There is a small town in Belgium where citizens with mental illness are fully integrated into daily life. At one time a quarter of the inhabitants were challenged, although they eschew such pejorative labels. Boarders is the preferred term to describe the relationship between natives and those who come to live with them. Geel is an anomaly in the field of psychiatry, and for seven hundred years has been a haven for those who are not always welcome or understood. Rather than mental institutions, boarders live with families, in their cottages. They have simple jobs, and contribute to the community.

 

A woman whose daughter has a rare genetic condition called Wolf Hirschhorn Syndrome wrote about the town in her blog.  I was enthralled with the tale of acceptance of people who are learning to live together without making each other wrong. She relates it to the painful yet exquisite journey she has walked in accepting her daughter's disability. Her anxiety has diminished to the extent that she comes to terms with who her daughter is. And is not. 

 

My own life has had a string of opportunities to readjust my expectations. Although I might not have been able to articulate it, I had formulated a script for how my parents, and later husband and children would behave. But they never agreed to it. Which is annoying. 

 

There is a story in the book Marriage Love in which people who die are given the opportunity to live in the heaven that they imagined. Splendid gardens, opulent banquets, positions of power, and eternal worship are some of the expectations people bring with them to eternal life. And to marriage.

 

But one by one they loosen their grip on those dreams, and ease into the acceptance of what God is offering. They realize that their joy comes less from controlling the circumstances and more from working side by side. 

 

Their disabilities melt away. And it feels like home.