Soul Food

Michele Marr

“And in the evening, when I lie in bed and end my prayers with the

words, ‘I thank you, God, for all that is good and clear and beautiful,’

I am filled with joy. . . . I don’t think then of all the misery, but of

the beauty that still remains. . . .”

-- Anne Frank

A few days ago, after a doctor’s appointment at Newport Center, I took

Marguerite Avenue in Corona del Mar down to the Pacific Coast Highway. I

began my descent at the crest of the Harbor View Hills.

It was late afternoon and the sun was slumping into the horizon. The

Pacific was waveless and still, turquoise flecked with silver. The muted

light of the sun bled pinks and violets through the sky above it. The

words of a Thanksgiving song we used to sing in school and at church

began to play in my head.

o7 “For the joy of ear and eye, for the heart and mind’s delight, For

the mystic harmony linking sense to sound and sight.”f7

When I left the parking lot of my doctor’s office that day I was

ruminating about my health and yet another surgery I might need to have.

I was aggravated by the hindrance my health had been over the last couple

of years. My thoughts drifted from my health to my mother’s, then to that

of a friend.

Two years ago Peter was a healthy 40-something husband and father to a

9-year-old daughter. Then he woke one morning to what would become

increasing paralysis, first in one leg, then the other. A still

undiagnosed disease had attacked his spine.

Surgery after surgery failed to restore him. One surgery left him with

septic poisoning that damaged his lungs, kidneys and liver. He legs are

still paralyzed and he lives with constant pain.

Last week, the day before his daughter’s 11th birthday, he was

readmitted to the hospital. The doctors have tentatively diagnosed liver

failure. He remains in intensive care.

That same week, a friend of my mother’s died of yet undetermined

causes. My mother had what proved to be a fruitless eye-surgery. Then a

man who works with my husband was paralyzed in a weekend skiing accident.

Confronted with such things, it’s sometimes easy for me to reverse

what the young Anne Frank did. I find myself dwelling, not on the beauty

that remains, but on the misery in this world.

It is a temptation at these times to take life for granted and to be

ungrateful. But it’s gratitude that opens my heart to hope. And it’s hope

that writes the words to my prayers.

When I left my doctor the other day, I was pressed to get groceries

and to get home to fix dinner. I had intended to drive the freeway. I’m

not sure why I drove to Marguerite and took the coastal route instead.

Maybe my angel led me there. As soon as I saw the ocean and sky, I

felt closer to God and heaven. I had opened the door of Anne’s wisdom,

wisdom she had found in far more bitter times.

“My advice is,” she wrote, “go outside to the fields, enjoy nature and

the sunshine. Look at these things, then you find yourself again, and

God, and then you regain your balance.”

There may be little I can do to change the limitations of my health or

those of Peter, my husband’s colleague or my mother. But, like Anne, I

can think of the beauty that remains and I can regain my balance. A

coastal sunset reminded me, and a song.

o7 For the joy of human love, brother, sister, parent, child,

Friends on earth, and friends above

Lord of all, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.f7

* 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]