This Blessed Day
I must confess … I went to bed late last night, or early this morning, take your pick of verbiage. Crawling into bed at 1:30am is never a good thing when your schedule begins at 7:00am. Last night, I wasn’t drinking or even out with friends. Instead, I spent time at home with someone and we ended up talking for a long time. By the time I placed my head on my pillow, I laughed to myself that my usual 3:30 – 4am wake up would be really, really bad today.
Thankfully, my body kept me sleeping until 6:30. My brain also gave me a rather weird dream — a couple of people from my old vicarage church played a starring role. When the time came for my body to awaken from sleepy land, I had an immediate fright when I stared at the digital clock across the room — those red, blaring numbers shocked me to get going.
It is really a rarity to wake up so late during the week. Since my day begins at 7:15am with Morning Prayer in church, those red numbers zapped me and caused me to rush around the house like a chicken with its head cut off. Rushing to the kitchen to make coffee. Speeding into the bathroom for a shower. Bouncing off the wall to get dressed, turn on the radio so I have some semblance of what is happening in the world, flipping through the delivered morning newspapers, and figuring out why people send unimportant text messages at 4am. By 7:11am, coffee in hand, I ran into church ready for Morning Prayer (read through John 6; tomorrow is John 7). I rushed not because of the overwhelming crowd that assembles each morning, but because this set time relaxes my spirit and gets me in touch with the Lord. Following the service, I headed back home.
I should admit, my morning newspaper reading is relegated to three newspapers — the New York Post, the New York Daily News, and the Wall Street Journal. Usually later on in the morning I pick up The Record, the local newspaper that seems to have less and less local news is in it everyday. The papers weren’t very exciting this morning, minus the crazy story on the front cover of the New York Post where a woman defended giving her breast milk to her chef husband to make desserts. Following this rather stomach-churning story, I made breakfast (I didn’t use milk), I came to church and started cleaning off my desk and bookshelf.
Tonight I will be up in Mahwah at Holy Cross Lutheran Church at 6:00pm for midweek Lenten Services. It should be a good night. Due to this evening’s church service, I did have to turn down some primo tickets with parking to tonight’s Rangers-Devils scrum at The Rock in Newark. Not that I didn’t try to give them away, first, to a real Devils’ fan who didn’t return my message then, second, to someone who I know is diehard Rangers fan, but they didn’t have time.
Going off to finish a letter, fix up my calendar, and then head out on a visit at 11.