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Posts Tagged ‘tired’

This morning we left Winnipeg, Manitoba and tonight we stopped in Swift Current, Saskatchewan.  It was about 9 hours of driving and 800 kilometers.  We made stops for food, gas, stretches and giggles.

This has been a remarkable journey thus far.  The landscape changed from cityscape to rural, from hills to plains and prairie.  We saw Ice Roads, rivers, wheat, trees and rock.  What a remarkable country we get to call home.

I’ve seen all manner of vehicles on the road.  Traveled at the speed limit, below it and occasionally above it.  Cruise control is wonderful.

So tonight as I reflect back on the time my friend and I have traveled I have literally shaken the dust off my shoes from Ontario and begin to embrace my new life in the West.  We are not yet in the mountains, but I find myself yearning for my new home.

I’ve never lived outside of Ontario, so this will be a new chapter and adventure.  I’m excited to see what the future holds.

And for right now I’m going to have a long soak in the tub, check out tomorrow’s route and pray for restful sleep.

Tomorrow is B.C. or bust!

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Happy Easter!  What an incredible rush to celebrate the risen Lord.  This Holy Week was as busy as other years, but I think having two parishioners die within hours of each other on the Saturday before Palm Sunday added a bit to the tension of the week.  Having remembered to breathe deeply, put one foot in front of the other, and remember just who is in charge (not me) made things seem a little bit easier…having perspective really makes things manageable.

Palm Sunday was the usual outdoor start, in the cold temperatures of late March.  But we braved the chill and the wind and waved our palms and chanted “Hosanna!  Hosanna in the highest!” waking the neighbours and startling the drivers that passed the Church.  Some waved back, which was a lovely added bonus.

Holy Monday we gathered to walk the fourteen Stations of the Cross, as we travelled the journey which Jesus took, pausing to give thanks for the choices he made.  Discussion afterwards with the small, yet dedicated crowd made me feel how incredibly powerful this service is for many.

Holy Tuesday we gathered for a special service originally written for the Youth Group.  It was tweaked somewhat but included the main question, “What if Jesus had said no?”  It focussed on the readings from the gospel which tell the story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, where He asks God to take away this cup.  The response is silence.  Why doesn’t God speak?  What if Jesus had refused to go any further?  These questions elicited some incredible discussion.  We joined together in prayer, sang a couple of songs and departed.  Tuesday afternoon was spent at a visitation for one parishioner and a prayer service/private family viewing for another.

Holy Wednesday’s service was cancelled in order to accommodate the Celebration of Life for one of the parishioners, and it was an opportunity to see how a small town supports those who are struggling.  The congregation was not huge, but the man we gathered to celebrate would have been very proud at who came out.  The weather was perfect for the day, sunny and warm, a perfect spring day.

Holy Thursday saw us at the Cathedral Church to celebrate the Blessing of the Oils and then back home to celebrate Maundy Thursday, the first of the Three Sacred Days or Paschal Triduum.  We sang, we washed feet, we cried, we hugged.  We celebrated communion for the last time before the crucifixion and then stripped the altar and left the worship space in silence and darkness.  The tomb was readied.

Friday morning we gathered for the middle service of the Triduum, Good Friday.  We sang, was prayed, we cried.  The cross was decorated with towel, sign, stalk, nails, crown and royal purple.  I preached on what is “good” about Good Friday; that a symbol of hatred and control was changed to a symbol of love and new life.  A reminder that we worship the empty cross, and the empty tomb.  Again we left in stunned silence…and in hopeful anticipation.

Saturday morning a small but dedicated crew gathered at the Church to clean up the palms from Palm Sunday, to polish the brass and silver, and ready the worship space for Easter Day.  I dragged the font into the Gathering Space and set up chairs in the Parish Hall for the last of the Triduum, The Easter Vigil.  That night we lit the new fire, illumined the darkness, sang the Exultet, shared the stories, psalms and prayers, sang, laughed, cried, shared the peace and renewed our baptism vows.  We got to the entrance of the tomb, but were not allowed in…it was not yet time.

This morning the font was returned to it’s rightful place.  The papier mache stone was rolled away and adorned with lilies to show new life.  The tomb has burst open and we see signs of new life.  A larger than usual crowd came to the early service and we celebrated the resurrection and our first Alleluia’s of the season.  At 10:30 we were comfortably full, welcoming 6 strangers to our midst as well as a half dozen baby bunnies…two weeks old.  We sang, we laughed, we learned of the vessels we are and how we receive strength through the fires of trial and temptation.  We shared communion for the first time since Christ was risen and sang Hallelujah until our voices were hoarse.

Tomorrow will be tidying up a few things at the office, putting robes away, sorting service books…working on bulletins.  Then my own three sacred days…of rest.

Alleluia!  Christ is Risen!  The Lord is risen indeed.  ALLELUIA!

I’ll be over here napping, if you need me…

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One of the most overused terms these days is “outside the box”. We strive to be distinct, individual, different than everybody else. Quite often people ask me to describe myself and it ends up as a series of labels…

My list would look something like this…in alphabetical order

adrenal fatigue
afraid
Ally
anger
Anglican
broken wrist
bullied
Child of God
Christian
chronic fatigue syndrome
colleague
cousin
deacon
depression
dignity
educated
elation
employed
environmentalist
exhaustion
female
food addict
Free-spirit
friend
frustration
heterosexual
homo sapien
hopeful
human being
in-law
lay reader
Liberal
married
mother by marriage
naive
Nana
obsessive-compulsive
optimistic
outlaw
overweight
philosopher
priest
short hair
sister
spectacled
sprained ankle
survivor
theologian
tree hugger
university graduate
wife
yoga attempter

and of all these labels, the one of which I am most proud is Child of God. It defines me better than any other. How about you?

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It seems that since Easter, things are not slowing down, and yet I am.

I am in a state of perpetual exhaustion. I’ve been to the doctor and she has sent me for blood tests. Something is wrong with the blood tests and I have to and get more done. On Monday afternoon I am scheduled to have another mammogram with “bonus” screens, and an ultrasound to follow.

My beloved and I are overdue to see our Marriage Counsellor and I think it will be a good thing for us to do. I am worried about my health and my body is beginning to tell me that I cannot continue at my usual pace.

Tomorrow there is a special vestry meeting at the Church and I was supposed to get some stats together. I have not. And I will deal with the fallout tomorrow. To be honest, I don’t really care what is expected of me tomorrow at the meeting. My Wardens are in charge, I need to be there. And if I get asked about stats, I will tell the truth. They aren’t done…and won’t be for tomorrow.

The month of May is going to be full of engagements. Some will be good, some will be difficult and most I am approaching with dread. What I am is tired. So very tired.

I don’t know how much time I will find to write. I think I hear my bed calling me now…

Until soon…

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There is a phrase in the Church “Christ is risen, the clergy are dead” and this sums up most clergy I know, myself included. We labour (with love) to make sure the bulletins are done, homilies are written, congregation is cared for. We fuss and fret over the liturgies, trusting that those who attend will be fed.

By the time Easter Sunday rolls around, we are usually pretty tired. The Alleluia may not have as much verve and pep as it should have, but it’s the best we’ve got.

I spent three hours, the Saturday before Easter, in the stylist’s chair, getting my hair done. This is highly unusual for me. My usual time in the chair, including chatting is 30 minutes. Five to ten minutes more if I get my hair washed first. I was experiencing something I’ve never done before; a hair tattoo. It’s a labour intensive process, but incredibly amazing.

My stylist and I had talked about a resurrection hair tattoo for Easter Sunday. The tattoo itself didn’t take very long, but the colouring and shading took plenty of time. By the time he was done, he was very pleased, and so was I. And so were the customers in the salon. It’s certainly something that stands out, but as I can’t see it, I don’t worry too much about it.

The feedback has been overwhelmingly positive and I was especially pleased at the children’s reaction on Easter Sunday. I have been stopped while out, so people can ask about it. And I explain that there are three crosses, a tomb and a pair of wings. And they “oooh” and “ahhh” and tell me how awesome it is.

The three hours I spent in the chair I should have been relaxing, but I was thinking about all the things I had yet to do to get ready for Saturday night’s service. Everything did get done, but I did not take good care of my sprained ankle. And come Sunday morning it was swollen and paining. By the time the two services were finished, I couldn’t feel my left foot. I took off the brace, iced my foot, rested it and tried to nap.

We went to visit my in-laws for supper, which was awesome, and I elevated my ankle as much as I could. Since then I have slept as much as I can, while returning to the pre-Easter craziness. I took Monday off, but on Tuesday I had three home communions. I was supposed to go to a meeting in the city, but I was too tired and ankle was too sore. So I sent my regrets and stayed home.

Friday is traditionally my day off, but the church is having a bake sale tomorrow, so I spent most of the morning baking cupcakes, scones and cookies. The cookies are staying at home as I scorched the bottoms. The cupcakes and scones are at the Church. My Beloved brought supper in and tonight I am catching up on laundry that should have been done two weeks ago.

What I need to do is take three weeks off and rest. But there’s too much to do for me to make that happen. I am anxious about some upcoming doctor’s appointments and medical tests. Something inside me tells me that I will be taking time off to deal with my medical issues, whether I want to or not, and that will be what it will be.

So for now I struggle through, doing the best I can, taking it as easy as I can and trying not to beat myself up about not getting everything done.

The lesson I really need to learn is to let go and let God. If the bulletins don’t get done, it’s not a big deal. Right?

One step at a time. One day at a time.

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It’s been a rough few months. There have been ups, but mostly downs. Last Sunday a parishioner died in her sleep. Her husband of 58 years died only 2 1/2 months ago. Her death was peaceful, she was found by her son, fast asleep in her bed. No sign of pain or struggle.

I met with her sons and they both remarked how they were not expecting to gather again so soon. We all thought she would have had at least a year. Yes, she was ill, she had cancer, which had spread, but she didn’t seem to be in much pain. The week between Christmas and New Year she had a stroke, and she had bounced back from it really well, other than her memory.

We will gather this afternoon and tonight for visitation, and tomorrow to Celebrate her remarkable life.

January is always a hectic time of year with our annual meeting coming up. We discuss budget, look at the narrative story that tells who we are. I’m always anxious at this time of year, but for some reason it seems heightened. I’m not sure why.

I feel completely exhausted, which is not good considering I was away for eight days to regain some strength. I had that strength when I came home, but it quickly evaporated upon returning to reality.

I find myself irritated at the silliest of things. I know I’m making a big deal out of a little thing, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

I have been sleeping more in the past few days then I have in the past few months, and yet, when I get up, when I wake, I don’t feel refreshed. If anything, I feel angry.

I’m angry with myself for not taking better care of myself. For neglecting my body, my yoga, meditation and prayer. I’m angry with how I feel and how I look. I’m angry with my family for not noticing that I’m struggling. I’m angry with my husband for not helping me feel special. I’m angry with my husband and daughter for not pulling their weight around the house, even though they’ve been asked and told time and time again.

The truth is, if I had more strength I would pack a bag and leave. Go away from here. Walk away from this community, my family, the dogs, my congregation. Simply go.

Where? I don’t know. Hopefully somewhere with a comfortable bed so I could sleep for a month or two and then assess what I want and need.

The reality is I won’t do that because I am too responsable a person. I am in love with my husband, and my daughter, and my congregation. And yes, even the dogs. I would never pack up and leave. I think about it, yes, but I wouldn’t actually go.

I’ve been hearkening back to the halcyon days when I was young and single. When my apartment was always clean, neat and tidy. When I shopped for food I liked and cooked for only myself. I remember the wonderful silence of the apartment. I remember reading for hours and not being interrupted. I remember walking to the library and discovering a whole new world of books. I remember having the whole bed to myself, and no dog hair. Anywhere.

What I don’t reflect on is the loneliness. Coming home after a hard day and not being able to share it with someone. Coming home after an exciting day and not having anyone with which to celebrate.

I have always lived a small and uncomplicated life. And I like that.

Right now my small and uncomplicated life seems really very complicated. And I don’t like that.

So today I am going to take one hour at a time. There are things I have to do. A funeral home visitation and meeting with the funeral director this afternoon. Picking bulletins up from the printer that will be needed tonight, tomorrow and this weekend. Prepare for a meeting tonight. Supper has already been prepared.

And hopefully the sun will rise inside of me and the darkness will abate. And this damn black dog will find someone else to visit. Right now he’s sitting on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. But I trust, with time, he will leave me alone. I’m not sure if it will be faster if I ignore him or acknowledge him. I’ve tried both. He’s still here.

Today is about survival. So is tomorrow. Saturday there will be time for me. And for rest. Because Sunday is a big day. A hope-filled and a long day. And some day, today’s worries will seem insignificant.

Thanks be to God.

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I’m looking around my house and it’s beginning to resemble a decent looking place. Not show-room ready, but certainly presentable for unexpected company. I don’t usually get unexpected company, other than my mother-in-law who really isn’t company. And whenever she drops by the house looks like a bomb just went off. It’s some kind of unwritten rule.

Last night my beloved decided to do some baking. At 8:00 pm. He doesn’t tend to clean up after himself, which I find very frustrating. When I got up this morning, there was flour and sugar from one end of the counter to the other. I cleaned up what I could in order to wash the dishes, then cleaned up the rest of the counter, finally emptying the corner that is a collector of all that doesn’t have a home.

The junk drawer now needs a serious clear out, but it doesn’t have to be done right now, or even this week. Because, in the state of mind I now occupy, if I did start clearing it out, I would end up emptying the contents into the garbage and I’m pretty sure there’s still stuff we need in there.

This morning I finished the pastoral letters at the Church. I need to clear up my desk, but that’s a task for tomorrow. I need to finish the 4:00 pm rewrite, but again, that’s a task for tomorrow.

I cleared off the corner table in the dining room that has become a mini-office and it looks quite good. There’s even empty space on it, which makes me very happy. I like unadorned spaces I have decided and I think that may be partially why I struggle with the whole decorating thing. It’s okay to have a windowsill with nothing on it. The house doesn’t have to look like the North Pole threw up on it, does it?

I hung two artificial wreaths with lovely plaid ribbon on the front and side doors today. I haven’t cut the greenery for the front porch. And it may not get done. Which is okay. I sorted through three bins of decorations for the house. One bin was put away, after I decided there’s some stuff that simply doesn’t need to go up.

The other two bins await The Girl’s magic. We have a 2 foot tree that didn’t go up last year. There are small decorations for the tree. She’s going to decorate it later tonight. There’s also angels and stuff that can go out on windowsills, but they don’t have to. We’ll see what kind of mood she’s in later tonight.

The dining room table still looks awful, and I will work on it tonight as she’s decorating the tree. I am fairly confident I can find homes for most of what is on the table that doesn’t belong. The extra-large plastic bag will be a great item to store one of the wreaths. It will go in the stair storage area.

The bag that has dead electronics, batteries and eye glasses will go into my car so the next time I pass a place that takes such things I am ready. I am confident that by the weekend, the dining room will resemble a dining room, not a jumble sale. And that makes me happy.

A thing for every place and a place for everything.

My summer goal was to clear out the home office. It’s still not done, in fact, it’s barely started. I am planning to spend a day sorting books in the week between Christmas and New Year. I think that, coupled with knowing when the next clothing distribution day is, will help me to regain control of the room.

I suspect there will be a lot of recycling to go out, and some garbage to go out. Some things will be donated away. Anything that is not absolutely cherished will be finding a new place to live, and what we cannot part, will be boxed neatly until it is needed.

It makes my heart happy knowing that I am moving, again, to a simpler life, free from “stuff” and filled with love.

My house is not now, nor ever has been perfect. And neither am I. God created me in the image of God, which is perfection. And I can live in the light of God’s perfection, not society’s perfection. God’s perfection is pure and reflects back to me through all I encounter. Society’s perfection is artificial and commercially driven.

The Martha Stewart/HGTV push for perfection Christmas home is not where I live. And it likely never will be. I have two dogs, one of which is a puppy who sheds A LOT. The floor is never clean enough, the dust is never all collected. There are tumble weeds of dog hair every single day. The windows have nose art on them and the furniture needs to be lint rollered.

But that is how we live. And we like it. Well, most days we do.

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One of the dangers of being a food addict is the holiday season. Everywhere you go there’s something to try. “Oh, just have one” they say and I break into a sweat. I want to eat the whole plate, but it’s better if I don’t eat any, so I politely refuse. Sometimes that leads to guilt so I’ll agree to have one, then two, then, well, you know how it ends.

Or I will refuse politely, then come home and eat two chocolate bars. Ugh.

This is a tricky time of year, psychologically and emotionally, before we get into any of the “fun” stuff of the holidays. Everywhere you go there’s overlit, too loud, hypercaffeinated places that raise your heart rate to buy me, eat me, love me, take me home. And if you refuse, then you’re a bad person.

So I guess I’m a bad person.

With being so tired as of late, I have no impulse control. I asked my beloved to do the grocery shopping and I know I shouldn’t…because he brings home crap. Which I eat. Yes, it’s my fault that I put that thing in my mouth that I shouldn’t but…well…the truth is, I want it.

I have stopped looking at magazines for Christmas cookie ideas because I know, if I bake them, I’ll eat them…all of them.

I should get outside and walk the dogs. But I’m scared of slipping as it’s quite slick underfoot. I should go to the walking track and spend an hour there. But I don’t. I should pull out my yoga mat, breathe and stretch. But I don’t.

Instead, when I’m having difficulty coping, I go to bed. Most of the time I sleep, so obviously I am overtired. But when am I going to feel well enough to care for myself? Nobody is going to do it for me. I have to do it myself. And I will. Eventually.

*sigh*

What I need is a week in Bermuda. Am I going to get it? Not likely, at least not for awhile. I am, however, committed to taking 5 or 6 days in January and going on retreat. To a place where the food is good and healthy. Where there are no demands. Where I can bring my yoga mat and stretch. And journal. And cry.

I know I could do that here. But there’s always something else that’s more pressing. There’s always one more email to send, one more webpage to read, one more article that needs posting. I need to make myself a priority. I am cooking healthier meals and enjoying it. Today I’m going to attempt beef stew in the slow cooker.

Right now I feel muddled up. I know I should take better care of my body. Who takes care of me if I don’t? Nobody. So if nobody takes care of me, why should I bother? Counterintuitive I know, but real nonetheless.

We had a discussion about Christmas a couple of months back. We agreed that we will not go into debt for Christmas. We cut back the list dramatically. And nearly all the shopping is done. That makes me feel really good.

One day next week I am going to sort through the bags in the spare room and start wrapping. That will feel like accomplishment. I may even bring some things out and start decorating for Christmas/Winter. I’m not sure about a Christmas tree with the pup, but we’ll see.

What I need to do is shake off the cobwebs of guilt and shame. I need to stop beating myself up about what I have done and look forward, instead, to what I will do. To be intentional in everything I do, whether it be eating, speaking, washing, dressing, praying, stretching.

And I need a good cry.

And maybe a nap.

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I received an email from my best friend that contained the words “slow down before you hit a wall at 200 mph”. She was right, as always and I knew what she was saying, even before she said it.

My eating style is completely derailed.

My anxiety issues are reaching peak.

I am angry and miserable…to the point I can barely stand myself.

I feel like I am sliding backwards and there is no way to stop it.

You can usually tell the state of my mental health by how clean my house is. When I am well, I keep up with the dog hair, nose art, dishes, floors, bathrooms, common areas, etc. The floors have not been washed in weeks. The bathrooms have not been cleaned, especially the toilets, in weeks. And the worst part of all of this is…I don’t care.

The reality of the world I live in is this…if I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done. The state of the house does not matter to either my husband or daughter. When I get frustrated he tells me to leave it. So I have been…and nothing is getting done.

Changing topic ever so slightly…Halloween.

I despise Halloween. I don’t like the commercialism of it. I don’t like how it’s a candy grab for kids. I especially don’t like the amount of garbage that comes into this house. Because I know, if I can see the goodies, I will eat them. Even though I know they are made of additives, preservatives and other unpronounceable ingredients.

There are three large buckets laden with candy, chips, chocolate, gum, etc. And I cannot walk by them without eating something. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I have eaten more garbage food over the past three weeks, then I have in the last six months. And I feel the difference.

We have healthy food in the fridge, but instead we ate Halloween candy for supper. And I am furious with myself.

I think a good part of which is wrong with me is that my system cannot process what is being fed into it and I’m feeling tired, achy, miserable, because I’m going to have to detox again…and that is a very difficult process for me.

I have not yet cried for Baby H and for R. I should cry for them. I loved them both. And yet, the tears won’t come. Part of me is afraid then when the time comes and I do let go…I may not be able to regain control. And anyone who knows me, knows that control is important to me.

Next week I am going to be out Monday night, Tuesday night, Wednesday night and Thursday night. I don’t know what meals are going to look like, but I am hoping to get to the grocers and the market to get all of what is needed for pasta sauce, perhaps even make some soups ahead of time, that they can simply be reheated.

There are so many things that need to be done. The house needs cleaning, badly. I need to put a bunch of stuff away. I need the rest of the family to do the same.

But right now, I need to go and lie down. If I don’t sleep, at least I will be resting.

Tomorrow is another day.

Hopefully my motivation comes back.

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The past few days have been extremely emotional – on the verge of horrendous.

Last Thursday the Church was packed to overflowing as we gathered to celebrate the life of R. A man well-loved and never forgotten. He was 85 years old and died from ALS. He had a full and rich life, serving his country, his community. Marrying his sweetheart for 48 years and raising two sons. He was, as the Bible says, “old and filled with days”.

His Celebration of Life was, indeed, a Celebration. The Church was filled with gales of laughter as we remembered what a practical joker R was, and how he always found a way to make us laugh.

When the Church service ended, I went to the Cemetery while some folks from the Church tidied up. By the time I returned from the Cemetery the Church was locked up tight…with my keys and cell phone inside. It was one more practical joke from R. For the record, I did get back in the Church, about three hours later. And it is a story I will remember and will always laugh as I tell it.

Sunday was our Remembrance Sunday service at the Church. There was a wreath that had stayed from R’s Celebration of Life. We have a white styrofoam cross that we pin poppies to after Communion to change an instrument of hate and destruction into an instrument of peace and love.

During my homily I told the story of my Grand-dad whom I have never met. He was wounded in the First World War and suffered for the rest of his life from neurological issues. He married his sweetheart and had three children, one of whom became my Mam. But he was always a broken man.

I also told the story of two friends of mine. A clergy couple out on the East Coast of this Country. She is a priest in Halifax, and he serves as Chaplain aboard HMCS Toronto. Theirs is a love-story for the ages; a testament to their faith, love and commitment to each other, and to God.

Sunday afternoon we gathered to say goodbye to Baby H. The Church was filled with young people in shock, sobbing uncontrollably and looking for answers. A few members of the Congregation came to offer their prayers and support to the family; as well as to seek peace and comfort themselves. In short, there was a Church filled with people looking for answers.

It felt like they were all looking at me.

I had nothing.

No words. I tried my hardest to write an authentic homily, but everything I tried sounded hollow and unconvincing. “He’s in the arms of Jesus”. Yes, but he should be in his mother’s arms.
“He’s gone home to be with the One who Created him.” Yes, but he should have gone home to his brother.

For the love of God, he was 28 DAYS OLD. Not enough time to learn to speak, never mind have a full life and die “old and filled with days”. Children are not supposed to die before their parents. It’s not fair. It’s not right.

And then it struck me.

I didn’t have to say anything. My words would not be the salve that would soothe. The Community would extend their heartfelt support to each other.

At Baby H’s baptism I brought a candle, the intention of which was to light it when he got better and went home. He didn’t get better so the candle remains unlit. As I began the service on Sunday I lit a new baptism candle from the paschal candle (which signifies new life) and let it burn through the service and during the reception.

The readings were all chosen because they dealt with children, commissioning and being still in the silence. God wasn’t making an appearance in the machinery beeping and chiming. God wasn’t making an appearance in my raging against the wind and the pain. God was in the stillness, where God always is; and I needed to remind myself, as well as the Congregation; that sometimes we need to simply ‘be still’ and be in the presence of the Sacred.

As usual I wasn’t wearing shoes. I had intended to mention why before the service began, but forgot. Several people asked me about it afterwards and I told them why. They nodded as though they understood.

Today was Remembrance Day, one day after Baby H’s funeral.

The weather was horrible, it was cold, wet and sleeting. The crowd huddled together, comprised of men and women, young and old, children and seniors. Umbrellas covered strangers and friends, and we united to Remember those who laid down their lives, those who returned wounded, those who served and continue to serve in the Armed Forces.

We laid a wreath at our small town service for LGBT Members of the Armed Forces, past and present. The wreath had a rainbow ribbon on it and the purple sash said “Lest We Forget”. Poignant words indeed.

So much loss over the past while.

So much pain.

So much emptiness.

So much fatigue.

And so tonight, as I work far too late, I look out the window at the snow that is gently falling. I have just eaten something that I know I will feel badly about in the morning, but right now I need comfort.

Tomorrow is going to be a quiet day. I will return the house to order. I will do some computer work. I will nap. I may not even get dressed. And let today be a snow day. A Sabbath Day.

The title of this post is When Words Fail, but I’ve written nearly 1,000 of them.

I think, what it all boils down to, is being brave enough to be authentic. Of being caring enough to be vulnerable. Of being human enough to feel and to show those whom you serve all of these things.

We may not have the magic words. We likely have the same questions as you.

We may not have the answers. But we do have each other.

Thanks be to God.

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