Pray, Walk, Cook

I have a new addiction. I discovered this on a recent Saturday at the lunch table. To be precisely accurate,  it’s really an old addiction, revisited and revised, but the awakened sense of craving is undeniable, and it reminds me of how comforting a simple, satisfying meal can be. This comes at a time when I could use the positive distraction of experimenting in the kitchen.

So what’s with that title? Like many of us, my mind is heavy with concern for those being  victimized by terrorists and corrupt rulers. Throw in concern for dear ones who face cancer, the plight of neighbors making the difficult transition to widowhood, and the daily struggle to meet the challenge of my husband’s gastroparesis – a complication of diabetes that baffles even the specialists.

To cap it all, the same entertainment industry which has done more to reduce lovemaking to a rude, crude, meaningless act than any other force on earth starts lecturing the rest of us about our responsibility to stem the tide of sexual assaults. Kinda’ like a swelling, hurricane-churned ocean belittling the meek, quavering levy for not holding it back.

I know I’ve addressed this subject here before, but I’ll be danged if the battle against anxiety never gets won for good. Not if you have half a brain and half a heart. Sometimes life just gets too loud. Taking a giant step back from news reports once in a while to sift out those problems we can actually do something about is a start. Beyond that, I have developed a formula that hasn’t failed me yet.

ACTION STEP NUMBER ONE: Pray. And by this I do not mean contemplate the universe to fortify your aura. Nor do I mean meditatively conjure positive mental images in order to suck good things into your spiritual vortex or cast hopeful wishes skyward toward “The Unknown Source” and hope She’s out there with her catcher’s mitt on, paying attention.

Not any of that. Just true, humbling, turn it all over in faith and beg for guidance and endurance from your Creator prayer. I appeal to the Lord to use me in combating evil and in offering comfort to the burdened. I plead for the stamina to hold onto Joy and Peace in a sin-mired world. And I ask for an emboldened will to fend off my quavering, as news of wars, and rumors of impending wars, bombard from all sides.

To quote one Pastor David Fuerstenau, “God answers with encouragement and strength, but not without our participation in the battle.”

ACTION STEP NUMBER TWO: Walk. Prevention magazine has recommended this cure for decades. Pumping the limbs and soaking up sunshine is incredibly therapeutic, both physically and psychologically. In crummy weather, pounding out a few miles on a treadmill or elliptical trainer fills the prescription. And for us multi-taskers, steps one and two often overlap. If my mind should stray to unpleasant thoughts while I’m puffing through a power hike, I mentally list all the things I am grateful for. Counted blessings add up to attitude adjustment, guaranteed. No anxiety drug could cover all these bases in a million years, and with only pleasant side-effects.

ACTION STEP NUMBER THREE: Cook. A friend and I once tried to pin down why cooking can be such an enriching endeavor. It’s not just that a growling stomach gets tamed and a primal need satisfied, because I get a sense of fulfillment whether I am cooking for myself or for a tableful of family members.

The chopping and sautéing. The alchemy of transforming unappealing raw ingredients into aromatic, fresh-from-the-oven offerings. The artistry of arranging avocado and orange slices on a bed of romaine with slices of red onion. Each has its own reward.

I suppose this is because food is so basic to life. A human essential, like the hunger for nurturing we all harbor. Caringly prepared, nutritionally-dense fare acknowledges both needs. I can buy a box of chocolates churned out in some factory somewhere. Or I can spend a few hours shopping for quality ingredients and forming them into dozens of homemade truffles for a treasured friend’s birthday. Both acts are thoughtful. But for the cooking-minded foodie, only one is an option.

So that’s my formula. The prayer part is easy, and some form of physical exertion can be adapted for virtually everyone.

As for the cooking, anyone I know can scramble a soft, fluffy egg and sprinkle it with grated cheddar, or slide a beef roast into a pan with a bit of wine and broth, along with a few potatoes and onions to slowly caramelize over the next few hours, perfuming the air with their magnificence.

And that rediscovered addiction? Peanut butter and braunschweiger. When my daring big brother insisted I try this combination as a child, I almost gagged in disbelief. Here he was, trying to punk me again. It was that Christmas tin of chocolate-covered ants all over again.

But eventually I accepted the challenge, and while it’s not a frequent indulgence, I haven’t ever regretted it. I had only gluten-free cinnamon raisin bread on hand last weekend to pair with a leftover chunk of liverwurst. So, in my own spurt of daring, I toasted two slices of that heavenly redolent stuff, gopped on some chunky peanut butter as a base, then layered on a few ounces of the creamy, mauve-colored meat paste. Soon I was issuing Homer Simpson-like gargles in my private moment of bliss. I’m still at a loss to describe the umami-ness of it.

Hey, I once scoffed myself, if you’ll recall. But accept the dare and you just might get a few satisfied sighs out of it. You can always prayer-walk off the calories later.