PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
Sparkling drops of water dripped from broccoli flowerets and lettuce leaves. Radish red and carrot orange were bright and the eggplant’s smooth, purple flesh looked like satin. I stood in front of the vegetable case, a pilgrim to a fresh food shrine. Slowly, I made choices and piled the cart with colorful, fragrant produce that would soon grace my dinner plate.
I am returning to basics that have been missing from my life for a while, and in addition to cooking fresh foods, I am setting the alarm early enough to insure time for quiet prayer before the day gets rolling.
Cooking fresh provides the opportunity to appreciate the beauty and variety of creation while reverencing life and the One who set it in motion. I remember once sitting in the student union while an undergraduate student, raising an apple to my lips, stopping before a first bite.Sun streaming in through the large wall of windows poured afternoon light over the fruit highlighting its green and yellow flecks. I lowered the apple and look closely.
“How often I overlook simple beauty of ordinary things,” I thought, opened my journal, and sketched the apple before tasting its juicy flesh.
The same is true today. I move too fast to savor simple pleasures that feed the body and nurture the soul. Not tonight. This morning I made marinara sauce starting with olive oil, butter, fresh garlic and onions then added tomatoes, parsley, and fresh basil as savory aromas filled the house. Tonight I will dip eggplant slices into egg and bread crumbs, fry them quickly, and serve with pasta, fresh mozzarella, and whole grain bread. I can’t wait. It is a sacrament. No wonder Jesus chose the experience of eating with his friends to offer his presence to us in a special way. Eating is already holy.
Quiet time in the morning reminds me of these types of connections with the Holy One, especially that divine presence, or “imago Dei,” within. Returning to the practice after months of neglect requires discipline. First comes acknowledging then letting go the constant stream of thoughts that run through my head. Entering into quiet is a choice.
What happens when I finally succeed (perhaps for a few minutes of the 30-40 minute time)? Nothing. Often nothing. Not to be discouraged, I remember words of Julian of Norwich “Pray inwardly even if you do not enjoy it. It does good, though you feel nothing. Yes, even though you think you are doing nothing.”
I take heart knowing the struggle with quiet prayer is not a new or unusual reality. Julian was a fourteenth century English nun and anchoress. She didn’t have TV, fast food, or the Internet to distract, but she struggled with quiet prayer, just the same. We all do. What centuries and millions of people tell us, though, is the effort bears fruit.
I will be in good company when I sit down to a healthful dinner tonight. If I have friends to share it with me, they will bring their own grace to the evening. If not, I will be nourished by both food and quiet with the Holy One who is always there.
© 2010 Mary van Balen
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