How to Find Courage, Part 2

Sometimes we need to trust others to carry the burden.

I’ve been on a bread-baking kick for the past couple of months. Inspired by the work of Kendall Vanderslice and her book Bake & Pray, I’ve made several dozen loaves following her version of Jim Lahey’s no-knead bread. It’s a recipe that’s been around since 2006, requiring a very wet dough, a tiny bit of yeast, and a lot of hands-off time. The 12-18 hour rising time allows for the development of flavor and texture in a way that is much harder to accomplish through active kneading and attention. And if you’re me, it all happens while you are sleeping.

Pepper knows about all the good work that happens when you sleep.

Kendall Vanderslice pairs her baking tutorials with instruction in prayer and liturgy. By following her lessons over six weeks, a person explores the ideas of strength, flexibility, transformation, control, rest — deeply spiritual topics that find illustration through dough-mixing, loaf-shaping, and bread-baking. Kendall writes, “Our aim is to draw closer to God as we dive deeper into the craft of making bread. For this reason, I prefer to think of bread baking in terms of liturgy rather than recipe.”

These loaves have become something of a lifeline for me in this season of uncertainty, grounding me in the real world, reminding me of the effectiveness of slow work. Walking past the stainless steel bowl of gently bubbling dough, stumbling to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I remember that rest is part of the work. I’m learning patience and trust as I eat bread every day.

Restful Protesting

I had noted the protests of April 5 on my calendar weeks in advance. “Protest evil empire” was scheduled for noon on that Saturday, and I’d made plans with a few like-minded neighbors to gather in the late morning to take the train downtown for the event. I was busy imagining the poster I would create, wondering how I could repurpose the Harris-Walz sign lying under our porch for good effect, when the virus descended upon our family. Jon returned from a conference in Denver bearing the invisible beginnings of a cold that would take our family out of commission for two weeks each. We eventually all visited the doctor, testing negative for Covid and two types of flu, and we were advised to keep up with rest and fluids. “There are viruses going around these days that are pretty hard to shake, so just take it easy,” they told us.

The worst of my coughing and fatigue landed on April 5. I found myself driving to the pharmacy for cold meds at the same moment that my neighbor friends were heading downtown, brightly colored “Hands Off!” signs in tow. They wished me well on my healing, and I wished them well in their protest. I tried to remember that the best gift I could give was to keep my germs away from everyone else. My act of courage that day looked like staying home and trusting that my neighbors and the other tens of thousands of Chicagoans marching downtown were able to carry this one without me.

Active Convalescing

It’s been over a month and I’m mostly recovered now, but I still notice the effects — my cough still takes me unawares, my mind frequently feels fogged, and my choir-singing is hampered by lots of throat-clearing. The other day, I slowly moved my way through a Yoga with Adriene video especially for “recovering from sickness” and she gave voice to the frustration one feels when the recovery takes longer than expected. I keep needing to remind myself to be patient with my own body.

Even from my sickbed, I’ve witnessed the destruction of democratic ideals and the cruel policies sliding into their place. It has taken an act of courage to trust that others have been taking up my slack, speaking out and using their civic power. It takes an act of courage to trust myself as well, to believe my body when it requests extra rest and not shame myself into thinking I’m just avoiding hard work. It takes an act of courage to recover now and trust that I will find my work in the future.

In the meantime, I will keep baking bread — watching it rise, enjoying its baking aroma, receiving its nurture. Throughout my illness, I’ve been craving bread, loads and loads of bread. Those prayerful loaves regularly become torn hunks spread with butter, or turn into toast slathered with room temperature ganache (I like to think of it as “chocolate butter”) and sprinkled with chunky sea salt. These small indulgences have been fueling my recovery, allowing me to lean into this period of rest and trust that in due time, I’ll be ready for my work — and it might even be in time for the next round of protests.

Tidbits

Here are a few things that have kept me going this past month:

• Baking bread for communion. I’ve always wanted to bake the bread used in a communion service, and I finally had the opportunity to do this for our Maundy Thursday service at our church. It was such an honor! I baked several loaves in advance to get the texture just right for easy tearing (the running joke in our house: “this bread is tear-able”🤣).

• Jeni’s cocoa recipe. I’m a big fan of Jeni Britton and her ice cream, so her recipe for a homemade hot cocoa situation caught my eye. I’ve been drinking it for a few weeks and, if I do say so, it has been a healing beverage for me. Weirdly, I like it mixed just with hot water rather than milk — very dark chocolatey.

• Reading fiction. I read a lot of nonfiction in my everyday life, so it feels like a special treat to catch up on novels when I’m down for the count. The recent Deanna Raybourn and Laurie R. King installments have been my companions on the couch.

• Lucy’s birthday. Our dear Lucy turned 19 this past Friday! She came home for the weekend and the whole family (+ dear friends) celebrated by going to Rosie’s fabulous musical performance (she is an evil stepsister in her high school’s production of Cinderella and she is absolutely amazing), then dinner at Lou Malnati’s with the addition of a homemade lemon bundt cake — did you know that Malnati’s will let you bring your own birthday cake to the restaurant? It was a joyful weekend, full of fun and delicious food, and we took exactly zero photos — but perhaps it’s the sign of a good party that you’re having so much fun you forget to document it.

• Pádraig Ó Tuama at the Art Institute. I was just grateful to be on the other side of recovery when one of my favorite poets was scheduled to give a gallery tour at the Art Institute. A group of thirty-ish of us gathered to wander through the museum, discuss a few works of art, and hear Pádraig offer poems to accompany the pieces. It was a sweetly intimate gathering and so delightful to meet Pádraig — and I even gathered up my courage to ask for his autograph on one of his more recent poetry collections.