"The biggest disease today is the feeling of being unwanted" – Mother Teresa.
One of the most compelling scenes (among many) in the classic play Fiddler on the Roof is the exchange between Tevia and his wife Golde when he asks repeatedly, "but do you love me?" His marriage was an arranged marriage, yet he watched his daughters one by one choose love over tradition. The exchange between Tevia and Golde goes something like this:
Tevia: “Do you love me?”
Golde: “Do I what?”
Tevia: “Do you love me?”
Golde: “For twenty-five years I’ve washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house, given you children, milked the cow. After twenty-five years why talk about love now?”
Tevia: “But do you love me?”
Golde then speaks to herself, saying: “For twenty-five years I’ve lived with him, fought with him, starved with him. For twenty-five years my bed is his; if that’s not love, what is?”
For twenty five years Golde had done what was expected. She did her housework and took care of her family. She wonders outloud if Tevia lost his mind, responds with indignant responses of “I’m your wife!” and even wondersif his question is born of indigestion. But, still Tevia persists. Just doing what is expected does not necessarily mean that those we care for are assured of our love. Perhaps Tevia's real question is do you want me?
A young woman I know recently visited her mother who now lives in an assisted living environment and shared with me the power of feeling wanted. Having worried for months about her mother's well-being and safety, this caring individual spent many hours traveling to visit with her mother who no longer recognizes her own daughter. She watched in amazement, however, as her mother responded with great joy to the caregiver who entered her room a number of different times during the visit. As she prepared to leave, assured that her mother was physically safe, the caregiver in charge of her mother stopped the young woman to say "Thank you for sharing your Mom with us!" What powerful words of healing! It was clear that her mother was 'wanted' and cherished in that place. And despite the growing dementia, her mother clearly had a sense of well-being and safety.
I wonder how those we serve perceive us as walk into their presence. Do they see in our faces delight and love or distraction, duty, or impatience? What a wondrous gift to sense from my caregiver that "of all the patients I could serve tonight, I am so glad I get to be with you." None of us, I imagine, ever truly wants to be dependent on another. What healing, however, when we sense that even though I may need your physical intervention, what I want most is the healing that only your love can bring when I am cherished, wanted, even loved.
Journal of Sacred Work 
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