Messy Lives and Lessons from the Stovetop

It's dangerous, I suppose...a fire risk.  But layers of crud encrust the stovetop racks in my kitchen, and the intense heat of the gas flame removes it.  I'm keeping a vigilant eye on the process as I write in my casita (little house) in Mexico.

A now seven-month estrangement from my husband continues, and this morning--though I feel a sense of peace and purpose as I settle in here--the pain of the break asserted itself again, and I cried out to God:  "How will our messy and broken lives be mended?!"  The stovetop cleansing-by-fire gave an answer.

The heat of pain searches us out, exposes and tests the core of our being.  Who am I?  Who can I be...should I be?  Pain also makes us searchers, creating intense thirst for finding meaning in the struggle, the suffering.

I jump up at the staccato sounds of tiny explosions on the stovetop.  Bubbles of grease pop in the heat, spewing small black bits on the white tile wall.  My pain sometimes does the same...sparks out previously unexposed pockets of resentment or bitterness...soiling those nearby.  I then have cleanup work to do, starting with confession.

Life is a messy business and we're all broken in some way, or will be...sometimes almost beyond bearing.  And like my stovetop, human spirits can become encrusted with the sticky spillovers of coping with life's pain (often in ways that harm us or hurt others)...the most intense and prolonged anguish linked to trauma, addiction or mental illness.  Shame, pride, stubbornness, jealousy, and fear make things even messier!

Yesterday I borrowed son Owen's car and drove a few miles to New Beginnings, a place of hope for women who've experienced abuse or abandonment...a place where I want to help.  I arrived to a melee of chattering children running round the courtyard in swimsuits while mothers packed food and towels into a couple vans.

"It's El Dia de los Ninos (the day of the children)," said Canadian director Dorothy, dressed in capri leggings and a sleeveless top.  "We're going to the beach.  Can you come along?"

On the 10-minute drive to the Pacific, bumping over uneven, sandy roads, Dorothy shared her greatest current challenge: trying to help a young mother who abuses her three daughters...the oldest (8) with symptoms of an eating disorder.  A messy situation, a messy life, layers of pain passed on from one generation to the next.

Dealing with similar situations has been part of my professional career as a psychiatric nurse.  But after talking briefly with the young mother at the beach--digging my feet into the warm sand, struggling for the right Spanish words--I felt overwhelmed!   Here I am in a different culture, my own life now rather messy.  And I'm about to walk into other messy lives.

Pondering what I can offer these women, I know that as one struggling with intimate partner issues, I have greater empathy for other strugglers than I had before.  Further, the fire of pain is doing its work in my own life, and pushing me increasingly into the arms of Christ...one who suffered without bitterness or blame and who kept on, who keeps on loving. That's the kind of love I want to give, the kind of love needed for messy lives.