Snow was a good start, Big Guy. Soli deo gloria.

Posted on by lauraanneayres

It’s 11PM in my little village in Switzerland. I had a D-A-Y.

I have been begging God for snow for months. MONTHS. During this time, I wrote a poem about snow, it was set to music (holla Jackson Henry), I sang said new song “Snow” at a concert 3 weeks ago. Here’s the annoying part…

This part of Switzerland has been snow-less. Literally, I haven’t seen snow for months here. I chased snow a few weeks ago and found nothing. Every time I say, “I just want one good snow,” someone inevitably says, “You’ll have to go to the snow because it’s done for this year.” What is truly annoying about this line? Many of these people either own chalets or take rather physically-demanding ski tours in the same way I take baths. It is easy for them to say “go to the snow.”

I can’t go to the snow. The snow requires me to climb or snowshoe or do something. My back hurts 80% of the time I am awake. I’m lucky to make it, by train and bus, to my church. I can go out once a day for a few hours.

Don’t cry for me Argentina. Anyway, today, with the hurt back (it was KILLING me this morning), I went to church this morning. Before I left, it was really cold and raining. I told God, “Whatever. It’s cold, but that is rain.” This is a conversation I have with Him almost everyday (sunny days, “Whatever, I get it. No more snow.” foggy days, “To cover up the possibility of some snow? Very funny.” etc.).

Anyway, while I was at church, I said something to God I have never said before because it’s a really difficult time right now, for many reasons:

Please stop. Everything hurts. Please remember that I am your child. I am faithful. Please stop hurting me. Be with me.

I’m not kidding. I couldn’t kneel because it makes my back hurt. I bent one knee and sort of semi-leaned over. I said I was thankful for strong legs, a strong spirit, and a strong heart. I prayed for a few people (including Nicole’s Tito, Iryna’s country, Liv’s next project, Marisa’s new job, N’s heart, Cindy’s new journey without John, and some others). Then, I said what I said about myself.

Regardless of the back “situation,” I went to Bibiana and gave her a fresh rose and a candle. I got on a bus and I traveled home. Within about 30 minutes, there was a serious hail storm. My FB status changed to, “HAIL IS NOT SNOW!”

I started up work on my ongoing project (translating the brochure for the Hospice from German/French to English). About five minutes after I sat down,  I looked at the window.

“Slowly formed, something more…not a storm, just some flakes.”

It wasn’t an angry hailstorm anymore, and it wasn’t rain.

It was snow. After months of no snow. I turned off external things and I’ve been sitting for hours without sound. “As it shimmers and glistens, we stop and listen…what if snow never came? What if love never paused? To make a moment when the snow covered us all.”

I’m still mad at You. Really mad. But, it’s 11PM and You’re still here and it’s still snowing.

Soli deo gloria.

Am I disposable? Are you?

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I am profoundly struck by Pope Francis’ recent remarks, “Young people at the moment are in crisis. We have all become accustomed to this disposable culture. We do the same thing with the elderly…they are afflicted by a culture where everything is disposable. We have to stop this habit of throwing things away. We need a culture of inclusion.”

Have we all, young and old, become an “i-generation” that is focused primarily on disposing of everything easily?

Let’s think about things that are disposable: razorblades, diapers, tires. Yes, they are easy to throw away and that is convenient. But, where do they go when they’ve been disposed of? I mean, it all goes somewhere, right? One of the many things I love about Switzerland, they make it hard and expensive for you to dispose of “trash.” Well done.

As disturbing as our “I have to dispose of this thing easily” fixation is, the extension of this desire to toss that which is not immediately necessary is truly shocking: people are also disposable.

I get in a fight with someone? I delete them from my FB page, Twitter followers, contact list. I’m annoyed with another person? I ignore phone calls and emails. I am having a hard time, so I don’t ask a follow-up to the answer, “I’m alright, I guess.” I’m busily running to work? I cut through a crowd of people like a knife through butter…who cares if I ran into a guy with a broken arm. He’ll survive.

Because people are disposable. Their feelings, their pursuits of happiness, their future plans…their very lives. Look at a newspaper. In today’s newspaper in Zürich: a 3-year old was shot by the Mafia in Rome, a plane full of human beings disappeared in thin air, Ukrainians are fighting for their very lives, and five other awful stories revolving around human suffering as the world watches.

It all points to a bigger issue – one that is truly terrifying in 2014 (we should be well-educated, well-aware) – we are disposing of other people.  It’s medieval, a human as a pawn to get me what I want or as a shield to protect me from something that’s scaring or attacking me. That chess piece? is a person – someone’s son or daughter. Let that sink in.

I used to have a weekly visit with a homeless man that lived in under a bridge in Luzern. I called him “Herbert” because I never could get him to clearly state his name and it was one of those “Shit, it’s been months now and I’m too embarrassed to ask him again” scenarios. 8 times out of 10, Herbert was asleep or passed out, but I’d always leave him a coffee and croissant. When he was awake or semi-sober, he called me his Engeli. I think “Herbert” is in my book, by the way. Anyway, he disappeared one day. After a year under the same bridge, living on the same bench. I think he must have felt disposable, but he wasn’t disposable to me. That was 3 years ago and I still think of Herbert at least three times a week.

It’s inhumane to think of another person’s life like we think of a piece of trash or to call someone’s death “collateral damage.” It is a slippery slope between the decision to ignore a person’s suffering and the decision to disregard that person’s life entirely.

What if the person you’re ignoring could be made better by one chat over coffee? What if the iPhone you just threw away could be refurbished and sent to a small village in Africa? Is that a huge imposition? What if a weekly “hello” to a homeless man ends up being the last time someone said “hello” to him? Still think it’s okay to consider another person as “disposable” or have I convinced you that people and things are not disposable yet?

It’s not a Christian or Jewish or gay or straight or black or white issue to me. It’s a humanitarian one. People are not disposable and neither are razorblades or iPhones or books. Anything that has been created is a part of creation and has a space on this Earth. As the Pope said, we must start to reflect on and acknowledge the intrinsic value of creation. Maybe that’s a start.

 

Allerseelen by Strauss

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Former President George H. W. Bush had good, practical advice about public speaking under emotionally-challenging circumstances. When he had to speak at the funeral once, he read the speech over and over again, attempting to pull the emotional attachment out of the words. When I heard that story, I thought it was a good idea, but not particularly brave (no disrespect). I think it’s a hell of a lot braver to be real and real people get choked up.

There was a song on my concert last week called “Allerseelen.” It’s about a couple and they have clearly been through the ringer (By the way, what this story is not about…is a dead person…and somewhere in Steiermark, a dashing, white-haired German poet is screaming, “ENDLICH.”):

Put the flowers on the table and let’s talk about love, like we used to. Give me your hand, I’ll hold it in secret. If someone sees? I don’t give a damn! Give me just one more of your sweet looks. Everything is new and fresh again – there is one day every year when even the dead come back to life – come back to me! I need you back, my love! The way we used to be. How we used to be.

Any smart singer in my situation would avoid this song like the plague. I have rarely performed it in public since 2011 without crying a little bit because it reminds me of, well, my own “sweet look”er. When I began preparation for the Hospice benefit, I found it in my “old recitals” folder. “Allerseelen” is my song. It is set by Strauss (who writes for my voice type), it is in German (liebe the German), text is amazing (I’m a nerd) and it has breathtaking piano & vocal marriage.

If the concert in honor of the Hospice was going to be my best, I needed to sing it. My “sweet look”er has never attended one of my concerts and doesn’t particularly like opera anyway. If I did cry, it would be minimal and not ugly Oprah cry (with snot). The song went on the program. Easy.

Nope. In the telenovela that is my life, my “sweet look”er would attend the concert and stand in my eye line throughout the entire concert, including during “Allerseelen,” which I was singing to him, though he didn’t know it and thankfully never will because he never reads this blog.

Papa Bush is right. It is hard to sing or speak when you cry or when you are seriously attached to the text (in an emotional way). It might make the message more about you and less about the message.

But, for my “sweet look”er and the hell we have been put through? Well, it was worth that tear, that lump in the throat possibly coming in. It wasn’t easy for him to come to the concert and it wasn’t easy for me to sing (see previous post). We were both brave last Sunday and the result is that I didn’t cry during “Allerseelen” because it was our song and I was singing it to him. It wasn’t sad, it was beautiful.

Ein Tag im Jahr ist ja den Toten frei, komm an mein Herz, dass ich dich wieder habe, wie einst im Mai.

Wie einst im Mai, indeed.

 

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I am not Maria Callas, I am Jessica Fletcher from Murder She Wrote

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I learned a tough lesson yesterday, really tough: sometimes my “best” is simply not possible. Especially after I’ve neglected my health, my well-being, and, well, myself.

I was this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ra7U547z-w but now I’m someone that has to wear a back brace to sing simple songs.

Listen, don’t cry for me Argentina. I have no doubt that Mimi, Contessa, Pamina, Fiordiligi, Euridice, a wicked Callas impression, etc. are all still hidden in my body somewhere. I know I can find them again someday, if I want to.

But it sure as hell won’t happen Sunday. My best for Sunday was really broken down yesterday by my amazing collaborator, Iryna. Where am I now? What is my best today, not in 2007 or 2009 or even 2012?

That was a hard moment for me. My best today looks nothing like my best from just one year ago. Before, it was just stress. Now? I can’t walk sometimes.

Bach wrote SDG at the end of a many of his works – Soli Deo Gloria – “to God alone be the glory.” That’s part of my “best” and my best because both the inflated version of what I can do and the ground-level-getting-real version purpose together to meet that goal: give it to God.

My best for Sunday will be singing a nice concert. It won’t be singing my beloved arias because my body simply cannot do it. It won’t be looking super glamorous because I look exactly how I feel, which is hopeful but tired. The hardest “it won’t be” is that this concert won’t be what I want.

But the event will be exactly what I want. My friends, the good ones that don’t say “uh, I’m just, uh, not feeling, uh”…they will be there. Probably one or two strangers will be there. Iryna will be there. God bless him, Canon José Mittaz of Grand St. Bernard will come down from a mountain, take a 4-hour journey…and be there. Everyone will be talking about the place I love: the Hospice du Grand St. Bernard.

So, it was enough of a reason to drag my body out of bed, to the couch, turn on the heating pad (my boyfriend), and type these words. I see my phone and want to SMS Jackson (“Snow” will be amazing) and also get a cup of coffee, but Jessica Fletcher needs to stay on her heating pad.

SDG

I have a bone to pick with Mother Teresa

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Four years ago, I memorized it in German, then English because of her. Darn nuns with angelic faces. Darnit! They get me every darn time. I can’t even use appropriate curse words.

The poem is either called “Do it Anyway” in English*or “Trotzdem” in German. Do not write me and say, “She didn’t really write it.” Fine, she probably didn’t. See the little star at the end of this.

NEVERTHELESS, we have to love people, show them our best, surround them with light…even though they are not deserving.

Yadayada. Isn’t that what God is for? Isn’t He supposed to be in charge of doling out grace? I really can’t do it.

Last Sunday, at Mass, “We are called to turn the other cheek not only because we are instructed to, but also because the world needs it from us,” Ruth informed us.

I hate it when Ruth is speaking to me even though she thinks she’s speaking to the entire congregation at Franziskanerkirche in Luzern. It’s so embarrassing. I’m sure they all know I am her favorite.

Moving on, I get the whole “being a good person” and “turning the other cheek” thing. But, here’s the crux – I’ve done that a sold 75% of the time. Here is how it has left me: stressed, broke, disappointed, broken-hearted. Listen up world, it’s 2014. Maybe I’m ready to stop turning the other cheek and start showing humanity the cheek to kiss, know what I’m sayin’? I’m sick of this.

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered; Forgive them anyway.

Whatevs.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; Build anyway.

La la la la…I can’t hear you…

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; Be honest and frank anyway.

Stop that!

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; Do good anyway.

Seriously, that’s enough.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.

Augh. Okay, cheek turned.

Why? Not because I’m Catholic. Not because I’m stupid or blonde (it’s probably grey underneath this mess anyway) or because Ruth read the poem a long time ago.

It’s because I’m lucky.

I was born in the United States. I was handed a FREE education by my mother and father. I was handed a FREE spiritual foundation by the men and women who raised me in Dallas. I was given almost 3 decades with my grandparents, sister, and brother in my almost everyday life. In Switzerland, I have struggled…but I have loved this country, been loved by the Csendes family in good times and bad, been loved by friends.

The trick is finding the balance between being a punching bag/ doormat and being an arrogant “I’m an island” jerkface.

As this website says, “woman under construction.”

That I am. BLERG! Thanks a lot, MT. You and your kindness. Augh.

It was never about you and them anyway.

WHATEVER! 🙂

* OR “The Paradoxical Commandments,”  written by Dr. Kent M. Keith – I tend to go with the research, which supports Mother Teresa had it on her wall, but did not write it.

Domestic violence

Posted on by lauraanneayres

In 2009, I was the victim of physical assault by the man I loved.

I am a well-educated, kind, charitable, positive person. I come from a wealthy family, I speak multiple languages, I have 5 University degrees. I am a devout Christian, I practice Buddhism, and I am physically fit.

About a year ago, I watched a TV show about domestic violence and felt called to write what I will write now, but I was still too ashamed. Last night, a good friend in the States wrote to me. She knew I’d worked at Genesis, which is a shelter for battered women and children, (genesisshelter.org) since the age of 17 and currently volunteer at a shelter in Luzern. She wrote to me looking for sympathy and help.

I give you sympathy and empathy.

I am someone who has always worked tirelessly with women and children (and some men) who suffer domestic abuse (mental and emotional, as well). I heard countless stories involving frying pans to the head, telephone wires being used to whip and/or bound, hot oil used to scald, knives used to disfigure. You name it, from the years of 1993-2009, I had heard it. I’d been told the signs, I “knew” what to avoid.

The most important thing I can say is that I stand in solidarity with millions of women and men against domestic violence. Black women, white women, single women, married women, CEOs, stay-at-home moms, women from big families, women with no family. Violence does not care who you are.

The second most important thing I can say is how I got out of the flat that night without losing my life.

My hope, in sharing the paragraph below, is that every woman who has never experienced an act of physical violence will read this and take it in. You do not have three seconds to waste with “is this happening to me?” The answer was given when the question was born. The only information you need to know is “how do I get out of this situation?” Here is how I did it.

During the attack, I was dealing with a person in a state of rage. I was immediately immobilized after being pulled out of bed, in a deep sleep, and landing on my left kneecap. I knew my physical mobility was compromised, so I would need to be “allowed to leave” (fully or semi-immobilizing injuries are common). I stayed as calm as possible and I did not speak (also common that your voice will aggravate). After a rather swift blow to the head, he paused. I sensed he might be amenable to hearing my voice. I calmly and quietly asked him if he would ALLOW me leave (giving him the “respect” he deserved). He agreed and I left.

I was lucky.

In 2013, according to the DOJ, there were approximately 960,000 cases of domestic violence. 25% of women in the States suffered an episode of domestic violence last year. Every day, on average, three women were murdered by their partners. The health costs of domestic violence last year averaged 5.8 billion dollars. Over 6 million children witnessed domestic violence last year. Little boys saw “this is how men handle anger.” Little girls saw “men do this when they are angry.”

Only a dozen people, including a medical doctor and a therapist, know the entirety of what I’ve just shared. I do not believe keeping quiet has helped me or allowed me to help others.

I am open to any and all communication regarding this post, if I can be helpful.

In the States:

National Domestic Violence Hotline (in the States)

1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

In Switzerland:

Case of emergency: 117 and say it is domestic violence (remember “haus” and “Gewalt” if you can and ask for someone who speaks English)

http://www.frauenhaus-schweiz.ch (Click the Union Jack to read info on leaving. Next, on the left side of the home screen find your Canton, click on CONTACT TELEPHONE NUMBER)

 ***

Update: I have had four women and one of my guy friends write to me, since I posted this blog 6 hours ago, to ask me about any signs I might have seen before this event. Were there signs? What were they? I isolated these back in 2009 with my therapist.

-extreme and unpredictable responses to mundane, daily occurrences (ex: 5 text message in a row when I didn’t answer my phone ending in some broad statement like, “Clearly, you don’t care about me anymore.” This was showing me he couldn’t control his emotions.)

-my friends and family did not “approve” of him (He would say, “Nobody likes me because of xyz. I am so lucky I have you because you accept me.” This was demonstrating his desire to manipulate and isolate me.)

-“joking” about sexist behavior with our friends and also in front of his work colleagues and speaking badly about past loves (This was showing a fundamental disrespect toward women.)

-drinking excessively (This was demonstrating a lack of self-restraint.)

-“shaming” behavior (Again, lack of respect for me and others.)

-lack of long-term friends and family (He ostracized his own friends and family for a reason.)

***

Update September 12, 2014

Recent events have raised awareness regarding domestic violence (violence from a partner/spouse/loved one).

I was fortunate to have the resources (financial, family, work, therapeutic, medical, etc.) to leave an abusive situation. I was also fortunate to know, thanks to Genesis, no one is allowed to hit me for any reason. I was very clear about that in my head.

Because we have all lost loved ones, we can have compassion for anyone who must severe a relationship with a loved one.

My steadfast prayer is that all women will someday be very clear that abuse is not a way of expressing love. Not under any circumstances. It certainly makes it somewhat easier to let go of an abusive relationship when you realize it was not loving.

I would also urge any woman, as I’ve said above, to seek immediate refuge if she has been the victim of physical assault. Call your local police or contact a trusted friend or family member.

 

 

 

Switzerland’s February 9th vote, one expat’s opinion

Posted on by lauraanneayres

I’ve taken a few days to gather my thoughts together.

I take the vote very seriously, I take Switzerland’s future very seriously. I do not mean to offend anyone with my opinions below. I hope I haven’t done so. Okay, I’m fine with offending Sarah Palin, to be fair. I’ll ask forgiveness at Mass on Sunday. In Luzern. Who voted “yes.”

By the way, many of my Swiss friends did vote and they voted emphatically “no.” Monday morning, I received a rose in my mailbox that said, “Kanton Zürich- definitiv NEIN.”

The vote in question was another SVP (basically Switzerland’s version of the Tea Party) initiative to limit the presence in Switzerland of working foreigners. Just to be clear, the SVP is more than pleased to have traveling foreigners (with documented dates of departure) spending tourist money. Swiss people vote on initiatives throughout the year and this was not the first, nor will it be the last, such initiative in the past few years.

Everyone blames Blocher (he’s a smart version of Sarah Palin) and calls this blatant racism. They question why in the hell the more liberally-minded people didn’t vote in Cantons like Bern, Schaffhausen and St. Gallen. Some Swiss think the constant initiatives and anti-foreign/Muslim ads are creating a sort of disgusted apathy amongst liberal voters. It is something I hear over and over again from Swiss people, “There is no way this will happen, I don’t need to get involved.”

Yes. Yes, it will. Yes, it did.

Is it racism? Is it clear-cut xenophobia? Look at the attached poster put forward by the SVP. It was defiled by “no!” and Nazi symbols. Why? It is telling Switzerland to stop the “mass immigration,” the “healthy tree of immigrants” is seen eating our beloved Swiss flag and map, and it is doing so in the colors of red, black, and white. IMG_1412

Last night’s dinner with one of my favorite Germans was difficult. “Racist Nazi propaganda…even the colors,” he said with his big, beautiful head in his hands. I just wanted to give him and all Germans and Austrians working and living here an apology. Wie peinlich und grausam mit diesen Farben zu manipulieren. Mehr als “Schade.”

Swissies and expats say “Sorry LA” because they know how deeply it affects me. These posters and this initiative killed me. There is no one who loves this country more than I do. Every day, I have fought like hell to support it. I am a foreigner and I would never “eat away” at Switzerland. I would do anything for this country and I sacrificed a great deal to do so. The same can be said for the expats I know living and working here.

If I thought Sunday’s vote would make for a stronger Switzerland, I would keep my mouth shut. Switzerland, Blocher, even ME…we all want to protect the culturally-integrity of this land. I am 100% in favor of protecting Switzerland, the Swiss, the industries, etc, which is why Sunday’s vote is difficult for me to stomach because it does not protect Switzerland. As an American, I can say three things without hesitation. Pissing off the EU = not good. Being seen as a racist country = not good. Myopic political agendas blatantly ignoring the economic and social implications of their mandates = toxic.

Al Gore wrote a brilliant book, The Assault on Reason, examining the use of the brain’s emotional response to advance certain political agendas via images.

If you are a devout Catholic farmer in a small village in the Italian-speaking part of Switzerland and you saw this poster…

                                        bald-1-million-muslime-mit-islamophobem-inserat-gegen-eu-einwanderung-127604316

                                                                                                                                                                          …how would you have voted?

I love Switzerland. I like Blocher (I agree with him more often than not). I continue to love, through gritted teeth, all my beloved Swissies that keep telling me “this” isn’t going to happen. Why? Because we all want the same thing: a strong, healthy life for Switzerland and the people living here.

Swissies be clear. “This” is going to happen. There just might be a day when this beautiful, resourceful nation becomes a living version of “The Prince.” The expats you want, ones that will really acclimate and help grow your economy, will be replaced by expats coming with one sole purpose: making millions and getting the hell out of Switzerland. The majority of expats I’ve talked to for the past few days feel personally insulted by this vote. It’s hard, even for me and I can make almost ANYONE love Switzerland after 5 minutes, to speak up in favor of what happened.

Both the US and Switzerland really have enough wealth and resources to manage immigration issues with a bit more humility and acknowledgement of what the foreigners do to make the economy thrive.

A broken perfume bottle, a 60-year old necklace breaks, and “are you freaking serious?!”

Posted on by lauraanneayres

When Mimi died, there were only a few things I wanted immediately: a simple gold band (I have worn it every day since she died), a tiny perfume bottle that had her “smell,” a strand of white beads with matching earrings, and one of her paintings I loved.

The morning of Mimi’s funeral we were busily preparing ourselves for both the funeral and the reception, which would be at our house. I have to say, I was a wreck. I was trying really hard to hold it together for Pop (and my dad), but I truly couldn’t believe we’d lost her. Mimi was everything to us. More than a grandmother. Beauty Queen, soft skin, amazing laugh, nurturing, smart…I could go on for days. She was a true “10.”

Anyway, the morning of the funeral, I was at Mom and Dad’s house coming down the stairs with my music in one hand and Mimi’s little perfume bottle in the other…yep. Perfume bottle flew out of my hands and shattered in the middle of the foyer.

Last Monday evening, for the first time ever, I wore Mimi’s beads to a party (Mad Men themed). I arrived at the venue (super cool store called “Urban Bliss” in Zürich), took two pictures, and then without any warning…yep. I felt dozens of beads fall down my dress, scattering all around me.

Mimi would say, “Princess Wawie (or “sweet girl,” she liked both names for me), tell them this is not a grey cloud story!”

I assure you, it is not a grey cloud story. Mimi and I will continue to amaze you.

When the perfume shattered two amazing things happened. First, the shattered perfume had a healing effect because I was covered in it all day (smelling like her) AND the foyer was really covered in it. When we returned from the funeral, it was as if she was there! The scent was so strong and literally greeted every person as he/she walked in the door. Second, when the bottle shattered I really lost it. Momma took me in her bathroom and wiped away my tears. She saw how important it was to me, so she took a small bit of the perfume and shopped around. Unable to find an exact match, which was all she would settle for, she finally went to a perfume manufacturer in New Orleans, I think, and had one made. FOR ME. Two blessings from something broken.

Now, when the necklace broke, this was a serious thing. I have a major back injury. When it broke? I thought, “Are you freaking serious?” because there was no way I could bend down and pick up the beads from my dead grandmother’s necklace. I almost cried. Before I could? My friends all dropped to their knees and recovered every bead. Here’s the other kicker, that necklace didn’t break when I was walking or on the train or on the tram getting to the party. It waited until I had friends around me to help me. Yes, that is what I said. A 60-year old necklace literally appears to have waited to break.

Mimi sent me a reminder. She’s done it before with the perfume. Something very important might look broken and beyond repair. We may want to scream out, “Are you freaking serious?!” Take a breath.

“There is hope even in the break, sweet girl.” Hope for healing, hope for seeing who loves you when something breaks, hope for possibility for a new approach, hope for new packaging, hope.

Always that.

pre-break...
pre-break…
also pre-break
also pre-break

 

Hospice of Grand St. Bernard

Posted on by lauraanneayres

1049. Anyone remember what you were doing? The Hospice du Grand St. Bernard was born in 1049.

The printing press was invented ca. 1440. The telephone in 1876 and the light bulb shortly after that. Penicillin in 1944. Apple Macintosh was invented in 1984. Charlie Loh was born in 2002. I mention these things to point out just how many years the Hospice has on most of us.

The Hospice du Grand St. Bernard is a pilgrimage site. It is the meeting place for pilgrims on a physically-exhausting journey (the Via Francigena “Canterbury to Rome”). They have found evidence linking Grand St. Bernard to the Bronze age and the road truly dates back to the Roman Empire. The modern day Hospice du St. Bernard was named for Saint Bernard of Menthon. The original intent, as I understand it, was to protect the treacherous pass from bandits and to provide shelter to those passing through Switzerland into Italy via the Alps (or vice versa).

Why is she writing about this?

Because. In “Before You,” Emily and Daniel don’t go to Simplon. They go to the Hospice du Grand St. Bernard. I was encouraged to change the name and I’m correcting that mistake. There is no reason to hide the name of this amazing, spiritual place. I am proud to say that GSB is one of the many spots in Switzerland I have found where people are accepted as they are to find shelter, warmth, and peace. God bless GSB.

The St. Bernard dogs? They saved countless lives. The canons living at the Hospice would brave horrible conditions with the dogs to save those caught in the snowstorms. These calm, docile creatures have chests bigger than most people I know. I was amazed to see footage of them in snow. They, quite literally, swim through the snow. Saving lives. The Canons serving the congregation and pilgrims at GSB? They save lives, too. They saved mine.

The Canons, the pilgrims, and the volunteers all work together to create a place where God is center stage. Yes, we keep Canonic order at GSB, but the God we pray to is a universal God. A loving God. We sing Taize, we eat together at a communal table. Much to my shock (I literally had to leave), most people eat, sleep, and yes undress in communal rooms. GSB is a place of peace, of reflection, of rest, of humility.

Of service.

On March 2nd in Zürich, I will sing a benefit recital (my collaborative pianist is Dorothy Yeung) to help raise funds for the campaign to keep GSB “serving” for centuries to come. If you feel so inclined, donate to the account below. Donate generously. We are all pilgrims.

We all need saving. Even the place that quietly and humbly serves so many.DSC01829

Hospice du Grand-Saint-Bernard
CH – 1946 Bourg-Saint-Pierre
Tél + 41 27 787 12 36
hospice@gsbernard.net
IBAN: CH50 0026 4264 6946 8001 X
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After death—light. Fuchsli teaches me something important.

Posted on by lauraanneayres

My words about suicide might be controversial and I’m okay with that. I don’t believe human life is ours to take. I also do not believe it is my job to be judge and jury.

I learned a lot today at the Fuchsli memorial “party” planning.

I knew that my dear friend was in pain because he’d been in crippling, chronic pain for a year and he was not going to get “better.”

I learned today, he had a few months before he would…well, he would be in his version of Hell.

I also learned today, he’d been listening to a song on his iPod on repeat last Tuesday for, well, we don’t know how long.

“Inside of me is broken, body’s pain that hurts too deep to be fixed with ice or heat, medicine or beauty sleep. Inside of me is uncertain. Images of finish lines just outside of my view line…don’t want to be fine. Don’t want to feel okay…I want to win. I want to fight.”

He was listening to “I Want to Win” from the CD.

I’ve really struggled for the past few days. He was alone and I “wasn’t there” with him? Why? I wouldn’t have questioned his decision—I would have held his hand, smiled at him, put my hand on his cheek. He knew he was going to do it on Christmas day, so why didn’t he tell me?! I would have been there with him.

When Michael told me about the song playing, I healed. You healed my heart. Precious friend, you weren’t alone. We were all with you in that song. All of us that understood…understand still.

I really cannot comment on “winning” for everyone. For you, “winning” meant you were free from the body that was attacking you. I understand that. We all do, “Fox”y.

You were young and now you are free, our Eichhof-drinking, Älpermagroni-hating, outdoor-obsessed, “everyone’s a babe” saying, LA’s Pink coat from the States-loving, Lözarn friend. You are in God’s hands now. Ski tours, soccer games, whatever that gliding plane stuff, all of it…no more fear for tomorrow. You are free.I won’t talk about your death anymore after today. There is far too much greatness to discuss. Requiem aeternam et lux perpetua.