Accepting Angels as We Find Them

    Today's theme harkens back to previous ones on giving and receiving.  But this time it's with an uncomfortable twist.
     You may recall Maria and her husband Luis (the Latino Thich Nhat Hanh).  It is so easy to love them.  They are quiet, generous, and the language barrier creates a boundary we can step in and out of, but it is a boundary just the same.  I've always said, boundaries are my friends.  I love boundaries.  They give me control.  Like floodgates, when I need watering I open them; when I'm drowning I close them.
     On the other side of my house is "Jack."  Jack is an elderly man with an alcohol problem and few friends.  I've seen a couple of what look like social workers, family members, and fellow alcoholics.  But even their visits are infrequent.  His eyes are perpetually glazed over, he can be coherent but more often than not he isn't, and he is often seen in his bathrobe.  He lives next door one floor above me.  It is important for you to understand this.  This photo is taken from my second floor porch.  My car is ground level...obviously.  But it is from this porch that Jack makes his presence known to me in the most unnerving manner.
     "HEY LADY!!! HOW YA DOIN'?"  The size of the font does not do justice to the sound of his voice blaring out from above me when I least expect it, from dawn to black of night.  If he is sitting on his porch when he sees me, he'll treat me to this most upsetting greeting.  It's upsetting because a) I can't see him, so it catches me off guard, b) my mind is generally on something else, and I'm jarred out of my thoughts, and c) there's no privacy from him.  I spent half the summer trying to catch a glimpse of his porch before heading out.  If I saw him, I'd wait for a more opportune moment to dash to my car and beat it out of the driveway.  I felt like an escapee from my own home.
     But being on Service Space has opened my mind to being in the world in different ways.  So when Thanksgiving came with Maria's 20-pound apples, John and I decided to share some with Jack.  John volunteered to go up to his apartment and deliver them.  Jack was so appreciative that he reciprocated an hour later by showing up at my front door barefoot and in his bathrobe with a carton of Borden's--Borden's--egg nog.  "I don't buy no cheap stuff," Jack assured me, and insisted we join him for a fortified glass of it.  We thanked him but made our excuses.
     And that's when I started to thaw a bit.  I realized that in his own way, Jack wants to be a part of our neighborhood.  He wants friends.  I still want boundaries, but I can be open to his greetings now without jumping out of my skin.  The scales really tipped just last week when he called out to me again, this time adding, "I'm always looking out for you!"  And in that moment, I was deeply touched.  Jack makes me uncomfortable because he breaches my boundaries, but he is looking out for me just the same.  He is another neighborhood angel who cares about me and wants to be cared about in return, even if I can only do it for a moment or two.  Angels may be drunk or dirty or noisy, but they are still angels.
     As I was taking my walk past his house yesterday, he yelled out to me, "I got it!"
     "What, Jack?" I asked.
     "It's a secret!"
     "Ok, I'll talk to you later."  And later, he showed up at my door, decked out in his bathrobe with two cartons of Borden's egg nog!  He mumbled something sotto voce that made no sense to me at all, but I genuinely smiled and thanked him; and he went on his way.
     So, egg nog anyone?

Pax tecum.