Leaving L'Arche and Loving

Back in DC for a bit. June 5th was my last day in L'Arche. I've felt as though it was my time to journey onward for a variety of reasons, but I am nonetheless heart-broken to leave. While L'Arche helped me to grow in responsibility, in being more confident in my vocation both practically and big-picture, and in trying to transcend some of my well-educated, transient middle-upper class white male tendencies, the greatest gift L'Arche has given me is my humanity. There is so much that I have been able to receive and reclaim in this past year through, acts, words, and silence. And at the heart of all of this has been Walton Schofield. I was a little afraid when I first learned I would accompany him b/c he speaks infrequently (except for recycled though enlivened tales from 40-something years ago when he was in Cuba) and can seem disinterested in the world around him. But my apprehension quickly melted away as I spent hours in the hospital with this very tender man shortly after my arrival. Yesterday, when I visited for a bit, he scooted over in the hospital bed in his room so that I could share the bed with him and chat while he was supposed to be napping. However, this was only after he politely protested to the piano music that was playing in his room in favor of the cello cd. He asked, "y donde trabajas...en una casa?" "And where do you work...in a house?" I told him "Es que yo soy estudiante." "I am a student." He nodded knowingly and was happy to learn about my life beyond L'Arche. I had only told him once that I was going to be a student and that I wouldn't be living with him any more. This was two months ago, and when I did, he quickly averted his eyes and busy hands away from his blocks to zero in on my eyes, a rarity for Walton. He looked deeply and asked, "Por que?" "Why?" I don't remember how I answered or even if I did answer because I was so worried that my leaving would hurt this gentle, loving man. But yesterday after asking about what I do with my time these days, he informed me that the minister wanted him to put one of those big blue mail receptacles in the church. He decided he wanted to sit up and chat so I scooched over, and helped him sit up only to remember the attire that he sleeps in. He asked for his shorts, and I obliged. We talked more and before I left he kissed me on the cheek and I kissed him on the cheek. Jean Vanier says, "You see, the big thing for me is to love reality and not live in the imagination, not live in what could have been or what should have been or what can be, and somewhere, to love reality and then discover that God is present.” Walton brings me back to the present moment, to God in that moment, and to my true humanity.