I suppose I could wax eloquent discussing asylum from the aspect of international dealings–the compassion offered to those who find themselves alienated or refugees.
But I think we spend too much time talking about things we don’t understand instead of understanding the things we talk about because they’re real in our lives.
I was once offered asylum–in the truest sense.
Back in 1980 my son was hit and run by a car and spent two-and-a-half months in the hospital with a brain injury, finally being released into our care–a child without the capacity for communication and with no ability to care for himself.
We became caregivers.
I would like to tell you that we adapted with great haste to this role, but I would be a horrible liar.
We were young, selfish, wounded, frustrated and way out of our element. The last thing in the world we needed was to be impinged upon by public opinion telling us what we needed to do or scrutinizing us for excellence.
Fortunately, I was surrounded by people of compassion and insight, who realized I was not going to be able to perform my duties and continue to work a job as an assistant minister at their church, but instead, needed a season to learn my new function–taking care of my wounded son and trying to find a way to adjust my spirit to the pain.
They gave me asylum.
For three months I was granted free rent, free board and freedom to be slow in the uptake.
I don’t know why they did this. I’m sure they were tempted to be self-righteous or even demanding.
But they chose to be loving.
I needed every one of those 90 days. And at the end of them, even the bizarre action of maintaining the needs of a helpless child fell into a logical routine.
I was able to rise to the occasion, and my whole family moved on to the next occupation without too much bruising or poverty.
I have thought about it many times. Matter of fact, I’ve used it as a motivation to grant the same asylum to other wounded travelers who have come my way.
The truth is, it is difficult to heal and be responsible at the same time. Something has to give.
More often than not, someone has to give.
Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) — J.R. Practix