day 147: A makes a friend

A’s schedule is early. He wakes up at 0330 to workout at 0400, and then coaches at 0515 and 0600 before going into regular suit and tie work. He now has a regular morning crew, working out with him early and then doing the later classes too. He’s so happy and it’s so so great.

And the salt of the day: Fatal Distraction..

I can’t stop crying.

day 92: holy holy holy

The world waits.

Thank you, Father, for the blessing of my sweet baby boy, and for the life of yours.

“If the moderns really want a simple religion of love, they must look for it in the Athanasian Creed. The truth is that the trumpet of true Christianity, the challenge of the charities and simplicities of Bethlehem or Christmas Day never rang out more arrestingly and unmistakably than in the defiance of Athanasius to the cold compromise of the Arians. It was emphatically he who really was fighting for a God of Love against a God of colourless and remote cosmic control; the God of the stoics and the agnostics. It was emphatically he who was fighting for the Holy Child against the grey deity of the Pharisees and the Sadducees. He was fighting for that very balance of beautiful interdependence and intimacy, in the very Trinity of the Divine Nature, that draws our hearts to the Trinity of the Holy Family. His dogma, if the phrase be not misunderstood, turns even God into a Holy Family.”
― G.K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man

day 67: on the third day

He rose again.

How awful is it that I still struggle with the new translation of the mass? It’s been four years, but the Nicene creed gets me every single time vere.

But it is Saturday, so I have one entire day before I hastily grab the laminated guide in the pew and kick myself for forgetting, yet again, not to say the red words “bow your head” and the fact that God seeks to enter under my roof, not to be received in a more cannibalistic sense (which I always assumed,  given the Eucharist.) But then, are they one and the same? Is the roof we now mention the body, meant to be the roof of the house?

This third day is not Easter, but rather the third day of snow. It is still quite pretty, sparkling in the harsh sun. The brown and yellow are minimal. Still we sit inside; our bodies are tired of the cold.

As I ruminate on how much I miss the rote, I pray with e. We recite the Rosary (you see, I really should have been reflecting on the mysteries instead of the mass) and suddenly I see that our Rosary is unraveling!

I put it away before the beads fall, saving e from an uncomfortable poop down the road, but alas we’ve only said four decades.

And that, good friends, is the ramble for the day.

day 59: something to do

I’d had enough. My sweet boy didn’t seem to be himself any longer and I wanted to (I want to) get him back. So I began to search and sift and distill and came up with a cock-eyed plan to get him better.

But I realized in mass today that without God, it’s all pride, vanity, sloth: those three sins that led me here today, wondering whether the information I found is the right information, knowing my son was compromised by my own hand, paralyzed in analysis. And those three sins will continue to harp me unless I follow the Lord. The Word, after all, is He, and He is the way and the truth and the life. Those I’d rather have than my small sins, even though they are mine and mine alone.

My political libertarianism battles the preachings of my faith. So there, reader, whoever you are, I’ve said it loud for it in silence it shatters me: now you know I am a despiséd radical. Hide yo kids hide yo wife. I do not care. Just leave me free to follow Him. God, being God, is always the path I ought to take.

Prayer
Over a dock railing, I watch the minnows, thousands, swirl
themselves, each a minuscule muscle, but also, without the
way to create current, making of their unison (turning, re-
                                                                      infolding,
entering and exiting their own unison in unison) making of themselves a
visual current, one that cannot freight or sway by
minutest fractions the water’s downdrafts and upswirls, the
dockside cycles of finally-arriving boat-wakes, there where
they hit deeper resistance, water that seems to burst into
itself (it has those layers), a real current though mostly
invisible sending into the visible (minnows) arrowing
                                    motion that forces change—
this is freedom. This is the force of faith. Nobody gets
what they want. Never again are you the same. The longing
is to be pure. What you get is to be changed. More and more by
each glistening minute, through which infinity threads itself,
also oblivion, of course, the aftershocks of something
at sea. Here, hands full of sand, letting it sift through
in the wind, I look in and say take this, this is
what I have saved, take this, hurry. And if I listen
now? Listen, I was not saying anything. It was only
something I did. I could not choose words. I am free to go.
I cannot of course come back. Not to this. Never.
It is a ghost posed on my lips. Here: never.
–Jorie Graham

day 22: now

In the absence of the interview’s shadow, life seems light. But without that weight, I find myself spinning about, dizzy with freedom yet longing just a bit for a tamper to the incredible lightness of being. What can offer the mass I seek?

Only these: my goals, my morals, the urgent task of bettering myself. My views of what constitutes improvement changes each day; the environment I’ve chosen no longer values grades or salaries or status. Instead, I’ve found myself in that place I didn’t realize I sought: that garden of possibility which asks me to cultivate my soul and my mind and my body without catering to separate definitions of worth, but is solely responsible to God and God within me. This, finally, makes sense.

day 305: paint

My dear sweet husband finished painting the walls today. The dove gray reminds me of wet sand, soaked with salt from the briny tide.

I am, as usual, lounging on the couch while boom slumbers beside me and A makes our house look beautiful. Game of Thrones is playing in the background and the little direwolves remind me of my little wolves. Boom starts up as A sets the alarm. Such a peace settles over us.

We snuggled and flipped through holiday catalogues. Our hearts are warm; our spirits are bright.

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KT

out