While running this morning I offered up praise to St. Sebastian for giving me the body and the will to hit the streets everyday. It was the perfect weather for movement; overcast, damp, at first chilly. Each breath in was nearly twenty-five percent water vapor; good for any running fool.
Laying down in my bed last night I started on my thanks-giving. There was a long silence after my usual fumblings of gratitude. I clasped my hands together, took in deep breath after deep breath; I couldn't get him out of my mind. At once it made me feel both ridiculously human and embarrassed for the truth of my selfishness. Sometimes we can't help what the heart asks for, is the thought that I reconciled myself with. Maybe patience is my way of being penitent. I would not be able to act in a way which would bring discredit to me, or he, or to break His covenant; which requires great patience, almost to the point of negation. And there I lay, hands clasped, telling myself that Nature provides us with what we are meant to have.
But the heart, oh how it hopes.
St. Michael guide my feet this weekend. Protect my brethren and me with a ready sword. Let us do your work in our mortal jurisdictions. St. Dwynwen help me to find happiness, resolve. And more than anything, patience.
Hang on tightly, let go lightly.
About Me
- porfiry
- The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too, but there will be no special hurry.