The Healing Basket

1

Memories of the righteous are a blessing.

I will remember you. I will see you in my mind. I will hear your voice. I will feel you in my heart. Always, I will remember you.

When I was a little girl, I used to visit an older, Hispanic woman down the road from my childhood home. For a newcomer to New Mexico, imagine an old adobe home, built by the Spaniards in the mid 18 th Century whose buildings were influenced by the Pueblo Indian tribes. It was a yellow house, having a flat roof and small windows. At one time, the house had dirt floors, and an outhouse was used as a latrine, but it was modernized with wood floors and indoor plumbing with a bathroom the size of a walk-in closet. Her home was a small humble abode, warmed in the winter with wood stoves, by which this kindhearted woman also cooked the best meals I’ve ever tasted. The house often smelled of fresh baked bread, pies, and cakes, an aroma no one ever wants to forget. The old wood stove made the senses of your nose inhale vehemently, like a ravenous soldier who had not tasted home cooking since being on deployment for many months. Enjoying the taste of food, I remember masking my impatience as she would take the bread out of the oven and put the loaves on a cutting board. After waiting five minutes for the bread to cool down, she would cut a piece for me, adding a dab of butter, which melted quickly on the steamy hot bun. Then she would look at my face, noticing my big brown eyes, and I would smile with approval, salivating with anticipation. It was worth the wait…the bread tasted so good as I chewed it slowly, one piece at a time.

After eating the fresh baked bread, I watched her short, thin stature as she worked around the kitchen, almost gliding across the floor; her arms were strong for her tasks. Her hair was short and dark, as dark as a black stallion and just as thick. I noticed gray hairs beginning to show, but they were neatly brushed back. Her piercing eyes were dark brown like the Mona Lisa and almond-shaped. She had incredibly high cheekbones, making her look noble. Having thin lips, she accentuated them with a light shade of lipstick. Her clothes were from an era before my time. She wore straight long skirts and long-sleeved button shirts. Her shoes had a slight heel and looked like character shoes that we would see in the ballet stores when we shopped in the city. As she baked, she often hummed songs from another time, which I learned about in school during my history lessons. She liked Latin music and sometimes moved her body like a sultry washing machine. She made me smile because I imagined her free spirit filling the house with happiness and continuous gratitude.

Together, Nevaeh, a glorious name given to her by her grandmother, and I would clean the kitchen. She would wash the pots and pans and wipe down the counters and the table where there were crumbs from the bread. I was given the task of drying the dishes with an old clean rag, a part of a bath towel. She was the cleanest woman I knew. Her kitchen floors were covered with shiny plastic floor mats, and I never saw one single stain, a piece of lint or any dirt on them. As we labored together on this particular day, she looked out the window, which was right in front of the sink, and noticed the snow falling from her big, strong oak tree. At first, she said that God knows us by our names and did not want us to live in fear. She told me that she had visited New England one winter, staying with her dad’s family. Her visit evoked a trepidation about the snow. She had not really thought about the damage a heavy snowfall frozen on top of a tree could cause until she drove through the forests of New Hampshire. She said while her vehicle slowly moved from one group of trees to another, she noticed the branches of these tall saplings hanging down. The snow would every once in a while plummet in front of her car, and she would hear a sound like a loud cymbal in a band that could not be avoided. She was afraid that the car would be smashed by the heavy snow falling from the trees, but it never was. When she returned home from New Hampshire, she became more aware of the snow tumbling from the winter branches of the old oak tree outside her window, and she began realizing that the weight of frozen ice could be dangerous. Once again, this triggered apprehension, making her afraid of the sleet hitting her house. She would imagine the layers of ice on her flat roof top and knew it was just a matter of time until the heaviness would cause it to cave in. I wondered what she meant, as I began to imagine the ceilings in every room bending inward from the weight of the snow. This really scared me.

Nevaeh, I asked, I don’t really understand. Is the falling snow really going to come into your house? I think the roof is stronger than the snow.

She smiled, almost laughing.

My sweet child, she said, Sometimes we need to take captive our thoughts because if we don’t, we worry constantly. I was thinking in my head that if the snow hit the car hard when I was in New Hampshire, I might have an accident. You see, my dear, New Hampshire was like a far-off land to me. In a distant place, where everything seems strange to you, you notice things you never were afraid of in your homeland. It’s like when Jesus, after the crucifixion, appeared to his disciples, and they were afraid of him because they didn’t immediately recognize him, so he had to remind them that he was Jesus. I mean, the disciples scattered when Jesus was being beaten, and Peter even denied knowing Jesus three times out of fear. When Jesus rose from the dead, he united with them again, and at first, they were frightened. Later, however, when they could see Jesus, hear his voice and even Thomas had to touch the wounds on his hands to believe it was really him, it was then that they became fearless.

She continued. "There is a security with our comfortable belief system, but then something extraordinary happens, and we don’t even recognize it as absolutely amazing. Things somehow seem different, so our certainty is questioned. Life is like the vicious snow storms all around us, similar to the beatings that Jesus endured, so our minds drift and we forget about the Creator and start to think about what could happen—if only this or that happens—focusing on the power of the creation. We begin to imagine that there is more strength in nature while in our minds God becomes weaker and smaller. We can hear the wind howling through the night, and as the falling ice begins pounding on the roof, it triggers thoughts of the scary forests in New Hampshire, which are actually quite beautiful. The snow could one day hit the house hard enough to cave into the roof or break branches, eventually shattering windows, but we only let our minds drift when we are away from what we’ve been taught, like when the disciples were away from Jesus for a short time after he was crucified. They forgot all the miracles they had witnessed and stopped believing that he is the Messiah. We are the same way. We take for granted that we are protected from the things that cause fear in a remote place. We realize these fears lie deep within us like an evil spirit locked in a box. When terror confronts us, we understand that we must let it go, so we can be free from dread. When I looked outside my window after coming home from New Hampshire, I noticed the snow falling, as if I were a small insecure child noticing a scary spider or a large snake for the first time. It occurred to me that while in New Hampshire, I did not need to fear what was in front of me all of my life. It just never occurred to me that I could be affected in my home by the things that caused me stress outside of here. You see, I missed the beauty of the snow falling in New Hampshire because I was focused on being terrified of skidding off the road as a result of being hit by the snow, but I have always enjoyed watching it in front of my window at home, even during the stormy weather. The disciples stopped believing in the influence of Jesus and they went to remote places that made them more afraid because of their skewed thoughts. I’m glad in all my years of living here I didn’t worry about the snow storms that violently tried to enter my house, thinking they could terrify my life. They never have scared me, until I left my home. If I had lived in constant fear all the years I have resided here, I might have never enjoyed the beauty of New Mexico. Instead, I would have existed in panic mode, and this is punishment for our souls. I didn’t really enjoy my time in New Hampshire. Fear overtook my spirit for the brief time I visited New England, but now that I am home, I am no longer afraid. I am so grateful for the scriptures because God tells us that even when we walk in the darkest valley, we are to fear no evil because God is with us. When Jesus returned to the disciples after his death, and after they recognized him, they were motivated by love, and so they went back to what they were taught by Jesus and what they believed. I understand now that anxiety will leave my mind when I notice I am not alone. When I look for God and see Jesus, I am not afraid. In New Hampshire, I was blinded by fear. Now I see clearly. I believe in the power of God, not in the what if’s. Do you understand?"

Yes, I said with my eyes as big as the round bread pans I was drying, thinking about the snow caving in, as I looked up at the roof.

I really had no clue what she was saying to me, although I was trying to understand. I just didn’t want her to think I was dumb. I was eleven years old, an honor student and quite gifted. Everyone said I was smart. I couldn’t let Nevaeh know I didn’t have the slightest idea what she was talking about. She did this to me sometimes, but I didn’t mind because she was so wise. I thought that maybe I was not seeing something, although I understood feeling frightened about things in life. I wasn’t afraid of snow, however. In fact, I enjoyed playing in the snow. I had never even thought of it making the roof cave in. My uncles were excellent roofers; so of course, I didn’t fear snow causing damage on the roof. They had built my house. I was safe, but I wasn’t sure about the evil spirits. I was hoping they didn’t exist.

Note to self: Ask one of my uncles to check Nevaeh’s roof, and tell mom to call Pastor Salas to bless this house.

Nevaeh looked around the kitchen, took the drying towel out of my hand, and hung it near the wood stove. She took some lotion from the counter, asked for my hands and rubbed some of the lotion on them. She walked into the living room, right next to the kitchen, and I followed her. I looked around, not wanting to miss a thing. I observed the painting, which hung in the kitchen as you entered the living room. It was a depiction of the Last Supper. Every Hispanic family had such a painting. I must have seen it one thousand times in various homes, but I never really noticed the details. This time it kind of scared me, but I did not have to be troubled, I thought. It was like the snow on the old oak tree. It had always been there, and I didn’t want to miss its beauty. I secretly told the evil spirits to flee from me so I could be free from feeling uneasy. Gosh, Nevaeh really made me think! Now I’m petrified of a painting I have been exposed to all of my life, or maybe I hadn’t seen it. I wasn’t going to let fear come between the picture and me. I gazed at the painting again. This time I admired the hues of color and the texture. Besides, Jesus was in the middle of the picture. He kept me shielded because I remember Nevaeh saying he knows me by my name. I think I knew what Nevaeh was talking about this time, but I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Maybe one day I would be certain.

Nevaeh and I went straight to the record player. She had many records, but I didn’t like most of them. We lived in the small town