(This button courtesy of Liturgy New Zealand)
It's been a busy but a good week, an encouraging first week of Lent.
The ashes are long gone from my forehead, washed clean as He washes our souls, forgiving our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
I fast, from certain foods and from an activity that has been stealing my time. I enjoyed both briefly on Sunday, and again abstain, but not through my own strength -- oh no! His strength carries me through this holy time, this time set apart. This Lenten time.
I pray, Divine Hours sliding through my mind like fingers on rosary beads. Psalms flutter, burrowing deep in my heart. They nest there, content. I hunger for more, turning the softly-aged pages of the Psalter.
I kneel, candle flaming and flickering, in my prayer corner, a simple bedside table set up with Bibles and candles, prayer books and icons, crosses and prayer beads. He anchors me here, and here I remain, wherever my body may roam.
I worship, prayer book in hand, speaking aloud His Word in chorus with priest and the no-longer childish voices beside me, one rising from chair for acolyte duties of water and wine, one gently shaking bells, chiming at proper times to call us to worship.
We gather, pray, chant, worship at the foot of the Cross, the ancient Creed boldly proclaimed in the slant of morning sun through eastern windows. I stretch in the Grace, slowly finding myself, discovering Him in me and I in Him and the miracle that faith is as He whispers Words in my ear, to my heart: "Live in Me."
I nod ... and live.