Sunday, March 21, 2010

Sore muscles and Glory

Post-massage (Friday)
Post-Bowling Fundraiser (Saturday)
Post-Sunday school/Worship/people flying at me every five minutes with a new request Fellowship Time...
Post-nap (2 hours, sort of, spent on the couch not quite sleeping and listening to old SuperFriends re-runs)
... and I'm still sore, really sore; still kind of groggy, and just a bit of mental exhaustion in the mix. Plus, just possibly, a touch of the cold everyone else seems to have. Kid is in the tub, yearning for his spring break; husband on the couch, chuckling over the good news that by the end of the week, insurance companies won't be able to out-and-out deny coverage to anyone. And I am in the sewing room, surround by PILES and PILES of junk that need to get put away: sewing supplies, papers from school, Sunday school materials, bills, clean laundry, etc etc. What else? Gotta clean the bathroom, finish the laundry. Worry that my son's head cold will turn into an ear infection (as it so often has in the past.)

...and enjoy what's left of the sun today. Be glad I got a nap. Maybe carve out some space to keep working through my Sarah Miles book...

Day thirty-something on antidepressants. My PMS is mostly experienced from a slight distance, which is nice. The haircut and massage this week, on top of other improvements, brought me just a glimpse of someone I used to be a long time ago -- someone with a defined sense of self, an unquestioned identity. I walked into the bathroom to dry off my son a few moments ago, and he said "It's called Courage, Mommy. When you believe in yourself." Needless to say he was thinking about something he learned in school, but maybe he's right on the mark, maybe I'm re-developing a little courage.

"Mommy, what does it mean that Jesus will turn us into glory?" My son asked me this as we stood on the curb in front of the church, waiting for our ride. "Where did you hear that?" I asked. "Pastor Craig said it. He said Jesus would turn us all into glory. What's glory?" Good question for Pastor Craig, I thought; and I must have missed that part of the children's sermon this morning. I'll have to ask him later. "It's like some kind of cloudy dust..." said my son, who has a sense of mortality these days and has expressed some curiosity about what becomes of our organic bodies after we die. I realized I should probably make something up; 'glory' being an incredibly abstract notion when grappled with by the six-year-old mind. "It's more like happiness," I replied, "When Jesus comes back we'll all be very, very happy; we'll be turned into happiness." Not much better than Glory, that, and the kid gave up. I could feel him puzzling over it in the back seat of the car.

Courage. Glory. Identity. Our physical bodies, versus our emotional and spiritual realities. This is the stuff my Sunday is made of today.

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