On Wednesdays, I usually attend a certain spiritual gathering, but the group as a whole isn't what draws me there. I suppose most folks go for the group, for the big picture, so to speak. I go to see my friend A., who is an extremely tall, sharply funny fellow who also happens to be blind. I always sit next to him, and we joke on and off throughout the entire hour. I'll say things like, "You should see my rockin' pants today. Yellow plaid." He'll respond with, "Looking good, as always." and we crack up. I've touched his hand when I've gotten him a coffee or his cane and such, and I'll say, "You know, I'm small, only like 5'2"." And he'll say, "I know, I can tell by your hand, shorty." All through the hour, we quietly joke. One time, when I missed a few weeks, he told me he was worried because he didn't hear my voice, and he was going to put my face on a milk carton. We were both rolling because obviously, he has no idea what my face looks like. Constantly, he freely pokes fun at himself, and he maintains a quiet dignity about it when he does. I've learned a lot from him. His presence beside me feels like a calm, gentle, safe rock of protection and support.
Whenever I get too serious about my setbacks or present circumstances, I think of A. His sense of humor is powerful; the power rests inside that which is unexpected; herein rests the divine message, I've found. And so, ironically, attending the "spiritual" group itself is not what teaches me spiritual things. He does.
C.A. MacConnell
