precious wound

before i left texas, my best friend and i pierced our left ears, high in the cartilage. i must clean that wound three times a day for three months. i am told not to remove the jewelry for a full year and a half, as the wound will close quickly.

each night when i sleep, i am reminded of this precious wound. each day when i rise, as i wash and towel dry my hair, i am reminded of this precious wound.

last night i went to the maundy thursday service at the small chapel i'm now attending. tradition and me don't usually go well together but this group of people make a point of being inclusive. i can be there and not be too uncomfortable.

i wept from nearly the moment i entered the sanctuary. using my hair as a veil, i hid myself from all but God.

before the service, i walked the gardens and picked up trash. sometimes i have to be drunk to do the Lord's bidding. such was the case last night. i needed a drink to help me do what need be done. so i did. i drank then picked up trash.

it occurred to me that He does not require any more than i am able to give. even when on trembling hands and knees i come.

i am a woman of no account

i said to Him

receive what i have to give

not much, i thought, but something. even an act of service is better than nothing. but as i write it, that is probably not true. i think God would rather have nothing from me than something given in obligation or to win favours.

i kept wondering as i was crawling under bushes, cedar, which i'm allergic to--why am i doing this? for a story? for cosmic points? because i want to sit in this garden and not see empty corona cases strewn about? maybe all.

even if it was an utterly selfish moment. a time when i had to choose between being selfish and being selfless--the one sometimes looks a lot like the other--it was what i was supposed to be doing at that moment with my life.

bags of trash filled, i made my way to the sanctuary and sat on the front steps and cried.

i kept laying my head on the pews in front of me and crying throughout the service. it was a tough time.

it occurred to me, this is the first easter season i've had death shroud completed. after spending a year contemplating the death of Christ, now i'm symbolically going to walk through it with these saints of God.

today i go to a monastery for good friday service. i have no idea what to expect. a blessing i hope. a kindred spirit or two who will find me and hold my hand. the breath of God quickening these dry bones.

all this i hope for because He too has a precious wound, me.