Soul Food

Michele Marr

Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept

adversity?

-- Job 2:10

Last Saturday afternoon and part of Sunday I spent 24 hours in

paradise.

Or so it seemed. I hadn’t anticipated it. I looked forward to the

weekend and Veterans Day missing my father who is buried in the Riverside

National Cemetery.

I reckoned, along with so many other Americans in our post 9/11

nation, the price of my freedom, paid for me by others. Some called it a

Veterans Day like no other before it.

I regretted I would not be able to visit my father’s grave, to whisper

a prayer, to leave a flag in quiet gratitude for his service and the

service of so many others like him.

Our dear friend Don, and Perri, his sweetheart of the last three

years, had chosen Saturday as the day for their wedding. They had chosen

for the occasion the La Valencia Hotel in La Jolla, where Don had

proposed to Perri and she had accepted. So my husband Michael and I

planned to spend the weekend in La Jolla.

La Valencia stands above a magnificent beach. The surf below roars in

on craggy rocks dappled with tide pools. Gulls, pelicans and ducks glide

and fish. Don and Perri spent many happy hours there, swimming and

wading, walking, talking and falling in love.

On Saturday, against predictions of rain, the sun lit the sky and

sparkled across the water. A crimson blaze of bougainvillea graced the

hotel garden under its light. An agreeable breeze stirred the red

rose-petal path Perri took to meet her husband-to-be.

She was as radiant as the sun, blond and regal in white satin and

tulle. A balcony of diners above us watched with shameless delight.

Never have I been to a wedding more thoughtfully planned, not only for

the moment and the memories of the happy couple, but for their wedding

party and their guests as well. Our places were lovingly and meticulously

prepared for us; there was no doubt about it.

The wedding was, as the Bible suggests weddings are meant to be, a

foretaste of the bliss of heaven. And our Sunday continued the blessings.

The winter sun was bright and warm. A light breeze swept the air

clean, but did not make us cold. Michael and I walked along the beach and

walked among the shops. We ate breakfast and lunch next to open windows

looking out across the Pacific through a stately line of palms.

We enjoyed each other’s company, unfettered by the yoke of work and

the burden of current events. Then late in the day we headed home.

On Sunday night I read an e-mail sent to me last Friday. It read,

“Today is the first day I actually [logged on to the Internet] and typed

something since the World Trade Center tragedy. My company lost a few

people in the disaster. I thought I lost my husband that day. Thank God

he was all right. It’s been pretty rough. I can’t believe it’s been two

months already. You never know how a situation can affect you. You can be

at a stand still, but everyone else is moving. Then you realize life goes

on.”

The e-mail is from a woman named Linda. She lives in Queens, NY. Or at

least I hope she still does. Because when I woke the next morning, I woke

to the news of American Airline Flight 587 going down in Queens.

They say there is no sign that terrorists caused this crash. Time, I

guess, will tell. I’ve read of more than one person saying that they hope

this is “just a regular plane crash.” But the pattern of the debris, say

experts, is itself “unusual.”

On Monday night I said a prayer for Don and Perri that they might

travel safely to and from their honeymoon in Hawaii. I said a prayer for

Linda in Queens and for her husband. I said a prayer for hundreds of

nameless others, the dead, the missing, the grieving, the rattled. Then I

fell asleep with a prayer-song, written by Bishop Heber in 1827, running

through my mind.

God, that madest earth and heaven,

Darkness and light;

Who the day for toil hast given,

For rest the night;

May thine Angel-guards defend us,

Slumber sweet they mercy send us,

Holy dreams and hopes attend us,

This livelong night.

* MICHELE MARR is a freelance writer and graphic designer from

Huntington Beach. She has been interested in religion and ethics for as

long as she can remember. She can be reached at o7

[email protected]