Morning has broken,
Like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken, Like the first bird;
Praise for the singing, Praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing Fresh from the Word.
Sweet the rain's new fall, Sunlit from heaven,
Like the first dewfall On the first grass;
Praise for the sweetness,
Of the wet garden,
Sprung in completeness
Where his feet pass.
Mine is the sunlight, Mine is the morning,
Born of the one light Eden saw play;
Praise with elation, Praise every morning,
God's re-creation Of the new day.
*******************************************************************************
This morning I went to my favorite yoga class at Green Tea Yoga. Larissa is the teacher. She is Ukrainian and beautiful with black hair, pale skin, and a slender, loving body. She calls us by name and I like the class particularly, because the 5 or so of us are now "regulars". Of the regulars, most are, themselves, instructors, so I get a great challenge with adjustments and alignments that make my spine sing!
Larissa has some interesting taste in music. She has played techno, Beyonce, soul and some new age stuff at the end during shavasana. I love it when she plays Krishna Das, or when anyone plays Krishna Das, because it too makes my spine sing. On this Wednesday, I was a moment or two late and I immediately went into the already flowing sun-salutations. Within minutes, some lovely version of "We Gather Together" played as we danced through a few more ut katasanas. It was so beautiful and poignantly appropriate for our class of regulars. I softened, I flowed. The next song really got to me though. Morning Has Broken. It was a harp instrumental and it was so lovely, and it was one of those surprises that catches you and makes you know for sure, that God is near.
This had been a "surprise" hymn that my mother had picked out for her memorial service. I thought I knew all of her service by heart well before she ever died. She had planned the whole thing and even met with the clergy to finalize her last wishes, right down to who would sit in which pew. I really was caught by surprise at her lovely selections, and their beauty was in their light hearted, joyful lyrics, but also in knowing that she chose them.
These last few days and weeks, I have been praying that my mother would show me some recognizable sign that her spirit is OK, and she knows I am talking to her. Before she died I asked her this as well, and requested that she make it something clear, not open for too much interpretation. While on my yoga mat, nothing could have been clearer. It was not so much the song that made me cry but the feeling that she was actually there. I cried in downward facing dog, which made my tears go up my forehead instead of down my cheeks. Nobody knew of my own private cry on my mat, or of the joyfulness I felt as I finally sprung forward to meet my hands.
I think I can now get through the anniversary of her final trip to hospice and her death on Easter Monday at cocktail hour. I can get through a lot, because there is a very real feeling in my heart of praise.
Praise with elation
Praise every morning
God's re-creation, of the new day.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Long Hill
Today at 5:30 in the afternoon, I felt compelled to get outside and get some exercise. I had been busy most of the day and unable to really be outside in, what seems to me, to be one of the finest days we have had since October. So I jumped onto my yellow beach bike, in a warm grey wool turtleneck, and thick black cross country tights, and set out of the driveway to the right, toward Manchester, thinking I would head up to Singing Beach and back. The sun was still fairly high in the sky, say, at about a 60 degree angle so I still had plenty of daylight. But it was quite cold riding into the wind. My hands were freezing by the time I got to Captain Dusty's. I started to turn around, and in doing so, felt the warmth of the 60 degree angled sun. How could I possibly miss out on this, I questioned. Would I simply show back up in the driveway and tell Bobby that it was too cold? That certainly felt like a pathetic thing to do. After one moment of speculation, I took a hard left hand turn at Haskell Street, determined to get "inland" just enough to take the bite of cold off of my hands.
It worked. By the time I made it up Grapevine Road, I was riding with freedom and ease. I imagined myself looking more graceful than the men and women that I see riding, in full regalia, and force, as though they were competing in the Tour De France. I could not possibly ride like that, and even if I could, I think I would look like a blow up doll in the bright colored tight clothing, and worse, I would have no matching freinds riding with me. So, I opted for the Grace Kelly rides a bike with sunglasses look, and I think I really pulled it off. The basket on my yellow bike carried only my cell phone, not the baguette and wine and tomatoes of summer. We are only, after all, just getting started.
As I continued past Gordon College, with the sun now at only 50 degrees, but hands comfortable and happily getting some sort of a sweat going, I wondered how far I should go. I began mapping various routes in my head, but decided it best to be conservative, and pull into the driveway before dark, without eliciting any worry from my husband. I took a sharp left onto Essex Street, also known as route 22. I peddled past Mullen Advertising, or at least where they used to be.....maybe they are still there, I did not notice. What I did notice was my proximity to Long Hill, a beautiful Trustees of Reservations site, which is also the site on which I fell in love, with my now, second husband, Bobby. We would meet there and walk in the gardens and talk and share a sandwich, or pretend to eat, but we never really did because when one really falls in love, one is never hungry.
I rode up the hill and felt immediately sweet and tender. It had been easily 3 years since I was last there, and it felt like it was about time to go back. I rode past the few teenagers in the parking lot and parked my bike on the path leading up to the large brick house on the gardens. I walked with emotion and a childlike faith in beauty. Instantly, the warmth of the now 40 degree off the horizon sun, filled my being, and I walked amidst thousands, and I repeat, thousands of pretty white snow drops. They lined every possible path, and invited me back to the equally white and pretty memories of walks and talks in the garden, which, though beautiful, never occured at this time of year.
I meditated under a red Buddhist like structure with a bench that looked out over the gardens and the now setting sun. I thought about my father, who died 18 years ago tomorrow, and my mother, and I thought about nothing, which is what you are supposed to do when you meditate, and I felt the warmth of God and the injection of something I don't recognise, better than a sip of wine or a shot of morphine or anything I have ever felt. It was perfect peace.
I think on this day, the Ides of March, my bike went where I needed to be, where I could be still, and where I could feel grace. I think that I have been told that Sundays don't "count" as Lent. They are "days off" from the rigors of abstinence and self sacrifice. Although I can hardly deem myself worthy of a day off from anything arduous, I will declare that the beauty of Long Hill, complete with Snow Drops and 30 degree setting sun, was a free ride. It was the spring and the warmth and the grace that I have craved on these cold Lenten days. It was heaven.........
It worked. By the time I made it up Grapevine Road, I was riding with freedom and ease. I imagined myself looking more graceful than the men and women that I see riding, in full regalia, and force, as though they were competing in the Tour De France. I could not possibly ride like that, and even if I could, I think I would look like a blow up doll in the bright colored tight clothing, and worse, I would have no matching freinds riding with me. So, I opted for the Grace Kelly rides a bike with sunglasses look, and I think I really pulled it off. The basket on my yellow bike carried only my cell phone, not the baguette and wine and tomatoes of summer. We are only, after all, just getting started.
As I continued past Gordon College, with the sun now at only 50 degrees, but hands comfortable and happily getting some sort of a sweat going, I wondered how far I should go. I began mapping various routes in my head, but decided it best to be conservative, and pull into the driveway before dark, without eliciting any worry from my husband. I took a sharp left onto Essex Street, also known as route 22. I peddled past Mullen Advertising, or at least where they used to be.....maybe they are still there, I did not notice. What I did notice was my proximity to Long Hill, a beautiful Trustees of Reservations site, which is also the site on which I fell in love, with my now, second husband, Bobby. We would meet there and walk in the gardens and talk and share a sandwich, or pretend to eat, but we never really did because when one really falls in love, one is never hungry.
I rode up the hill and felt immediately sweet and tender. It had been easily 3 years since I was last there, and it felt like it was about time to go back. I rode past the few teenagers in the parking lot and parked my bike on the path leading up to the large brick house on the gardens. I walked with emotion and a childlike faith in beauty. Instantly, the warmth of the now 40 degree off the horizon sun, filled my being, and I walked amidst thousands, and I repeat, thousands of pretty white snow drops. They lined every possible path, and invited me back to the equally white and pretty memories of walks and talks in the garden, which, though beautiful, never occured at this time of year.
I meditated under a red Buddhist like structure with a bench that looked out over the gardens and the now setting sun. I thought about my father, who died 18 years ago tomorrow, and my mother, and I thought about nothing, which is what you are supposed to do when you meditate, and I felt the warmth of God and the injection of something I don't recognise, better than a sip of wine or a shot of morphine or anything I have ever felt. It was perfect peace.
I think on this day, the Ides of March, my bike went where I needed to be, where I could be still, and where I could feel grace. I think that I have been told that Sundays don't "count" as Lent. They are "days off" from the rigors of abstinence and self sacrifice. Although I can hardly deem myself worthy of a day off from anything arduous, I will declare that the beauty of Long Hill, complete with Snow Drops and 30 degree setting sun, was a free ride. It was the spring and the warmth and the grace that I have craved on these cold Lenten days. It was heaven.........
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Moons, Yoga and ultimately, Happiness....
Tonight...........
Actually, today....was profound.
I woke, and read some pretty heavy stuff in the Bible. In Jerimiah, God seemed pretty mad, and destruction seemed De riguere. Romans 2:12-24 was not much more uplifting. I prayed that the fact that I had merely even read the words might save me from some of the bad blood and harsh judgement that so permeates these chapters. I am supposed to read John 5:19-29 when I finish this blog. Supposed to, is a bit of a loose term here, though I try and follow the Monastery Ordo as best I can. Maybe I am looking for, as W.C. Fields would say, a loophole!
When I got off the train after work today in North Beverly, I had an overwhelming urge to go and visit my mother, have a glass of wine, catch up on the news at work, and whatever tidbits she had managed to pick up during the week at her mailings at St.John's, or at Crosby's or bridge at Essex. Maybe it was the way the sun was shining at 5:45, even still. Or, perhaps it was that I so desperately wanted to break my "not drinking wine" stretch, and only Mom could make that happen with so much grace. But, she is not there, she is, by my calculations, with God in heaven. She died lastyear on March24th, and I feel every single bit of those last few weeks of her life--this year with a sharpness that I can't explain. I want her! She drove me crazy most of the time, but she made me laugh, and she smiled like lights on a Christmas Tree every time that I walked through the door except maybe 5 times, when she did not. I cried all the way home from the train, and prayed that she would send a "sign", that she was alive and well in heaven and purgatory wasn't so bad after all.
When I got home, both my daughter and step-daughter wanted to go to the movies. I quickly did the scan.....the scan of finding "unspoken-for" time. Bobby was at a police meeting, the girls would be at a movie, and instead of spending hours deciding what to do, I went directly to Marshall's, and then Yoga. Marshall's was really so that I could actually buy a "transitional" outfit. I can't wear winter stuff any longer even though it is still an unbearable 31 degrees. But, I can't bring out the linen either. So, I chose the crisp "black and white" promise of spring; that which precedes the pastels. I then went directly to Yoga.
I have practiced, and I repeat the word, practiced, Yoga for 10 years. I fight myself sometimes to get to class, but when I finally do, and it is me on the mat, and it is pure. It is like church. Today the teacher played music from Loreena McKennett, and I felt at home. I felt good that, despite my urge to do otherwise, I was in a meditative, contemplative state of physical movement. I almost cried there too, at the joyful recognition of music, motion, and peace.
On my way home from picking up Libby and Emma from the movies, the moon was speaking volumes. Full and orange and surrounded by mist, there were clear signs of my mother, of God, and of whatever spring I think is really coming. It glanced over the ocean in a way that even a 14 year old could not ignore. It is magical and it is full for many reasons....
And now, at the end of my evening of melancholy tears, missing my mother, sitting in front of the fire with my husband, I receive the best gift of all. A past parishioner from St. John's has actually read my blogs.....all of them! She is even moved by them! She even shared with me some very thoughtful and poignant passages! This has made my Lent! I love, with all of my heart, that my words would ever speak to another....and moreover, that my Lenten Journey would perhaps be a source of, well, for lack of a better word, inspiration.
I go to bed tonight knowing a greater peace than I could imagine. That my words could reach beyond my immediate Facebook, is a gift. Yoga is a gift. The moon is a gift. And, I must admit that the red wine this evening after yoga, was a gift. Mostly, I know that maybe Mom is not readily available, but the sky is the limit on who is. I pray today that I remain alive enough to see what is right before me.
Amen.
Actually, today....was profound.
I woke, and read some pretty heavy stuff in the Bible. In Jerimiah, God seemed pretty mad, and destruction seemed De riguere. Romans 2:12-24 was not much more uplifting. I prayed that the fact that I had merely even read the words might save me from some of the bad blood and harsh judgement that so permeates these chapters. I am supposed to read John 5:19-29 when I finish this blog. Supposed to, is a bit of a loose term here, though I try and follow the Monastery Ordo as best I can. Maybe I am looking for, as W.C. Fields would say, a loophole!
When I got off the train after work today in North Beverly, I had an overwhelming urge to go and visit my mother, have a glass of wine, catch up on the news at work, and whatever tidbits she had managed to pick up during the week at her mailings at St.John's, or at Crosby's or bridge at Essex. Maybe it was the way the sun was shining at 5:45, even still. Or, perhaps it was that I so desperately wanted to break my "not drinking wine" stretch, and only Mom could make that happen with so much grace. But, she is not there, she is, by my calculations, with God in heaven. She died lastyear on March24th, and I feel every single bit of those last few weeks of her life--this year with a sharpness that I can't explain. I want her! She drove me crazy most of the time, but she made me laugh, and she smiled like lights on a Christmas Tree every time that I walked through the door except maybe 5 times, when she did not. I cried all the way home from the train, and prayed that she would send a "sign", that she was alive and well in heaven and purgatory wasn't so bad after all.
When I got home, both my daughter and step-daughter wanted to go to the movies. I quickly did the scan.....the scan of finding "unspoken-for" time. Bobby was at a police meeting, the girls would be at a movie, and instead of spending hours deciding what to do, I went directly to Marshall's, and then Yoga. Marshall's was really so that I could actually buy a "transitional" outfit. I can't wear winter stuff any longer even though it is still an unbearable 31 degrees. But, I can't bring out the linen either. So, I chose the crisp "black and white" promise of spring; that which precedes the pastels. I then went directly to Yoga.
I have practiced, and I repeat the word, practiced, Yoga for 10 years. I fight myself sometimes to get to class, but when I finally do, and it is me on the mat, and it is pure. It is like church. Today the teacher played music from Loreena McKennett, and I felt at home. I felt good that, despite my urge to do otherwise, I was in a meditative, contemplative state of physical movement. I almost cried there too, at the joyful recognition of music, motion, and peace.
On my way home from picking up Libby and Emma from the movies, the moon was speaking volumes. Full and orange and surrounded by mist, there were clear signs of my mother, of God, and of whatever spring I think is really coming. It glanced over the ocean in a way that even a 14 year old could not ignore. It is magical and it is full for many reasons....
And now, at the end of my evening of melancholy tears, missing my mother, sitting in front of the fire with my husband, I receive the best gift of all. A past parishioner from St. John's has actually read my blogs.....all of them! She is even moved by them! She even shared with me some very thoughtful and poignant passages! This has made my Lent! I love, with all of my heart, that my words would ever speak to another....and moreover, that my Lenten Journey would perhaps be a source of, well, for lack of a better word, inspiration.
I go to bed tonight knowing a greater peace than I could imagine. That my words could reach beyond my immediate Facebook, is a gift. Yoga is a gift. The moon is a gift. And, I must admit that the red wine this evening after yoga, was a gift. Mostly, I know that maybe Mom is not readily available, but the sky is the limit on who is. I pray today that I remain alive enough to see what is right before me.
Amen.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Blocked....
I have had writers block for several days now.....though I still write in my "free for all" journal every singe day, it is not worthy of a blog. Every morning for the last 5 years I have written in a norebook. I generally write first thing in the morning or on the train ride to work, and then again on the ride back. I write with wreckless abandon, with no fear of judgement or that anyone will think I am crazy if they were to read it. There is memoir, and there is writing in a notebook of one's own. I choose the latter.
I say things I would not dare utter out loud. I find feelings and emotions I did not know I had. Joan Dideon said in an interview once that she did not know what her feelings were until she wrote them down. I agree. Sometimes things rise to the surface of the paper, or float off of my pen that are uniquely profound. Sometimes I discover that I am really just angry, or scared, or joyful beyond the pale. Other days I find that I am simply writing statistics. The weather, my weight, how many miles I ran or what Salem Harbor looked like as I crossed the train bridge. If I was really at a loss, I would at least make some sort of a to do list that had no strings attached.
But for the blog, I am looking for something more. Especially since it is slated as a Lenten Blog. There should be depth to this....perhaps some themes unfolding into a sequence that unravels as we move towrd Holy Week and then Easter. Clearly the onstensible profundity of my blog has given way to writer's block. Instead of faking it (you all will know if I do), I give it a rest. I am still, or even, in some cases, silent. And, I am restless. And I am eager. I am ready for the door of spring to break open on it's rusty hinges and give us all a final sigh of relief.
Spring will perhaps take away the rememberances of my parents deaths, which both occured in March. My father 18 years ago, and my mother only last year. Sitting in grief, restlessness, and the surprise winter of March is hard stuff. If I don't move around enough, I am forced to be with all of this. It is uncomfortable and gray. It is not uplifting. I am still craving the first crocus or daffodil, as if those lovely and colorful signs will drag me out of the doldrums. But I think not. I think there is work right here, right now in the gray of March, in the hour of my unsettled and uncertain pangs of grief, there are seeds. The soil is covering them now but they too will sprout as these days wear on. I know it, I feel it, and I pray it.
For today, I am thankful for my husband, children, and my work. I am thankful for my health, and the roof over our heads and the friendships that light my life. I am thankful for the Monastery and the grace the brother's bring. I am thankful for my father David, and my Mother Jane, for bringing me life and I pray that Iwill be all that I can be. Amen.
I say things I would not dare utter out loud. I find feelings and emotions I did not know I had. Joan Dideon said in an interview once that she did not know what her feelings were until she wrote them down. I agree. Sometimes things rise to the surface of the paper, or float off of my pen that are uniquely profound. Sometimes I discover that I am really just angry, or scared, or joyful beyond the pale. Other days I find that I am simply writing statistics. The weather, my weight, how many miles I ran or what Salem Harbor looked like as I crossed the train bridge. If I was really at a loss, I would at least make some sort of a to do list that had no strings attached.
But for the blog, I am looking for something more. Especially since it is slated as a Lenten Blog. There should be depth to this....perhaps some themes unfolding into a sequence that unravels as we move towrd Holy Week and then Easter. Clearly the onstensible profundity of my blog has given way to writer's block. Instead of faking it (you all will know if I do), I give it a rest. I am still, or even, in some cases, silent. And, I am restless. And I am eager. I am ready for the door of spring to break open on it's rusty hinges and give us all a final sigh of relief.
Spring will perhaps take away the rememberances of my parents deaths, which both occured in March. My father 18 years ago, and my mother only last year. Sitting in grief, restlessness, and the surprise winter of March is hard stuff. If I don't move around enough, I am forced to be with all of this. It is uncomfortable and gray. It is not uplifting. I am still craving the first crocus or daffodil, as if those lovely and colorful signs will drag me out of the doldrums. But I think not. I think there is work right here, right now in the gray of March, in the hour of my unsettled and uncertain pangs of grief, there are seeds. The soil is covering them now but they too will sprout as these days wear on. I know it, I feel it, and I pray it.
For today, I am thankful for my husband, children, and my work. I am thankful for my health, and the roof over our heads and the friendships that light my life. I am thankful for the Monastery and the grace the brother's bring. I am thankful for my father David, and my Mother Jane, for bringing me life and I pray that Iwill be all that I can be. Amen.
Friday, March 6, 2009
From Stillness to Silence.....
This morning and all day today have been VERY clear messages echoeing of ......not stillness but silence.
If there is a difference between stillness and being idle, there is also a very big difference between stillness and silence. I may need a paragraph or two in the morning, after a period of BOTH stillness and silence, to write.
For now, I defer to my beloved Brothers at the Monastery at St. John the Evangelist.........
It will not get much better than this!
www.ssje.org/monasticwisdom
Peace and Love.
Maida
If there is a difference between stillness and being idle, there is also a very big difference between stillness and silence. I may need a paragraph or two in the morning, after a period of BOTH stillness and silence, to write.
For now, I defer to my beloved Brothers at the Monastery at St. John the Evangelist.........
It will not get much better than this!
www.ssje.org/monasticwisdom
Peace and Love.
Maida
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The Still Time
At 4:30 this afternoon I realized that, unexpectedly, there would be nobody home for dinner. I immediately imagined several positive outcomes. Firstly, and quite obviously, I would not be cooking. Secondly, I could stay at work a bit later and actually make a dent in my pile and not feel guilty about it. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, I could..........
The possibilities were seemingly endless. Yoga, running, swimming...I was clearly wanting the exercise......I must have spent 30 minutes figuring out what yoga class, if any, would fit into the new 2 hour window of free time. I finally had it figured out, though it would take some finagling. Janie, my 20 year old daughter would have to drop off some yoga cloths and a mat into my car, which she was instructed to leave at the train station. Great. Today would be an A+ Lenten day, I chided. I had woken early and read the bible. I went cross country skiing in the woods at sunrise, visited a sick friend, went to work, and now, lo and behold, a yoga class to finish the day. Perfect.
Well. Perfect in a different way. I missed my train, and missed Janie, and our cell phones were dead so we could not communicate, so there was significant walking around in the dark cold before finding each other. One yoga class and then another slithered by. I could still swim. Or, I could run in the dark, or, I could........
By the time I walked into the empty house I was immediately aware, in boldly flashing vividness, that I was trying way too hard to fill the empty space. One night of yoga was not going to change my body or my Lenten journey. The act of trying to make a class work, was exactly the opposite of what yoga is supposed to do. With deep awareness of my silly frenzy, I simply lit a fire in the fireplace, showered, poured a glass of wine, and started writing. There is no music, nothing louder than an occasional dog barking or the furnace running or, the sound of my fingers on the keyboard.
The stillness makes my feel idle at first. The two acts of being are very different, however. With stillness, I am aware of my own skin. I am aware of my imperfections, and I am aware of my goodness. I can actaully "get it" when I am still, and quiet. I can think, and feel, and reflect and just be. I am trying not to plan yoga classes or search for writing jobs or face book my friends....but this is hard. I am a social being, and being still is not as easy for me as perhaps it could be. But, it feel like a good Lenten experience.
I am done with grading myself for Lent, or, life for that matter. Instead I am going to try and be still, for a portion of every day, and see what happens. It might be as hard as resisting chocolate but I think the rewards may be far reaching. We shall see.
Be still friends. Be silent.
Slow down! It is Lent!
The possibilities were seemingly endless. Yoga, running, swimming...I was clearly wanting the exercise......I must have spent 30 minutes figuring out what yoga class, if any, would fit into the new 2 hour window of free time. I finally had it figured out, though it would take some finagling. Janie, my 20 year old daughter would have to drop off some yoga cloths and a mat into my car, which she was instructed to leave at the train station. Great. Today would be an A+ Lenten day, I chided. I had woken early and read the bible. I went cross country skiing in the woods at sunrise, visited a sick friend, went to work, and now, lo and behold, a yoga class to finish the day. Perfect.
Well. Perfect in a different way. I missed my train, and missed Janie, and our cell phones were dead so we could not communicate, so there was significant walking around in the dark cold before finding each other. One yoga class and then another slithered by. I could still swim. Or, I could run in the dark, or, I could........
By the time I walked into the empty house I was immediately aware, in boldly flashing vividness, that I was trying way too hard to fill the empty space. One night of yoga was not going to change my body or my Lenten journey. The act of trying to make a class work, was exactly the opposite of what yoga is supposed to do. With deep awareness of my silly frenzy, I simply lit a fire in the fireplace, showered, poured a glass of wine, and started writing. There is no music, nothing louder than an occasional dog barking or the furnace running or, the sound of my fingers on the keyboard.
The stillness makes my feel idle at first. The two acts of being are very different, however. With stillness, I am aware of my own skin. I am aware of my imperfections, and I am aware of my goodness. I can actaully "get it" when I am still, and quiet. I can think, and feel, and reflect and just be. I am trying not to plan yoga classes or search for writing jobs or face book my friends....but this is hard. I am a social being, and being still is not as easy for me as perhaps it could be. But, it feel like a good Lenten experience.
I am done with grading myself for Lent, or, life for that matter. Instead I am going to try and be still, for a portion of every day, and see what happens. It might be as hard as resisting chocolate but I think the rewards may be far reaching. We shall see.
Be still friends. Be silent.
Slow down! It is Lent!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
D+
So far, I think I have a D+ in Lent. Even maybe a D-, if you count the fact that I started a blog on my Lenten Journey, and have failed to enter anything for 4 days. I was so psyched on Shrove Tuesday.......and so enthusiastically following a period of reflection, self sacrifice, and all......and I really only lasted one day! What does that say about me....???? I even skipped church on Sunday, because I was too hungover from my husband's 60th birthday party to navigate my way into slight snow. It looked so pretty from my bed.........I felt enormous peace (despite the hangover); and I wondered, at 10:00, when the church bells would ring, if I was really somehow in the Greater Doghouse.
My husband's chocolate cake further has led me astray, it is the best I have ever seen....ever had.....Frangelico Mousse with butter cream frosting. And, it was his birthday. Yikes! i find myself so preoccupied with the things I am not doing for Lent, that I may actually have missed the real deal. I have not gone hungry, even for 4 hours without succumbing to 1/3 of a package of Starbucks almonds. I have missed Church services exactly once. I have drank excessively at a birthday celebration. I stayed in my pajama's for half a day. I gossiped once at work this week. I am lost......I am not doing "Wilderness" well. What gives? Am I going to live for another 36 days saying "Tomorrow is the day?" Why am I publicly humiliating myself?
All of my burning questions fall on real ears.....
I have read the bible in the morning and at night, and my most favorite mediation from Prayers for Healing is as follows:
Dewdrop, let me cleanse
in your brief
sweet waters
These dark hands of life
---Basho
Today, that is all I can hope for. I hope to be cleansed from my iniquities, and that God has a sense of humor and laughs at my fruitless attempts of being perfect during Lent. I also pray that I will realize that, it is not so much about sacrifice as it is about making room, as I said in my 1st entry. Filling up the body and soul with stuff (like cake and wine and fun!), leaves little room for grace. I am going to try, very hard, to make that space......I have no idea how.....but I do know tomorrow is another day, and I start afresh.
Stay with me followers, if there are any....we will figure this out!
My husband's chocolate cake further has led me astray, it is the best I have ever seen....ever had.....Frangelico Mousse with butter cream frosting. And, it was his birthday. Yikes! i find myself so preoccupied with the things I am not doing for Lent, that I may actually have missed the real deal. I have not gone hungry, even for 4 hours without succumbing to 1/3 of a package of Starbucks almonds. I have missed Church services exactly once. I have drank excessively at a birthday celebration. I stayed in my pajama's for half a day. I gossiped once at work this week. I am lost......I am not doing "Wilderness" well. What gives? Am I going to live for another 36 days saying "Tomorrow is the day?" Why am I publicly humiliating myself?
All of my burning questions fall on real ears.....
I have read the bible in the morning and at night, and my most favorite mediation from Prayers for Healing is as follows:
Dewdrop, let me cleanse
in your brief
sweet waters
These dark hands of life
---Basho
Today, that is all I can hope for. I hope to be cleansed from my iniquities, and that God has a sense of humor and laughs at my fruitless attempts of being perfect during Lent. I also pray that I will realize that, it is not so much about sacrifice as it is about making room, as I said in my 1st entry. Filling up the body and soul with stuff (like cake and wine and fun!), leaves little room for grace. I am going to try, very hard, to make that space......I have no idea how.....but I do know tomorrow is another day, and I start afresh.
Stay with me followers, if there are any....we will figure this out!
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