Climate Controlled

I love going to Alfy’s. It’s the pizza restaurant near our house. We ate lunch there yesterday to celebrate the last day of school. We’ve celebrated birthdays there, the end of Braeden’s soccer season, (and I really felt like celebrating it being over because I hated it so much), and the end of Braeden’s basketball season with awards from his coach.

We’ve gone to Alfy’s on hot days when our big western facing windows made our house too miserable for cooking dinner. We’ve gone to Alfy’s tired, sunburned and sandy, on our way home from playing all day at the river. We’ve gone to Alfy’s on nights when I’ve had a bad day and Adam realizes it and says, let’s go to Alfy’s for dinner. (one reason to love him so much) We’ve gone to Alfy’s in the middle of winter storms when our power has been knocked out and they have power.

It’s always the same there. Climate controlled. The same guy has even worked behind the counter for the 6 years we’ve been going there. The décor hasn’t changed. Bold and warm; red and green. Not trying too hard to be Italian because we are, after all, in Everett, WA.

It’s safe and comforting to have places you can go to that are a refuge. One summer we were reeling in instability. Adam’s company had folded so he was looking for a job. Our lease was up on our house and we needed to move. We had less money than we’d had in our entire married life and three children. We found a house to move into and on the day we moved in, surrounded by the chaos and inevitable mess of moving, we were overpowered by a stench coming from the new refrigerator and there was filth and dog hair in the bathroom left by the owners. I can’t remember the reason, maybe we just fabricated one, but we went to visit Adam’s parents. Just walking into the soothing and familiar order of their house bolstered me. I felt like we’d survive. With them as our anchor, we could start over again and make it…and we did.

Sometimes our troubles are much more internal and less obvious. Sometimes I feel inside like I’m not waving but drowning. And I go to church. I see people in the hall and their faces automatically turn into smiles. I find myself smiling back. I sit in sacrament meeting and mindlessly twirl my finger around my daughter’s hair. I feel a surge of love for my children that is restorative. I open the hymnbook to the song we’re singing. A song I have sung since I was a little girl and know by heart. I’m going to be OK. I hear a familiar bit of Gospel truth from one of the speakers or in one of the songs and the Spirit touches my heart and I am reminded of what I know and believe. I am going to be just fine.

And who knows, maybe sometime I’ve smiled automatically at someone in the hall at church, someone that was hurting inside, and maybe that made a small difference for them too.