Phone calls and more phone calls . . . sharing memories . . . laughing through tears . . . phone calls and more phone calls – what did we do before the invention of the telephone? – ash making from last year’s palms delegated . . . ashes sifted from the grainy bits and divided – one bag for Pastor Les, one for me . . . phone calls and more phone calls . . . funeral Saturday for dear Ann who died in January . . . funeral Thursday for Mark, who died last night . . . funeral Friday for Guy who too died yesterday . . . food organized and phone calls and more phone calls . . . double booking Shrove Tuesday and convincing the friend who would feed me to be fed instead – a feast of pancakes await with the Methodists . . . she, my Methodist pastor friend, will feed me on pancakes tonight and receive ashes from me and me from her tomorrow . . . and in the midst I sit down for a quick mid-day meal and watch Rev. and almost cry with him – the vicar – through his frustratingly awful Christmas (which, only on t.v., is always a redeemed thing) . . . and wonder if I’ll ever break and do a stupid dance of frustration in the midst of it all . . . phone calls and more phone calls . . . dishes washed and bulletin about to be done and phone calls and more phone calls . . .
Lord, in the hour of our need . . .
