The Walk

I took a walk tonight. I’d been sitting in the big puffy chair of my living room all afternoon alternately reading and napping. Hours went by and I did actually finish the book that my book club will be discussing tomorrow. The Painted Veil. It is a book that I have read before, but am glad to read again and this time with a group of people since there is so much to think and talk about in this book. So, after hours spent in that chair it felt like a good idea to go for a walk –a short one as the daylight hours are so much shorter already. I started walking in my neighborhood and then saw what looked like a church steeple ahead and I thought it would be fun to walk to the church and see more of the building. I was surprised that it was a Catholic church – surprised because there are several in this area of town, in fact, a large and prestigious one not too far away. I decided to run up the steps, try the doors, and if the church was open, to sit down and perhaps pray for a little while. The doors were locked and so I got it into my head to run up and down the steps of the church 5 times. I had Modest Mouse playing on my iPod and I did it, quickly and easily. Not that I wasn’t out of breath a bit, but I felt powerful and vital and proud to be out there with my body, taking up space and being active.

That may have been about the time that I got the idea to walk over to the Seattle University campus. It struck me that it would be a good destination for the walk, an interesting place to discover, and once there, a spot to sit, reflect and heal. In February I broke up with someone I’d been dating for about seven months. It was excruciatingly painful, and the months that have followed have been a complicated mix of despair, reawakening, hope, exploration, sorrow, new choices, loneliness, and exhaustion. Oh, and a period of just plain old depression in there as well.

Reading The Painted Veil today I was struck by how well the author portrays the faults of a seductive male character. The woman who loves him discovers over time how selfish, cowardly, and cruel he is – and one of these scenes is chilling to read. I am struck by Somerset Maugham’s ability to capture the way in which her heart holds both an honest appraisal of his character – she is able to despise him after coming to terms with his true character - and a continued longing for him. Time passes and the longing seems to have completely disappeared, and then it suddenly reappears even in the midst of her clarity of sight and strength of voice.

I wanted to walk on the Seattle University campus this evening because that is where my ex-boyfriend works. Today is a Saturday so there would be no chance of running into him. That was not the point, although I had a line in my head that I would not have minded delivering: “I have forgiven you, I still love you, and yet I really dislike you.” I rather hoped that I might be able to walk and find a spot on the grounds where I could take a seat and reflect and pray and perhaps let go of another morsel or so of anger and sorrow. To encounter another wave of forgiveness and healing.

I overshot the campus a little bit, and actually bypassed the section where he works, so the spot I had in mind I had to let go. I kept walking the campus though, and made my way to the Chapel of St. Ignatius, a wonderfully designed space for worship and prayer. The chapel offers thick, carved glass windows, panels of colored glass that bring different hues to the chapel based on the time of day, and intriguing sculptures. I find the chapel beautiful and I particularly love it for its prayer room. The room has at its center a large branch suspended from the ceiling. A lantern hangs from the end of the branch, attached by many thin, black chains. Why so many chains, I found myself wondering this evening. A curious marble box also sits in the middle of the room. The box features a small, pretty little lock and some kind of light emanates from the box. I find these objects interesting, but the walls of this room are the draw for me. Someone wallpapered these walls with some kind of thick, textured paper. It makes me think of a cast on an arm. After applying wallpaper, the designer then dripped wax down all the walls. I see layer upon layer of dripped wax and I picture candles lit in prayer. When I step into this room I feel as though it is a record of the countless prayers lifted to God century upon century by people of every color. I feel surrounded by heartache and desire and faith.

Tonight I made my way to this chapel and this strange prayer room, then sat to pray. I was aware in that space of how much I still love a man who was cowardly and cruel in his own way, a way that often looked like kindness. I still feel hurt by him, and I still fantasize from time to time that he will be sorry and want to seek my forgiveness. In my prayers I tried to confess that and release that striving for a different resolution. I also laid bare my loneliness and desire before God. Sitting in that room of wax-testimony prayers, I thought of Hannah coming to the temple and pleading with God to honor her heart-stricken desire for a child. I thought of Mary’s grief upon seeing her son wrenched from life and nailed to a tree.

You have been acquainted with grief, oh Lord, you have walked amongst us and known the sting of love. You have heard the voices of women raised in profound longing, looking to you to answer the desires of their hearts. My voice joins theirs, and I ask you to bring your compassionate presence closer to me, and to kindle my faith so that I do not fail to imagine that love may arrive again.