New Beginnings

I'm sure all two of you who read my blog already know that I am no longer writing the daily reflections for the Rule of Benedict for the benefit of the LCG. Why? Because it was time. To be honest is was grueling labor in the hours of the morning when I used to do Lectio Divina. Now I can do Lectio Divina and feel vaguely guilty about not doing the rule reflection. But! Someone was chomping at the bit to take it over, so good luck to her.

The next step for me is training in hospice work. No, it's not a job. The Lord, blessed by his Holy Name, has pestered me about this for literally months now. I would be quietly praying, minding my own business and then "you need to work with the dying." Usually my response was "eewww." A few weeks later, after receiving the Eucharist, "you need to work with the dying." Then it got to where every time I prayed "you need to work with the dying." That quickly transformed to "you will work with the dying." And then last week my mother said, "OH look, Flaget Healthcare is having a training for Hospice Volunteers, and here's the phone number."

So, that came into conflict with the ministry I was already involved in, caused me a bit of torment, and eventually I was shown that it was time to let go of the daily RB reflections and take on another ministry.

So my few readers. That's what's been up. I expect to be back on this blog a lot more since I'm not ravaging my brain daily to make sense of something written 1500 years ago for an unwieldy group of LCG'ers.

But because I am me, you won't get away without some awesome poetry from my boy, John Donne, 17th Century all the way, BABY!

HOLY SONNETS.

VII.

At the round earth's imagined corners blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go ;
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
All whom war, dea[r]th, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you, whose eyes
Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe.
But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space ;
For, if above all these my sins abound,
'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
When we are there. Here on this lowly ground,
Teach me how to repent, for that's as good
As if Thou hadst seal'd my pardon with Thy blood.