All this week I’ll be posting stories about acts of kindness
that have been unexpected and life-enhancing gifts to me during my lifetime. Between
now and Friday, you’ll meet Evelyn Sweeney, Paullene Caraher, the nuns of Mount
Saint Scholastica, Marge Tansley, and Sister Madonna. Their unexpected acts of
kindness enriched my life and in one instance actually changed it.
I’m
offering these stories to you as part of the Wayman Publishing blogfest that
continues from today through Friday. Wayman is offering a number of its book as
free gifts to you. Other books are offered at a greatly reduced press. Both of
Dulcy’s e-books—A Cat’s Life and A Cat’s Legacy—are available.
Almost
seventy other bloggers are participating in this celebration of random acts of
kindness. If you’d like to read other stories of how we gently touch one
another’s lives, please click here to find information on the other bloggers
and their postings.
I’ll
begin my group of kindness stories with Evelyn Sweeney. I met her in 1967, a
few months after leaving the convent. We became good friends, despite my initial
wariness around her. In a 2012 posting I explained my prejudice and used a
pseudonym for Evelyn. She is the “Jeanne” in my story about the Vietnam War protest.
That
story took place in Dayton, Ohio, in 1967. Today’s story takes place in
Edinburgh and Paris in 1976.
In
that year, Evelyn and myself, along with Paullene, whom you’ll meet again tomorrow,
flew to Amsterdam and visited Holland, England, Scotland, and Paris.
Toward
the end of our four-week trip, I raced toward an Edinburgh bus, stumbled, and
twisted my right ankle, banging it against the cobblestones. Hurrying to catch
the London-bound train, I simply ignored the pain.
By
the time we’d traveled to London, boarded the train to Dover, crossed the
channel on the night ferry, and traveled from Dunkirk to Paris, my ankle looked
like a baby elephant’s front right leg. As the skin reddened, pain throbbed
mercilessly.
From
the first days of our arrival in Europe, Paullene and Evelyn had talked about
visiting Versailles. For them, the palace was to be the highlight of our
adventure. That first morning in Paris, I’d already relinquished my
highlight—seeing the statue of the Winged Victory of Samothrace at the Louvre
museum.
The second-century BCE
marble sculpture
of the Greek goddess Nike
(Victory).
As
I opened my mouth to wish my two friends a wonderful day, I heard Evelyn speak
these words: “Paullene, I’m staying with Dee. I’ve got to get her something for
pain. You visit Versailles for the two of us.”
Her
words—So solicitous. So selfless. So generous.—brought tears to my eyes. I wept
for the sheer unexpectedness of such kindness.
Evelyn
and Paullene left together, one to board the bus for Versailles and the other
to find a pharmacy. Soon Evelyn returned with an Ace bandage and pain pills. She
knelt, rubbing lotion on my swollen ankle. As she gently wound the bandage
round my foot and leg, I saw clearly the woman washing Yeshua’s feet with her
tears, wiping them with her hair, anointing them with the finest perfume.
Evelyn
never got to visit Versailles. Yet she cheerfully found a cane for me and helped
me totter the few blocks to the Louvre. There, I gazed at the Winged Victory.
My heart soared with wonder at its beauty. But even that wonder was as ash next
to the everlasting flame of kindness that dwelt within Evelyn’s being. She
was—she is—a blessing in my life.
