Twelve Days

Twelve days, many miles. So much to say, so few words. It seems at this time when so much is happening my job is to remain quiet, or to say little. Sometimes words create a fog that makes it hard to see. Sometimes fog is good. Except when you're trying to get somewhere.

     The lessons are about trust, and I'm about as good at it as I am at ice-skating. Fortunately in Phoenix there isn't a lot of ice to deal with. Spiritually, I'm not sure what I'm dealing with. As far as we can tell, out of our original group of almost fourteen Inquirers, we are down to three remaining Candidates, and I admit I feel disappointed. It's like starting out walking to a great celebration, but day-by-day the group gets smaller until there are only a few. It seems harder to celebrate when your companions are gone. I wish everyone had kept a journal. Then we could compare notes and get a better picture of the journey. But all we have is this, and I've been distracted.
     Our daily prayer is so important. When we miss--being to busy or otherwise interrupted--I miss it. Praying is like taking a trip, a vacation. It relaxes me. Meditation comes in the evening, or in the night. We've been teaching on weekends, that's keeping us pretty busy with the planning and communicating, more to worry about. I've been changing my diet and exercising, more adjustments. It's like springtime and the garden is being overturned. I think that's God's doing as he prepares to plant new things. It makes me wonder if a garden feels naked, this time of year. I do. And as the Franciscan world opens up before us, it just keeps getting bigger and bigger, and we crave a good guide.
     So we try to support each other, our little community here at home, try to listen to the others. Our Fraternity is organizing for elections this Spring and that's distracting, everyone running around with so much to do and it's like "Waiter! Oh Waiter...!" We're not the Princesses in this story. Nobody expects us to stand in the limelight. Rather, it's time for us to take up a dishtowel and pitch in. Plenty of work for everybody.

     I've been thinking of Brother Damian lately (Benedictine Abbey, Shawnee) and how he goes to a place in the church where there is a cabinet filled with relics. He prays there, in the candelight, in the company of our family, in the quiet and peace. I guess I can be a little jealous. I have a corner in our bedroom, an old chair, and a picture of Saint Theresa. Same family...
     Peace eludes me today. There is a storm in the distance, moving away, like a trainload of sweetness that won't be stopping. Our depot is small, rarely noticed. And I'm never quite certain whether I should be grateful... I suppose it's best to keep praying. Waiting, and writing, are part of the journey too.

     I've placed it in His hands. The results will appear in their time... Still, I feel the Saints so close around me. Perhaps I have lost my eyes to see them and it is time to be led, in love. Does the Lord know that his bride is blind now, and helpless?