Non-traditional Nourishment

Finding the Hidden Doors

For a person who thrives on quiet, my life is really rather loud. On our little street, the hundred-year-old houses are crammed right next to each other, and through our hundred-year-old windows, every voice on the sidewalk or across the street sounds like it’s right in our living room. It’s not New York City, of course, but it’s not a secluded cabin in a snowy forest either. And that’s to say nothing of the noise inside our house, the karate chops and the laughter and the arguments over who will get the coziest spot on the couch.

It’s not, perhaps, the sonic diet you would prescribe for someone who thrives on silence as much as I do.

And yet, somehow, it feeds me. It’s non-traditional nourishment.

I was pondering this the other day as I was walking into Costco to buy everyone’s favorites (mini cucumbers, raspberries, Brie), because I am pretty much never not pondering something. And then I saw this perfect little oil spill in the wet parking lot. It looked for all the world like the solar eclipse we saw when my younger one was still in my belly.

And I was nourished again.

Our faith is full of paradoxes, full of seemingly impossible transformations. Water into wine. Death into life. (In the immortal words of Taylor Swift, “What died didn’t stay dead.”)

Stumbling into those transformations, finding yourself in that moment when noise becomes nourishment, when an oil spot in a parking lot feels like an icon of divine beauty—it’s like discovering a secret, hidden doorway behind a bookcase. Push it just the right way. It will grant you entry in another place.

Last night my son said to me, “Mommy, did you know that God is everywhere?”

I smiled and nodded, and he continued, “And did you know that God is always talking? I think that’s what makes our heart beat.”

He opened the hidden door. With tears in my eyes, I stepped through.

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A Few Hopeful Things:

—This week I made a very small intervention in the natural world. I rescued a caterpillar, and I can’t tell you how much good it did me. I wrote a little poem about it.

—I started working through this version of St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises, and it has been so life-giving for me. I love how Monty Williams talks about myth and about the deeply unique and intimate language that we speak with God. Thanks for the book, Aunt Ann! (I’ve also been returning to St. Ignatius’ prayer, the Suscipe. Did you know that Jessica Gerhardt has a beautiful song inspired by it? Just try to listen to it without crying, I dare you.)

—One of our local newspapers sent a reporter down into a crowded light rail station this week to ask people how they were coping with the dark Seattle winter. Lots of people said the usual things: staying in touch with friends, going for walks, bouldering. But then this one man just looked straight into the reporter’s face and said, “Dissociating,” and I still cannot stop laughing about it! Dissociating! I would like to thank him for the belly laughs. I hope you are all making it through winter without having to resort to that.

Looking for the hidden doors with you,
Cameron