautiful stories of so many people who have been transformed through relationships they have made in L'Arche. I think of all the people who live their lives in ways that call me to be a better person, to grow in wisdom and patience and kindness and love. I think of Pat and Katharine and Alex and Billie Lu and Justin and Matt and Thomas and Nicole and Sharon and John and Mallory and Sam and Vanessa and  James and Halston and Bridget and Amy and Kathy and Ray and George and Andrew and Mike and Joan and JoAnne and Megan and so many others who have allowed me to call them friend and have helped me to be a better person. These are the important people, these are the stories we need to focus on and share. The stories of so many people, with and without disabilities, living in mutual trusting relationships and sharing life together. In the midst of this darkness and sadness, these are sources of life and light and joy. 

So we need to let this be the story of L'Arche. It is not the story of one man and how he chose to wield his power. It is the story of so many beautiful people who continually choose the hard path of love. And just maybe, by being in community with them and sharing in their stories, I will still have a life that is beautifully lived. 

Eight lessons from eight years

Eight years ago this month I moved into L'Arche Heartland. Even though I had done a lot of research, like reading the writings of Henri Nouwen and Jean Vanier and others who had lived in L'Arche communities, I really didn't know what I was in for. There have been a lot of ups and downs over the years, and there have definitely been times when I wondered if I should stick around (I actually did leave for a few months but realized I needed to come back), but my relationships with the core members and the ways I have seen and felt myself grow have made me ride out the hard times and stick around.
As I've been thinking about my eight years in L'Arche, I thought it might be fun to write down eight lessons I've learned. They are definitely not all the things I've learned, but they are what came to mind and what I felt like sharing as I began writing. Some are more light-hearted than others, but all of them speak true to my time in community. 

Eight Lessons from Eight Years in L'Arche

Faster is not necessarily better
When I lived with Brian, one of our daily tasks was to go on a morning walk. Towards the beginning of our time together I saw these walks as things that just needed to be done as quickly as possible. We had a regular route that we walked and I thought it was better to do just get it over with.

But going for a walk with Brian is not just something that you do quickly. Brian would walk with a slow and deliberate pace and this frustrated me. On these walks, my mind would be occupied with all of the other things I needed to do, and this walk through the neighborhood was keeping me from doing them. I would try to make Brian walk faster which only resulted in him dragging his feet and pulling on my arm and both of us getting upset with the other.

At some point, in the time that we lived together, I grew to accept that these walks were going to be done at Brian's pace and not mine. That's when they changed for me. They stopped being a task or a chore and became something I enjoyed. They were moments of peace in what could be otherwise busy and hectic days. The slower pace allowed me to appreciate things we saw along the way like flowers and trees and decorations in yards. It gave me time to think and to breathe. 

Often times, in my life in L'Arche, things that I am used to being able to do quickly end up being done at a slower pace. Leaving the house to go somewhere. Cooking a meal. Brushing teeth. All of these things, and many others, usually end up taking more time when they are done with core members. It can be frustrating to do these things so slowly if your goal is to just get them over with. But L'Arche has taught me that while the end goal is important, it is often secondary to the process it takes to get there.  A slower pace often opens up the possibility for building relationships, having fun, experiencing joy, and strengthening community.

Dance parties make everything better
Several years ago, Justin undertook an endeavor to have a good-sized garden in the yard of Mercy House. It required a lot of work to maintain, and sometimes one of the other houses would come over and help to weed or pick green beans and other vegetables. One time there was a group of us out in the garden and we were listening to some music. A particular song came on that Matt enjoyed and so there, in the middle of our yard, he started dancing. Slowly, we all stopped what we were doing and joined Matt and it turned into a conga line.  What was an ordinary task of bean picking and weed pulling became a dance party in the side yard of Mercy House for all of our neighbors to see.

Dance parties are not uncommon in L'Arche. In fact, just the other day I was helping out at one of our other houses for an evening and Matt and I had several dance parties in the living room. I've had dance parties in the kitchen, in a bedroom, in the laundry room, even in the van. They are moments of spontaneous joy that can lighten a mood, bring a group of people together, spread happiness, and make people smile.

You are beautiful
When I first moved into L'Arche, one of my housemates was a gentleman named Pat. He held the honorable title of "King of L'Arche" in our community because he had been here the longest, around 27 years.

Pat loved to compliment people and shower them with praise. He constantly told people they were beautiful or handsome, that they needed a vacation or a thousand dollars, that they looked skinny or healthy, that they looked good in their outfit, that they cooked good food or did whatever it was they were doing at the time really well. I knew that there were people he didn't like or that he didn't care to be around, but Pat would never tell them that. He'd tell them they looked handsome and then he'd duck out when no one was paying attention and go sit on his swing in the backyard.

Pat ended up being diagnosed with cancer and passed away in 2016. I remember the last thing he said to me, the day he ended up getting admitted to the hospital. I was in his bedroom to help administer some medication, he was lying in bed probably feeling pretty awful, but he looked at me and said, "You're as skinny as a horse, Mark. You need a vacation." Even at his worst, he was still giving people compliments.

Even though he's been gone for almost three years now, he still comes up in our conversations quite often. We joke about how he'd respond to a situation, or we give each other "Pat compliments." And I think that's one of the lessons I learned from Pat: Compliment each other often. Tell people what you love and appreciate about them whenever you get the chance. No one is going to live forever, so don't let a moment go by without telling someone why they matter to you.

We are more than our abilities
I think a view that is common to the outside observer is that people with disabilities are weak and that they need help in their daily lives. That very well may be true. The reason the core members come to live in L'Arche is that they have a disability and often need help to do things. Some of our core members need help eating. Some need help accomplishing daily tasks. Most need help getting to and from places like work or their day program or appointments. 

But one of the greatest things I have learned at L'Arche is that to see them only as being weak and in need of help is a huge mistake, because each of the core members has amazing strengths and so much to offer. A few of the strengths that I have witnessed in different core members are a deep loyalty, the ability to forgive, fierce determination, warm hospitality, joyful optimism, and selfless compassion. Not to mention skills like being able to spotlessly wash a car, paint a beautiful work of art, or to almost instantly tell you the day of the week for any date that you give. 

Core members in L'Arche are far more than their disabilities. They are more than someone who needs assistance with parts of their life. They are people with interesting lives, with their own strengths and abilities and gifts. Getting to know them, and becoming their friend, has blessed me immeasurably in my own life.

Everyone deserves to be honored
David is a member of our community who loves to plan parties and to celebrate. He hosts parties for Valentine's Day, Christmas, and New Years, among others. At our July Community Night, he leads the All American Parade where we march around to patriotic music waving flags and decorations that he's made. One of my favorite celebrations that he hosts every year is the L'Arche Academy Awards. These are not like the award ceremony hosted by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, where many are nominated but only a few win. At the L'Arche Academy Awards everyone present, and even some people who aren't there, get awards and are recognized for something that makes them special.

David gives people awards for being a good cook, for helping others, for singing, even for liking chainsaws. Each person gets their name announced, they get to come forward and receive a certificate that he's decorated and get a little trophy from the dollar store, and everyone claps and cheers. David decorates with a red carpet and people get their pictures taken and everyone gets to be celebrated and honored. 

This celebration is the epitome of  what L'Arche stands for: Everyone has value, everyone  has gifts worth honoring and celebrating regardless of their abilities.

You're never too old for a new adventure
When I was serving in the role of Community Coordinator, part of my responsibilities included coordinating visits for volunteer groups, or friends from other L'Arche communities who were visiting or passing through, or people interested in being assistants in our community. One day, I received an email from someone in the L'Arche USA office connecting me with a woman named Katharine who was in Colorado and interested in being an assistant in the community that was in the beginning stages of formation in Fort Collins. They wanted her to experience life in a L'Arche community and as we are the closest one to Colorado, it made sense for her to come and visit us Through my coordination with her, we made plans for her to come and visit around Thanksgiving as she would be spending the holiday with her brother and his family in a town about 45 minutes from us. 

The day she arrived, I was out running errands when I received the call that she was in the office. So I returned and walked in to see a small woman in her 70's standing in the office. "Can I help you?" I asked. "I'm Katharine," she replied. I was a bit taken aback. A large portion of the people who come to be assistants in L'Arche communities are right out of college. My conversations with Katharine had all been through email, so I'd never heard her voice, and we had never mentioned her age. I assumed since she was free over Thanksgiving that she was a college student on break from school at that time. She was not at all what I was expecting.

But she was amazing. She had spent her professional life as a first-grade teacher. She had then devoted the last couple of years as a caregiver to her partner as she was sick. When her partner passed away, Katharine wanted to live in community and do something meaningful. She and her partner had talked about L'Arche before, and so she was looking to be an assistant in a L'Arche community, and that's how she ended up coming to visit us.

Her visit with us was wonderful. She loved getting to know us and we loved getting to know her. She ended up applying to L'Arche USA to be an assistant, and after some consideration, they asked us if we were interested in welcoming her into our community. We jumped at the chance to welcome her back.

We all fell in love with Katharine. She was gentle, kind, friendly, and funny. Her presence in the home was calming and nurturing. Katharine quickly became a beloved member of our community.
It was devastating, then, nine months later when she was diagnosed with cancer. She ended up leaving our community to stay with her brother and it wasn't much later that she passed away. We held a celebration of life for her and invited her friends and family that were nearby. We sang and prayed and shared stories and thanked God for sending Katharine to be a part of our community.

We still talk about Katharine, more than a year after she left us. The impression that she left on our community belies the short amount of time that we got to have her with us. And, if she would have let her age stop her from looking into living in a L'Arche community, then we never would have been blessed to know her at all. At 74, she was eager to embark on a new adventure and I hope that I, at any age, can follow her courageous and compassionate example.

Community is like a rock tumbler
I can't take credit for this bit of knowledge. This was relayed to me by the wonderful Sue Mosteller, who was the Community Leader of L'Arche Daybreak in Canada, and the first International Leader of L'Arche after founder Jean Vanier.

She compares community to a rock tumbler. You put rocks in it and they tumble around. They bump into each other, catching one another on their jagged edges and their bumpy spots. But, eventually, through this process, they become shiny and smooth and beautiful. They were beautiful before they went in, of course, but the process brings out more of their natural beauty. 

We enter community much like those rocks. We tumble around together, bumping into one another, catching on each others' jagged edges and bumpy spots. It can be stressful, even painful. But, eventually, we get smoother. Our natural beauty emerges. We become shinier, smoother, more beautiful versions of ourselves.

I've noticed this happening to me after eight years. Things that would have earlier caused me to lose my temper, or freak out, or become frustrated don't elicit the same responses. They don't catch my rough spots as much as they used to.

The other day I was driving in the van with a couple of the guys in my house, and I just felt this sense of comfortableness, a sense of ease. Like I was smooth. Don't get me wrong. I know I have plenty of bumps and rough edges left. I'm sure it wasn't too long after that moment in the van that I got upset about something or one of my housemates frustrated me. But I know that it's happening. This rock tumbler called L'Arche is smoothing me out, making me more patient, more compassionate, wiser, and more loving. I could bump around for the rest of my life and never get completely smooth, but I know I'm making progress.

Have an open heart
Change is constant. During my time at L'Arche, there have been many assistants who have come and gone. We've had transitions in our leadership. We have even lost people because of death. People who I thought, or hoped, would still be here are now other places and there are people that I never could have imagined who are part of our community now. The community I am a part of today looks very different than the one I joined 8 years ago.

The core members consistently face all of these changes with open hearts. I know it would be easy, after years of seeing people come and go, to close up, to not get too attached, to realize that the chances are that this person will move away sooner or later. But that has not been what I have seen.
The hearts of the core members continue to be wide open, ready to receive and welcome those who come, to engage in love and friendship with those who are here, and to joyfully celebrate those who leave. The welcome they offer to assistants who newly arrive today is no different than the welcome I received when I arrived and I have a suspicion that the welcome I received is pretty similar to assistants before me. They still hold parties to celebrate and to send off assistants when they leave for other places. David, a core member who has been in our community for 20+ years, will still sing “Evergreen” by Barbra Streisand for assistants who move out of his house. 

What the core members have taught me is that life is richer and better and more well-lived when greeted with an open heart. It might be safer or easier to close your heart to protect yourself from change and the pain that accompanies it, but then you don't experience the good parts as much. You close yourself off to relationships and experiences and opportunities that could be life-changing.
Change is inevitable. The way we respond to that change is not. The core members have taught and shown me that the best way is with an open heart, willing to receive and to send with joy and love.

Hugging it out

Despite my best efforts, one of the core members I live with has racked up a hefty fine at our local library. I try and keep him to a limit of items that he has checked out at one time, but he also goes to the library with his day program and they have not historically kept much of an eye on him when he's there, and he'll end up leaving with a resusable grocery bag full of CDs and books. This becomes hard for him to keep track of, and hard for me to help because I don't even know that he's checked these things out. Because the amount of his fine has reached over a certain limit, he isn't able to check out any more items until that is paid off. We are working on having him pay it off in portions, so it doesn't use up all of his spending money all at once.

Mondays are the day of the week that we traditionally go to the library as a house. It's something that most everyone looks forward to doing. As we were preparing to leave today, I was wondering how I would handle it with this particular core member. If I took him with us, there was a good chance he'd try to check things out and then become frustrated when that was refused. If I left him at home, there was a good chance he'd leave the house and walk to the library on his own while we were gone. So, I thought I'd try to nip it in the bud, and before we left I explained that he was more than welcome to come with us to the library, but because of his fine he wouldn't be able to check anything out. He let out a hefty sigh, and cast his eyes downward, but he seemed to understand what I was telling him.

So we were at the library, and I was perusing the shelves of new fiction, when I glanced over to the CDs and saw him looking through the selection. With one hand he was looking through the CDs on the shelf, and I noticed in the other hand he was holding three CDs. I casually walked over and softly reminded him that he woiuldn't be able to check out those CDs due to his fine, so he should think about putting them back. He responded in an angry tone, so I walked away and gave him some space. Often, if you give him time to think about what you've said, he will end up complying.

However, he moved down the shelf, continuing to look at CDs and kept the three in his other hand. After a couple minutes, I walked back over to him, and told him that if he tried to check those CDs out, that he would be unable to do so, and he would find that frustrating, so I was trying to be a good friend and help him not be frustrated. He said a few more angry things to me.

Fine, I said. Go ahead and do what you want. I was just trying to help. I walked away and went to sit in a chair and wait for everyone to finish up what they were doing. A few minutes after I sat down, one of our other housemates came up to me and handed me a DVD, and told me that he had checked it out for the first core member. I asked him why he did it, and he said because he had asked him to. So, I took the DVD and dropped it in the return box, and went and found him. I told him that he could not check things out, and it wasn't appropriate to ask our housemates to check things out for him. He sighed and grumbled at me again.

Afterwards, as we walked out to the van, there was an air of tension between us. He was mad at me because he was blaming me for being unable to check things out, and I was frustrated with him because my attempts to help were being met with anger. So we drove home without saying much to each other.

A little later this evening, we were all sitting in the living room watching wrestling on TV when he turned to me and said, "Sometimes brothers fight. Can we just hug it out like men?"

In case you were wondering, we hugged and we're not upset with each other anymore. There's a good chance that something similar will happen the next time we go to the library, if he hasn't paid off his fine yet, and there's a good chance that it will be resolved by "hugging it out like men."

This is a lesson that the world could stand to learn from L'Arche - sometimes when we are part of a family we will get angry with each other. But, hugging is always a better alternative to fighting.

Here's to new beginnings and fresh starts

So, it's been a hot minute since I've written anything. And I miss it. My blog has never been anything exceptionally huge, it's never raked in a lot of views, it's never received very many comments, but it has been a place for me to share some thoughts about life in my little corner of the world. So I've decided I'm going to try to write more often, for my own benefit.

This resurgence in wrting was sparked by an event that happened in our community last night. We publicly affirmed our new Community Leader, in the presence of our community members, family, friends, board members, and even representatives from L'Arche USA staff and board. We sang and ate and fellowshipped and affirmed and looked to the future with excitement and hope. We think this is a good and exciting new beginning for our community, and we look forward to seeing where Jamie, our new Community Leader, will take us.

That new beginning has led me to start a new beginning with this blog. I don't imagine it will be  anything spectacular or earth-shattering, but it will be a space for me to consider the immense grace and life-changing love I experience every day here in L'Arche. And I imagine that will be good enough.

On Leaving

L'Arche is meant to be a place where people with developmental disabilites can find a home for the rest of their lives. So, then, what does it mean when one decides that it is no longer the place he wants to call home?

This is something I've been pondering the last few months. A core member who has lived with us here at L'Arche Heartland for 10 years has made the decision that it is no longer the place for him. With the help of his case manager he has explored other alternatives and at the end of this month will be moving into an apartment run by a residential service provider in town.

L'Arche is good, but it isn't perfect. It's not the right place for everyone. Assistants come and go. Some are here for a short time, others for a relatively long time. It is rare, these days, for an assistant to commit to L'Arche for their lifetime. And we understand that. We might be sad when an assistant decides to leave, but we understand that they are moving on to the next step in their journey and we send them off with our love and best wishes.

So, then, why do we assume that every core member will want to spend the rest of their life in L'Arche? Why do we view it as a failure on our part, that we weren't able to provide them what they needed, if they decide to go? Granted, in my experience it hasn't been common for a core member to decide to leave, but does that have to mean it is a bad thing?

The founding story of L'Arche talks about Jean Vanier welcoming Pierre and Phillipe into his house and sharing life with them. But the part that often gets left out is that there was a third person who moved in, another core member named Dani. But it became apparent that L'Arche was not the right place for Dani, and he ended up going back to where he had been before. This part of the story doesn't often get shared. I think many people think it tarnishes the beautiful story. But does it really?

I think it shares the very human nature of L'Arche. We aren't a solution, we aren't able to save everyone. We are just a sign of hope that life can be lived differently, that beautiful things dwell in unlikely places, that everyone deserves to have a community that loves and supports them. It isn't perfect. L'Arche can only do so much, and sometimes what we can do isn't what is needed or wanted.

That is what I've been reminding myself these past few weeks, and what I will cling to during these days of our core member's transition. We are not perfect, but we were good for him for a time. He's now decided that another living situation is what he needs, and that doesn't mean that we've failed. It means that we have been his home, recognized his gifts, celebrated his life, and done our best to love him while he was with us.

And that, to me, is the opposite of failure.

the dance of community

Tonight, I was at a dance that was held in our day program space. It was after a long day at work, followed by our weekly prayer night gathering, and then capped off with the dance. Earlier this afternoon, I had been dealing with some emails about one of our core members from the day service they attend that were less than positive. I also had a conversation on the phone with another core member who is in the midst of a process that they hope will end with them moving out of L'Arche Heartland and into a different residential community. Then, at prayer night, a couple things had happened that left me a little frustrated. So at this dance, I wasn't in the best emotional space for dancing, and one of the assistants caught me sitting down, staring off into space, with my chin in my hand.

"What's the matter, Mark?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing really," I replied. "I was just remembering when I thought that L'Arche was a beautiful little community where everyone loved each other and got along."

The assistant laughed, and then our day program coordinator, who previously had spent a long time as our community leader, said with a chuckle, "See, he read about it in this book..." She was referring to how my introduction to L'Arche came through the book Adam: God's Beloved, which is a lovely little book about Catholic priest Henri Nouwen's relationship with a core member named Adam at a L'Arche community in Canada. Which, as I said, is a lovely little book. But any assistant will tell you that it doesn't give you the whole picture of what life in L'Arche actually is.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love L'Arche. Even on days like this, when I'm tired and frustrated and maybe a little disillusioned, I will openly admit that L'Arche is one of the best things that has happened to me. There are things that happen here that are lovely and beautiful and life altering and, I think, are glimpses of the Kingdom of God.

But the reality is, L'Arche is full of people. Broken, hurting, awkward, sensitive, lonely people. And any time you put people together in one place there is sure to be drama. And L'Arche has its share.

One of the beautiful, life altering parts of L'Arche, at least for me, has been the part where it says that it's ok to be broken and hurting and awkward and sensitive and lonely, and that being any (or all) of those things does not mean that you are any less beautiful or loved or valued or part of the community. It's the part that says that maybe things aren't going well for you at your day program, but that isn't the end of the world, because at the end of the day you are more than your behavior or your shortcomings or your flaws. It's the part that says, it's not a failure if someone decides that L'Arche is no longer the place where they want to live. Because people change and grow, and what they might have needed at one time isn't what they want or need anymore. So it's ok to celebrate the part of the journey that they shared with us and to send them off to the next stage with our love and best wishes. It's the part that loves you, even when you are frustrated or not at your best, when you let things you can't control upset you or drag you down. Because you are surrounded by people who love you, and will be there waiting for you when you are ready, to reach down and give you a hand back up.

And it's filled with people who, when you aren't in the mood to dance or feel like you can't, will be there to dance for you. People who will receive you with open arms when you feel like you're ready to get back up and give it another try.

the King of L'Arche

This past month, we had to say good bye to one of our core members. After months of chemo, and doing surprisingly well and staying upbeat and active,our friend Pat took a turn for the worse and quickly made his exit. He was a much loved member of our community, having lived in L'Arche Heartland for 27 years - we would actually sometimes refer to him as the King of L'Arche. He was quick with a compliment, always telling people they were handsome or skinny or beautiful, that they needed a raise or a vacation or a thousand dollars. He'd tell people they were good cooks, even if they weren't the ones who had prepared the meal. In fact, the evening before he went into the hospital, which is the last time I spoke with him, from his bed with his blanket pulled up to his chin, and his bare feet sticking out the bottom, he looked at me and said, "You look handsome, Mark. You're as skinny as a horse!"

He also had a good sense of humor. One time, when I was living in the house with him, I was cooking dinner. We had chosen to have these frozen, breaded chicken breasts for the meal. There were cooking instructions on the bag for a conventional oven or a convection oven. In my quick glance at the instructions, I chose to read the wrong ones and cooked the chicken in our conventional oven following the convection oven instructions. We sat down at the table, said grace, and started to eat. I cut a piece off of my chicken and put it in my mouth and immediately knew it was wrong. I spit it out and told everyone to stop eating their chicken right away. "Oh my!" Pat exclaimed. "Mine's pink!" For years afterward, even just days before he died, when Pat and I were around other people, mixed in with his usual compliments would be "Mark's a good cook. He makes good chicken." Everyone would think he was paying me a nice compliment, but I knew, and he knew that I knew, that he was referring to my "pink chicken" as he liked to call it.

Living with him, I got used to the sound of stomping, clapping, and whooping coming from upstairs. His bedroom was in the attic and he spent a lot of his time watching game shows and sports games. He was an enthusiastic viewer, and would cheer for his favorites, clapping and whooping when they did well. He'd also stomp or shout when they did poorly, too. After living with him for about a week or two, it just became part of the background noise of the house.

His singing voice was kind of a surprise. I remember the first time I heard it. I had been in L'Arche for about two weeks at this time, and we were at our annual Faith and Sharing retreat. We were getting ready to sing some songs, and Pat and I were sitting next to each other on a couch. The guitars started to play and we began to sing and Pat, who was kind of a bigger guy, busts out in this operatic falsetto singing voice. It actually startled me, and I reacted visibly. Another assistant on the other side of the room from us noticed and she started laughing. Then I started laughing. Pat saw me laughing so he started laughing.

Pat's laugh was something else, too. It was always interspersed with loud snorts, which would always make the people around him laugh harder. I never was sure whether he was doing it on purpose, or not, but I kind of have a feeling that it was on purpose because he liked the reaction that they received. Pat enjoyed making people smile and laugh and feel good.

He liked people, and liked to be social, but wasn't always a fan of large crowds. A lot of times he'd find his way to the back of the room, or to a quiet corner, or even out in the hallway or the parking lot. If you didn't know where Pat was, you just assumed he snuck out early, and then you'd have to go out and find him.

I feel like that's what he did when he died, too. He just snuck out early. He didn't want it to be a big deal. He didn't want people gathering around and making him the center of attention. He just wanted to quietly leave while people were paying attention to something else.

After he passed, we had a Celebration of Life to honor his memory. We sang some songs that we knew he would have enjoyed, and we shared stories and memories about him. There was a lot of purple decorations (it was his favorite color) and pictures of him throughout his life, and his 27 years in L'Arche.

Yesterday, with the help of a few assistants, we finished moving his stuff out of his bedroom. I remember standing in the middle of his room, thinking that this was it. This was the final good bye. I was acknowledging that Pat won't be coming back to this room, he won't be singing or watching tv and cheering and clapping anymore. For the past 27 years, Pat has been a constant in our community. He has known six Community Leaders. He's welcomed several new Community Coordinators. He's seen many assistants come and go. Each one has come to know Pat, to enjoy his singing, to have their spirits raised by his compliments, to laugh along with him as he snorted. It is weird to think of what our community will be like now. It certainly will be a different community without him. But, then again, I am certainly a different person because of him. And I am thankful that I had the chance to journey alongside him for the short time that I did.

Beautiful and Terrible

A few weeks ago, I went on a road trip to St Louis with four other members of our community. We went to visit some friends in the L'Arche community there, but also to listen to Sister Sue Mosteller give a presentation. Sister Sue is a Sister of St Joseph who lives in Toronto, Canada, and has been a part of L'Arche since the 1960's. She served for a time as the Community Leader of L'Arche Daybreak near Toronto, where she became friends with Catholic priest and author Henri Nouwen. She also was the first International Leader of L'Arche after our founder Jean Vanier. After her presentation, I had the opportunity to chat with her. She asked me a question about if my time at L'Arche was beautiful, and I answered with a very honest, "Sometimes."
"I understand," she answered. "I have always said that L'Arche is both beautiful and terrible."

And she's right. It is both things at the same time.

L'Arche, in its essence, is beautiful. It's a community of people of differing abilities who have come to share life together. It's the strong helping the weak. It's the weak helping the strong. L'Arche clearly states that we are not out to save the world, but that in our own very small way we are called to be a sign of hope. We are called to show the world a different, more compassionate, more human, way to live.

And I think that's beautiful. Henri Nouwen also believed that it was beautiful. In his book "Adam: God's Beloved" he shares about his own relationship with a core member (L'Arche's term for community members with intellectual disabilities) and how this man who was nonverbal and needed assistance with almost every aspect of his life was a manifestation of Christ, and how his relationship with Adam impacted his own life. That is all very beautiful, and a very real part of what it means to be in L'Arche.

To be a part of L'Arche is to experience that beauty: The joy a core member expresses when his favorite song comes on the radio, or he does a good job at bowling. The unconditional love that is offered, not because you've deserved it or earned it, but just because a core member loves you. Constant comments of how handsome or skinny you are, and how much you need a vacation. The connections that are formed by sharing life with core members, being present with them daily. These are all things that I have experienced, and which have made my time at L'Arche to be a very beautiful thing.

But, sometimes, if we are honest, L'Arche can also be pretty terrible. When you form relationships with anyone, you are opening yourselves up to the beautiful parts of them, but also the not so beautiful parts. If we are honest, we can admit that we all have some not so beautiful parts. It's just that most of us have spent years learning how to cope with them, or to hide them. People with intellectual disabilities are often much more open with and about this part of themselves.

So, sometimes L'Arche can be terrible because a core member acts out in violence towards you or someone else. It can also be terrible when you realize that it is a very human place, filled with broken and hurting people, with and without disabilities. It can be terrible when you find yourself feeling lonely, even though you are constantly surrounded by people.

It can also be terrible when you are unable to help the core members in a way that you want. When you talk with a core member about how he wants to be seen as important and popular, but because of his disability he is ignored or disregarded. Or when you sit nearby as a core member experiences a seizure, knowing there isn't anything you can do to make it stop. Or when one of the core members is given a life altering health diagnosis, and you can only do so much as you accompany them through their sickness and death. And then you are faced with the reality of life in a community that is now different, because they aren't there anymore.

To be a part of L'Arche is to also open yourself up to experience that which is not beautiful. To experience the very real, and sometimes messy, loud, chaotic, troubling, painful lives of people with disabilities. To live day by day, side by side, with people with developmental disabilities (and, let's be honest, people without them, too) is to invite all that they are to be in relationship with all that you are.

And that's where it gets beautiful again. Because you can't have an encounter like that and leave unchanged. Living in L'Arche will broaden your mind, open your heart, increase your capacity to love, change how you view the world, even change how you view yourself. Living in authentic relationships with people with and without disabilities, recognizing that each has something valid and unique and important and special to share - including yourself!! - helps us all to become better, stronger, more compassionate versions of ourselves.

So, yeah. L'Arche is beautiful. But L'Arche is also terrible. It is both things at the same time. And I think that's pretty beautiful.

The ADA, Japan, and L'Arche

Twenty six years ago yesterday, the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed and signed into law. This piece of legislation prohibits the discrimination on the basis of disability in the workplace, State and local government, public buildings, transportation, and others. It was a big step forward in the recognition that people with disabilities are people, deserving of the same things as the rest of the world. Yesterday, in Japan, a man wielding a knife killed 19 people with disabilities and injured at least 26 others. It was claimed that he said, "It is better that disabled people disappear." It was a senseless tragedy, and one that we can all agree should not have happened. But if you talk to many people with disabilities, they'll say that they often feel invisible in our society. We live in a world built for and by people of "normal" abilities. Many places we go and things that we enjoy are not accessible to people with mobility impairments. People with developmental disabilities are often put places where they are out of the way, so that we don't have to acknowledge that they exist. Although we wouldn't go so far as that man wielding a knife, people with disabilities often receive the message that it would be better if they just disappeared. This is why I choose to be in L'Arche. Because it recognizes the gifts of people with disabilities. It says that not only are their lives important, but they are worth celebrating. It says that our lives are made better and richer by their presence. It says that we all, regardless of abilities, have gifts to share and are capable of contributing to the world around us. We are all important, we should all be recognized as valuable, none of us should just disappear. What happened in Japan was senseless. It was a horrible act of violence against people of unlimited value and worth. While there isn't anything I can do to change what happened, and not much I can do to ease the suffering of those who were directly impacted, what I can do is embrace those around me who are considered disabled, and let them know that they are not invisible to me. I see them, and know them, and love them.

Body parts and community

It's funny how you can take something for granted until something happens to it, and then you realize how important it actually is.

Take, for example, my index finger. Not the one on my right hand, which is my dominant hand, but the one on my left hand. It's not normally a part of my body for which I show much appreciation. I don't even usually think about it all that much.

Until yesterday, that is.

I was preparing supper in my apartment, and needed to open a vacuum sealed package of fish. Rather than walking five steps, opening the drawer, and taking out the pair of scissors, I decided to use the large kitchen knife I had been using to chop vegetables instead. So, holding the package with my left hand, I took the knife and cut through the plastic. It was about that time I felt a sharp pain in the index finger of my left hand. Not only had I managed to slice the plastic holding the fish, but I sliced my finger. And it was a pretty good slice.

I remembered all of the things that I had learned about how to stop bleeding. Things like applying pressure to the wound and keeping it elevated. So I was sitting on the floor of my bathroom doing these things but they just weren't working. I figured I would need some outside help. I grabbed my cellphone and called my friend and co-worker Nicole.

"I cut my finger and I don't know if I'll need stitches," I told her. "Also, I don't have any band-aids."

She came to my apartment bearing gauze and medical tape. She took one look at my finger and said, "Yeah, you're gonna need stitches." She helped me bandage my finger and then offered to drive me to urgent care.

After receiving six stitches, and a really cool neon green bandage, I returned home to finish preparing my dinner. It was then that I started to realize how important my index finger on my non-dominant hand really is. It was difficult to hold things, or to wash dishes in the sink, since I can't get the bandage wet. I kept bumping my finger into things, which would give me a fairly painful reminder. Buttoning up my shirt, or buckling my belt, became interesting endeavors. Taking a shower with a plastic bag over my hand, to keep it dry, effectively rendered my left hand useless. Many of my friends have mentioned that I won't be able to play my ukulele for a while. Even typing this blog entry without the use of my index finger is difficult, and results in quite a few typos.

This injury is showing me how this seemingly unimportant body part actually plays a vital part in my life. I am reminded how something that I had taken for granted, and not given much thought to, is actually an important part of my day to day life.

I think we can tend to do this with people. We can overlook them, or take them for granted. We can think that they don't play an important part in our lives and therefore that makes them unimportant. It can be an easy thing to do. But when we do that, when we disregard people, I think we do ourselves a disservice. Because, when we do that, we fail to see the person and all of the gifts that they have to offer. We fail to recognize that they are worthy and deserving of love, just as much as ourselves or anyone else.

In L'Arche, we strive to recognize and lift up the gifts of each person. No matter their abilities or struggles, we choose to recognize that they have something unique and special to offer the world, something that only they can give. It might be easier to disregard or to ignore them, but we choose to lift them up and to build community around them. It is then that we are blessed to see their gifts and how their presence impacts and enriches our lives.

No one is more or less important than anyone else. We each have a part to play and gifts to share. Even if those gifts are harder to see, or not ones that we might readily lift up as important. But when we choose to realize that without each other that our community, our body, is incomplete we open ourselves to being transformed.

21 The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” 22 On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, 23 and on those parts of the body that we think less honorable we bestow the greater honor, and our unpresentable parts are treated with greater modesty, 24 which our more presentable parts do not require. But God has so composed the body, giving greater honor to the part that lacked it, 25 that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another. 26 If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.

27 Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.
- 1 Corinthians 12:21-27

a simple dinner party

Last week, our community had five volunteers from a college stay with us and volunteer their time in our homes and day programs as part of a service learning trip. Two of them stayed and helped out at the house where I live, while the other three shared time at our other houses. During the day, they were involved in other things, such as helping at our day programs, or participating in formation and small group discussions. In the evenings they would come back to the house to spend time with our core members and to help out in other ways.

Another group of seven volunteers from the same college stayed at another site in Kansas City. One of the evenings that the volunteers were here, our house hosted all five that were staying in our community, as well as the seven at the other site. We set up an extra table end-to-end with our regular dining room table, and sixteen people sat around it enjoying a nice dinner and some fun conversation about all of the things they had been experiencing that week.

At one point, David, one of the core members, excused himself from the table and took his plate into the kitchen. After putting it in the dishwasher, he went upstairs to his room where I assumed he was going to stay and listen to his music or watch TV.

A few minutes later he came back downstairs bringing with him his karaoke machine. The conversation began to diminish as we all turned to see what he was doing. David sat the karaoke machine down in the corner of the room and plugged it into the wall. Taking the microphone in his hand, and turning it on, he turned and began to address the rest of us in the room.

He started by welcoming everyone, and then said that he was going to be handing out some awards. As he said this, he gestured to the top of the nearby china cabinet where his sand art collection was displayed. One of David's favorite hobbies is making sand art using colored sand and small, clear, plastic bottles. He buys kits from the store and will spend entire afternoons at the dining room table layering different colors of sand into bottles of different shapes and sizes.

One by one, he called each of the volunteers forward, starting with those who had been staying in our community, and presented them with a carefully selected sand art bottle. After the five of them had graciously received their awards, he began calling forward the volunteers we had just met that evening. Each person present in the room received one of his sand art creations, as well as some kind and affirming words. By some coincidence, or perhaps there was some other force at work, he had just enough bottles for everyone present.

The awards were simply small plastic bottles, filled with colored sand. It's hard to say how long they had been sitting on top of the china cabinet. But, in that moment, they became items of special worth. The reactions of the volunteers, as they were called forth and received one of the bottles, was as if they had won something of significance. The mood in the room changed from one of casual conversation to one of celebration and excitement. All of this was because David, a man with Down's Syndrome, decided it was time for an awards ceremony.

That evening was a tangible example of what L'Arche does. The simple became significant. People were recognized as special and loved and deserving of praise. Not because of anything that they had achieved, but simply because they were there. A simple dinner party turned into a time of celebration and joy, because of the love of a core member. And this all happened because David, a man with Down's Syndrome, who might be considered by many people in the world as not having much to offer, was able to recognize and share it.

You're In Here

Every week here at L'Arche Heartland, the entire community gathers in one of our homes for our Prayer Night. At these gatherings, we share a meal, then have some sort of discussion or activity, and then we share any prayer concerns that we have. A few weeks ago, it was my turn to lead the activity and since the focus was on helping each other honor the relationships that are important to us, I thought it would be fun to have each person make a "family tree" where we could write or draw all of the people who are important in our lives. I told the group that they could include whoever they wanted on their family trees, whether they were relatives or friends. They could include anybody who they felt was important in their lives. So we spent some time creating our family trees and then we went around and whoever wanted to share theirs with the group was able.

Afterwards, as we were cleaning up and milling about, Alex, one of our core members, came over to me and held up his family tree to show me. Now, Alex and I lived together for two years and since I have moved to one of our other houses we will still often spend time together. As I glanced over  his tree I saw his mom and brothers were listed, and then there were other people who I knew weren't biological family. "Wait a minute," I said, giving him a hard time. "I don't see my name on here!"

Without missing a beat, Alex looked at me, pointed at his heart and said, "But you're in here."

That is a gift of living in community in L'Arche. People who might not have gotten the opportunity to meet, who come from many different places, choose to live together and relationships are formed. Bonds are built between people of different ages and abilities. Though we might not be biologically related, and we might not have a place on one another's actual family trees, through our lives together we make room for each other in our hearts. We come with the intention of helping other people, and we end up in relationship with them and loving them.

So, I'm ok with being left off of Alex's family tree on that piece of paper, because here in L'Arche I've become family with him where it matters, in our hearts.

Taking a Walk

A couple days ago, I went for a walk around the neighborhood with one of the guys I live with. He can be a little unsteady on his feet, especially on uneven sidewalks, and so when we go for a walk it is always with his arm linked through mine for added support and stability.

This day, as we were walking down the block, I wanted to walk faster than we were going. But my walking partner was having trouble with the pace that I wanted. I pulled and tugged and grimaced, trying to coerce him to speed up. He pulled and tugged and grimaced, trying to continue walking at his slow pace. As I kept trying to walk faster, and he kept trying to maintain his slower pace, his hand kept pulling at my arm and shirt. I kept having to readjust his hand so it was in a spot that was more comfortable for me.

I was quickly growing frustrated with him. I wondered why he couldn't just speed up and walk just a little faster. I was regretting going on this walk, and was beginning to wish that I had just stayed at home instead.

But then, something happened. I decided that instead of trying to convince him to walk at a pace that was uncomfortable or that he was unable to maintain, I would try to slow down to his pace. As soon as I did that, the struggle ended, and we moved into a nice, pleasant, leisurely stroll through the neighborhood. The obvious frustration that we were both feeling with each other dissipated and we began to enjoy the walk.

When I stopped trying to force him to be what I wanted him to be, and accepted him as he was in that moment, we were able to stop struggling and begin to enjoy one another. When I gave him the space to walk at his own speed, the walk turned from a cause of conflict into something that we both enjoyed.

This is the gift of L'Arche, where life lessons pop up in unlikely places from unlikely teachers. And my walking partner helped me learn this lesson, which applies to more than just going on a walk, without even saying a word.

Lessons in relationship

The past month or two here at L'Arche Heartland has been full of transition. Our Community Leader, who had served in that capacity for 17 years, has moved on to pursue other adventures. One of our Community Coordinators was selected to move up and fill that role, so that meant that his position was open and, after a search process, we welcomed back a much loved former assistant to fill it. We've also had a handful of assistants leave or announce that they are leaving soon, and we've welcomed a couple new ones. There have been a lot of hellos and goodbyes recently.

One thing I have learned about life in community is that this is a pretty consistent reality. People are always coming to our community. Some stay for a long time, some for a while, and some are just here for what seems like too brief of a moment.  Some of the assistants I've worked with have become good friends, we make time to see each other and spend time together. Some have even remained good friends once they have left the community, while others have moved on to become Facebook acquaintances, or characters in fun stories I share over coffee.

But through all of this transition, there is a steadfast presence, a presence that has been here and will most likely continue to be here even as assistants come and go. That is the presence of the core members. They have been here for the assistants that have spent a couple years in this place, they have lived with the assistants who were here for too short of a time, and they have kept on with the assistants who probably stayed longer than they ought. They have welcomed new people into their lives and then celebrated them as their journeys took them elsewhere. They have sat at the table as countless pairs of hands have prepared them meals or administered their medications. They have continued to journey alongside all sorts of people for however long their pathways have coincided.

It would be easy for them to become worn-out by this, to realize that the assistants who come in the front door will most likely exit at some point. They could realize that the people who they have grown to trust and love as housemates and friends will probably move on to other homes and people. They could allow this to affect how they interact with people, to harden their hearts or create a tough exterior that makes forming relationships hard.

And maybe some do, but that has not been my experience. From my vantage point, the core members I have gotten to know have continued to welcome assistants and volunteers and friends with wide open hearts and arms. They have continued to celebrate as new assistants come into the community, welcoming them into their homes, sharing with them their lives and stories. Each new assistant is welcomed and loved, regardless of how many have come and gone before.

In this way, the core members have been good teachers for me. As new assistants join our community, it's easy for me to look at them and wonder how long they will remain. Will this one stay for a year? Maybe longer? Or will they move on after three months, or even before that? Why is this one even still here? Why does that one have to leave so soon?

But it is not my job to ask these questions. Some may leave before I am ready, and some may stay longer than I expect, but each one's journey is unique to them and ultimately up to them to decide. The core members have shown me that my only job is to journey alongside them, and to love and accept them, for as long as I am allowed. 

And in my time here at L'Arche Heartland, I have been blessed to be in relationship with some pretty amazing teachers, who have taught me by example, who have shown me what this looks like, and who I can only hope to emulate in my relationships with others.

Jubilee celebrations reflections day 2

Today was the first full day of L'Arche USA's 50th anniversary jubilee celebration. The highlight for me had to have been the party we had this afternoon. As part of the celebration, representatives from each community paraded around carrying banners with the names of the community and the year it was founded on them. Alex, one of our core members, and I were the representatives from L'Arche Heartland.

It sort of reminded me of the Olympics when they have the parade of nations. The different athletes parade behind the flag of their countries. Each athlete comes to exercise their talents in their sports with the hopes of winning a gold medal.

Of course, our parade was a little different. We come, each with our own gifts, but not to compete. We come together because we are on the same team and we want to celebrate our shared journey together in L'Arche. We come to build one another up, to celebrate the great things we have done together, and to hope for and envision the great things to come.

As we walked around the group that was gathered, we were all singing the song "This Little Light of Mine." I thought that was fitting. L'Arche is a light in the world, shining hope and love into dark places. As we walked, carrying the banners from our respective communities, we were bearing witness to the lights that we are shining in our own little corners of the world.

We also had a solidarity fair, where our communities sold handmade arts and crafts to raise money for solidarity, so that we can be in relationship with and continue to support L'Arche communities throughout the world.

For 50 years L'Arche has been a light throughout this world. My prayer and my hope is that we might continue to be a light in the dark places for many, many, many more!!

Jubilee Celebration day one reflections

So today, after a 21 hour, 2 day van ride from Kansas to Washington DC, we are now participating in L'Arche USA's celebration to mark the 50th anniversary jubilee of L'Arche Internationale.

After eating dinner (because that's important to us in L'Arche) and singing songs together (because that's another important thing to us) we were blessed with the opportunity to hear from Eileen Glass, the Vice International Leader of L'Arche Internationale. She started out by sharing with us some of her memories from the early days of L'Arche when she was living at a L'Arche in Winnipeg in the 70's and two people from L'Arche Erie in Pennsylvania came to visit them. At that point, L'Arche Erie, which is the oldest L'Arche community in the US, was only two years old. She shared how at that time there were only a couple of L'Arche communities in the United States.

As we gathered in that room today, 50 years after Jean, Philippe, and Raphael moved in together to start this movement we call L'arche, it was filled with representatives from the 18 established communities in the US, as well as some of the 3 emerging communities.  It was so full we were even asked to squeeze together so more people could have places to sit.

To me, that was a sign of hope, which is the mission of L'Arche. It's a sign of hope that in the midst of this world that can so often be filled with things like hatred, violence, racism, sexism, and that can leave people feeling unwanted or unloved, that there are still people in this world that believe in community and acceptance and love and compassion and kindness and joy.

This makes me thankful for Jean Vanier, and for Raphael and Philippe who were brave enough to step out of their comfort zones to attempt a different way of life 50 years ago. It makes me thankful for all of the people who have come since then, to live in communities that have already been established, and to bravely step out and start new ones in places where the witness of L'Arche is greatly needed. It makes me thankful for Henri Nouwen and others who have shared stories of life in L'arche with people who might not have heard of it otherwise. It makes me thankful that I read that book by Nouwen that sparked my interest in L'Arche and began the journey that led me to living in L'Arche. It also makes me thankful for opportunities like this, to gather together with so many wonderful and beautiful and amazing people who believe that the mission and vision of L'arche are important in our world and strive to live it out everyday.

I am eager to see and experience all of the fun and joy and celebration and love that these next few days hold for all of us!!!

Someone loves you!

Here in our community we have the tradition of gathering weekly in one of our homes for a time of fellowship and prayer. We call it Prayer Night, and the assistants take turns cooking a meal for everyone, and we spend some time together in fellowship, talking and socializing. After the meal, we have a discussion or an activity led by an assistant based on a particular theme. For a few weeks we are focusing on the theme of "Looking forward with trust and call in the mission."

At one of our recent Prayer Nights, one of our assistants was leading a discussion about our future and we were thinking what that might look like for each one of us and for our community. We drew pictures of how we see ourselves today and what we hope to be in the future. As a way to wrap it up the assistant was sharing how each of our futures might be different, and might include different things, but there is one thing that is consistent in all of them and that is that there is someone who will always love us, no matter what. Then she asked the group who that someone might be.

One of the core members who was sitting close to me answered the question with a loud, "MARK LEPPER!"

Now, I know this isn't the answer the assistant was hoping people would say. She was expecting them to say God, or Jesus, and several of them did. And while I laughed at the humor that I saw in the particular core members answer, I was actually touched by his response.

In the Bible, there is a lot of talk about love. Jesus tells his disciples numerous times that they are to love one another, love their neighbors, love their enemies... pretty much love everybody. The second most important commandment, next to loving God, is that we are to love others.

I know that I fall short of this command pretty often. I can sometimes be impatient, unfriendly, short-tempered, and even rude. But at our Prayer Night, this core member's answer helped me to see that I must be doing something right.

"We are not called by God to do extraordinary things, but to do ordinary things with extraordinary love." - Jean Vanier

the Academy Awards

This evening was the Academy Awards. Now, I know what you might be thinking - the Academy Awards were in February. Well, that was the award show put on by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The award ceremony that was held tonight was put on by L'Arche Heartland and, in my opinion, was much better!

Our version of the Academy Awards is the brainchild of one of our core members. He loves all things Broadway, and is a big fan of Lawrence Welk and Carol Burnett and things of that nature. I'm not sure how long we've been celebrating the Academy Awards, although he announced tonight, on a microphone and broadcast by a karaoke machine, while wearing a suit and tie, that it was the 28th annual L'Arche Academy Awards. But our community has only been around for 28 years, and he hasn't been here the whole time, so I know that number isn't quite accurate. It's been at least four that I have attended, and I've seen awards from years prior. So, anyway, it's been a while.

Preparations for this award ceremony start weeks in advance. He will go to the store to buy party supplies and decorations. He makes a list of things he needs, like sparkling grape juice and a cookie cake. Then, at some point, he sits down and, with the help of an assistant, comes up with awards for members of our community and then decorates them.

Now, in Hollywood's version of the Academy Awards, lots of people get nominated for an award, but only a few people win them. In this way, there are perceived winners and losers. In L'Arche's version, everyone wins. Every current community member gets an award, assistants who are no longer working in our community get an award, even the music therapist who volunteers once a week gets an award. And some of them are for what we might consider pretty ordinary things. For instance, one gentleman in our community got an award because he likes the Power Rangers. Another got an award for his eagerness to wash our vans. One guy got an award for his appreciation of chainsaws. And, while you might think that these are silly and meaningless, they mean a lot to the people who get them. The gentleman who won the award for chainsaws, after receiving his award and returning to his seat, turned in his chair and held it up to me and said, "Look!" He was excited and happy to win an award, to be recognized and honored by his community for being who he is.

And that is very L'Arche. All sorts of people who would be overlooked by Hollywood's version of the awards are seen as special, and unique, and as worthy of being noticed. People who can sometimes struggle to get along in society are honored and seen as important and valuable in L'Arche. Their contributions, no matter how small or meaningless people in the world might deem them, are seen as important and invaluable and worthy of being celebrated.

So, we handed out a lot of awards. And then we drank sparkling grape juice and shared a giant chocolate chip cookie. And there was even a little dancing, and a lot of laughing. And people felt appreciated and honored and known. So I will gladly take our little, messy, simple version of the Academy Awards over Hollywood's big, fancy and flashy version any day.

The Beauty of L'Arche

A local church has started gatherings once a month on Sunday nights, and have been focusing on community and the various ways that can take shape. The pastor who is in charge of planning these gatherings has some connections to our community here at L'Arche, and so he asked if we'd be willing to bring a group and to share with them about our community and how it is shaped. The person on our end who kind of took the lead in setting it up asked if I'd be willing to share for about ten minutes on what I see as the beauty of L'Arche. So, what follows is what I shared.

First, I do have to say that I borrowed a bit from my last blog post. There are some ideas that I first expressed in that post that I thought fit well with what I was trying to say, so I used them. So if you think some things about this blog post sound familiar, and you happen to have read my previous one, then that would be why.

Second, I don't think you get the full effect of the presentation without Alex, a member of our community, constantly interjecting with things like, "That's the truth." and "I remember that." and "I love you Markeeeeeeee!!!!!!" So just throw some of those in there, followed by the amused chuckling of everyone else, and you'll get a better idea of how it went.

The Beauty of L'Arche

When someone looks at L'Arche from the outside, they might think that the beauty of it is that L'Arche provides a home for people who might not be able to do it for themselves. In a L'Arche home, the core members (what we call the people who live in our homes who have disabilities) are provided with food and shelter, we transport them to work and to various activities and social gatherings. When people come to live in a L'Arche home, they are taken care of and all of their needs are met. So someone might think  that this is what makes L'Arche beautiful.

Or they might look and see the assistants, which is what we call the people who choose to come and live in a home, or to share time with people who have a developmental disabilities. They might think that the beauty comes from people who are willing to give their time and energy to help someone else live a better life. It can seem like a compassionate, selfless, difficult thing to do. But, for some reason, people choose to do it. And so that seems like what makes L'Arche beautiful.

These things are beautiful parts of L'Arche, and although the beauty of L'Arche would not be possible without both of these things, I wouldn't say that are what makes L'Arche beautiful. On their own, they are definitely good, but people with developmental disabilities can have their needs provided for and other people can come and do that work, and it can all be done in a way that is sterile and clinical. The work of maintaining a house and looking after the people who live there can often be just that: work. But what makes L'Arche beautiful is the thing that separates us from being just work.

The mission of L'Arche, which is a statement that every L'Arche community in the world follows and believes, states: We are people, with and without developmental disabilities, sharing life in communities belonging to an international federation. Mutual relationships and trust in God are at the heart of our journey together. We celebrate the unique value of every person and recognize our need of one another.

What really makes L'Arche beautiful might not be as easily seen from the outside. It's something that needs to be experienced, I think. What I believe makes L'Arche beautiful is the life-changing relationships that are formed in our communities between people of all ages and all abilities. These are not one sided relationships, but like our mission statement says they are mutual. And I have found them to be transformative.

I think it is a common perception of many people who come to be assistants at L'Arche that it will be much like I described at the beginning. They believe that they are coming to do something good with their lives, to help people who might not be able to help themselves, and to do good work. But, once they get to L'Arche, and they engage with the core members, their original perceptions are changed. They begin to see that while they might be cooking meals, doing laundry, helping with basic hygiene, and administering medications, they are receiving something immeasurable.

I want to share with you a couple of the relationships I have formed and how I feel like they have been mutually transforming for me.

A couple weeks ago, I moved into the same house as Brian. Brian is nonverbal, and needs a lot of assistance in his daily life. Caring for Brian is pretty hands-on. People might look at my relationship with Brian and assume that it is pretty one-sided that it all comes from what I can or need to do for him. But, Brian is already teaching me to be patient. He's showing me the value of being gentle and careful. I can sit with Brian, or go for a walk with him, and just be with him. He's a good listener and doesn't seem to mind me telling him about whatever it is on a certain day that I might find frustrating. It can also be frustrating, when he isn't able to communicate with me as clearly or as quickly as I might like, but we are learning how to live together and he is helping me to become a better assistant and person.

Or there's Matt. I lived with Matt for about a year when I first came to L'Arche, and then again for about six months before I moved into my current house. Matt is gentle and friendly, and absolutely loves chainsaws and fire engines. In fact, seeing one of them in action can pretty much make his entire day. He could see a fire truck on his way to work in the morning, and then at supper time, he can turn to you and, with as much excitement as he had earlier, he can tell you that he saw a firetruck and wonder if it was going to help people. When I lived with Matt he was always asking me how my day or weekend was, and if he knew I was going to be going somewhere for an extended period of time, he would tell me that he was going to miss me. One time, we were walking through the Oak Park Mall, and he heard a song coming from a store that he liked, so he went in and started dancing. Matt has been a good friend to me, and shown me how to find joy in the simple things, to be kind and gentle, to care about those around you, and to dance when you feel like it.

Then we have Alex. I lived with Alex for about two years. He can be full of energy, and always has something funny to say. When he loves something or someone, everyone knows it. If he loves the CD of hard rock music that he checked out from the library, you'll know it because it's blaring from his room. If he loves a certain person, you will know it because he will scream their name and run to hug them when he sees them. I tell people that maybe besides my parents I don't know if I've ever had someone love me as much as Alex does. In fact, one day a couple of years ago, he was so excited to see me and loved me so much that he gave me a hug so hard that it bruised one of my ribs. Living with Alex wasn't always easy, in fact a lot of days it could be pretty frustrating. He has pretty strong opinions and isn't afraid to share them. His emotions, while they are strong when he is excited or when he loves someone, can be just as strong when he is angry or sad. But living with Alex I knew there would always be someone excited to see me when I came in the door, I knew that there was always someone who had my back or supported me, and I also had a good example of what it looks like to love someone and to not be afraid to express it.

These are just a few of the relationships I have formed in my time at L'Arche, although I could probably go person to person and tell you something that each one has taught or given to me or blessed me with during my time here but that would definitely make me run over the time limit that I was given. But that is what I have found to be the beauty of L'Arche, how each of us, core member and assistant, is changed if we are open to mutual relationships with one another.

The beauty of L'Arche is that we are choosing to live together, and while I am helping the core members to live a better life by cooking and cleaning, driving and administering medications, and helping them with the daily tasks that are not easy for them, they are helping me to live a better life by showing me how to love, how to be patient, how to accept myself, how to be a good friend, and all of the other things that might not be easy for me. The beauty of L'Arche is when we recognize that not only do people with developmental disabilities need us to live a good life, but we need them to live a good life, as well.

a deeper look

To the outside observer, a L'Arche house consists of two types of people. There are those who have disabilities (who we call core members) who come to live in the house because they are unable or don't want to live on their own. Then there are those who choose to come live in the house and help out (who we call assistants) who do not have the label of being disabled. It is the assistants' job to assist (hence the name) the core member to live as fruitful and meaningful of a life as possible. To someone on the outside this is what it looks like, and I would say that this is a pretty big part of life in L'Arche. But, when you take a deeper look, it's really not that simple.

Many of the assistants will tell you that when they came to L'Arche they brought with them some lofty ideals of how they were going to do such good works, and how they were going to help the core members live better lives, and how they were excited about all of the things they had to offer to the core members. But, once they spent some time in L'Arche, and once they developed relationships with the core members, they began to realize and recognize all of the things that the core members were offering to them. It is not a one-way relationship where one only gives and the other only receives. Life in L'Arche is reciprocal.

Along those lines, the assistants often come into L'Arche thinking that the core members are the disabled ones, and that the core members are the ones who need help to live a better life. But that notion is quickly disproved, too. Yes, it is correct that the core members have disabilities. Some require help eating or bathing. Some use wheelchairs or crutches to get around. Some of them are deaf or blind. So, it is true all of the core members do have some kind of disability and that is what has brought them to L'Arche, but it is also true that the assistants bring their own disabilities, it's just that we are often better at hiding them.

Assistants can struggle with being open with others, or with trusting people. They can have trouble sharing their emotions or developing close relationships with others. Maybe they find it hard to love themselves or someone else. These are all things that many of us struggle with, but they are things at which many of our core members excel. And these are only a few of the disabilities that assistants can bring with them when they move into a L'Arche house.

I recently moved to a different house here in our community. I have been a live-in assistant in this house now for only a little over two weeks. Often times, when assistants are brand new in a community, there can be a honeymoon period where everything is lovely and wonderful and the quirks and behaviors of your housemates are funny and cute. But then, after a while, you begin to bump into each others' rough edges. The things that were cute or endearing are now irritating or obnoxious. Instead of being funny, your roommate asking you the same question multiple times a day is now annoying. And the constant compliments from another roommate, which you once found charming, are now kind of aggravating and an obstacle to actual conversation. You find it hard to overlook how someone in your house consistently leaves their dirty cereal bowl in the sink, or maybe they constantly scrape their fork on their plate at dinner. This is when the honeymoon is over and the reality of life together sinks in.

Having had the privilege of being a part of this community for around four years, there really wasn't much of a honeymoon period with this house. I have known and interacted and been in relationship with the core members and the other assistants here for several years now. In this new house, I now live with a couple of our core members who have more obvious disabilities and who require more assistance and, whether I like it or not, they have been helping me to see and recognize and confront my own disabilities.

Lately, I have found myself getting frustrated and angry pretty easily. I get upset when one of the core members is constantly trying to move things that aren't where he thinks they belong. Or when another core member won't comply when we need him to eat or to get ready for the day. Or when another core member gets distracted and focuses on 2,000 other things instead of the one thing that we would really like. In the moment, these things frustrate me and make me aware of my short temper and my impatience. As a result, I can end up losing my cool or snapping at someone, which doesn't ever solve the issue, but in the heat of the moment I am not thinking about it that way.

Stepping back, I am able to recognize that these are examples of how life in L'Arche is like a rock tumbler, and we are the rocks bumping into one another. Our rough edges can be sharp, and they can hurt. Knowing what I know of rock tumblers, I know that when the rocks are done in the tumbler they are smooth and shiny and beautiful. I know that through the process of life in L'Arche I am becoming smooth and shiny and beautiful, much like those rocks. I just know that I am in the middle of that process now, and it isn't always smooth or shiny or beautiful in the midst of it. When the rocks are tumbling it is noisy and a bit chaotic and sometimes it can be painful.

But also, in the midst of this, I have my other experiences to look back on. I have been blessed to have lived for a time in two of our other houses here, and so I have some idea of how these things go, at least for me. There were times when I would get frustrated, and want to strangle a housemate in one of those other houses because they breathed funny or something silly like that. But I also know that after my time living in both of those houses, I came to love and appreciate each of my housemates. It wasn't always easy, and I struggled more with some than others, but I can look back now and see how my relationships with each of them grew and blossomed, sometimes in spite of but often because of the the times when we bumped into one another and rubbed each other the wrong way.

That is part of what I have found to be the beauty of L'Arche. Living with core members and other assistants, while it is not easy and it is not always fun or exciting or glamorous, it is always rewarding. Sometimes, in the midst of the day-to-day issues, when everything is happening up close and personal, it is hard to see it that way. But when you look at things from a panoramic view, and you are able to see where you have been, and how it has led you to where you are, it can give you a new perspective. You can see and appreciate how, even though when you came you had intentions of helping the core members live a better life, that they are, in their own unique and amazing and valuable ways, helping you to grow and change and to live a better life, too.

So, I will continue to bump along in this rock tumbler. I won't always handle myself well, and I am sure to be impatient and lose my temper when someone knocks into my rough edges. But I know through the process of living together, of forgiving them for their rough edges, and forgiving myself for my own, I am coming ever closer to being that smooth, shiny, beautiful rock.