A sense of order in the madness

My summer schedule has been exceptionally full.

Some days, something’s got to give. Often it’s a home-cooked dinner. Not that I mind table service or tasty take-out! But this week, I knew I had to cook.

Looking back over the month so far, I can hardly distinguish one moment from the next. Independence Day set a hopeful, patriotic tone and in what seemed like no time, everyone was sharing the video of Alton Sterling’s shooting death. Then came the video of Philando Castile’s death, which I still cannot bring myself to watch. And then the loss of five on-duty officers in Dallas: Brent Thompson, Lorne Ahrens, Patrick Zamarripa, Michael J.Smith and Michael Krol.

My heart broke; words failed me as I encountered each new headline. Like many of us, I was struggling to find my way out of a state of shock, numbness and despair. But on the outside I still had to work, to parent, to be a partner, to suck it up. It was a tough week, and one in which I cooked very little.

But then Sunday came and I made a grocery list. I pulled some recipes. And once the kids went down, I started to cook a casserole.

There is something very therapeutic about cooking. Whether you are following a recipe or your own inclinations, something mysterious and magical happens when ingredients find themselves working together to create comfort and sustenance. As I lined up my vegetables and started boiling a pot of water, a sense of order washed over me.

My country is hurting. Chop a yellow onion. It’s OK if it makes you cry.

I’m afraid for my children, especially my son. Slice four tomatoes. Pray you will never see him bleed more than a scraped knee.

I don’t have the words to articulate this feeling. Cook pasta for 9 minutes, al dente. You don’t need words. Just follow the recipe.

That’s what I did. I just followed the recipe. When it was finished, I stored it in the fridge for tomorrow’s meal. The next morning, I felt better. I hadn’t forgotten the sad realities. But I felt more hopeful than I had in days. Silly, but it seemed to have something to do with the casserole sitting in the fridge, waiting to be eaten.

That evening, I didn’t feed our 3-year-old before serving my husband and me. I didn’t try to put the baby down before we worried about our own plates. We all ate together, a much-appreciated moment of joy and fellowship. The dinner was waiting on us. It was easy. And good.

Right now, a pan of blueberry oatmeal bars is cooling on the stovetop. I needed more therapy. I followed another recipe. And it doesn’t solve our problems. It doesn’t heal our wounds. But it shows me that there is a method in which things that are separate and isolated can work collaboratively to create something wholesome. I believe there are many opportunities for our country to do the same.

This story was originally published July 14, 2016 at 5:39 PM with the headline "A sense of order in the madness."