a most difficult amen

When you care, you tend to lose sleep. More's the problem, you don't rest. There is a twist in your gullet pulling you sideways, a relentless tug.

And yet, this, the cost of caring, somehow is fair. It is meet and right, as they used to say.

Winter began for me in October; it's been really long, and the weather still drips a constant chill. But finally green and the dearest crimson unfurl on our flowering currant, just as they did last year.


The arrest and trial of my church's priest was more difficult, by a long shot, than any amount of time I've ever spent in surgery and recovery. The jury disagreed with my belief that our priest is innocent, and they definitely had the right to do so.

Our legal system does its very best. People moving daily within it, however, tend to disbelieve in the possibility of a good person. Especially in the chance there is a white male in his forties who loves and is faithful to his wife, while selflessly giving to others daily. It is extremely unfortunate that there are many examples who fit their disbelief.

I am very, very sad. Spring may just be taunting me. Spaceships may fall from orbit and never be repaired. Yet all these months my prayers, our prayers, have continuously sounded. This entering in and drawing near, while bell peals and mallet hammers, unfurls in beloved stillness, despite the storm of stress.

Three facets of this elemental quiet glimmered today in the realm of a greater reality, always present but rarely seen. They may have shown in the eyes of one convicted. But whether or not this is true, I believe they exist, because I have seen them: the impossible possibility of compassion, the actual nature of attentive, repentant prayer, and the immovable amen of forgiveness.

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