This week I took Holy Communion to two elderly women who
live on the mountain south of the parish.
The mountain walk is about twenty to thirty minutes on a rocky path that
is used by people, donkeys, goats, and horses.
Stepping carefully over rocks and around animal poop, I arrived to find
the two women in the midst of their daily chores. They are sisters, never married, and have no
children. They were thrilled with my
visit and offered their only chair for me to sit, while they squatted on a rock
on the ground. I set the table for
communion on a white corporal that I placed on a tattered woven straw tray that
is used to separate millet from its husk.
I look around, taking particular notice to their broken stick and straw
house. Everything on the house is
broken…the door, the roof, and the walls.
One strong storm and the house will be down! Elderly here usually depend on their children
to look after them, or a niece or nephew, but these two sisters have
nobody. As I make my way down the
mountain trail and across another trail on the way to my next visit, my mind is
racing with thoughts on large families, small families, no family. When I arrive at the home of my next visit, I
am greeted by a group of children who lead me to their grandmother. She is content, sitting on a chair outside
her house, which is made of sticks but looks very strong and sturdy. I set a communion table on a low stone wall
that forms the “galri” of her house. Her
grandchildren gather round and we all receive communion. Her wrinkled face radiates joy! And I tell her she is beautiful.
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