Love Your Enemies : keeping my mouth shut and picking up trash
But I say to you that listen, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. Luke 6.27–28
“Is that straw dummy meant to look like me? Is that lifeless puppet hanging in my neighbor’s tree intended to scare me away?”
Not for a moment did I imagine my daughter and I would not be welcome to reside in the tiny Northern New Mexico land grant village. Blinded by my privileged trifecta, white, able and educated, it never occurred to me that the Spanish Mexican inheritors of this picturesque communal land grant would not be delighted to welcome us.
When ninety something year old Anna, with whom I shared a driveway said, “Your next door neighbor, the Mayordomo Elena, hates anglos. Be careful,” I was incredulous. “Hates me? How could anyone hate me?” So, I sealed my lips and set my face to silently win acceptance.
Each day I crossed the only street that ran through the village, gathered beer cans, burger wrappers and cigarette butts while walking to and from the sumptuous river. I loved lingering along the river’s edge, listening to its signature tunes, source of the acequia’s lifeblood. The well tended system of ditches feeds the communal bean fields, orchards and pastures with intermittent floods, insuring their plentiful harvest. With the exception of Anna, who welcomed me into her closet size kitchen to witness her gnarled fingers fashion perfectly formed (and tasty) tortillas, no one spoke to me.
One season melted into another. When Elena’s apricot tree bowed her pendulous branches onto my side of our shared adobe wall, ever so carefully I picked the sweet fruit then discreetly left the bundle near her front door. When snow blankets transformed the village into a Grant Wood winter scene, I clandestinely shoveled a path between Elena’s car and front door.
Life for me was simple. Twice each week work at my office in town, drive my daughter to & from school, dance classes and rehearsals, and the rest of the time paint in my upstairs living room turned studio. This routine persisted for nearly three years until one day there was a knock at my portal door, the first time anyone entered the courtyard and knocked at that door. I put down my paintbrush, hurried downstairs, was speechless as I peeked through the glass panes and saw Elena standing there.
Skipping small talk, Elena extended her arm, handing me a Walmart bag then saying, “I thought you could use this.” Inside was a brand new sweatshirt, a 500% upgrade from the grungy paint-encrusted one I wore almost every day. I laughed. Elena smiled and accepted my invitation to come inside. I’m not sure when it happened, but eventually I noticed, the hanging effigy of me was gone.
Debra Asis
All words are generated by grace and the grit of this real human being.
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The Biblical quote is found in today’s selection in An Ignatian Book of Days by Jim Manney is a series of daily reflections from the Spiritual Wisdom of St. Ignatius of Loyola. Throughout the book we hear the voices of St. Ignatius as well as many great thinkers and writers, long gone and present day, each uniquely revealing the way of finding God in all things. And that is my intention; to find God/Divine Presence/Ultimate Reality in whatever presents itself to me each day in 2024.
Each day I read, reflect and write on the selection, hoping to articulate the ways in which I come to know God/Divine Presence/Ultimate Reality via personal experience, impelled by the leading of my inner life.
INVITATION
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