Love and Duty

I keenly enjoy late 19th/early 20th century English and American fiction, highlighted by the literary quartet of Maugham, James, Fitzgerald and Hemingway. There's a broken down, broken apart passion that cloaks their protagonists which I find attractive and encouraging. Perhaps it's because characters like Walter Fane from The Painted Veil carry on through tragic circumstances, sometimes made the fool or cuckold (by their own doing or another's), yet there's an emergence of grace and honor that buoys them up in--and sometimes over--the darkness of their lives. There's a line in The Painted Veil that I had forgotten about, having not read the novel for probably 20 years. But yesterday while flying home from San Diego on business I watched the latest--the third, I believe--film adaptation of Maugham's classic novel. Toward the end, when Kitty has realized that she actually does love her husband, Walter, the mother superior of the local convent in this remote Chinese village says, in response to Kitty's (disingenous) claim that sticking with her husband has to do with duty,

"Remember that it is nothing to do your duty, that is demanded of you and is no more meritorious than to wash your hands when they are dirty; the only thing that counts is the love of duty; when love and duty are one, then grace is in you and you will enjoy a happiness which passes all understanding."

Love, duty, and grace.

As we are exactly one month from leaving for Ukraine to "pick up" our son, these three words bring on new meaning for me. Frightened? Of course. Excited? Yes, definitely. But something really turned inside me yesterday when watching this excellent film adaptation of a lush, beautiful novel. First, I'd be hard-pressed to find a "younger" actor I respect more than Edward Norton, whose depiction of bacteriologist Walter Fane is spot on. Between Norton and Forrest Whittaker, you have the two best pure under-45 male actors in film today. But I digress. The main thing that hit me was this odd, 2-year journey we've been on to finally get to a place to actually adopt. It's surreal, and larger than life. Overwhelming. Sort of like that hour before going on stage for the big show, or onto the field or court for the big game or match--it's such an "existential" moment that somehow, well, seems unreal. Like it's so big and momentous that you can't imagine yourself doing it. But you count on your training, practice and timing, and go for it, despite the fears and uncertaintly.

Love mixed with duty. God, provide the grace.

Lift not the painted veil which those who live

Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colors idly spread, – behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o’er the chasm, sightless and drear….

from “Lift Not the Painted Veil” by Percy Bysshe Shelley