I remember watching ants on the sidewalk as a kid, watching as their little millimeter bodies scrambled every which way. I was eating a bag of chips from the corner store up the street. One of them fell from the bag onto the sun-bleached cement. An ant went up and put that piece on its back, I wondered if it was heavy. I now know that ants can carry 50 times the weight of their body, but on that steaming sidewalk that could have fried an egg, I crumbled my Fritos into the smallest pieces and sprinkled them over the pavement.
It reminds me of the Rudy Fransisco poem:
Mercy
“She asks me to kill the spider.
Instead, I get the most
peaceful weapons I can find.
I take a cup and a napkin.
I catch the spider, put it outside
and allow it to walk away.
If I am ever caught in the wrong place
at the wrong time, just being alive
and not bothering anyone,
I hope I am greeted
with the same kind
of mercy.”
Do you remember the “this little piggy went to the market” thing? My aunt used to sing that to me, counting my toes. A nursery rhyme that is often used to spark amusement in young children, caused me to cry one afternoon. My aunt, confused, asked me to explain why I was upset. I didn’t tell her, but I knew. Staring down at my fourth toe through water blurred eyes, I knew the reason in my head: That little piggy got none.
I hope I never lose touch with that kind of empathy. In a fast-paced world, it’s easy to lose sight of that gentle awareness; to remain that attuned. I want to live my life in a way, where at the end of the day, I look around and make sure everyone has eaten. I want to step over the ant on the sidewalk. I want to plant flowers, so the bees have something to pollinate. I want to cook something for me, and for someone else. I want to feed the street pigeons without hesitation, the way I crumbled corn chips on the sidewalk.
Nicolette Sowder once wrote the poem:
May We Raise Children Who Love the Unloved Things
“May we raise children
who love the unloved
things – the dandelion, the
worms and spiderlings.
Children who sense
the rose needs the thorn
& run into rainswept days
the same way they
turn towards sun…
And when they’re grown &
someone has to speak for those
who have no voice
may they draw upon that
wilder bond, those days of
tending tender things
and be the ones.”
Children like this, have a profound power. They see right through the hollow things. The shiny illusions and empty promises won’t fool them in the way that they fool others. They have the ability to cut right through to the heart, they are brave enough to really see. They are soft enough to love relentlessly, yet strong enough to relentlessly defend. They hold a place for everything.
I think some are born with souls like that, others have it nurtured, and some may find that they, too, are the “ugly thing” - they just don’t run from it. They let it lead to a place of empathy rather than projection. The defenders of the bullied, the rooters of the underdogs. The ones who leave food on the porch for that stray cat with fleas. There was once a boy in my school who no one sat with at lunch. The sweet boy had a condition that affected his appearance and he didn’t speak much English. I’ll never forget the girl who once sat down next to him, and gave him half of her peanut butter and honey.
How much of the discomfort that we feel in the struggle and ugliness of others is really just sparked because it is a reflection of ourselves? I once read someone say that the best lesson that their parent taught them in life was to never look away. The lesson was that when someone is suffering and struggling, even when it is painful and ugly, to look them in the eyes. Humanize them. Even when it’s uncomfortable.
I try to nurture that in myself. I remind myself that my father was once a little boy who played with dinosaurs in pajamas and had a favorite flavor of ice cream. I remind myself that the man on the street begging for money once drew a picture for his mother in kindergarten. While I’m eating my dinner, I want to think of those who have none. I look at the people society shuns, those who might seem unordinary, and I hope that if they need someone to really see them, that person can be me. In a world where violence and hate are strong, I hope I look people in the eyes. I hope I hold onto the mercy.
Jesus told a story like this, I’m sure you know the one. He said:
"A certain man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who both stripped him and beat him, and departed, leaving him half dead. By chance a certain priest was going down that way. When he saw him, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite also, when he came to the place, and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he travelled, came where he was. When he saw him, he was moved with compassion, came to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. He set him on his own animal, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. On the next day, when he departed, he took out two denarii, gave them to the host, and said to him, 'Take care of him. Whatever you spend beyond that, I will repay you when I return.' Now which of these three do you think seemed to be a neighbor to him who fell among the robbers?"
He said, "He who showed mercy on him.”
Then Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise." (Luke 10:30-37)
Oh, to be met with that kind of mercy; to meet others with that kind love.