For Frances
Frances was a woman of indiscriminate age, with scraggly hair that people would have called dishwater blond. She was thin, too thin, really. She always wore faded, cotton house dresses. She never made eye-contact with anyone.
I remember when she first came to work at the Hotel Mary-Etta, sometime in the mid to late 1960s. Some agency made arrangements with Mom to hire her. I suppose that her wages might have been government-subsidized, and I'm sure she received some extra job training and supervision.
Frances was an outcast, of sorts, because she had mental health issues. She was always talking to herself and the voices she heard, in a high-pitched little voice. Sometimes she even argued with herself.
She didn't talk much to the people around her, just answering direct questions with a yes or no, while gazing off to one side, or scrutinizing some tiny spot on the floor. But she was able to wash dishes by hand, in the tiny dish room just off the Mary-Etta Cafe.
The other employees were always kind to Frances. They greeted her appropriately as she was coming and going, and offered instruction as needed, but they weren't able to carry on any kind of conversation with Frances. Mom and Dad, too, were always patient and kind, ready to explain exactly what they wanted Frances to do, and willing to go and get her when she forgot to come to work.
When I first met Frances, she lived a half block to the north of the hotel, in a cluttered and cramped upstairs studio apartment. I remember walking there with Mom sometimes, to collect Frances for her shift. She had little sense of time, so she often needed reminders to come to work.
Frances owned a yellow canary that must have meant a lot to her, because I remember how she grieved, heartbroken, when she found it dead in the bottom of its cage one morning.
It wasn't long after the canary's passing that Frances moved to a room in the hotel, where it was easier for someone to remind her to come to work.
I don't remember how long Frances worked in the cafe, or where she went when her time there was done. She was not able to function independently, and she appeared to have no local family, so I would guess that she moved, eventually, to a nearby mental hospital or nursing home, where there were people to look after her as she aged.
Jesus said that we will always have the poor with us. Frances was certainly poor and needy, but the community rallied around her to make sure her needs were met. Thankfully, that happens often in our country now, and even years ago, although people didn't talk too much about it then.
When Jesus exhorted his followers to "love your neighbor as yourself," he meant it. I am somewhat gratified to look back at the people I have known throughout my life, to see and remember those who have quietly, but persistently, loved the despondent people around them: the aunt and uncle who took in their daughter's friend, when she needed a home; another aunt who has patiently cared for her ailing brother-in-law for years; the friends and relatives who have loved the foster children who were placed with them for a little while, or forever; the uncle who conducted a totally free garage "sale;" the neighbors who have bought warm coats for the cold, needy kids in their midst; the quilters in numerous church basements who sew beautiful blankets from cast-off material, sending them all over the world to provide warmth and comfort for the people who so desperately need them; the hundreds of people in my community who donate money and food for the weekend backpack program that feeds hungry school children, and the current and retired educators who administer the program. My list could go on and on...
November and December are the months when we focus on giving to people who need a little help. But now, in February, the poor are still with us. Let's look around to see who else needs us to show them some of the Savior's love. Let's do it for Frances, and other discouraged people who, like her, might live just down the block.
He who oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker, but whoever is kind to the needy honors God. Proverbs 14:31
I remember when she first came to work at the Hotel Mary-Etta, sometime in the mid to late 1960s. Some agency made arrangements with Mom to hire her. I suppose that her wages might have been government-subsidized, and I'm sure she received some extra job training and supervision.
Frances was an outcast, of sorts, because she had mental health issues. She was always talking to herself and the voices she heard, in a high-pitched little voice. Sometimes she even argued with herself.
She didn't talk much to the people around her, just answering direct questions with a yes or no, while gazing off to one side, or scrutinizing some tiny spot on the floor. But she was able to wash dishes by hand, in the tiny dish room just off the Mary-Etta Cafe.
The other employees were always kind to Frances. They greeted her appropriately as she was coming and going, and offered instruction as needed, but they weren't able to carry on any kind of conversation with Frances. Mom and Dad, too, were always patient and kind, ready to explain exactly what they wanted Frances to do, and willing to go and get her when she forgot to come to work.
When I first met Frances, she lived a half block to the north of the hotel, in a cluttered and cramped upstairs studio apartment. I remember walking there with Mom sometimes, to collect Frances for her shift. She had little sense of time, so she often needed reminders to come to work.
Frances owned a yellow canary that must have meant a lot to her, because I remember how she grieved, heartbroken, when she found it dead in the bottom of its cage one morning.
It wasn't long after the canary's passing that Frances moved to a room in the hotel, where it was easier for someone to remind her to come to work.
I don't remember how long Frances worked in the cafe, or where she went when her time there was done. She was not able to function independently, and she appeared to have no local family, so I would guess that she moved, eventually, to a nearby mental hospital or nursing home, where there were people to look after her as she aged.
When Jesus exhorted his followers to "love your neighbor as yourself," he meant it. I am somewhat gratified to look back at the people I have known throughout my life, to see and remember those who have quietly, but persistently, loved the despondent people around them: the aunt and uncle who took in their daughter's friend, when she needed a home; another aunt who has patiently cared for her ailing brother-in-law for years; the friends and relatives who have loved the foster children who were placed with them for a little while, or forever; the uncle who conducted a totally free garage "sale;" the neighbors who have bought warm coats for the cold, needy kids in their midst; the quilters in numerous church basements who sew beautiful blankets from cast-off material, sending them all over the world to provide warmth and comfort for the people who so desperately need them; the hundreds of people in my community who donate money and food for the weekend backpack program that feeds hungry school children, and the current and retired educators who administer the program. My list could go on and on...
November and December are the months when we focus on giving to people who need a little help. But now, in February, the poor are still with us. Let's look around to see who else needs us to show them some of the Savior's love. Let's do it for Frances, and other discouraged people who, like her, might live just down the block.
He who oppresses the poor shows contempt for their Maker, but whoever is kind to the needy honors God. Proverbs 14:31
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