Luky;
"Does so-and-so have a daughter called Barbara, about seven or eight years old?" my husband asked me.
The man he was speaking of was a fellow worker of his, whose wife and I were friendly.
"Could be", I replied. "Why do you ask?"
"I found a purse containing money", my husband said.
"Look what I also found in the side pocket."
He took out a grubby little note.
It read: "I love you Daddy, very very much. Barbara van der Walt. "
We smiled. Mow many of those sweet little notes did we receive from our own children when they were in the grades.
We still got notes from Joseph, an entire page filled with the word "Joseph" which is the only word he was able to write.
One day I had raised my voice at him. Deeply hurt, he slunk away and started writing in his bedroom.
Half an hour later he came back with a sheet filled with Josephs.
"I can't read it", I complained.
"I'll read it to you", he said, and taking it back, he read out slowly:
"Dear Mom, I hate you. Love, Joseph."
But when I apologised and made friends, he tore it into little pieces and admitted:
"I know I'm a wrong one. But I'll forgive you".
Which is what he says when he means: "Please forgive me."
The next day my husband went to his colleague and returned his purse. He hadn't even missed it.
"There are two notes in it, a ten rand and a two rand", Sean said.
"That's right", his colleague agreed. "And did you spot the little love letter?"
"I did, and you can thank Barbara for getting your purse back by giving her the two rand note."
The man, his hand on his heart, promised to do so.
The following Sunday at Mass I spotted a dear little girl and I was sure she must be Barbara. She was.
"My husband wants to meet you", I said. "He's the one who found your daddy's purse with your beautiful letter inside."
Yes, her father had told her all about it.
"And this is Uncle Sean Whittle who wanted to see what the writer of that lovely letter looks like."
Sean smiled and melted, the way he always did when he saw little children.
"Did your father give you the two rand note, Barbara?" he asked.
"Not yet," she replied. Oh, the loyalty of a child.
"He'll be giving it to you tomorrow", Sean promised. With another smile she left us. We went to our car, discussing the love of a small child for its parents and how adorable all children are, even if they don't happen to belong to you.
"By the way, how do you know Barbara will be getting her two rands tomorrow?" I asked.
"Because I'll be seeing her dad tomorrow", my husband promised grimly.
Catherine Nicolette;
I smiled when I read my mom's post. It reminded me of an incident a long time ago.
I was learning to walk properly again after the car accident years ago which had left me with severe pain. I tended to shuffle somewhat, and every step was like wading through broken shards of glass.
The specialist had assured me that if I walked a lot each day, it would benefit me.
So I used to pray the rosary fifteen decades each day, while shuffling up and down the road outside as advised by the specialist.
Joseph used to accompany me whenever he could, and slowed his steps to my slow gait.
We had many conversations during the months my walking gradually improved.
Joseph spoke to me about his writing.
"You know, Nog, I have all the words in my head, but when I try to put them on paper, they only come out as 'Joseph'."
"Really Joe?" I asked, as he put his hand under my elbow to steady me as I tried to turn to go down the road again.
"Yes," he said, "Sometimes I wish I was as clever as you. You can read and write anything.
I sometimes think that you could just go into the library, pick up any book, and learn to do something new."
Joe looked at me with keen anguish in his eyes.
As I saw the emotional suffering in the beautiful depths of his kindly brown eyes, the pain in my own heart for him surpassed the pain I was suffering in my limbs. What could I say to comfort him?
So I asked him, "Joe, when you are writing Joseph, what are you writing about?"
Joseph looked at me, surprise in his eyes.
"Oh, " he said, "I write; Dad, I love you. Mom, I love you. Nog, I love you.
God, thank you for all the blessings I have, my mom and dad, my home, and my dog Norman."
And Jo continued to name all our brothers and sisters; he wrote that he loved them so much and how he admired his two brothers, considering them strong and his very good friends.
He mentioned by name many people, and what he admired in them, the blessings he prayed for them, and how much he loved them.
When Joe finished, I just looked at him in silence, the rosary beads still within my fingers.
Many, many times I have thought about what Joe told me.
I was saying many prayers through the rosary trying to learn the love and patience I needed to accept the car accident and how my life had changed, and the pain I was learning to live with. And I struggled.
And here was Joe, with a brain injury, who just was the living embodiment of love that he had poured out through his letters for years, and we had at the time not the code to understand the written words of this great and gentle heart.
And now, when I want to get upset with someone else, I often find myself thinking, what would Joe find to love in this person. Let me show caring and love as he would. Let me try to be non-judgemental as he is.
So Joe's writing changed my perspective on what is really important in this world... and to understand in a deeper way Christ's words,
"Love one another as I have loved you." (The New Testament, Gospel of John, Chapter 13, verse 34).
*Photograph of a wild poppy in glorious Ireland. Please feel free to use copyright free for any worthy purpose
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