The first day of Spring
came with sleet and big snowflakes
and bone aching cold and wet.
Maybe it is muscle aching.
Something aches.
The sleet and rain are watering the garden,
for which I am grateful,
even as I complain about the cold.
Planting a garden does
give one an appreciation of rain.
Not sure on this achey day
that I need to be writing cheesy books,
but we'll let it ride a while
and see what happens.
I wonder sometimes what it would look like
to choose a role.
Sometimes it feels like I have always just
wandered into my life decisions.
Like the woman I visited today
who said she woke up one morning
in the hospital, with no idea how she got there.
I tend to enjoy the places I end up...
but don't always have a sense that
I took a lot of initiative.
Even the roles I've had to fight for,
like ordination...
I'm still not entirely clear
how I wandered into the fight.
Did I choose this life?
I still fight for it.
I wonder sometimes if
my persistence in vocation is
passion
or habit.
Still, as I said,
I've woken up in green pastures
beside quiet waters
and found my soul generally refreshed,
so maybe this is home.
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