Mice and men

Having to do with plans, and how our own don't always pan out. On Sunday I felt very free and light, as if I could deny gravity, defy physics, and actually fly. I wanted to tackle so many things that over the months had seemed to be monumental, and far beyond my weak self to accomplish. I mapped out a schedule for the week ahead, imagining myself dancing through the chores, and organizing my life in manner of well-known domestic omni-media maven.

Shouldn't I have been prepared for Someone Else's plans to unseat my own? I woke up during the night with a heavy pain in my back. Breathing was difficult, and certainly flying was going to be pretty impossible to do. So, I had a very quiet, unaccomplished day. No problem! I planned that I would make up for it today by going to morning Mass, hitting the library, writing brilliant and focused words for several hours, and then attend to a few other essential bits and pieces I've been putting off for months.

I barely slept all night, beginning my day rather later and rather less sprightly than I would have liked. Mass was out, but surely I could still go to Adoration? Today is one of those 'first' anniversaries, and I wanted to do something to spend time with Pop. He would have gotten quite a kick out of the situation. This tiny little chapel, tucked between the modern church-in-the-round and the parish hall (which was hopping with what appeared to be a Chamber of Commerce meeting) contains five little chairs and insubstantial kneelers tucked cheek-by-jowl in a row. Hopefully you know your fellow adorer and they are fond of toothpaste, because you become rather intimate being so close together. (Granted, praying together brings people closer, but perhaps we can keep that to the spiritual plane?)

Anyway, I had imagined for myself an hour or so of deeply focused, quiet prayer - communion with my dad and my Father. Wouldn't you know? There were already two people there; but this is what Pop would have appreciated: they were two 'old guys' straight out of a British comedy. One was slightly deaf, and the other seemed to snooze between prayers. They were lovely though, praying next Sunday's readings together, offering intentions and thanksgiving, and even singing a little hymn together. Instead of solitude, I had focus and companionship; and one of their prayers lead me to a Scripture that encouraged me in one of the questions I have regarding my future.

Those two elderly gents offered me a lighthearted moment, and a reminder to ask before planning. Pretty good advice, don't you think?