I was introduced recently to a concept I'd, strangely, never heard of before--a derogatory reference to the work most often available to people with intellectual disabilities.
|Kyle cleans up after horses|
Who on earth thought this up?! And why would they?
Work is prayer, said St. Benedict. All work is sanctified if we treat it as if it matters and will bring happiness to others.
As a mom of four daughters, I've scrubbed floors, changed diapers, washed clothes, and cleaned toilets for 50 years. If I had a buck for every meal I've put on the table I'd be a rich woman. The flowers? I grub in the yard to bring them forth and delight in their beauty if a manage to coax them to bloom.
|Kristen disinfects the fridge handles|
When I walk into the Pavilion and see the floors shining, go into the kitchen and smell lunch being prepared, stroll by the greenhouses and see the glorious poinsettias flaming read for a city block, I see pride in a job well done, I see accomplishment, I see integrity.
Pity the eye that sees nothing but "food, filth, and flowers."
Above, Ranchers clear for fall garden