Carried Away

I work in a hospital kitchen where there’s often too much to do, and too few people to get it done, sanely and civilly. So, it’s not just the cooking appliances that can get hot. Feeling we’re understaffed is a common sensation. Lunches can be especially exasperating, with patient meals, and two distinct staff/visitor meals—the regular lunch and the lunch special—all needing to be prepared and ready to go at roughly the exact same time.

During one recent lunch, things were even more frenzied and crazy making than typical. But once the patient trays had been delivered, the staff/visitor lunches had been put out and were being devoured, and things had begun settling down, I noticed one of the lunch special sandwiches had been set aside for me, wrapped in foil, with my name on it. Despite the chaos, I was still, nonetheless, being thought of, being loved.

It can happen to any of us that life carries us away. Our world diminishes and scrunches in around us, limiting our view. We become isolated and self-absorbed, forgetting it’s not solely about us. All around us, things seem, at best, half-empty. It easily becomes a vicious cycle, a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Fortunately, as Paul tells us, there is not anything, nor any combination of things, that can separate us from, stand in the way of us, being loved. And it’s not usually with grandiose gestures that love is expressed. Paraphrasing Paul, love doesn’t call attention to itself; it just is. It’s typically seen in the quiet commonplace actions, ones we would otherwise skip over, missing their subtle transcendence.

Which brings us this crucial lesson: Love is all around; we just need to open ourselves to the seeing it. The kingdom of God is, afterall, right here, right now. Heaven: It’s under our feet.