Living Life with Friends

But he laughed and made our visitors feel welcome by playing the harmonica and showing them his colorful, abstract artwork.  Now in his fifties, Jeff is a cornerstone of the L'Arche community in Jacksonville, Florida.  He has lived here since 1990, and he has Down syndrome.

I met Jeff last year, when I moved into Peace House after graduating from university.  My older brother had spent a few months volunteering at the original L'Arche community in Trosly-Breuil, France.  I was touched by his description of being both emptied and filled as he learned to love and serve people with intellectual disabilities.  When I visited a L'Arche community near me, though, I just couldn't see myself being able to live that kind of life.  However, as time wore on and God "wore" on me, I decided to commit to a year as a L'Arche volunteer.

Friends along the Way.

Moving into my new home in Jacksonville was a big step for me.  I don't generally get excited about trying new things, and I was pretty nervous.  But Jeff, along with the other Peace House residents, put me at ease.  He has a great sense of humor — it's a lot of fun to make faces with him! And though he doesn't speak much, sometimes I walk in, and he says, "Hello, James."  That brightens my whole day.

There are nine of us at Peace House, which is one of several homes in our community.  I live there with three other assistants and five "core members" — Jeff, Jack, Katrina, Viva, and Joy.  Core members all have intellectual disabilities (some have physical disabilities, too); they make up the heart of the community, while assistants come and go.

Some people joke that it can be hard to tell assistants and core members apart.  I think one reason is that the assistants are here to share life with people who tend to be ignored by society.  This isn't a career for them; it's an act of love and solidarity.  Many long-term assistants, in fact, view their service as a vocation.  All of this makes for a spirit of unity and mutual love among all the members.  There is no real us-and-them.  There's just one family sharing a home.

The Daily Routine.

Our daily life is nothing complex.  Each workday morning starts off with prayer at one of the houses.  On Fridays, prayer is at Peace House.  We listen to a recording made by Katrina, who is blind and wears hearing aids.  Afterwards, all of us — core members and assistants alike — try to talk about whatever subject she has brought up.  Usually, there is a song.  Then we pass around an object, such as a rock with a Scripture verse on it, and say our prayer intentions out loud.  Some core members are hard to understand, and others don't speak at all, but we give them a few moments of silent attention.  To end, we pray the Our Father, hug one another, and say, "Peace be with you," just like at Mass.

© Elodie Perriot / L'Arche Internationale

After prayer, core members go off to work.  Some, like Katrina, have contract jobs; others might work at fast-food restaurants.  Viva, who has an incredible memory for details, has won Employee of the Month at Pizza Hut several times over.  Jeff and other members work at the nearby Rainbow Workshop, where adults with disabilities enjoy the dignity and importance of work.  Employees make items for sale to the public: cards, ceramics, tile and wall art, jewelry, and even furniture. 

In the evenings, we often have social activities organized by groups from local churches or schools.  They might put on a dance or bring dinner and play games with us.  On Sunday evenings, Peace House residents are notorious for pulling out the computer and having their own impromptu dance party.  Since this isn't my thing, I'm grateful that Sunday is my day off!

Lessons in Loving.

As we go through our daily routine, relationships grow, and healing takes place.  For me, getting to know the core members has changed the way I view people with disabilities. 

For example, I've come to see the care that core members like Jeff have for one another.  Since he doesn't speak, it's easy to assume that he's not aware of his surroundings.  But Jeff shared a room with a man named Richard for many years; when Richard passed away, Jeff took it very hard and wept for days.  Still now, he sometimes sits and looks at Richard's picture in the living room.

L'Arche Internationale, Uganda

Jack, a newer member of Peace House, doesn't speak much either.  But that doesn't mean he's not alert.  Once, as we were sitting down to dinner, he saw that Katrina didn't have a spoon and went to get her one.  Though he hadn't learned how to set the table yet, he was the first to notice her need.  A simple thing, but it really struck me.

Joy, who is here because of a serious brain injury, taught me a valuable lesson about choosing love over efficiency.  She is in a wheelchair, and her speech is impaired; but her spirit is strong.  We had been sitting together after a meal when I got up to finish washing the dishes.  Joy offered to help, but I brushed her off, knowing that would only delay me.  As I washed the dishes, though, I couldn't shake the nagging question: "Why don't you let her help you?"

In the end, that little prompting won out.  I pulled out all the dishes I had just washed, and then Joy and I redid them together.  It was an eye-opening experience for me.  Yes, my way was faster.  But accepting Joy's freely offered help was the way to build a life of love.

A Simple Life with Friends.

When volunteers like me come to serve at L'Arche, most of us want to do something grand that will change the residents' lives.  But the core members don't need anything grand! They are content here in community, and we are here to help them do the little things. 

L'Arche Internationale

I never would have thought that I could grow used to helping someone in the bathroom, caring for a sick person, and applying ointment in awkward places.  It was definitely a challenge at first, but now I don't mind.  I have even painted Joy's fingernails in bright sparkly colors!

In the process of doing little services like these, we assistants come to realize that we need help, too.  As L'Arche founder Jean Vanier puts it, people with disabilities help us to recognize our own brokenness. 

For the most part, the core members I have come to know accept their limitations, enjoy life, and are eager to help one another.  They don't try to hide their problems.  We assistants have vulnerabilities and limitations, too, but they are more hidden.  Living here helps to bring them to the surface, where they can be acknowledged and healed.  For instance, I know that aiming to love people unconditionally has lessened my tendency toward harsh self-criticism. 

But L'Arche is not about "fixing" anyone.  It's about valuing each person, with all their gifts and weaknesses, and experiencing God's love through one another.  We are just living life with friends.

Celebrating Fifty Years of L'Arche

L'Arche is an international federation of communities of faith and friendship, where adults with and without intellectual disabilities share life together.  Started in 1964 by Jean Vanier in France, L'Arche has just celebrated its Jubilee year.  After fifty years, it now has 147 communities in 35 countries and has touched thousands of lives. 

Open to people of all faith backgrounds, L'Arche communities are founded on mutuality, respect, and companionship.  The unique gifts of each person are celebrated and accepted. 

"The secret of L'Arche is relationship," says Vanier — "meeting people … heart to heart; listening to people with their pain, their joy, their hope, their history, listening to their heartbeats." 

For more information about L'Arche, including where to find communities and how to get involved, see www.larche.org.