Given in Love
This week Dick and I sorted treasures hidden in many boxes that we have saved for years and years. As we discovered these long-forgotten items, memories flooded in from as far back as our childhoods.
One of these memories for me was when I was in seminary and worked at “Mount St. Joseph’s Home for Dependent and Neglected Girls” (a former orphanage), run by the nuns of The Daughters of Charity in San Francisco.
When I arrived each morning, I never quite knew what to expect on the other side of the heavy front door of “The Mount.” During the two years I worked there in the late 1960s, I had experienced girls of all ages, been with them in all kinds of situations, and seen the whole range of human response magnified by their youth, their pain, and their needs.
On trips to the beach, I spent my time counting to be sure they were all still there, and more than once a few of the older ones had slipped through the tunnel under The Great Highway and found the sailors at Playland at the Beach.
One afternoon my job was to keep two sisters far away from The Mount, because there was strong indication that their violent father was coming to kidnap them. He came, and we were indeed far away eating ice cream.
I experienced children with their tantrums and tears, panic and hatred, resistance and testing, and their insatiable hunger for love. I experienced from Sister Mary Faith, the nun in charge, who at the age of 27 was significantly older than I, how to be firm, to set limits, to protect my own emotions from the onslaught, and still to love these troubled kids … not always easy. I left exhausted at the end of each day with them. And always came back the next time ready for anything.
As Dick and I prepared to be married, we invited to our wedding all the children from the unit I was currently working with: fifth and sixth graders. They took me totally off guard with a shower the Saturday before our wedding. One had baked a chocolate cake and hadn’t even burned the frosting. Some gave me gifts that we used for years: our measuring spoons and cups and the green plastic colander. Some had spent hours making their gifts: seven dishtowels embroidered with orange and olive-green owls; an apron made by Rosario, and a doily which Lisa had crocheted.
There was one gift that stood by itself. I didn’t know what to say, and even today all these years later, I still find myself at a loss. Inside a small, slim, square gold box were six silver-plated demitasse spoons. This was Maria’s gift. She hadn’t been at “The Mount” long, and I didn’t know her well, but I often found her pasted to my side. Her mother had died when she was three years old; her father could no longer care for her, and so this institution of women and girls was her family for an indefinite time to come. Her mother had given the tiny spoons to her; she gave them to me.
What does one say? What does one do, when one receives such a gift? I thought of giving it back but wrestled with what that might mean to her. Surely the spoons meant more to her than to me. Or did they? Would it be more important to her to have her gift accepted rather than refused? I struggled. I have those spoons tucked in my silver chest still today, never used for coffee, but among the greatest of my treasures because they were given to me in love. I also have had Maria tucked away in my heart for these past sixty years.
(with gratitude to Kostiantyn-li on Unsplash for the photo of a brown paper package wrapped up with string)
When people give you their love, that is the greatest gift of all.
Thank you for this story, Bobbie. A beautiful gift and a gracious recipient. Both are necessary to keep the world in balance.
Treasures and memories
Wonderful and tender remembrance, Bobbie! I bet a significant number of those girls fondly recall their moments with you too. We never know about those seeds we plant. I wonder if you have considered using the sweet demitasse spoons for a special occasion… in remembrance of and gratitude for Maria, and for her mother who never got to see the beautiful and thoughtful woman that Maria became? Blessings to your heart-fullness!
Bobbie,
Such a touching life story. You clearly touched the hearts of those little girls who needed a mother, a family and someone to love and be loved by, and clearly, they touched your heart. All those gifts are sacred and your memories are sacred too. Thank you for sharing your memories with us.
With love ❤️
Mary
Such a heartfelt, feel-good story! I loved it! You did the right thing in accepting this “gift of love” from Maria. What wonderful memories this lovely gift evokes, after all these years. Thank you for sharing this precious chapter in your life! Blessing to you, dear Bobbie!
Accepting the gift with love….after all that’s what you gave to all the girls with your presence. And continue to do with us.
Your description of the challenges in this work at the Mount feels so close to home. My younger brother, Kevin died august 5. He is the first of my younger siblings to die and was considered the black sheep out of us 11 kids. One of the hardest things now is that other siblings don’t realize that his unquenchable quest for love broke him in life. He didn’t ask to be number 10. Nor did he ask for the trouble circumstances, he lived in life.
Thank you, Bobbie for writing this and for all you continue to do to bring light into our lives.
You are the storyteller whose words I love, every time. There are so many threads woven into this story ~ thick dark threads, voices raised, anger in the distance – soft silken threads – the sound of laughter in an ice cream shop, the sounds of wind and ocean and gulls; jute, natural and strong – the fiber of courage that helped you walk through the gate not knowing what you would face – really, a tapestry of hope and commitment and love.
Thank you, Bobbie
Love you,
Claudia
How loving to receive such wisdom gifts from Sister Mary Faith as the young woman you were! I admire your interactions with these girls and the gift of time you shared with them. To be able to give what you have and the beauty to receive as you had done is Grace at its best.
Dear Bobbie, I’ve always believed connections with cherished ones from the past live with us the rest of our lives, not just in memories but in ways sunlight shines, winds blow, leaves rustle, and so many other ways the rhythm of life plays its tunes. And, so, Maria . . . having given you six silver-plated demitasse spoons way back when . . . in doing so, could her hand have subsequently and symbolically held your hand every time you picked up a spoon of any kind to stir coffee, eat cereal, prepare a meal, gently administer medicine to a child, or savor the flavor of sugars, spices, and everything nice(s) in life?
Maria’s gift is endless. She remains at your side forever.
Thank you for sharing your treasured memories of how the give and take of God’s love has brought you joy.
The flow of God’s love to you and from you is inspiring.