September 21, 2011
When asked, “How was your week,” I have been simply replying Well . . . it’s been a week. Which has been a surprisingly understood sort of comment around here. We are all tired. Understandably so. When you live in a setting and time such as we do, life takes on a bit more of a demanding nature than you’d think. Even the normal challenges–the fits of little 3-year-olds not yet ready to be away from home all day, for instance–eat up a few ounces more energy than those of us used to children are accustomed to. But you have to laugh, when all is said and done. You have to just carry on with lessons planned: with stories read, hokey pokeys danced, barnyard animal noises noised . . .
And suddenly, a week is done. Our weekend has come, and I sit with my housemates now, relaxed and calm–but with the uncertainty that comes with knowing security changes day to day, moment to moment, and we never really know what the day will bring.
But then again, no matter where you live, or what your work, you never really know such things.
Last night we had a staff meeting, in which I felt the privilege of sharing life with good, like-minded people. We ended with a “labyrinth” exercise, based on a monastic tradition from the Middle Ages. Before beginning, we read about how, “In the noise and rush of life today, the labyrinth appeals to many as a respite from daily cares and schedule overload, affording a window for contemplation.” And it was. It was a time of renewing, of centering.
Wishing for you all the blessing of being able to also “come, by yourselves . . . to a quiet place” [Mk 6:31].