A Year ago today, I made the following posting: This morning, looking at it, I realize I could have posted almost the exact same thing this year — with a few changes concerning circumstances. Daddy was ill, Gertrude had gone on to Heaven, Youngest Son was in Phoenix — And this was what I wrote. . .
I should be finishing the planning of my menu for Friday night, but I am bone weary, and it has been a stressful day. I found myself crying in the car tonight when I went to pick up my girlie from quiz practice. That is usually a sign that there is something really amiss somewhere. I decided to consciously think of all the things that are bothering me, and that was enlightening, to say the least. And I concluded that the sadness I feel is honest emotion, not something contrived or hormonal or even vicarious. It is HERE. It is MINE. It needs to be thought about, grieved over, worked through, but it isn’t a nameless, vague, “I feel sad-ish” kind of thing.
When you see the things I cannot control
Make inroads on the things that I think I “need”
Or even just “want.”
When age and illness and distance and even my own wicked heart
Refuse all my attempts to bring them under my direction.
Remind me, even as you have tonight,
That control belongs to you.
It isn’t self control, or trying hard enough or air line tickets or medical science or vitamins
That will win the battles.
It’s You. Despised and rejected of Men.
It’s You. A Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.
It’s You. Bearing our griefs and carrying our sorrows.
It’s You. Wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities.
It’s You. The chastisement of our peace upon you.
It’s You. By your stripes we are healed.
You’ve already done it. It has been long done.
Let my heart become another manger.
May you be pleased to dwell there in your Holy Glory.
How very much I need you.