The Service of Love

A heart of service. A permissive will to aid, to give, to help… that’s what I want to be remembered for. This summer, I was presented with the priceless privilege of serving an incredible woman from a posture of humility and purity. In serving, my hardened heart was softened and the secret vow that I made to myself to resist love was unraveled as nonverbal appreciation confronted layers of deep woundedness.

Her name means, “graceful or full of grace”. That’s the image that I have of her in my heart. While her grace isn’t void of elegance, my thoughts are directed to her graceful ability to receive. I remember sitting in the bed with her manicuring and massaging her hands. As I began wrapping a warm towel around her right hand to soften her cuticles, we basked in playful banter. About a quarter of the way through the process I realized that neither of us had spoken for minutes.

I’ll never know what captured her conversation that day, but profound respect reverberated through my heart leaving me in a hush. As her hand completely relaxed into mine I saw a near century of resilience resting in my gaze, pulse to pulse.

Myself, a visual being, her hand in mine… I saw glimpses of that which I’d never been physically exposed to. The same hands that wiped decades of her own tears, the same hands that laid passion onto canvas—marrying colors of intuition and perception with ingenuity. Hands of one who laughed, learned, lived, and loved. Wonderful hands of one who won and worked, a well of wisdom.

I got to massage her hands and feet for hours that day. We said very few words, yet communicated so much. Afterward, she said, “You’re so good to me.” “You deserve good things.” was my reply. From that day forward, holding her hand meant much more than I could’ve anticipated.

Whereas I thought service was a matter of providing a task, I quickly understood the etymology of the word. Service from the Latin root, slave. Slave from Medieval Latin, sclava or captive. Captive’s Latin root, seize or take.

I got to serve. Taken captive by an unplanned love whereby doing (task-oriented work) didn’t place a sweat on my brow, but caused my cup to overflow.

I didn’t get to give a proper goodbye as I didn’t know my return from vacation would be met with a closed door.

I would’ve hugged her a little longer. I would’ve held her hand a bit tighter. I would’ve told her that I love her and I’m grateful for her receiving me in such a gracious way. I would’ve thanked her for laughing with me and allowing me to see her, really see her. I would’ve thanked her for trusting me.

I want to be remembered, not in the faculty of the mind, but in the captivity of a love that permeates at a cellular level. Service.

I got to give love when, by my own estimation, I had nothing left to give in this life. I am eternally grateful. May her existence be enveloped in peace.

xx,

kayla