Comfort

Comfort comes in a multitude of ways, some from without and some from within: 

◆Waking to the dark and hearing Sherry’s breathing, regular and deep with sleep, and feeling her radiant warmth slide under the covers we share pulled up to our chins.

◆Hot shower water steaming down my body pushing rivlets of foaming Dr. Bronner’s lavender soap down the drain.

◆Hearing Sherry’s verdict on the oatmeal I have prepared for her.  “Delicious!”  I believe her while wondering how anyone could conjure up superlative exclamations about oatmeal.  

◆Going to the garden to dig a few carrots for lunch.  Forsaking the garden fork and plunging in with my bare hands, unwilling to stop at a few.  I kept sifting for more in the dark earth until I had all of them, and took them into the utility sink to remove the tops and wash the carrots.  Now my trips for a few will be to the mesh bag hanging in the garage.

◆Pondering the magnitude of the generosity of spirit, work, food, and encouragement that has been heaped upon us.  We even have a new front door that closes tight and keeps both wind and water from seeping in under it.  

◆Knowing that the only work I need to do is to dive deeper into love.  

There is discomfort in the diving:

◆Comfort is not to be found in knowing there is someone else worse off than me.  Diving deeper elicits compassion and empathy.

◆Comfort is not to be found in having when there is have not.  I recall the forlorn children begging in Malaga, Spain.  I remember how I had to harden as I made my way through them, looking, but not really seeing.  Diving deeper is to soften, to look, and to see.  

◆Comfort is not to be found holding love as an abstract, a construct from which no action emanates.  Love comes from service and not the other way around.  

Which brings me back to the love through service, gracious and generous, that has comforted me and Sherry.  It is more than we could have imagined and more than we deserve (or certainly more than I deserve).