Curry, Redemption, and Mondays

I learned about the Examen from a Jesuit priest while I settled in for a long chopping session toward mango chicken curry. A once alcoholic priest at that. I was among good company. I listened and learned. I was compelled by his easy communication style and by the bravery of a small worshiping community outside of Chicago. In a world where certain sects of Christianity never intermingle this tribe cared more about being better than being right.

And I connect with them. Having not grown up with liturgy or high-church of any sort I am so drawn to historical church traditions. Ways that help me not just be more connected to God but also to the saints who have gone before me throughout history.

And so I chopped and listened. And that got me through one of those soul-stirring dinners. Four ladies total. Asking good questions of one another and being brave enough to answer them.

But no moment is forever and I woke up to a Monday seeking to steal my soul. Or my joy at least. So eventually I went to the stove. I put the water on for rice for the leftover curry lunch. I cut into a day-old loaf of bread for toast. And then I waited. I did my own bit of the Examen over boiling water and the smell of bread crisping up. There is something solid about a pot of rice being cooked. Something grounding about bread you made with your own hands.

And so I stood at the stove and resolved to start over. That Monday couldn't beat me. That is would be redeemed with warm toast in one hand and a chopping knife in the other. It is not a resolution. It is the beginning.

Coming soon I'll give some tips for restarting bad days, rough years, and imperfect lives. Join me back here then.