It’s only about 12 hours before the service for Pascha.
I’m hoping to stay awake long enough to find my way to St John’s for the midnight service. I’m also hoping that I can drag my 13 year old daughter with me. It feels like some kind of protection to have someone with me, someone who defines my role for me. I don’t have to figure out where I fit when I have a kid with me. I can focus there, correct there, instruct there.
I’ve been hesitant to bring all my kids to Liturgy though, I’ll admit that. One kid I can handle…four is overwhelming. I need to ease into mass parenting during Liturgy.
I digress…I always do.
This Lenten season has not been as deep as I wanted it to be…or maybe it’s better to say that I haven’t been as deep as I have wanted to be. Great Lent is all it needs to be. I am failing.
About halfway through I began to be nauseated most of the day. I was lightheaded and shaky. I knew I wasn’t eating enough and I knew I when I was eating I wasn’t living up to the ideal I had of treating the temple with care. I’d hoped to use this time to really incorporate more cooking, more health aimed meals, more attention…more prayer. About halfway through I saw my failing.
Failing like the body fails…because it always does.
As I arrived at Good Friday I tried to find a moment there, a moment to embrace the failing and to make that alright somehow, alright for now at least.
In the meantime….I read this and hope for some clear headspace when midnight comes…