A Heatless Story

Forgive me if I’ve blogged about this story before. (That is going to happen more frequently as I age; I’ll be telling the same stories over and over again. My mother does it as did her mother before her. Let's call it Familial. I am apologizing in advance for my Dementia Days.)

When I was 22, I lived in a beautiful high rise in the heart of Lincoln Park, Chicago, surrounded by tall trees and brownstones. I still get nostalgic for it. It was a darling little place with hardwood floors, a galley kitchen and single bedroom with large walk-in closet. A quick jaunt took me to the lake and zoo. I worked at Children's Memorial Hospital down the road, and many of my nurse and doctor friends resided there as well. It was my own first home, and I delighted in every aspect of it. Except for one thing. The apartment was freezing! I actually lived through the entire winter without heat.

I had no idea my apartment wasn’t supposed to be that cold; that something must be wrong. That's how ignorant I was. I just figured the place was drafty due to the big glass windows facing east, which I covered up with newspaper. I often turned the oven to high and opened its door to warm the place. (I’ve since heard that people die trying that same trick.) I slept in layers under a big cozy quilt, and drank lots of hot cocoa. My extremities were purple, and I suffered from frequent illnesses. It never occurred to me that a freezing apartment wasn’t normal, and I should tell the landlord. I just got used to being cold at home.

The next winter, I was dating Super Hubs. And one evening when he was at my apartment, he complained about the cold and said, "Let’s turn on the heat.” He walked over to the radiator, turned a knob, and with a “whoosh” my apartment became toasty-warm and remained that way all winter.

How dumb was I?! All through the last frigid winter, relief was just a knob-turn away and I’d had no idea.

Life lately feels cold and hard. I am burdened with the pain of so many suffering people. It seems that almost everyone I care about has a major depressing issue going on, and I am walking around feeling chronically heavy-hearted. On some days I want to stoically forge ahead in detachment, while other days find me longing to huddle under a cozy quilt, blocking out the biting arctic blast of more bad news. But I need to learn from my heat-less story. I need remember to turn the radiator knob which is Prayer, releasing the work of God into my life and the lives of others. Like the “whoosh” of heat that radiated throughout my apartment with a single knob-turn, it’s really that simple.