This morning the sky was lightly sprinkled with clouds, just enough to keep the heat at bay for a few extra hours, and I could feel my parents’ presence. Today would have been their seventy-third wedding anniversary and mixed in with the image of Dad presenting Mom with a giant bouquet of white gladioli, is the knowing that our country is getting ready to drop bombs again, and more people will die.
As my parents were humanitarians, and forever passionately involved in world affairs, my memories, as a teen-ager in the 60’s were very centered on the woes of the planet. I would often wake to the aroma of Thomas’ English Muffins toasting in the kitchen and the sound of the radio news as background to the clinking of knives and forks. I knew that I would find my dad sitting with his head held between his hands and my mom’s face screwed up with concern, and hushed tones while they listened with every fiber and emotion available. It created a space of effortful breath.
The world has forever been in crisis somewhere, but along with this reality, we humans have the responsibility to life to drink in sweetness and allow the space for wonder and delight. We must. God created music and nature and friendship and laughter and children and animals and art and story-telling and dance and gladioli all to touch our souls with delight so that we could and can remember, every moment, while not turning away from our soul knowing of the agonies, that joy is our home. Joy is where we all came from. Joy is our center.