Ponderings

My ponderer is sore. My week, indeed this past season, has been filled with pondering. Pondering that is cursed with infinite loops.

As the leaves ever so gradually shed their color and fell to the ground, my firstborn daughter’s struggle with life escalated not quite so imperceptibly. Broken legs can be set and re-grow (at least in youth!), hearts and minds are not so clearly defined or neatly addressed.

Following a particularly difficult week, the role of pondering mother eclipsed the pastor. My week has been spent with the phone in my pocket and repetitive tasks to fill the time, my emotions an unrelenting refrain of fear, guilt, and confusion. Missing essentially a full week of church life and responsibilities, I cannot help but be grateful for the incredible staff and the special gifts of Marilyn and Al.

Tonight all is well, at least as well ever is. (Lee Whiston once told me that “utopia is no-place”, non existent.) Tomorrow I’ll return to church and a whisper of normalcy.

I am at once grateful to be in a community of understanding and humbled. The rich texture of our community is dense enough to provide safety and warmth. Time cocooned is time not spent in the intricacy, and I grieve that loss even as I cherish the comfort.