I was not sure about doing a series for Lent this year, and for a while now I have both looked forward to and dreaded this day, simply because I would have to decide. I have enjoyed the daily practice of watching for the divine in past years, but my attention feels (is) so widely scattered these days. Every time I decide to do it again this year I immediately back away again, not trusting mysel--
I don't even want to finish that sentence. I am so sick of that loop in my head.
And then this poem by Jan Richardson found me today, twice, and this stanza especially:
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.
Her words hit home, and I absolutely want to ask, every day, what the Holy One can do with dust.
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