Speak to Me Sunday: Filling the Empty

Today, simply this: Tap into that sense of unease, those feeling of incompleteness and emptiness. Tap into that longing for something more ...

"Each of us carries around inside himself, I believe, a certain emptiness – a sense that something is missing, a restlessness, the deep feeling that somehow all is not right inside his skin.

Psychologists sometimes call it anxiety, theologians sometimes call it estrangement, but whatever you call it, I doubt that there are many who do not recognize the experience itself, especially no one of our age, which has been variously termed the age of anxiety, the lost generation, the beat generation, the lonely crowd.

Part of the inner world of everyone is this sense of emptiness, unease, incompleteness, and I believe that this in itself is a word from God -- that this is the sound God’s voice makes in a world that has explained him away.

In such a world, I suspect that maybe God speaks to us most clearly through his silence, his absence, so that we know him best through our missing him."

-- Frederick Buechner, "Listening to Your Life"

Italian 101

Once upon a time my mother taught Beginning Italian at Augusta State University. Her classes were on Tuesday evenings, and one year Nicholas accompanied her every week in order to learn Italian. The next year, it was Jonathan's turn.

Recently I came across this little paragraph that Nicholas had to write for one of the classes. The Italian is very basic (it was just the second week of class), but what's funny is that he was also taking Spanish in school so there is some Spanish mixed in. 

And he was evidently trying to use all the vocabulary words from the list AND score brownie points with Nonna by slipping in a compliment.

Ciao! My name is Nicholas! I am twelve years old. I have a father and a mother. They are Maria and Joe. My father is an engineer. I have two brothers. They are eleven and three. They are crazy. I have a Nonna and a Nonno. My Nonna is a teacher and she is intelligent. I have big muscles. I don't have a car. I like rock music. My friend is James. He is good at playing the piano. 

Table for Two

As far as date nights go, it wasn't the fanciest place we've ever been to. There were no tablecloths. The menus were laminated. We were the only diners.

But on a cold, rainy, windy night it was the only bright light on Riverwatch Parkway. A beacon of welcome and warmth.

The hostess was nice, the coffee was hot, and while the weather did its blustery thing outside, we were cocooned inside enjoying breakfast for dinner for two.

Sometimes it's the simple things that carve memories on our heart.

Love Tokens

Last week I was in Publix shopping for ingredients to make lasagna. We were visiting Jonathan the next day and I wanted to bring him a home cooked meal. As I reached for a carton of Ricotta cheese I felt someone tap me gently on the arm. I turned to face an elderly woman smiling sweetly at me.

“If you don’t mind, “she said. “I’d like to give you a love token.”

I hesitated for the briefest of seconds. What exactly did she mean? Would I have to engage? Did she want to share her faith? Was there a catch? But she looked sweet (and harmless) and so I went with it.

“Well, sure,” I said. “The world needs all the love it can get.”

And so she reached into a small, drawstring bag and handed me a tiny, wooden heart with the word “LOVE” inscribed on one side – a love token, literally.

“I just want you to have a nice day,” she said, and then gave me another one for my “sweetie” before walking away.

She made me smile. I slipped the love tokens in my pocket, finished my shopping, and continued with my day. A typical, ordinary, not-exciting-in-the-least-kind-of-day.

And yet, it wasn’t a typical or ordinary kind of day at all. Because of two, tiny heart tokens in my pocket, the day had transformed into something more – a full day, with endless possibilities, to pass on my own love tokens.

A smile to the grumpy cashier.

Patience with the lady who cut me off in traffic.

An encouraging email.

Lasagna for my son.

Prayers for a friend.

A corny joke for someone who needed a laugh.

All of it perfectly ordinary on my part, but perhaps extraordinary for the other person.

Later that evening, I thought how that sweet woman used her wooden love tokens as stepping stones to come out of self and into mindfulness of charity, kindness, forgiveness, courtesy. None of these things is complicated, but they do require sacrifice and an awareness of the world around us.

And when you think that the Hallmark trappings of hearts and balloons occurs just before the beginning of Lent, it all makes perfect sense.

A Bucket of Daisies

I was getting dressed when I looked out our bedroom window and saw balloons—hundreds of them! thousands!—floating down from somewhere above our house. Then, the radio announced that Susan Lucci (stay with me here) had a baby girl and America was celebrating with balloons. When I looked out the window again, our neighbors were in the street playing with the balloons and walking down our driveway holding large boxes tied with bright red ribbons. THEY'RE GIVING AWAY FREE STUFF!

I hurriedly changed into a floral dress and red, high top sneakers (I can’t control what I wear in dreams), rushed down the stairs and out the back door. My friend was there holding a red yard bucket.

“Look what your bucket caught,” she said, holding it up so I could see that it was filled with white daisies—hundreds of them! Thousands!

“Are they giving away free stuff?” I asked, but before my friend could answer I heard a truck back down our driveway and then drive away.

“They were,” she said, a little sorrowfully. "But it's over."

And I woke up. I had this dream at precisely 6:38 this morning, the last dream of the night. So … analyze and interpret. Please. Because other than a bucket of daisies, I got nothing. Literally and figuratively.  

An Ocean, an Airplane, and a View from a Cockpit

Three years ago our family vacationed in Italy, and while we have so many wonderful memories of that trip, one of the most memorable occurred before we even got there ...

The story begins when we purchased our tickets for the trip using frequent flyer miles. Since Air France was having a special promotion, all five of us were able to fly business class ... a first for us. But there was a snag. Because airlines release a limited number of free seats, the five of us could not get seats on the same flight. So, my husband and the two older boys left on an earlier flight, and Timothy and I followed on another Air France flight an hour and a half later. We planned to meet at the Baggage Claim in Rome.

When we boarded our flight Timothy, who is passionate about planes, was clutching a drawing of our Air France flight. The flight attendant saw the drawing and promised to give it to the pilot later. The two of us then settled down for a quiet evening, all the more so considering there were (maybe) seven people in business class. I was the only female, Timothy was the only child, and we were treated well: champagne upon boarding (that is, champagne for me, Fanta for the bambino), toiletry packs (mouthwash, toothpaste, toothbrush, warm socks, ear plugs), plush blankets, fluffy pillows, a small pouch containing games/toys for our little guy, and seats that reclined to form makeshift beds.

Around midnight the flight attendant woke us up with an invitation from the pilot to come visit the cockpit. So, with everyone still sleeping, we were quietly escorted up the aisle. It was a surreal moment. We were flying above the clouds, somewhere over the Atlantic ocean, with a magnificent view of a full moon hanging right outside the window. It was quiet. It was magical.

And conversation wasn't necessary. Sometimes it is enough to stand in awe of beauty, and share a moment without exchanging any words at all.

A copy of Timothy's drawing.
The original is probably taped on an instrument panel
of an Air France jet somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

The Story Behind a Book

Once upon a time, my high school Spanish club held a fund raiser which required each member to sell boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. This was so out of my comfort zone. We had only recently moved to Georgia and I was struggling – to fit in, to be less shy, to be happy when I just wanted my old life back in Italy. So the thought of going door-to-door selling doughnuts to strangers filled me with anxiety. In the end, I sold two boxes to an elderly couple who lived behind us and a few boxes to our neighbors across the street. I used my babysitting money to buy the rest. 

Why am I telling you this story?

This week I formally announced that my book, An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two Countries Fullof Kisses, was officially released and available for purchase. Truthfully, I could have made the announcement a week earlier, but I delayed because I wanted to do it in a way that didn’t make me feel as if I were selling those boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

And yet, if there is one thing I learned from writing this book is that I’m not that same person anymore. During those first years when I was trying to figure it all out, it was the written word—in all its forms—which gave me comfort. I read voraciously (my first job as a teenager was working in a library), I kept a journal, and I wrote stories. But mostly, it was the weekly letters from Nonna, my Italian grandmother, that gave me what I needed to keep trying. Nonna’s words (and her love) grounded me in ways nothing else could.

Eventually, I did find my way. Things became good, then better, and then even great.

It wasn’t until many years later when my mother and I were going through Nonna’s letters—years and years of letters—that I realized the true power of the written word. Just seeing Nonna’s handwriting helped me remember her hands, large and strong and thick-veined. Just reading her letters made me remember her passion, her laughter, and even what her voice sounded like. Her written words evoked memories, feelings, and more than a little nostalgia, and I recognized how so much of what she wrote and who she was could be woven into the fabric of my life—of who I was, am, and always will be.

The very next day I began writing An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two CountriesFull of Kisses.

So last week, while contemplating how to announce my book in a way that was meaningful, the image of the Spanish Club fundraiser and those pesky boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts popped into my mind. But you know what? The memory made me smile. I am not selling doughnuts anymore; in fact, I am so beyond those doughnuts.

I’m telling a story.

Because that’s who I am.

It’s that simple.

To purchase 

An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two Countries Full of Kisses 

visit any of the links below. 

(Incidentally, books last longer than doughnuts;-)

Amazon

https://www.marianovajosky.com/

(click on the "to purchase" button in the upper right hand corner)

Barnes & Noble