The Nearness of You

"What exciting things happened while I was gone?" I asked this morning, back in my first grade class after two weeks away.

The children, garrulous with each other, began "um-ing" and looking at the ceiling, trying hard to think of something, but one hand flew up.

"You came back!" she said, and as if that wasn't enough, she added, "And you're coming to my house tomorrow."

The fact that she doesn't stay up when company is there, that she will spend most of the time I am at her house in bed, made this "exciting thing" hit me harder.

To be glad to share the same space, even if you don't get to speak to each other, even if you're not in the same room. It is what I was trying to convey to the friend I visited recently, the one who was half-jokingly afraid that maybe I didn't have enough fun during my visit to return, that maybe I was bored.

Acquaintances care about you when you are fun, when you are shiny and new, when you are amiable, when you are healthy. But that isn't really caring about someone else, is it? That's caring about self. "Anyone could be attracted by the beautiful and charming. But could such attraction be called love? True love was to accept humanity when wasted like rags and tatters. Theoretically the priest knew all this" (from Silence, by Shusaku Endo).

Love rejoices in nearness. No matter what. Thanks for the reminder, Chloe.

(Holy Spirit, come near and draw us past the theoretical.)