Thursday after Ash Wednesday
Jesus said to his disciples: ‘The Son of Man is destined to suffer grievously, to be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes and to be put to death, and to be raised up on the third day.’
Then to all he said, ‘If anyone wants to be a follower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross every day and follow me. For anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake, that man will save it. What gain, then, is it for a man to have won the whole world and to have lost or ruined his very self?’
I went to work and to gather food. It does not sustain me for long. These appetites of the flesh flaring and incessant that need conquering. Still, so much winter outside my windows and deep within. The winters we remain caught and frozen by our sins, our exiles on the vast tundra of self-centeredness; the wings of our souls caught and beating wildly. Coming into the presence of Christ daily allows a thawing out the ice of our egos-- this great diminishing-- so, to pray, and in praying, to praise. My soul clamoring to transcend its’ darkness like the first light dragging gauzy gowns of rose-blush over pearled hills and etchings of wood.
Awaking to praises of God coming from every sculpted bush and weed and tree branch illuminated like ancient brush strokes, the bird feeders plump with piles of snow on their roof tops, our boot tracks a bluish calligraphy of yesterday’s play. This artistry singing its’ heart out in the silences of dawn; my soul joining in with so much chaff breezing out over the glistening fields of light.