One of my favorite places to visit when we vacationed on the Outer Banks of North Carolina was a small book store in the town of Buxton. Set in a
charming old house whose property stretched back to the placid waters of the Pamlico Sound, the ambiance of the place was captured in a small hand-painted sign that hung near the front door: Welcome – bathing suits, wet suits, waders, barefoot children of all ages and small dragons.
It was customary to enter barefoot, or with a towel wrapped around a damp bathing suit. Ledger sheets were maintained by hand and guests were likely to sense the pride the island took in its local authors, photographers and cooks, whose books held a prominent spot in the front of the store.
There was a magic about the place that stemmed from nothing more than pure simplicity, and it wasn’t hard to imagine that a quick turn in to the children’s corner would uncover a tousled-haired five year old flipping through “How Droofus the Dragon Lost His Head,” with his own chubby-cheeked, fire-sputtering best friend leaning against his leg looking at the pictures.
Still, no matter how I tried to bring the magic home with me, it disappeared the moment I got in the door and faced the mountains of paperwork that needed to be uncovered. Once home, it wasn’t long before the serenity of vacation began to be replaced with an invasive sense of urgency that seemed to pervade every aspect of our daily lives.
It reappeared in the guise of payment due dates, the flashing light of the answering machine and the deadlines that define work and home.
And then there’s the commute.
There is no doubt that modern advances in engineering are, for the most part, a blessing, but sometimes I feel more suited to a job at NASA than a Catholic newspaper.
Just getting in my car in the morning to drive to work seems like a clip from a modern space saga.
Seatbelts? Check. Car phone? Check. Charger? Check. Coffee? Check. GPS in case traffic is detoured? Check. Location of all the clean restrooms between home and the office? Check.
By the time I’m ready to put the car in drive I expect to hear a voice say, “Houston, we have lift-off.” And as I join in the morning marathon, I am convinced that some drivers really believe their cars are driven by rocket fuel.
More and more I wonder, “What’s happened to the simplicity of life?”
Yes, every century had its drawbacks. Who wouldn’t agree that indoor plumbing is a boon to humanity. But now it’s not enough to have a privy in the house; now it has to be an oasis of luxury, a vacation retreat where a weary soul can close the door and escape from the stresses of modern life.
My grandparents would have had a great laugh at the idea. I can just hear my grandmother: “A bathroom is a bathroom. You can’t dress up what goes on in there.”
Luxury for them would have been new cushions for front porch sitting at the end of the day. That was their idea of stress relief … and it was a good thing, something that built community and strengthened ties between family and neighbors.
While we are, hopefully, grateful for the many creature comforts of this day and age, I also believe, as a society, we have sacrificed a lot to maintain our standard of living. Serenity, simplicity and basic good humor seem to be in short stead today, replaced, proudly it often seems, with anger and attitude.
If picking up and moving to some Brigadoon in the mist isn’t an option, there is one way to bring a measure of serenity to life – prayer.
My experience has been that many adults express doubt in their ability to pray well, but I would encourage them to consider the words of author Paul Wilke: “By seeking God in prayer, [the pray-er] has already made the connection. God is always there first, waiting. God asks no more than an open heart; and that is what prayer is – an opening of our being to that Being, however and wherever it occurs.”
At the ocean, so mindful of the glory of God, prayer seems effortless, with each breath, each thought an offering of thanks. Once home, at least for me, prayer often requires more conscious effort, is squeezed into a time slot or filled with petitions for help.
But no matter how we pray, the moment of prayer is the supreme moment of simplicity when we untie our earthly tethers and incline our hearts toward God. Prayer refreshes. It nurtures joy and keeps us focused on the really important things of life.
Prayer is a much needed respite for the 21st century soul – especially for those of us more accustomed to seeing store signs that read: No shoes, no shirt, no service!
Give me small dragons any day.
Gabby Orcutt photo on Unsplash.
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