Could it be the weather? It’s damp and rainy, and I’m longing for warmth… No. Could it be the news? The increasingly alarming reports pouring in from defenseless Ukraine, where people live under constant bombardment every day?.. No.
Could it be a sudden wave of memories?.. Yes. I had a dream—let me tell you about it. I hadn’t had a dream like this in over twenty years. How time flies. I don’t know why, but I found myself in a setting I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
In the dream, I was somewhere in the Middle East; my large family and I had moved to a different city and into a spacious apartment with many rooms, yet my own home felt empty. As always—that’s just my nature—I didn’t give in to despair. I got to know some wonderful neighbors—a large Arab family with plenty of children, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren. I would visit them every day to lend a hand, cook a meal, or share a cup of coffee.
One day, the landlord—an elderly Arab man, about our age—called me over. He was a man who had seen it all and lived a full life; he was content and at peace with everything. He was sitting on his large sofa, drinking coffee, and asked if there was anything he could do to help me. Naturally, I declined—it’s in my nature to refuse; I’d say everything was fine and I didn’t need anything. We had just moved in, and his wife had mentioned that our rooms were empty—no furniture, nothing.
He smiled, called up his friends, relatives, and acquaintances, and started asking what furniture they had available—prices, condition—explaining that there were people here who needed help. We found a beautiful living room set and some rugs—all affordable and practical. He was pleased, and so was I. I woke up today in that same mood and rushed to tell my husband about the dream. I hadn’t had a dream like that in over twenty years. Yet, that is how I lived in Jordan; that is the kind of people who surrounded me—people thanks to whom I raised my three children. I have been grateful to them my whole life for teaching me generosity, humanity, and the value of simple, genuine relationships.
Twenty years…
This summer, I attended a presentation for a book by John Paul II.
It was a wonderful presentation at Lviv’s oldest church, and an opportunity to meet the book’s author, Yulia Kurtash-Karp.
The book signed by him holds a place of honor in my home. Do you know what name John Paul II used when writing poetry?
Did you even know that our beloved Pope wrote poetry? He used the name Karol Wojtyła.
I am holding a volume of his selected works in my hands right now—reading it thanks to the translation by Ms. Yulia.
I open his book, and the first page reads: “Be the first to love.”
That is all.
It is what fills my very being. Is it hard to live this way? I do not know—but be the first to reach out, to help, to listen, to share your wisdom. Listen, then offer counsel. Life is made up of tiny droplets of wisdom; we must find them, see them, and help others see them too.
Perhaps then there will be less evil, less misery, and less death.