Sadness like Water

I love to watch the tide come in.

As the ocean water flows in at the behest of the moon, it fills every nook and cranny across the sand in its way.  The salty river fills holes blown by a vast invisible network of clams and transforms formerly stranded rocks into connected underwater cities frequented by a myriad of marine life.  When the tide reaches high, it is hard to believe that the vast, tranquil sandy beach that existed only hours before will ever return again.

This is also the nature of a certain type of sadness.   The very sadness that I feel today. And yesterday.  And tomorrow.  The sadness that I breathe, walk, and live in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic.  Like water, it flows everywhere across my emotional and mental landscape.  While it has not yet consumed me, it is everywhere, breaking in waves of grief over the collective pain that humanity is now bearing.   It is not the flu... which annually stutters across the landscape of a partially vaccinated population, unable to gain a strong or persistent foothold amongst a people who are wise to its ways. 

Instead, it is a vicious predator among a naive population... able to infect anyone, but particularly interested in robbing life from those who are already weak, whether from age or underlying disease.  It is the epitome of sociopathic, bearing no responsibility or concern for those that it attacks, interested only in endlessly multiplying, hoping to win the inevitable battle it will encounter with the soldiers of the immune system.  Either way, whether the immune system wins or the virus wins, the virus will ultimately die.   To the virus, the battle is pointless.  But to the person whom it infects, the battle is critical. 

So, in my isolation -- sheltered in a place formerly known as my home -- I watch the upticks on the news.  I try to pass the time doing more productive things.  I try to love my neighbors from six feet away. I try to be uplifting to those who are thousands of miles away. I try to pretend to others in my household, two and four pawed alike, that everything is normal (they are not fooled). 

Most of all, I try not to think about how long the pandemic will rage on.  I try not to think about the death, the loneliness, the pain, the suffering, the confusion, the agonizing choices, the overburdened healthcare system, the insanity of it all.   But, as I feel the tide rolling in, having not yet reached the high water mark, the sadness flows on, filling every nook and cranny of my former life. 

When it rolls back out again, the landscape will be entirely different.   Life will be profoundly altered. 

Valentines Day 2020

Dear (very dear) Husband,

You are not the husband I would have chosen for me.

I would have chosen someone who votes like me, thinks like me, never gets mad at me, and thinks meltdowns are the cat's meow.   I would have chosen someone who thinks dishes are the most exciting things in the world to wash and dry and can't wait to do them every day.

And if I had made that choice, it wouldn't have been the best choice, by any stretch of the imagination.  As I look back over ten years of marriage this Valentines day, I know that I am a better person because I have known you. I know that I am a more loving person because you've loved me. And, I know I am a more patient person because I've been married to you.  If that sounds like a disclaimer that lands itself in 8 point font at the bottom of a marriage contract ... then I've written these words poorly.

I so often hear of couples whose marriage has survived decades of time that the marriage has had its ups and downs.   As I get in my imaginary reflective airplane and fly over our marriage -- the good, the bad, the funny, the frustrating, the sweet, and the routine - I see a landscape that has changed and grown, brought us closer together, nourished us into better people, and is painted in colors that for the rest of both of our lives will be entirely stored in memories that are both warm and good.   I guess I have God to blame for that.... all the downs get woven into a landscape of fabric that heads ever up. 

This Valentines Day, I bought you a card containing words crafted by some clever chap at Hallmark about the "stuff that only boring old married people like us understand."  While our boring moments appear to be few and far between and we have trouble acting our age... that may change in the next phase of our marriage.

Or not. 

Happy Valentines Day with
Hugs and Love from your favorite firecracker

Just like cooking in a clean kitchen

Kitchens don't have to be big (although at the rate I mass produce food, it helps), but they have to be clean.   And, given the amount of time I spend in the kitchen, a clean kitchen comes as a clean analogy to a pure heart.  This analogy sprang forth in Bible study last week when the following question was posed by our fearless group leader:    What helps us to practice loving one another with pure hearts? 

Since my mind is usually on food of some sort, I spontaneously replied to the question with:  "It's like cooking in a clean kitchen." 

A clean kitchen can get dirty in many ways.  Having accomplished most of those ways in one form or another over my days of cooking, baking, and experimenting, I feel qualified to comment:

Chicken -- every time, I slap a piece of raw chicken on the cutting board, I immediately visualize all of the bacteria getting ready to grow, thrive, multiple and invade whatever dish awaits nearby.  Keeping the kitchen clean means keeping the bacteria at bay, taking care not to spread remnants of raw chicken over spaces, places, and sponges that are breeding grounds for more bacteria.   The wrong bacteria in the stomach and intestinal tract creates havoc almost immediately, as anyone who has had food poisoning well knows.   Keeping the heart free from the emotional equivalent and consequences of bacteria means being committed to counting to ten (well... sometimes a hundred and in some situations, a thousand) before opening my mouth after someone says something.  It means waiting out the swell of emotion that erupts immediately after a hurtful word, an offensive phrase, a careless action, or an inevitable frustration of daily life.   Preventing the bacteria from running rampant means slowing down to let the heart do its housecleaning before opening my mouth.  But to my dismay, I do a far better job of slowing down to corral the bacteria in the kitchen than keeping my many spontaneous thoughts from popping out of my mouth and causing immediate harm.

Sneezy the Cook -- with my allergies, this should be my nickname.  Despite my efforts to turn away, cover my mouth and nose, and otherwise control any potentially virus-containing droplets from hitting the air running, I still envision them doing their nefarious deed and landing on food... destined to be ingested, incubated, and turned into some dastardly illness days later (yes, I realize allergies aren't contagious, but considering almost everyone in my household has them, I have to wonder about that).   The less literal, more metaphorical virus that often interferes with a pure heart is a word or action that on its first imprint, feels like nothing at all.  Then a few days later, my heart officially takes offense and before I know it, I'm snapping at someone who had nothing to do with the original words or action that hurt me in the first place (hint: the spouse makes an awesome target for the emotional virus).   It's my fault here. I don't take the time to sort through all the emotions and negative feelings that accumulate in daily life, figure out where they came from and why I'm holding on to them, and take the appropriate medicine (whether talking it out, confronting the person who hurt me, or something else) to prevent the virus from taking hold in my heart and causing an influenza of symptoms directed at those around me.  

Toxics -- these are the sneaky little guys (ok... molecules) that lurk in the kitchen with big fancy names like phthalates perchlorethylene, triclosan and quarternary ammonium compounds that are largely invisible, easy to ignore, and only cause problems years later when they result in such minor diseases like cancer and its other horribly painful and chronic cousins.   Toxics are amazingly easy to ignore in the kitchen -- after all, if the kitchen looks clean and there are no bits of snot or chicken guts in plain view, then it must be clean!   But, those little toxic pieces add up over time, and in spiritual speak that means a heart calcified with walls of bitterness that gradually becomes unable to love because it has so long been exposed to little doses of toxicity here and there and everywhere.   And, the funny thing about toxics in the kitchen is that the very cleaning products we use to clean the kitchen can be full of those little multisyllabic poisons.  That's not unlike trying to clean the heart with the wrong products and tools -- a little bit of alcohol, a drop of denial, a dose of mindspeak absent of Godspeak... all can lead to a chronically compromised heart.   

The good news is that while God is not going to drop into my kitchen and clean it every night (sigh -- wouldn't that be the cat's meow?), He is awfully gracious when I ask Him to clean and purify my heart.  The essential, 100% natural, non-toxic cleaner is (drum roll please)... prayer, meditation, petition, and sometimes a little bit of contention for good measure.   

But rather unfortunately, I excel more at keeping a clean kitchen than paying attention to the daily care involved in cleaning out the heart.  So, while good and healthy food (ok.. sometimes not quite so healthy but nevertheless tasty) can stream out of my kitchen in high volumes, loving others out of a pure heart doesn't come so easily.   

Amen.  

Now, back to cooking.   

And, cleaning my kitchen.

Dec. 2, 2018: St. Bridget's Church in Gdansk

This is a tree hugger's dream.  An altar made almost entirely of amber.  Not only is it warm, light, and beautiful in an otherwise dark church, but it comes from trees.  How wonderful is that?

St. Bridget's church in Gdansk was so named when the remains of St. Bridget of Sweden were stuck in transit in Gdansk in 1394 and housed in a small chapel where the church now stands.   During the long transit time, a number of miracles came to pass for those who touched St. Bridget's casket and a church was then built to host St. Bridget's order. 

Like most other buildings in Gdansk, St. Bridget's church was almost entirely destroyed during World War II. It was rebuilt in 1973 based on original designs and drawings. 

Dec. 1, 2018: The Great Palm Tree of Warsaw

Joanna Rajkowska is the one responsible for this <fill in the blank with any number of sometimes unflattering adjectives> monument at the intersection of Nowy Świat and Al. Jerozolimskie in downtown Warsaw.  Only the heavily inebriated would ponder whether this mammoth palm tree is real or artificial for more than a few nanoseconds.   For those of us who saw it sober, however, we have to wonder why there is a great fake palm tree standing in the middle of an intersection in this anything-but-tropical city.  Constructed in California and made of an odd trio of bendable steel (so the palm can wave in the wind like the real deal), natural bark, and plastic leaves, the tree was conceived and brought to fruition by the artist in order to bring relief to a dreary Warsaw winter.   

And, when not surprisingly, some protested the tree as an eyesore to be removed as quickly and completely as possible, the protesters emerged from their homes, clad in bikinis and armed with margaritas, to sit under the tree and guarantee that it remain in its place for many years to come.   

Which side will you choose?   Keep the Tree?  Axe it?  
The debate continues.   

Dec. 1, 2018: Old Town Warsaw

To the right, a bronze statue of King Waza sits on top of a 72 foot high Corinthian column to celebrate the move of the Polish capital from Krakow to Warsaw in the late 1500's.   At the time that it was built, the monument was the grandest in Europe but today, it is eclipsed by a mere Christmas tree.

Times certainly do change. I wonder if King Waza is rolling over in his crypt over the whole state of affairs. 

Dec. 1, 2018: St. John's Archcathedral in Warsaw

On a cold, sunny day in modern Warsaw, it seems hard to believe that the 1945 Warsaw Uprising ever happened.  It seems hard to believe that an army drove a tank into this church and blew it up along with any Poles taking harbor inside.  It seems hard to believe that this massacre wasn't enough. 

A few days later, someone found it necessary to come back, diligently drill holes, methodically plant charges, and joyfully destroy the last of the walls left standing of this once beautiful church. 

When the Polish resistance rose up in 1945 against Nazi occupation, they did so in anticipation that the Red (Soviet) army laying in wait just across the Vistula river from Warsaw, would help them.  And if not them, someone, somewhere would come to their aid.  But, despite appeals from Winston Churchill, only the British attempted to help and ultimately, without success.  Thousands of Polish resistance fighters died and over a hundred thousand Poles were executed in the Uprising.   After which, aided by German engineers, the German army systematically, maliciously, and without rational reason, destroyed building after building, until almost nothing was left standing in the aftermath of the war. 

Certainly, the Poles thought to rebuild the capital of Poland elsewhere, to begin anew somewhere else.   But, they didn't.  They rebuilt Warsaw, one step at a time, one reconstruction project after another.   That's a resilience I am not sure I have in me. I am not sure the U.S. does either. 

The contrast between the darkness that lay over this city during World War II and the life that it exudes today is hard to stomach.   One could hope that the world will never see evil proliferate and overshadow good to the extent that it did during the Warsaw Uprising, the Holocaust, and other unspeakable tragedies of WWII. 

But, such hope has, is, and will be dashed over and over again. 

To what end?