Photo: Gerald Farinas.
I opened up my breviary today, and this Jonah passage, chapters 1:17 right through 2:10, was right there for the daily reading. Some days the liturgy just knows where you are.
And it really hit home. I just got back to Chicago from Honolulu. I went out there to get things squared away, fix what was broken, and set things up for the folks. But you take care of business, you put everything in place, and then you fly home, and the reality settles in: time doesn't stop just because you tried to manage it. Watching family get older and need more help than they used to is a heavy, quiet kind of ache.
Throw in my own health, where one thing finally shapes up just for something else to act up, and try paying for groceries or surviving in an economy that just won't calm down, and it gets overwhelming. It is never just one thing. Anxiety does not come in polite waves; it piles up and pulls you under from multiple directions at the exact same time.
Reading about Jonah down there in the belly of a fish, wrapped up in seaweed with the roots of the mountains closing in around him, I felt that. That is what chronic, piled-up stress feels like. You feel completely out of your depth. Every time I check the news and see how expensive everything is getting, or when I am dealing with another doctor appointment, or thinking about how much more support family needs back home, it feels like another wave crashing over my head.
Here is what stands out in Jonah prayer. Right when he says his soul fainted within him, he remembers the Lord. He does not fake it and pretend he has it all together. He is a mess at the bottom of the ocean, but he still looks up toward God holy temple.
Honestly, being back in Chicago, trying to keep my head above water with bills, health, and family stuff, I need that kind of stubbornness. It is tough to look up when you feel like you are drowning in a million different directions. But Jonah reminds me that rescue does not belong to the folks who have it all figured out, or the ones with a secure financial cushion, or the ones who never get sick. It belongs to God.
Jonah did not stay down there forever. The fish finally delivered him out onto dry land. It is not exactly a glamorous exit, but rescue is rescue.
Today breviary reading hit differently. I might feel like I am tangled up in the weeds right now with all these moving parts I cannot control, but I am taking a breath. I am looking up toward the temple, trusting that grace will meet me right here in the middle of the mess, and that dry land is not as far away as it feels.
