That's saying something, As of June 9, I marked 70 of those trips
around Ol' Sol. In March, it was brain surgery, several months of recovery from
removal of a benign tumor. In August, it was heart surgery, a re-replacement of
a failing aortic valve. More recovery ahead, a 12-week hospital-run exercise and dietary program.
Barbara, my 68-year-old wife, has completed her cataract surgeries
this year, too; now, doctors have decided they want to do some precautionary
tests on her heart as well. The past year-plus has been especially tough for
her, too -- her father died, the subsequent emotional rollercoaster of grief
and unraveling his estate, my medical crises, the usual marital dramas of our
kids, the inevitable growing pains of grandchildren, etc.
Trying to decide whether to do so, and then make inquiries about
writing/editing freelance work on my own part has been an on-and-off again
endeavor. I get recruited to write or edit by a travel news outfit here, or
invited to apply for freelance gigs at an Orthodox Christian media company
there . . . and then ghosted by both.
What has been the one consistent priority in my 2023 life has been my
faith, even with illnesses also plaguing those at my parish, clergy and staff
alike -- resulting in last-minute cancellations of services, meetings, studies.
And so, I pray, finding continuity and solace in
candles, incense, and venerating those people and events depicted on my corner
wall of icons. For me, it is an experience enveloped by and daily taking
spiritual flight within the recitation of ancient praises, petitions, and the
words of communion, and my far inferior yet sincere outpourings of gratitude,
pain, love, and anger, ignorance, and epiphany -- all punctuating a silent
inner dialogue on behalf of human beings living and departed.
I read and learn from those brothers and sisters of faith present,
sharing thoughts and insights in audio, video, and other modern media . . . and
from reading the millennia-old lives and wisdom of those St. Paul referred to
as that "great cloud of witnesses" supporting us just beyond the
veil.
And you know what? Those glimpses are into the timeless, eternal, and immortal environment in which we live, and breathe, and move, and have our being.
There is
beauty, even in this mad world of ours. It can be in the words of a poet, or
the prose
of a gifted writer (hey, see, I know at least a couple!) who weaves
beautiful accounts of history, culture, heroism, and the artistic miracles of
mortal men and women that transcends their creators' lifetimes.
Beyond words, there is music. Beyond instruments and sound, there is nature:
a breeze-caressed forest, the lapping of ocean waves on a rocky beach,
fireflies scattering on a warm, humid night, and the untainted delight on the
faces and in the eyes of children who chase them.
In a way, all these other things are good, and if you see the glow or hear the whispers of the sacramental with them, even holy -- if they are embraced amid
the cadence of our heart beats and breaths.
These, too, can be our fleeting tastes of eternity.
My wife and I look forward to experiencing such moments by soon resurrecting our RVing plans so delayed this year by life's unexpected events.
