I tried–to undo it–because I think it might be undue. But, what can I know of that, really?
Maybe you’ve been there: stuck between a rock and a hard place; not literally, of course, unless you were spelunking, but you know the feeling.
There was so much bat guano around that I longed for the light of day, and some fresh air. Still do. On one hand, it’s no big deal. It’s the other hand that is killing me.
But, the rock we are on is the true Rock, and there is no place so hard or full of crap that “stuck” enters into it at all. Still, I was stressed, and it hit hard last night. I came into this coffee shop and two baristas asked me if I was okay. I’m wrestling, I said. And they just accepted that without prying, which was nice. Not thinking, I ordered a triple undertow, which is my day-off drink, only.
Oops. It’s an off day, not a day off.
I tried to pay, and Kennedy kindly pushed the glass slowly across the counter and said, “This is for your comfort . . .”, on the house.
And that was nice, but fleeting, lasting until I went up to my apartment. A little later, still feeling horrible, I checked my blood pressure, and took the average of three readings: 114/67, pulse 58. Okay. And, I know my soul is fine, and my heart is either being ripped to shreds or slowly filling with everything good, so it must be my mind.
I went to sleep in that and woke up in it too, and posted “From the Depths” with some fancy Greek there just for the discerning, and there is no pretense in that post at all. I was in it and meant it and prayed it and then started working in it. And I hated the morning and just worked anyway. Kept going. Over the course of a couple of hours I thought I was Sally Field in that scene from Steel Magnolias, so brilliantly portrayed that I almost did like Sally for a bit. And I too, wanna know why. And I was hating the hating of it, and the stupid, unbecoming wallowing. And the music on the radio was trying to help me, and this came on:
And I began feeling bad for feeling bad, knowing against hope that there is hope. I just wasn’t having it, you know, because of the guano on the floor of the cave that was all I could see. And words came: walk by faith, not by sight.
And fairly suddenly, the entire day was redeemed, and I knew then that I know what I know, and that I am strong, and when I need to be stronger I will be, and there is a strength beyond that is a wellspring of life. And I have friends who have given life to me, and will continue in that. And I pray, most of all, that I am returning the favor.
And that peace and joy from Monday was still there, but now I could see it again. And I laughed at how cute all this must be to The Eternal. And a piece called Three Perpetual Movements by Francis Poulenc came on, and I smiled and worked–just kept going.
And then this:
And finally this:
Stress? What stress? My mind had come undone; that’s all.
Prayers are answered, all the time, every day, without fail . . .
Title photograph and Text © 2018, Timothy Waugh