Loving the rainforest

This past week we celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary. We played Alaskan tourists by staying at an Anchorage hotel and meandering through downtown, choosing restaurants, poking around art galleries, relaxing in coffee shops, and strolling for hours on the coastal trail. I thank God for my husband. I used to say that if I never felt the presence of the Lord again, the love of that man was enough to remind me of God’s presence. He is an honorable protector and hard-working provider whose loving presence is integral to our family — just like God, who is a father to humanity. Jesus gave us a picture of divine fatherhood in the parable of the prodigal son from Luke 15. “When the son came to his senses he said … I will set out and go back to my father … but while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.” And Saint Paul reminds us in Romans 8:15 that “We received the spirit of sonship and by him we cry, Abba Father.” So happy anniversary to us and happy Father’s Day to all the fathers. God bless us all!

The connectedness of a marriage and of a family are life-giving, both literally and figuratively. The connectedness of all human relationships ties people together, imparting strength from charity whether it’s our daily friends and neighbors or folks around the world. I just finished reading a book by Jonathan Mooney, The Short Bus, wherein he related his journey around the country in a short bus, meeting people who had to ride one to school. This is the type of bus disabled children usually ride and is a sad sign of abnormalcy. After Mr. Mooney’s three-month trip, he wrote, “I learned that normal is so much bigger than we think. After three months of traveling, what wasn’t normal to me? Forty-seven chromosomes was normal. Cursing in sign language was normal. Twenty-four hours of standup comedy was normal (Some of the people’s issues his visits brought up).” His Uncle Billy had health problems but was full of fun (and irreverance). His answer? “Sickness is normal.” He took his meds, did what he could, and lived happily.

He asked a lady, a mother of a disabled daughter, what the world’s loss would be if anyone outside of “normal” were wiped out. She offered a profound analogy: “It’s like the rain forest. We don’t know what the loss will be but if I believe my presence is tied to the presence of diverse individuals and these people are gone, I think we’ve become less human. When we are together, we become more of who we already are.”

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops’ page on “Sharing Catholic Social Teaching,” puts it this way: “Catholic social teaching is based on and inseparable from our understanding of human life and human dignity. Every human being is created in the image of God and redeemed by Jesus Christ, and therefore, is invaluable and worthy of respect as a member of the human family. Every person, from the moment of conception to natural death has inherent dignity and a right to life consistent to that dignity. Human dignity comes from God, not from any human quality or accomplishment.”

And that is why my kids found me weeping last Sunday morning in front of the computer as I read of so many murders in Orlando. People I didn’t know in a place I’ve never been were dancing and smiling one minute; frightened and dying the next. Even though they are strangers far away, we are humans together, connected nonetheless. We are tied together like all the living parts of the rainforest and the loss of them is profound. I read everything I can about the people who were killed – their biographies, their families’ statements, their photos, and their stories. I pray for their loved ones left mourning. I pray for peace. God bless and help them.

Thanks be to God for his compassion that causes him to look for us and run toward us. I do indeed call you my Abba and know that you are the Abba of us all. May we see each human being as yours, dignified and loved. Our connectedness is bound by charity birthed by our good father.

“We cannot live for ourselves alone. Our lives are connected by a thousand invisible threads, and along these sympathetic fibers, our actions run as causes and return to us as results (Herman Melville).”

Allison Howell and her family are longtime residents of the Valley. They are Catholic converts and keep a hobby farm full of animals and children. This column is the opinion of the author and does not necessarily represent the views of the Mat-Su Valley Frontiersman or its parent company, Wick Communications.