The night was cold and snowy in the hills of upstate New York, and only my mother and I were home at the time. I can’t quite recall how he got there, but my uncle must have been dropped off at our house
by another relative (no doubt as a result of my mother’s coaxing). I had overheard an earlier phone call that my mother received informing her that he had gotten drunk once again, getting his car stuck in the ditch trying to come up the hill to his house which was a few doors down
from ours. He was found laying nearly frozen to death in the snow next to his car, totally intoxicated, with the car door open, and the car still running with its lights on.
My most vivid memory of that night resulted from what I saw as I slowly peeked around the corner of the hallway into the living room. Neither my uncle nor my mother realized I was silently watching. The first glimpse made me instantly angry. I whispered to myself, “Ma, how could you be doing this?”, wishing I was brave enough to say to him, “What is wrong with you? Why do you
keep getting drunk?"
My uncle was sitting on our couch, completely inebriated, freezing, with towels wrapped around him. He could barely sit up. Ma had dried
him off and was trying to keep him warm. Every now and then he would very loudly and abruptly yell something totally incoherent. Every time he did it would startle me. His booming voice scared me and I was afraid he would see me. But I continued, unnoticed, to spy on what was going on in the next room, barely moving and making not a sound.
There was Ma, kneeling at his feet with tears rolling down her cheeks, trying to keep him
comforted. Instead of raising her voice, she had only kind, reassuring words. “You’ll be alright”, she
kept gently saying over and over again. A small tub of warm water
was sitting in front of her on the floor, and she had one of my uncle’s feet in her hands, and had a
white towel wrapped around his other foot. I couldn’t understand her attitude. She stayed on her knees, softly crying while rubbing his feet, patiently trying to
warm him up and get him sober.
In later years, I realized what I had secretly captured in that instance was the greatest teaching I
would ever receive, although at the time I didn’t understand it. Now, every time I read John 13:5-7, I am reminded again of that evening.
“After that, he poured water into a
basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around
him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?" Jesus
replied, "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand." (John 13:5-7)
I firmly believe that the most powerful form of teaching is given by example. Throughout her life, Ma taught me many
important things through her words. But in that one moment, no words could have been so powerful
or convincing or lasting. Looking back on that cold, awkward night, I learned a three-fold valuable lesson.
First, my mother demonstrated the meaning of love. On that evening, she had shown me
that true love was unconditional and sacrificial -- that love is a choice. At the time, that was the last
thing I could think of -- to have any love for my uncle in that condition. That was the first thing she
thought of! She loved her brother regardless of his condition.
Secondly, my mother demonstrated the meaning of forgiveness. My reaction was
condemnation. Not Ma’s. I knew she did not approve of anyone being drunk, but yet she forgave
her brother. It would have been easier to hate him for it, but
she did what was harder – to forgive him. She always had hope that this would be the last time he would be drunk,
and she believed that change was possible for him as well as anyone.
Thirdly, my mother demonstrated compassion. At the time, I thought my uncle deserved
what he got. Not Ma. She felt sorry for him. When seeing someone hurt or in need, she would
often put herself in their place. Her concern for others was always evident, regardless of who was
at fault. She was the most compassionate person I ever knew.
The whole situation that I witnessed that night reminds me of Matthew 25:34-40.
“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the creation of the world. For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me.’
“Then these righteous ones will reply, ‘Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you? Or thirsty and give you something to drink? Or a stranger and show you hospitality? Or naked and give you clothing? When did we ever see you sick or in prison and visit you?’
“And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!’ (Matthew 25:34-40)
As often as I can, I try to live up to the teaching that my mother demonstrated to me by her
example that night, and what I have found is that it is not an easy task. Her lesson of love, forgiveness and compassion
are often taught by others in words alone. But to see
it modeled so clearly and sincerely that night taught me a lesson that has lasted a lifetime.
Thanks Ma, for your example and your inspiration.
