I’d bask in his presence like someone with seasonal affective disorder in front of a light box sitting with him was like a sun-lamp for the soul.Įven so, I have empathy for that man at Starbucks, because I can remember the disconcerting “otherness” I felt when I first came to L’Arche. ![]() Like so many of my fellow assistants, I used to go and sit in Walton’s room whenever I felt really down. I grew to trust them with my true self, as they trusted me with their true selves. I learned how to administer their medication and do their physical-therapy exercises and clean very carefully between their toes. We shared meals, we traveled on vacation, and we spent so much time together. Very quickly, though, my housemates folded me into their family. Though I grew up with a younger brother on the autism spectrum, I worried that I was out of my depth at L’Arche, that I wouldn’t belong. It’s hard to remember that feeling now, but it’s true.īack then, I saw high medical needs and I heard speech impediments and it all felt foreign to me. When I first started as an assistant at L’Arche Ontario Road, I was eager to learn and to serve, but I also felt scared and overwhelmed by my new housemates … maybe a little like that man in the suit at Starbucks might have felt. That man refused to give Walton his hand because he was afraid. He was turning away from the part of himself that he feared was different, and vulnerable. He taught me that in rejecting Walton’s hand, he was actually rejecting himself. I’m grateful because taught me something valuable. Looking back, I’m actually grateful to that man, insensitive though he may have been. (But I didn’t.) Instead I turned back to Walton, and after a beat he calmly went back to sipping coffee.Īnd I don’t know if Walton shook any more hands that day, but I can tell you that he kept reaching out in all the days that followed. Now, I am as conflict-avoidant as they come, but I wanted to punch that guy in the face. Walton’s hand stayed outstretched, but his face fell. Without a word, the man turned his back and turned away. ![]() I saw him taking in Walton’s wheelchair and his obvious differences. The man stared back, but his gaze seemed cold. Walton extended his hand, beaming up at the businessman in his tailored suit. And everyone smiled and gave him their hands … until one man didn’t. Johnny was talking and talking while Walton was fairly quiet, just offering his hand to those who passed close to our table. Walton and his brother Johnny and I were having coffee at a corner table. How could anyone resist Walton’s wholehearted enthusiasm?īut then one day at Starbucks, I saw it happen. I didn’t understand that holding out his hand was a gamble, because I couldn’t imagine anyone turning away. I knew that Walton had a gift for welcome, but for a long time, I didn’t understand the risks involved. When they saw Walton, their faces lit up and they waved back.Īnd it struck me that Walton had saved his best greeting for the people on the edges, for those the rest of us tend to miss or ignore. When I followed his gaze up Columbia Road, I saw three elderly gentlemen slumped against the wall of Payless Shoes. But just before we returned home, Walton suddenly waved and smiled with great enthusiasm. Though we passed hoards of people on our weekend walk, Walton didn’t greet anybody. Once when I pushed Walton’s wheelchair through our neighborhood, I saw how intentional he was with his greetings. He didn’t just reach out to people who came to our house, though. He greets people without hesitation, without inhibition.” No matter who visits us, Walton wants to shake their hands. Here’s what I wrote about Walton back when we were housemates: “Walton welcomes everyone who comes to our house. ![]() He had every reason to be bitter and withdrawn, but he wasn’t. He was no stranger to pain, illness, or the ICU. Walton was dealt a difficult hand he didn’t get many of what our culture considers “winning” cards. After all, the Walton I knew needed a lot of hands-on assistance for tasks most of us take for granted, such as eating and showering. He very well might not have been, though. Walton passed away recently, but he was – and is – my greatest teacher in the art of reaching out. One of my former housemates, Walton, embodied the truth of that song for me. When I lived in the L’Arche Ontario Road home, my housemates and I would play it loud and dance around the kitchen. Those are the lyrics to a Ben Lee song called “Gamble Everything for Love”. Caroline McGraw, a former L’Arche GWDC Assistant, delivered this keynote address at the 2018 Heart of L’Arche Breakfast, titled “Risk Reaching Out.”
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