Sinking In

This is sinking in now.  We're living in a strange sort of whiplash.  My life, our life at the Companionary, is definitely more enclosed, but the brunt of the crisis is outside, distant.  We can see the news, or not, if it's too much.  I can choose, to an extent, my exposure to this pandemic.  I can choose, to an extent, my response.  I continue my daily routines, my prayer and writing and gratitude and calls.  But I cannot choose how this feels.

Two days ago I woke feeling fine, then by Matins my left arm was in pain, muscles seized up.  I didn't do anything I could think of, but I could hardly use my left arm.  Heating pads, pain killers offered temporary relief, but no progress.  Then Elizabeth offered to find the trigger point and gently loosen it.  As she did, the tears started to pour out.  They're still coming.  It's sinking in - all the stress,  the fear.  The virus isn't the only life-and-death going on around us this week.  I'll spare you the details, but there's a lot of grief around us.

I so love to live on the "resurrection" side of Mary Magdalene's life, but she got to that life and that message only by going through the Passion with Jesus and with the other disciples.  This week I'm turning to her, not as the "apostle" but as the beloved companion who is afraid and grieving.  I pray the psalms and hear her.  I sit in meditation and feel her next to me.  And I ask her to show me how to be in this place.  What I get is: tears.  prayers.

This is the truth of where we are.  Most of us cannot help in ways that feel adequate.  We can encourage one another, but we also need the room to be the one who needs encouragement.  I give thanks for my companions, and for all of you.  And I give thanks for my tears, as my back and arm release.

Lord have mercy on us.