Man. Monday hasn't landed with such a heavy thud in quite some time. Puffy eyes, a mid-forehead zit, unruly hair sticking up in all the wrong places, sore neck, a night of fitful sleep. I need a re-do of this weekend. Can we kindly rewind to Friday afternoon? There are things I'd do differently. I will be given the grace to make it through this day and this week, I will.
From Richard Holloway, by way of Randy Draughon in church yesterday:
This is my dilemma:
I am dust and ashes, frail and wayward,
a set of predetermined behavioural responses,
riddled with fears, beset with needs,
the quintessence of dust,
and unto dust I shall return.
But there is something else in me.
Dust I may well be,
but troubled dust, dust that dreams,
dust that has strange premonitions
of transfiguration,
of a glory in store,
a destiny prepared,
an inheritance that will one day be my own.
So my life is stretched out
in a painful dialectic between ashes and glory,
between weakness and transfiguration.
I’m a riddle unto myself,
an exasperating enigma,
this strange duality of dust and glory.
