Health, Home, Things and Peace

Today at the park I watched a sparkling tow-headed toddler with all her baby chunk still on fall down and cry for her mother. A woman who must have been her mother's friend picked up the child and brought her to a frail young woman who was obviously battling cancer. The mother could not hold her daughter for long. The contrast between mother and daughter struck me cold.
Ellie has croup and has been feeling rotten and sounding worse. She'll be fine, this isn't too serious an illness, but watching her struggle with breathing after she's exerted herself with a laugh, cry or a little running is hard. She's not been sick much at all, and it's a new thing to look at her with an awareness of life's fragility. And, of course, the bridge in Minneapolis fell down. The war in Iraq, Darfur, Afghanistan, Congo . . . .
These things have been on my mind as we've worked to call our new apartment home. We love our space--the light, the neighbors and location, having a downstairs and up, the balcony, the patio. And yet and yet. We find we're struggling without a few amenities--no way to play music except piping it through the TV via the DVD player, no shelf for our books, no light that would allow for reading after dark, a bed for our guest bedroom (I can hear some of you reading gasping in the hopes that we get one soon--I think we will), etc. etc. And I have really been wanting some black boots--the bossy looking kind that all the European women wear with skirts, pants, always-- even tucking their jeans into them. Is this just a way we have learned to think? Always looking for the next thing to have, to wear--hoping for contentment to arrive with our next purchase? It's hard to sift through what would make our life here in Maastricht richer, and what is just the habit of wanting. I know this is not purely an American habit, but we seem to have perfected it. Pondering these things, I thought of Wendell Berry's "We Who Prayed and Wept":
We who prayed and wept
for liberty from kings
and the yoke of liberty
accept the tyranny of things
we do not need.
In plenitude too free,
we have become adept
beneath the yoke of greed.

This weekend we were to go to Dusseldorf, Germany, but Ellie's sickness prevented that. Instead, we puttered around the house and biked around Maastricht and greater Maastricht, Ellie asleep in the Burley. It was beautiful weather, so welcome after a rainy summer. Everyone was out--just sitting on the banks of the river, having picnics, riding bikes, sipping coffee and wine, savoring the sun in the company of friends and family. Our next door neighbor, a Dutch woman, said that of all the places in the Netherlands, Limburg (our province) is most known for slowing down, enjoying life. She's dreading her upcoming medical internship in the north, where the pace and priorities are different. After watching the Limburgers enjoy their days in the sun, I think they've nudged a little closer to the things that make for peace. I am sure the mother at the park has learned those things. And I'm sifting through them as well. In the end, we'll find we can do without some of what we thought we needed. Ellie will be well soon and I'll probably even get some black boots. (Anniversary in a few days.) But I hope this year, like my time in Tanzania or spent among family and friends, continues to nudge me closer to knowing, being grateful for, and choosing the things that make for peace. So peace, peace, to the far and near.