Many people are grotty. Horrible. Nasty. Some of those are terrible people. But others, deep within, don't mean it. It's just their illness that makes them seem horrid.
Regular readers know, in the first decades of my life I fought illness, and was registered 80% disabled. (Healing cured me - you should see me table dancing!)
During ill phases, I was not as nice as when healthy. I struggled to be nice, but illness meant word choice or voice tones weren't as soft or gentle as normal. Friends and family knew my health condition, but some found it difficult to cope with my mutually unwanted changes in language and tone.
Have you met sick people who don't even try to be nice? Maybe they're too sick to try. I met one such today as I locked the gate from my private drive onto the sea promenade.
A man and woman in their 60s walked over. The woman smiled. The man didn't. "Did you just lock that gate?" he asked aggressively.
"Yes, because that's a private drive," I replied. He seems ill. "Are you unwell?"
"Yes, mainly mentally." He doesn't feel mentally ill.
The woman looked at the man, smiled kindly, and spoke for him. "He's had a serious stroke."
"Yes," the man said. "And you're disgusting. You've stopped me taking a short cut."
"That's the idea. If we didn't lock the gate, after one year the private drive could become a public right of way. And we'd lose our privacy."
"I curse you!" he exclaimed.
"That makes a nice change," I replied. "Most people bless me."
"Why," he sneered. "Are you a priest?"
"Actually, yes, I am."
"I curse you even more then!"
"Why are you so negative about everything I say?" I asked.
The woman smiled and spoke for him again. "He's been negative about everything since the stroke."
"Where do you live?" I asked her. "Canterbury Road," she smiled.
"Where do you live," I asked the man.
"None of your xxxxxxx business. Station Road. If you're not careful, I'll ask someone to strike you."
"That's fine," I replied gently. "And I'll ask God to strike you with happiness."
The man went silent. He couldn't find a negative response to being struck with happiness. I walked off along the promenade, listening to the sea lapping gently on the sandy beach.The man stayed silent. Perhaps I chanced my luck when I called out, "God bless you!".
"He's got no chance," the man called back.
I truly liked this man. Despite his negative words and bad tones of voice, I sensed no malice. He's sick, struggling with ill-health, and can't help communicating badly.
I felt slightly envious that such a delightfully smiling lady helps him, regardless of how horrid he is. She knows his communication problems are a temporary side effect of illness, and he needs to be loved.
Could we not all increase our love for sick people with communication problems?
Regular readers know, in the first decades of my life I fought illness, and was registered 80% disabled. (Healing cured me - you should see me table dancing!)
During ill phases, I was not as nice as when healthy. I struggled to be nice, but illness meant word choice or voice tones weren't as soft or gentle as normal. Friends and family knew my health condition, but some found it difficult to cope with my mutually unwanted changes in language and tone.
Have you met sick people who don't even try to be nice? Maybe they're too sick to try. I met one such today as I locked the gate from my private drive onto the sea promenade.
A man and woman in their 60s walked over. The woman smiled. The man didn't. "Did you just lock that gate?" he asked aggressively.
"Yes, because that's a private drive," I replied. He seems ill. "Are you unwell?"
"Yes, mainly mentally." He doesn't feel mentally ill.
The woman looked at the man, smiled kindly, and spoke for him. "He's had a serious stroke."
"Yes," the man said. "And you're disgusting. You've stopped me taking a short cut."
"That's the idea. If we didn't lock the gate, after one year the private drive could become a public right of way. And we'd lose our privacy."
"I curse you!" he exclaimed.
"That makes a nice change," I replied. "Most people bless me."
"Why," he sneered. "Are you a priest?"
"Actually, yes, I am."
"I curse you even more then!"
"Why are you so negative about everything I say?" I asked.
The woman smiled and spoke for him again. "He's been negative about everything since the stroke."
"Where do you live?" I asked her. "Canterbury Road," she smiled.
"Where do you live," I asked the man.
"None of your xxxxxxx business. Station Road. If you're not careful, I'll ask someone to strike you."
"That's fine," I replied gently. "And I'll ask God to strike you with happiness."
The man went silent. He couldn't find a negative response to being struck with happiness. I walked off along the promenade, listening to the sea lapping gently on the sandy beach.The man stayed silent. Perhaps I chanced my luck when I called out, "God bless you!".
"He's got no chance," the man called back.
I truly liked this man. Despite his negative words and bad tones of voice, I sensed no malice. He's sick, struggling with ill-health, and can't help communicating badly.
I felt slightly envious that such a delightfully smiling lady helps him, regardless of how horrid he is. She knows his communication problems are a temporary side effect of illness, and he needs to be loved.
Could we not all increase our love for sick people with communication problems?
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