I stumble back through the darkness, finding my way among the campers to reach the place where these precious two, oldest of my seven, are still sleeping soundly.
Dear God, Thank you for these beautiful children. Am I being selfish and greedy to hold so tightly to this gift of family so not to listen to the plea to help this whole community?
It is Holy Week so, of course, I’m also remembering Jesus. Maybe the abbot feels betrayed by his follower, abandoned by his friend, sorting his options and priorities, dealing with the dangerous politics of popularity, wrangling the power of the mob with his silence and navigating the unquenchable thirst of others for violence by numb autocracy.
Dear God, you give us these earthly choices, all the while knowing us so well. Is it possible love for family is your own metaphor for love? Or is this choice more perplexing? Or is that the paradox? I’m confused with so many righteous possibilities. In another time I would easily go off to Rome or to Paris or wherever for whatever years and days it takes, but how can I leave Ana and the children just now? I listen for your answer. Amen.
I can’t really sleep tonight. So many thoughts are twisting and spinning, and maybe even marching in lockstep through my brain. It isn’t too hot or too cold for sleeping just now. Maybe it is too many stars. Really it is just too many thoughts.
Already the sun is rising, and here people are already returning from matins though some of us are sleeping. Greg and Gabe left without waking me. Their fleeces are in tidy rolls put aside here for the day. I had best go search them out. I know they can take care of each other on their own, but I can’t dismiss my need to know exactly where they are. After all it is my loyalty to my family that makes me such a disappointment to these brothers of Luxeuil.