Pilot Light

Dear Reader Friends,

Almost as soon as I started my writing website, I started writing for New Hampshire Magazine, and took on a bunch of interesting articles that I couldn’t say no to (be sure to check them out in the next few issues). But they all had deadlines in like, the next week. So I am sorry that I already took a hiatus from my new blog, but I can balance my ongoing assignments a little bit better now that I have deadlines a little farther out.

We are actually on vacation this week, skiing again, just our family after a slew of visitors. I’m Catholic and since it is Lent I am also trying to slow down, so it feels good to be up in the beauty of the mountains while trying to simplify and reflect on our relationship with God.  Every time I look up, the snow covered White Mountains feel like God’s shoulders around me.

I took a window to go skiing for a few hours alone on Sunday while my very generous husband stayed home with the kids during Andrew’s nap time, and I can’t believe how that brief window of  time centered me. The cold fresh air, the brush of falling snow on my face, and the quiet on the chair lift, where I was alone with my thoughts. Like most busy moms, it had been a long time since I have been surrounded by quiet. In that quiet I got to be still. I had just read a meditation about Lent that Jesus went into the desert to remove all the distractions and strengthen his relationship with God.  The snowy hill and slow chairlift felt like my own frozen desert.

I am usually pretty private about my faith, but since I am always curious about things that help center someone spiritually in today’s hectic age, I will share with you that I entered into that quiet like someone who forgot how to do it. It had been so long. If faith is a flame, mine felt pretty much like a pilot light on the stove. It is always there, a slow low burn, that gives flame to everything else I do in life. But it was pretty small since I wasn’t feeding it much and I was taking it for granted.

I am inspired by people who turn that flame into something more.  To have that flame of trust, even when I am doubting everything, that flame of hope and possibility, even when I am really tired and worn down, grow larger. To burn out all of the wasted thoughts of fear and discouragement until they turn into ashes.

I recently learned the story of Paul Coakley, who just died of cancer leaving three children and his pregnant wife alone. And they had peace and joy that was so strong, even during the end of his life. It was evident in the video from his hospital bed. Of course they had fear and grief and I lie awake at night thinking about how alone his wife must feel, how much she must miss holding his hand or hearing his voice. But I also think she is ok. Because she built her faith into a hearth. And I think it is keeping her and her family warm.

The thing about Lent is that we get reminded of death. We will die, just like Paul. But when we confront that reality, we realize we have the time, the chance, the opportunity, to do so much with our life, in spite of death. By being reminded of ashes, we are also reminded of what is spirit. With what truly matters.  The Coakley Family turns my faith from a pilot light into a fireplace.  While I warm my hands and heart, I will be thinking of them and everyone else who is struggling with the heartbreak of this life. And I will offer them a seat by the fire, among the ashes.