eternal as the dishes

washing dishes + good music = catharsis for me.

Funny because I loathe the dishes. A dirty kitchen is my kryptonite. If I come downstairs in the morning to shiny countertops, I am on fire, synergetic, ready to take on the day. Lurking repast, however, inevitably means I woke up on the wrong side of the sink. Lethargy sets in some time around 9:06 AM.

But some nights, when I press the on button to my music player and try to rush through the everlasting emptyscrubloadwipe wash cycle, the dish water gets a little salty with me standing over it.

Tonight, I had a moment with Bryan Adams.

And my dad.

When I went away to college, the move from one bubble to another (two small towns a few hours apart) was stickier than it looked. I was a little immature and anxious, idealistic and hopelessly unassertive, and sometimes lonely-homesick even though I had best friends from home as roommates. Away from home, I was jarred to discover that I wasn't so sure about parts of who or what I was or what I knew. And that really frustrated me. And when I get frustrated, I cry. So I sometimes hid out in the bathroom (only place you can be alone in an apartment of six girls) to let my eyelashes drip dry.

One night there on the bathroom floor I prayed hard that I could just know that Heavenly Father loved me, could just feel it. I felt like if I could feel that, it would help my helplessness. At first nothing came. I held my breath a little, waited. But all that came to me were quiet thoughts of my dad. A mental slide show clicked on, replaying images of him and things that he had done for me, but now brightly backlit with a love that left me squinting spiritually. Heart, mind and soul knew that my dad loved me. I could feel that, easy and sure. And if my dad could love me so much, my Father in Heaven must also love me. I felt sure. And I had missed that feeling, surety.

And it never left. Even during times when I knew I had let my dad down.

Dad taught me love. And when I am sure I know all there is to know about it, I find there is something new to learn. And that realization usually comes from watching my dad.

Tonight, my dad was the last verse.

Not the one about the times that you believe that you can really fly. Not the love where you do all the crazy things that you can't explain.

When you love someone
You'll sacrifice
You'll give everything you got
And you won't think twice
You'll risk it all
No matter what may come
When you love someone

This is how, this is the way my dad loves my mom. My mom suffers from severe mental illness. And tonight as I listened to this song, I realized that theirs is a great untold love story. My dad scales towers for her, mentally, emotionally. He is a real-life Prince Phillip, who, when he sees the forest of thorns in the path of the castle, charges through, sword in hand, toward Princess Aurora. Only to meet with dragons, some that can't be slain. I'm not sure whether his compassion comes because of his strength, or if his strength is found in his compassion. But tonight it occurred to me that when he shoots the moon, it is ultimately because he loves. Is in love, I love to think.

Is showing me how to give everything you got, no matter what may come.

I also love to think, maybe, that's when the part about believing you can really fly happens. Maybe that part should be the last verse after all. Or maybe that's another song.

I guess it's a good thing there will always be more dishes.