THE INNKEEPER

It was September 1992.  Mom was in trouble.  Big trouble.  She had often faced significant challenges throughout the years, and just as often, called out for help from family for some sort of financial salvation.  Even as a child myself (Mom’s only child), I had been repeatedly pressed to do my part to bail her out from her most current circumstances.  These events always strained me—financially, physically, emotionally—and eroded my abilities and even my desire to provide support, though duty held me to the course.

Now age 64 and partially-disabled, Mom was in Sacramento, California, living on her early Social Security retirement income.  She was without a car and used one of those battery-powered scooters to help her travel most distances, and while traversing through fair grounds one night, she unwittingly ran her lower leg into a protruding piece of rebar and gashed it wide open.  Infection set in and she became further disabled.  At the time, she shared the expense of apartment living with a roommate—one whom she came to trust and revere as a friend in relatively short order.  After attaining a measurable level of recuperation, she agreed that the roommate should feel comfortable to leave for a desired two-week visit with a family member. 

Those two weeks, however, turned into a month, then longer, before Mom reluctantly and sadly gave into her fears that the roommate had left entirely.  The so-called visit had been a façade; realizing the shelled appearance of an intended return cut her to the marrow.  Mom was abandoned.  What’s more, having already endorsed her Social Security check over to her roommate to pay her share of the rent, she learned that the rent went unpaid.  An uncompassionate landlord presented an eviction order and threatened, most severely, a lock-out by the Sheriff.  Sadly, Mom returned to alcohol for release, which she had successfully quit a few years before, following a lifetime of addiction. 

In her soulfully-injured condition, she called and begged me to turn chaos into order.  So uncertain of what immediate recourse I might take, especially being 900 miles away, I took inventory of my financial condition once more.  It didn't have to take long.  I already knew.  In just three month’s time, it was my plan to return to the University of Arizona full-time and complete my degree.  I was 31 years old and had grown weary of the meager salary that my technical vocation had afforded me.  According to plan, then, I would soon be without an income at all, dependent almost fully on school loans to see me through.  Now, given our history together, I was expected to also find a way to support my mother once her predicament was revealed.  I labored to sustain Mom emotionally, and objectively researched her situation in Sacramento, calling upon a few key people for understanding and guidance.  And, I prayed—much.  Still, the biggest part of me desperately wanted to run.

One Sunday evening in mid-September, I attended a satellite broadcast of a fireside at my Church, that I might find spiritual relief for my own self and temporarily escape the pressures of my mother’s situation.  During that fireside, the story of The Good Samaritan was presented.  I had heard it and read it many times before:

And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.

And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.

And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side.

But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him,

 And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.

 And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.

(Luke 10:30-35)

Suddenly, I was profoundly and undeniably struck with a realization and a spiritual witness.  Samaritans are known to have been most despised in the region.  Similarly, Jesus was “despised and rejected of men” (Isaiah 53:3).  Having understanding, I saw that the Savior was, himself, The Good Samaritan.  And, though my mother had been stripped of her money and abandoned by her supposed friend (yet, a thief); though she was wounded without and within; though her landlord had not compassion on her; though even her only child had considered passing by on the other side; even then, the Savior readily sought to bind up her wounds and carry her to a place of safety, where she might be nursed to health again.

 

And so it was that I was called to act in another role in this story—

the Innkeeper. 

My heart and throat swelled, my cheeks flushed, and tears intensely poured down my face and neck.  It was such an astonishing and singular spiritual event that all attempts to describe it in mere words are defied.  Fear not was the Lord’s word to me.  My mother would be delivered to me for care and healing.  I would be sustained in all ways, financially and otherwise.  Then and there, the Lord promised me that if I were found lacking at the end of the day, I would be repayed.  And so he did. And so he has. And so he will.

I was the Innkeeper.  Me.  That great privilege and honor was bestowed upon me!

It should not take long to discern what any of us might have wished to have done differently if called to fulfill the role of a certain Innkeeper—some 2,000 Christmases ago at a little town called Bethlehem—when Our Savior’s birth was imminently at hand. 

Take a moment.  Reflect upon your senses.  It may transform your life’s direction, interactions and relationships with others, and personal reservoirs, as it did for me.

Skinhorse Poetry: "The Path to Love"

Should love's limits
be defined
to exacting perimeters
so cautiously placed
by those who
fear
to search deeper,
reach farther,
risk more,
so that their hearts
might hurt less
in their so-called quest?

And in the discovery
of new love,
must there be
edges marked
and barriers raised
to show
only
the trodden path
where love's carefully
sowed garden ends
and unseen wildflowers
begin?

What shall it be then?
To keep the
respectful distance
and leave to imagination
where limits,
if there be any,
may lie?

Or defy
definitions
of love's limitations,
and challenge the distance--
believing,
and understanding also,
that only in the
stepping over of edges
and sharing of that which is
untrodden
does the truer path
to love
set in?

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

A Blanket and a Comforter, Too

On December 23rd, I was blessed to enjoy the overnight company of one of my beloved former young women, Jennifer, and her three children, Samantha, Harry, and Preston.  As we visited, the children asked why I didn't have a Christmas tree up in my house.  I pointed out that, in fact, I had two trees!  After taking another quick look around my front room, the children were clearly perplexed.

Within moments, I pointed to both trees, placed on tables, being approximately one foot in height.  For some reason, the children did not really accept these as being real Christmas trees and asked why I didn't have a real one that was all decorated and everything.  I tried to be funny about things by insisting that they were real enough.  "Why, looky here!  This tree even has presents under it!"  And then I lifted it up, placed a box full of presents on the table, and lowered the tree to literally sit on top of my presents.

They still didn't buy it.

Talk finally turned to my being "poor" as the reason why I didn't have a real tree after I explained that because of my having been laid-off from work seven months up to that point, I just simply couldn't afford a tree this year like I could other years.  I think they tried to understand, but I doubt that they really did.  A few shrugs of the emotional shoulders and closings of open jaws, and we were finally ready to select and watch a movie.  It took a while.

As it turned out, young Samantha got settled in my bed to watch my "so desperately tragic" (as she put it) Becoming Jane movie on her personal DVD player, whilst the rest of us acquiesced to rough it up with Invincible, rather than with one of the more rowdy Indiana Jones series in the front room.  Samantha just could not understand how her brothers would not benefit from and actually enjoy watching Becoming Jane.  Oh, I dunno.  I guess it must just be a guy thing.

Before Sam started her movie, I asked her if she were ready to have the comforter, too, in addition to the blanket she was already under.

"You have a comforter, too?!?" she asked incredulously. 
"Yep." came my quick reply. 
"Wow, Jacki! Well, you are FAR from poor if you have a comforter, too!" 

I just smiled without a little, and within a lot, as I thought of her simple faith and childlike perspective, as I fluffed the comforter over the bed, making sure to get Sam all snuggly underneath it.   Hah!  If she only knew how old that comforter is, I thought to myself. It's not like I just purchased it.

But, what a lesson!  I really am far from poor if I have my Comforter, too!

16  And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;
17  Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.
18  I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
. . . . .
25  These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you.
26  But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.
27  Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you.  Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.  (John 14:16-27)

And so it is that during times of joblessness, of financial struggle, of emotional distress of varying weights and circumstances, and through all other trials which cannot possibly be enumerated here, it is critical that we all that surround ourselves and get snuggly with this Comforter.  For it is this Comforter who brings goodness, love, and hope to our remembrance.  He chases away fear and doubt.  He warms our very souls and somehow helps us to do the same for those around us who are even more poor, or who are feeling more poorly than we are.  And really--when we have this Comforter, we truly are FAR from being poor.

As the little girl, Virginia, once received the fabled testimony of Santa Claus, so do I now unfold similar sentiments, though on a higher and most true plane:

Yes, Samantha . . . there really is a Comforter . . . and He is ours.

Skinhorse Truth - Redeeming Embrace

Oh, to be redeemed by that pure embrace, where neither release nor abandon submit to fear's whisperings. Blessed and rare is that person who can altogether tender such balm, and in the offering, likewise abide.
- Jacqueline J. Hancock

Our Deepest Fear

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Quoted by Nelson Mandela. Written by Marianne Williamson, A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles, Harper Collins, 1992. From Chapter 7, Section 3 (Pg. 190-191).