Rules of engagement
Trying to capture the moon at dusk
Mathilde has been sick since last Thursday, and she seemed better the last few days but broke out in hives yesterday, and again this morning. She went to work with me yesterday instead of to school, and we went off to church then for a Holy Week service where the pastor’s homily focused on the kind of battle that Christ does: merciful, forgiving, and sacrificial.
The middle of the night had her up having bad dreams, which caused a 2 a.m. wake up. Lucky timing, as I then got Charles and Liesl up to see the lunar eclipse. We sat out in the chilled but not-too-cold air just outside the back porch to watch the orange globe become slowly obscured by our own earth’s movement in front of it. My little photo does not capture its beauty, and my little mind does not fully understand such wonders of nature and science.
The moon, at 2 a.m.
Waking up a bit tired this morning, I tried to send Mathilde to school today so I could enjoy a day to myself (!). I’d planned to go on a long walk around the lake and do next to no house cleaning. But before I could go off on this kind of lovely but self-indulgent adventure, the school nurse called: Mathilde’s hives did not go away, and she was complaining of being itchy, so I needed to come pick her up.
Now, after a stop at the Redbox DVD carrier, and with Frozen and a Barbie movie in tow, we’re back home, and my walk will have to wait. Now, I might as well tend to the laundry.
Lent is coming to a close this week, and my final meditation is how there’s not much that we can claim as our own. I realized in church a week or so back that the liturgy we speak at the beginning of the service confirms that it’s not we who make ourselves, but God. I don’t think that this confession diminishes the gift of our wonderful humanity (yes, we are full of amazement and great creativity), but it’s maybe helpful to note that anything we hold on to is not really ours to begin with.
We started Lent with the acknowledgement that from dust we begin and to dust we return. But dust and dirt (though humble humus) is not only just. Humus, in soil science, indicates stability, richness, and maturity. Spiritually speaking, returning to dust (daily, sacrificially) exalts one much more than the best false pride. My husband re-tweeted something last week that I keep thinking of and which speaks to the rules of engagement:
The way you disagree with people illumines what you really believe.
In the best kind of battle, love covers sins; and the strength of the weak pays glory to God.
Mathilde signing into her class this morning (before going home)