Small

Thursday, February 23, 2012

First day of Lent.

Ash Wednesday

"From dust you came, and to dust you will return."

Those words make you small- as they are intended to.

I am all about esthetics. I like the smell of incense and organ music and old time hymns. I love being immersed in the experience of worship. I don’t just want to hear, I want to touch, see, and taste.

I want my worship to be transcendent. I want to be brought to another place in time. I want to be made small.

Faith has become much more transparent since Bea died. It is the tie that binds her and me.

At this point, it does not always have to happen with a full musical accompaniment. It does not always have to happen in that sinking into a labyrinth, complete and utter devolvement of myself- although sometimes that is what I would prefer. It does not always have to happen in church.
It can come in gentle prayer over the kitchen sink.

One,

two,

three tears roll down my cheek as I wash the dishes, my back to my family so that they can’t see that I still cry. Because I am immersed in that place where my hand is holding hers. I am in another place and time. She is my object of adoration. My link to eternity. I am humbled and bent at the knees with these tears.

I meditated on this today.

“From dust I came.”

Worship comes in my body. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I was created from nothing- at one point in time, I didn’t exist. All of the things that make me unique were not a part of this world. Then, I was smaller than a speck of dust. I am organic.

“To dust you will return”

Worship comes in the garden soil, as I prepare to begin growing things in this unusually warm weather. All of the dead things I turn up in my hands. Bugs and leaves and green smelling items whose identities I can’t discern. I will be dead in the soil, at some point too. My body will disintegrate, and I will return to the dust.


I will die, just as she did. And then we will be the same, as we were once a short time ago.

Small.

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