Mr. Tucci- Just in Time for Valentine's Day

I’m in love.
With Stanley Tucci.
It happened just this morning.

What other man of petite stature could look so good, act so well, and speak to a foodie girl’s heart with such panache?

I’ve never seen the film Big Night (co-written and co-produced by this lovely man), but I am certain that, with a name like Secondo and a big Italian family restaurant at his fingertips, Tucci would’ve gripped me in ’96 as firmly as he did as the adorable Paul Child in the recent foodie film Julie and Julia.

But forget all that. Forget the silver screen. Forget Julia Child (apologies). Tucci is so enamored with the food culture of his Italian upbringing- and the paella and potato croquettes in his parents’ kitchen- he seems to see life through the ties that bind people: the love of food. And this makes me swoon. Who needs a heart-shaped box of chocolate?

Arising from his more recent film work as amorous and accommodating husband to food goddess Julia Child is his relationship to Chef Gianni Scappin and a cookbook celebrating his own mother’s cooking prowess. A man who loves his mom enough to celebrate her through a book collaboration must be a man with a sensitive soul and a soft heart. Lead me, Mr. Tucci, into your butler’s pantry and I will most willingly go!

But there is more. As my eyes fall this morning on the smattering of responses by Mr. Tucci (which rolls off the tongue as a lover’s nickname) in my February issue of Bon Appetit (p 110), I see phrases like “Goat cheese, olives and good white wine.” “I had a pizza oven built last year.” And: “I…stuff the branzino with herbs and put it in a big steel pan I got in Paris….” A moment please, to recover myself.
A man who talks of steel knives, heavy enamel cast-iron pots and Paris in one breath has my immediate attention. Give him warm brown eyes and a sly smile, I’m standing. But hear him say “I think about this mushroom tart at Le Gorille Blane in Paris...” and I’m running into his arms, flinging aside any poor woman who happens to be in the way.

Mr. Tucci, je t’adore. And I’ll be happy to share that midnight snack of peanut butter, banana, and honey on Italian bread any time you like. Share

Getting Past It

Awoke to owl sounds on this snow-covered wonderland, Neebish Island. Waiting for pancakes, coffee in hand, reminiscing with cousins about good times and growing older. Pretty sweet. Yesterday's mistake slowly wearing off, the refreshing of the biting cold air and laughter of eight children seeping into my soul, washing away life's agonies and replacing them with goodness.

Why am I surprised? As I fell asleep last night, I was incredulous that any of this beauty would reach me. I was muffled, trapped in mummy-cloths of my inadequacy. So much for being an artist, a poet, a “feeler.” So much for being a family-girl, a people-person. I wanted to run away from everyone. It was a very old and familiar feeling, like clothes I’d put on so many days of my forty-two years.

How can we step out of those "old clothes" that weigh us down and start every day with newness- really? When our hearts want to weep and our bodies want to crawl under a rock and we've lost hope of our success as humans (do you ever go there?), what is the next breath? The next thought, the next step?

I'm a firm believer in replacing the negative with the positive. Not that this works without fail for me; but I see in the little nuances of this morning that it can be so. The warmth of those who ever love us, those who see our backsides throughout our lives- our families- and still love us, that warmth is filling the little cracks in my heart as I sit to type. The frightening chill of my very human error is giving way to this. It is succombing. Soon it will fall like a mudslide, slipping and crashing away. This I finally know.

I was reading Hosea 11 this morning (I’m sure you won’t ask why I was there) and like what I saw: It’s God talking. And whether or not you believe in God you may find this sweet:
“But they didn’t realize it was I who healed them. I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love….All my compassion is aroused….Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”

So my take in this is two-fold: It takes the heavenly and the human to reach us. God speaks and heals through people, through those with whom we surround ourselves. And then he heals the broken places in our hearts if we let him. I personally believe in a God who reaches down into our every moment in compassion and love. It certainly does not show in everything we experience, but those times I have “waited” for him, he does show up. In compassion. In love. In healing. He has been faithful. All is not lost.

So today I’m not only banking on this, but I’m already basking in this. Sweet love through moments with people around me in this cabin. This is how God restores me. Some are new acquaintances, some are cousins with whom I’ve spent every Christmas and summer break my whole life. The give and take between us reminds me that I am not all about my mistakes; I have much to give, and that I have much to learn from others. And I am not alone. Thank God. Share

A Lonely Time of the Year?

12/26/09


This day after Christmas I have loneliness on my heart. Not that I feel lonely, but I’ve had enough of it in my life and am acutely aware that this is the time of year that presents such painful reminder to many that they are alone. Let me say from the start that I know there can be a world of difference between aloneness and loneliness; I get that. When given a choice any particular day, some of us will choose solitude and others prefer to socialize. But the aloneness to which I refer here is more of a pervasive state of being- a separation from family, partner, or other close companion. Today I’m focused on people who are not alone by choice, and so experience loneliness- sometimes profoundly. Here’s where aloneness and loneliness mingle; either way you label it, whether real or perceived, it is a state of disconnection with others. And that is just not a good thing.

This morning I took a few moments to walk through a scriptural perspective, since the Christian scriptures are where I find my truth about life. I write here from the belief that these are the inspired teachings of a real, loving and interactive God. Whether or not you believe in the validity of these scriptures, I think you will find an interesting and loving view towards man in this state, and an idea or two of how best to help. For my purposes I will use “alone” and “lonely” interchangeably.

Man was not meant to be alone.
God establishes His attitude toward man’s aloneness from the beginning, in the book of Genesis: “The Lord God said: ‘It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make him a helper suitable for him.” (Gen. 2:18).
The writer of the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes (probably the uber-wise King Solomon) wrote of the senselessness of aloneness. "Again I saw something meaningless under the sun. There was a man all alone; he had neither son nor brother.” (Ecc. 4:8). There are millions of “only children” out there with no sons of their own; but I think the point here is the “meaninglessness” of man’s being alone. Man hungers for meaning, or reason if you will; it is one of our most basic needs. The writer goes on in verse 9: “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work. If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who has no one to help him up!” Look at that: pity is a pretty strong word here from the wisest of writers, if Solomon indeed penned these words. A man with no helper, no close friend, is pitiable.
“Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though they may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands cannot be quickly broken.” Contrasted to the contracted state of aloneness, togetherness brings warmth and strength. Nice. But think about it; that means being alone leads to weakness and being cold. Would we wish that on our enemies? (Don’t answer that).

Who are the most “alone” people in the world?
Throughout scripture, these four categories of “people alone” are mentioned together: Widows, orphans, Levites and aliens. Clearly, widows and orphans are those who’ve had a dear connection with someone, and then experienced loss of that connection through death. For those of you who think Levites have something to do with blue jean manufacturing, they were actually priests. I can’t expound but I suspect they may have been celibate or at least remained unmarried Correct me here…. Aliens are simply foreigners. Think what it’s like to travel in a foreign country and not know the language or your way around. Even if you have a few companions, you eventually feel isolated and long for home and people you’re connected with. Perhaps scriptures do not need my help, but I would certainly add the divorced and those emotionally predisposed to feeling lonely. The latter might include those experiencing mental illness, depression, or those simply hypersensitive to connection with others.

God wants those who are alone to be included and provided for.
Dt. 14:29: “At the end of every three years, bring all the tithe of the year’s produce and store it in your towns so that the Levites and the aliens, the fatherless and the widows who live in your town may come and eat and be satisfied, and so that the Lord your God may bless you in all the work of your hands.” So all the rest of us are to provide for the nourishment of those alone. Think about it; even today one of the most satisfying ways to connect with others is through the sharing of food. Whether you’re dining out with friends or delivering a meal to the family shelter, this is a way to connect from the heart through togetherness and provision. A side effect is that all the work of our hands will be blessed. I’m guessing that means we ourselves will lack nothing when we connect with these lonely people.
God reminds us to include the alone in our communities: Dt. 16:11: And rejoice before the Lord your God at the place he will choose as a dwelling for His name- you, your sons and daughters, your menservants and maidservants, the Levites in your towns, and the aliens, the fatherless and the widows living among you.” And verse 14: “Be joyful at your feasts- you, your sons and daughters…” He goes on here to list the same groups of people, including those alone.

Neglect of the lonely is a bad thing for all of us.
Job 22:9: “You sent widows away empty-handed and broke the strength of the fatherless.”
Granted, this is not God speaking to his people, but a man named Eliphaz speaking to Job, trying to make sense of his sufferings. Sure, Eliphaz is one of Job’s accusers, an unhelpful person in the scene of Job’s tragedies. But I consider him a standard human with standard ideas, such as “Neglecting the needs of the of the widows and fatherless is a bad thing.” I agree. Malachi the prophet says of people who neglect the lonely:
“’I will come to you for judgment. I will be quick to testify against sorcerers, adulterers and perjurers, against those who defraud laborers of their wages, who oppress widows and the fatherless, who deprive aliens of justice, but do not fear me,” says the Lord Almighty.’” (Mal. 3:5).

It is our job to connect with those who are alone.
James the brother of Jesus writes to the twelve tribes (likely Jewish Christians), particularly to a “dispersed people” in order to instruct and encourage them in the face of difficulties. He writes: “Religion that God our father accepts as pure and faultless is this- to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” (James 1:27). So this is my summation: “This is the definition of religion that God wants from man’s heart. Avoid being polluted by the world, and connect with the lonely.” Nothing else seems to matter.

God himself desires to connect with and provide for those who are alone and lonely.
From the Old Testament we learn about God’s heart for the lonely: “Sing to God, praise His name…a father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families.” Psalm 68:5. “Leave your orphans, I will protect their lives. Your widows, too, can trust in me.” (Jer. 49:11). This speaks to my heart in a big way. I’ve been divorced for a number of years. I have filled the role of mother and father for my daughters, and have felt lonely and defenseless, and not known whom to trust. But having drawn closer to God these feelings have, for the most part, melted away.

Fast forward to the time of Jesus’ ministry to the disciples. Jesus says, “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you... On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. My Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.” John 14:18,20 & 23.

What a beautiful picture of connection, of togetherness, of the lack of aloneness. I don’t know about you, but for me, what keeps me from feeling lonely and disconnected is the perpetual awareness of the presence or love or attention of others who care for me. If God “makes his home with me,” that speaks directly to my need to be chosen, to be attended to, to be connected, and to never being alone.

Our human mandate:
The thing is, all of us who are alive are asked to reach out to the alone and lonely and meet their needs. Some call this “social justice.” My personal take on social justice comes from Isaiah 10:2: Woe to those who make unjust laws, to those who issue oppressive decrees to deprive the poor of their rights and withhold justice from the oppressed of my people, making widows their prey and robbing the fatherless.” Or you could just contemplate this as a life principle. I believe that when you are in need and focus on your need your heart becomes more contracted and you feel more pain. But when you feel pain and transform that into energy focused on meeting others’ needs, everyone benefits. If you are feeling this aloneness, try reaching out to others who are alone. What better way to diminish aloneness in your own community?! And if you are not alone, and are so lucky as to sense a perpetual connection to others, I’d invite you to share that rich treasure with others who, for whatever reason, are not so fortunate. I, for one, would prefer to live in a world where we all generate a little more happiness for ourselves and others every day. Share

Roux is a Wondrous Thing

Roux is a wondrous thing. A culinary product which, alone, holds little charm for most palates, the brown oil-and-toasted-flour base is a flavoring for a French, Creole or Cajun concoction- in my case, gumbo- the backbone and soul of the dish together.

Roux: A French word derived from the Latin word ”russe,” meaning brown or reddish in color. Paul Prudhomme says, “The cooking of flour and fat together to make a roux is a process that seems to go back as far as my ancestors of four hundred years ago…My mother used to start with a paste of animal fat and flour and cook it for several hours.” Prudhomme describes light roux to enhance sauces and gravies, red-brown roux for light white meats and seafood. But of my favorite- the black roux- the famed Louisiana chef says “results in the thinnest, best-tasting gumbos of all."


Roux-making is a test of the heart of the cook. It determines whether one has the patience, the hallmark of Cajun cooking, that brings about the rich, nutty, toasty flavor around which any reputable gumbo is created. I learned roux-making from my husband early in our dating. While our relationship was not one built on patience, patience could be found in us, nonetheless, in the kitchen. In this case, my first batch was made in a rustic cabin kitchen in an Alabama state park, just a long day’s drive from Washington, Louisiana, where the Soileau family roux was pampered in the hands of Maman (“Mawmaw”) Melba. I earned, that night in the cabin kitchen, the sparkle in my man’s eye by way of mastering the roux solo as he drove miles away to find a large, worthy gumbo pot. I guessed that all Louisiana state park kitchens came with a gumbo pot.

That sparkle moved on, but I’ve kept the roux and gumbo close to my heart. Last night I served up three pots of gumbo built around the best batch of rich, dark “black” roux I’ve ever made. It pleased the crowd of fifty friends, and brought me joy to share such a rich tradition- even one from a borrowed family heritage. Roux was, after all, adopted and adapted from the French by Cajun descendants and the creoles, Spanish and Africans.

Since roux is time-consuming and can be refrigerated or frozen, I make mine two weeks before a big event. To make a big batch I start with 4 c all-purpose flour and 2 c vegetable oil (not Olive oil as it will smoke and burn at a lower temp than vegetable oil). A typical roux proportion is one part flour to one part oil, but I use 2:1, flour to oil. In my largest, deepest cast iron skillet, I whisk the oil and flour together until it’s perfectly smooth, and continue to whisk the roux constantly over medium heat while holding good book in the other hand. After ten or fifteen minutes, the oil is hot enough to begin toasting the flour, producing the desired toasty-nutty flavor. At long last, I begin to note that the color has changed to a creamy off-white.

Slowly, miraculously, the flour-and-oil mixture takes on a mind of its own and becomes roux. From cream to “barely tan” to tan to cinnamon to dark copper penny, the tones the roux takes on are all beautiful, mimicking the natural browns and russets I begin to see outside the window in autumn. It is, after all, the only time I make roux. It was, after all, when I made my first batch that chilly night in the cabin, and it is always just the right time for my Thanksgiving gathering.

As the roux passes dark tan, about thirty minutes in, its character changes to “feisty.” The bubbling goes from gentle to angry, at which time I turn down the fire a bit. The smoothness gives way to graininess as the roux becomes thicker, the oil separates a bit, and I put my book down- far from the stove and any potential spits of roux lava. At this point, the kids leave the kitchen and my full attention is devoted to the blessed roux. I whisk faster and faster, being certain no scorched flecks develop. I grab my hot pads, watch for the magical moment at which the brown gives way to dark brown, but has no hint of burning.


Heaving the heavy skillet carefully into the air, I pour the liquid flavor into a clean bowl to aerate it, to cool the roux and slow the cooking. As it sits, a layer of oil floats to the top and the roux turns so dark as to look like the melted 85%-cocoa chocolate I love for baking. Once cooled, the roux will taste toasty and nutty, and feel a little chalky as it sits heavy on the back of your tongue. If it tasted burned, well, you’re dedicated to round two; there’s just no edible dish that begins with a burned roux. At this point the magic is complete and I’ve got a nice batch of roux to start five or six pots of gumbo. My treasure can wait in the refrigerator or freezer until I’m ready to spend another afternoon in the kitchen. And it is so worth it.

So tell me; what delicious concoctions will draw you away into the kitchen on a sunny Saturday? Share

eHarmony Got it Right

Now, I may be revealing a bit too much about myself by commenting on eHarmony. But they have some things going right for them and their clientele. One being the question, “What are three of your best life skills?” The question yanks our narrow hyper focus from “what do I want?” to “what do I bring to the table?”
Responsibility is carefully woven into this question. As I was pondering gratitude and contentment this morning, my thoughts moved swiftly from those tangible objects for which I’m grateful (and this includes people) to a sense that I have something to offer the world around me and that I am solely responsible for the sharing.
“Do you remember that girl from high school?” I asked a friend this morning.
“Of course- check her out on my FB friends list,” he retorted.
I did, and sent her a message of thanks. Because, whenever I think of a confident woman, I remember her. She once shared with me that she’d taken self-assertiveness class and that it taught her to be sure of herself and what she had to offer people. It showed, and I’ve never forgotten her example. She unabashedly shared her creativity through her avant-garde wardrobe and wildly changing hairstyles, and the look of self-ease in her eyes was unbeatable.

Moving in and out among people is something we do on a daily basis. Crowds on the sidewalk, a meeting room full of co workers, the line at the restaurant, those people we see at home if we’re really lucky. Many speeches have been made reminding us not to be so self-focused that we don’t even notice passers-by. I think many of us are moving past the “not-noticing.” We look at faces, we observe, we imagine what it might be like to know that stranger. But what I want to say today is that, instead of looking around for someone who has something to offer us, it is good to be self-focused enough to contemplate what we have to offer those in our midst. This is life-giving, depression-busting, and a great way to overcome insecurities so many of us are plagued with.
So, what are your three best life skills? Making people laugh? Helping around the house? Managing finances? Making art to inspire? Write them down. Keep them on your desktop. Remember what you have to offer. Imbue your holiday gift-giving with gifts of yourself, your time, your attention and your love. We will all be richer for it.
So, do tell me: What *are* your three best life skills? Share

Top Five Reasons to Live in Community

Top Five Reasons to Live in Community

Are you living in community today? Something odd is happening to me lately. Everywhere I turn, and in everything I read, I hear more about “community.” On this growing-up path since my painfully shy childhood, I’m reminded repeatedly to check my sense of the word.

Though I’ve always yearned to be a thread in the tight-knit fabric of friends and family in life, that expansive closeness has always evaded me. Not to slight my dearest friends (and you three know who you are) or my family (and beyond my fabulous daughters this group is oddly less defined), let me clarify what I mean by tight-knit fabric. I mean not just yards and yards, but miles and miles of beautifully-patterned fabric spread not only throughout my soul and life but that reaches across the U.S and to other countries as well and involves at least fifty very dear friends.

My heart simply hungers for deeply forged friendships in many corners of the world, and warming the remotest parts of my spirit; friends who not only know my middle name, e-address and Twitter i.d., but also ponder my whereabouts at least once a month as I do theirs, questioning when we might have the pleasure of embrace or hearing the soothing sound of one another’s voices. The bottom line is this: that I’ve made such an impact on their hearts that I become woven into their lives, and vice versa.

The difficult truth is that a shy (oh and let’s face it- insecure) little girl has a very trying time making an impact on anyone since she tries everything to maintain invisibility and not bother anyone with the sound of her voice. Certainly my forty-two years have removed me from little-girl status and yanked me from the utter solitude of shyness, but I never lose the sense that I’m light-years behind the average adult in being able to impact others’ lives and forge deep and lasting friendships. Is this truer of me than any other person? Do we all experience this hunger-and-doubt scenario? Regardless of how wide-spread (or not) the sensation, I propose humans thrive best in close-knit community.

Top five reasons why I believe living in community is so important:

1. There’s safety in numbers
2. There’s perspective in numbers
3. There’s bigger love in numbers
4. More people can build a bigger fire
5. There’s identity in numbers

1. There’s safety in numbers: Community can help us stay alive.

Having worked with refugees from many parts of the world, I’ve had reality checks as to my true priorities. Staying alive must not be overlooked as one of them. I’ve often thought, when threats of H1N1 and economic collapse arise, that I’d do best to surround myself with my refugee friends as they know survival. I’ve heard many stories of their survival, and seen first-hand the loving, protective nature of their communities. Consider the Lost Boys of Sudan, many of whom who survived by literally running together through terrorizing and deadly circumstances. From small children to early teens, many survived by sticking together, looking after one another, even carrying one another through alligator-infested waters. The morbid details are unnecessary to making the point that refugees, people who’ve faced terrific tragedy, know how to stick together to survive the most unbelievable circumstances.

2. There’s perspective in numbers: Community helps us avoid painful extremes and mistakes.

Depending on how tenacious and independent you are, of course. The more people you’re close to, the more access you have to a large collection of personal stories- lessons of downfall and success. We look to those with whom we’re close for our stories, those lessons that help us avoid making some of the same mistakes. Isn’t it when we take off on an adventure without the blessing of anyone that we can really lose our way? Certainly we don’t have to have everyone’s agreement to succeed, but I propose that when all our people are strangely silent, or we’ve run from their critique, is territory ripe for expensive mistakes. At my age, I’m no longer interested in gathering mistakes from which to learn; I’m into maximizing the time I have left for success.
3. There’s bigger love in numbers:

Community surrounds you with love. Recently I found myself keeping the company of one person a bit too much of the time. When that person hit a rough patch, my feelings followed. Thankfully I had the sense to head to a group gathering at my church, where the importance of community is somewhat of a mandate we are pleased to pursue. My tears were met with strong arms, sweet concern, love, and a better perspective. For me, this often occurs in my church home. For others, this may be a social group, amidst workplace friends, or at the gym. The point is that a bigger group of friends is more apt to provide you with a consistent blanket of love, while at the same time more capable of consistently receiving your love than when it is only focused on one or two people in your life.

4. More people can build a bigger fire.

OK so I’m out of my rhythm here, but it’s a great word picture. Simply put, communities have more resources to offer one another. Think of those communities who use a common wood-fired oven in the center of their village. I’d love to meet my neighbors every night as I prepared my dinner over a bigger, better oven than I could have in my own home. Ever been out of commission for a week due to illness or surgery? Lost a job? Had a baby? Communities like my church group are quick to pull together to fill in for a person in need. This should not be taken lightly, as it is, of course, reciprocal. We often forget that, leaving a group of consistent servants to carry the load. I’ve received meals, home visits, a little extra cash, job leads, a borrowed car, a ride to the airport, a visit from friend of a friend in another state when I was hospitalized. What have you received from your community when you most needed it? What have you offered others? I venture to add that when you’re most down in the mouth, the quickest way to find joy is to help someone else in need.

5. There’s identity in numbers.

No, we don’t all need to be the same person. In fact, I suggest that community is more like a human body than a group of all the same parts. One person is the hands, one the eyes, one the ears, and so on. But another crucial part of community is that they remind you of who you are when you forget. One of my favorite quotes says something like this: “A friend is the person who knows the song of my heart and sings it to me when I forget.” How beautiful is that? How often do we become jaded or depressed by life and forget our own song, our uniqueness, our successes, our path? Community of family and friends will surround us and remind us, over time, how valuable we are as a unique but imperative part of our world. When others surround us, we remember that we don’t have to be everything, do everything; we just fit in like a puzzle piece with others and help create a more beautiful whole.

What can you do to strengthen your sense of community today? If yours is strong and vibrant, I applaud you. But if you’re like me, it will be a work of love. Reach past yourself today and enjoy the results. Where will you start? Share

Waiting for Sunshine

It’s no wonder so many wonderful people in my circle or friends and acquaintances are feeling a bit blue- or worse. The hue of their visualized emotion roughly matches that of the wet world around us. Rain. It has been raining for a seeming record number of days here in Nashvegas, dimming the fluorescent lights of the honkey-tonks on Lower Broadway as it does the inner light of many a creative soul. Rain. When will it stop?

The maintenance man told me he was going to have a talk with Noah. Coworkers tell of families in other cities with flooded homes. Rescue stories flood in from other states. But rain, rain, rain is all we get here in this seamless bubble of gray earth and sky.

As an adult, I’m a bold kind of girl. As a painter, I fill my canvases with bright, bold color. I prefer hard black lines to vagueness, and intense primary colors to olive, peach and mauve. In my home, I far prefer motion to stillness, noise to silence, and excitement to peace. In the same way, I’ve always preferred loud, passionate rainstorms to endless gray drear. There is something so numbing about being in the gray bubble of endless cloud cover; sound is dulled, absorbed into some unknown place. Even the sound of my own voice loses its crisp edge. Black lines in the landscapes around me become fuzzied and colors muted, making the shortening days of autumn even less colorful.

Somehow, the drear of this gray weather translates to my soul. I begin to question how I define myself, the lines that define foundational truths are fuzzied, I begin to doubt what I thought I knew for sure, the sparkles in my eyes that made the world look happy quickly fade, and I put on my gray glasses when I survey my personality and accomplishments. Sometimes even my body takes a toll and the clean, rested, happy feeling transforms into aches and pains and fatigue.

It can be scary to feel so numbed by gray dreary days, one after another. Scarier than when we face a clearly-defined storm and can see that there is blue sky and sun rays beyond it. Definition- those clear lines that delineate shape from shape, sound from sound, idea from idea, and demark our moments of time passing-definition is something we unknowingly depend on for peace of mind.

When definition evades us, as in these endless days of Nashville rain, we have some tools we can use to break the bleakness and reawaken our peace of mind. I find myself looking for ways to imbue my day with definition in color, warmth, sound, excitement, people. I take a walk. I phone a friend. I shift gears at work more frequently and to tasks that require more creative thought. I try to find something colorful and intensely flavorful to eat. I move- doing a little yoga in my cubicle or taking a walk. I breathe deeply.

But I propose today trying another approach- and I’m speaking to myself as well here; learn to embrace the uncertainty, the UNdefinition, the dullness. I’m no expert, I’m an explorer in this territory. What is familiar to me is my garden. I’m familiar with digging in the soil, turning in the compost, watching the seedlings pop out of the earth in bright greens, observing the unfurling of curly leaves under the sunshine, the burst of each opening flower or purple baby eggplant. Not so familiar to me is what is happening beneath the surface of the soil. What’s happening under there for days, weeks, sometimes months on end in the darkness is the crucial nurturing of the seed or bulb. Are we not unlike these seeds?

There are equally critical times of growth we must go through when we as humans are entombed in a dark, sometimes lonely place where sound is diffused and clarifying lines are fuzzied and we can’t see beyond the tips of our noses. Sometimes we are enshrouded in ambiguity, but we don’t realize that “this place” is like a protective womb nurturing our growth. These endless days of rain, we can recognize logically, are supplying our fresh water reserves and nourishing food-bearing land. Why is it so much harder to recognize our own need for such times?

My pastor’s wife, for those of you familiar with the Christian faith, likens these times to that during which Jesus was entombed, just prior to his resurrection. Three days came and went, during which his friends agonized that the dream of his becoming king had apparently crashed down, but down in the depths of the dark tomb, Jesus was ultimately transformed into the savior of the world. Whether you espouse this story as truth or not, this picture of the tomb evokes an agonizingly long time of what, death? What could be worse? Isn’t that our ultimate fear? Absence of light, of life, of others, of any joy, color, peace, or remaining purpose. That describes so accurately how I feel during dreary times in life like these endless days of rain. Nonetheless, we can embrace those times as moments of growth to be followed by far brighter days, as symbolized by the resurrection of Jesus from the tomb. We simply can’t rely on our sense to feed us truth about these times, so perhaps we can learn to remind ourselves of the impermanency of the darker times. One simple thought, the one that says “this is only temporary,” can brighten our outlook for hours and sometimes days on end.

I was just interrupted by the sound of my pager beeping. Talk about a delineating sound! That one tiny sound led to some interesting and highly defined bright moments in my day. Returning the page led me to meet some unexpected visitors downstairs, getting me up and moving which was nice enough. But as I awaited the visitors outside the hospital I met with more defined sound- that of a young girl throwing up. Now, I apologize for any shock, disgust or nausea you’re now experiencing. But turn your thoughts to this young girl- who was quite obviously a cancer victim leaving the hospital after treatment. I was instantly transformed by gratitude that my own daughters are healthy. The sight of this young lady’s smooth, hairless head instantly changed my mind about my daughter’s long hair that so often covers the bathroom floor. My thoughts were jerked from their stale, dreary outlook to a more realistic view. And when my visitors arrived, they came bearing brightest mylar balloons and bags of chocolate candy for our patients. My vision was instantly changed not only by the bright shininess of the balloons, the smiles on the faces of my visitors, my imagination of the taste of chocolate, but also by gratitude.

So what can you do to jumpstart another dreary day? I recommend a little gratitude first. It is a much more potent healer for the blues and blahs than anything else I know. Think of and express three things for which you are grateful. Secondly, try a little color, a little motion, crank up some music, see the faces of friends, amp up your day by dressing in bright colors, eating an interesting meal. Anything that tempts your senses makes you feel just a little better by reminding you that yes, you are alive. You may be experiencing the dull quietness of waiting under the soil like a seed being nourished, or in a sort of “tomb” where something in your life that needs to change is, indeed, being transformed. Either way, the bright hope is that while you are alive you still have choices, this is only temporary, and yes, the sun will shine on us again. Share