The Slow Journey

Yet another mopey entry. I have been in an entirely too contemplative mood for the last few days, I suppose finals have a way of doing that to a person. I do wish they were kinder to my mind and body.

Lately I feel like I can't shut my mind down. That all the burdens I have placed upon myself and all the fears, desires, duties and yearnings for freedom have weighted down my soul beyond all capacity. Like an overburdened and exhausted horse, my soul struggles to regain its feet. Time and time again, it heaves and throws all its dwindling strength into the desire to stand firm again, only to settle weakly back to the ground. I have not been a good owner to my soul. I have worked it beyond it's capacity. I have driven it beyond its limits and I have loaded it down to the point of folding. And yet, still I ask it for more. I stand above it and plead, then yell, then rain abuse onto it's sad body. If only I would stand back, if only I could give it time to recover- to remove some the load, to unharness the cart. But I too am trapped. I fear too much to allow it the rest it needs so much. If I fail, I loose so much. I feel balanced between these cliffs- to loose my soul or to loose my way.

And so, I plead- I tell it "only a little more" I say, "look, there is the end!" And like a good horse, it struggles slowly to its feet and we plod on, side by side. One day, I know, I must pasture my friend, my loyal companion, my soul. I must give it good food, a pasture, a warm blanket. But in this wilderness I traverse, there is no soft place to rest. My only hope is the end of trail, so close now that I can feel the breeze of it wafting through my soul- speaking of waters and green grasses and the scent of flowers. And I pray that the wind does not lie. Because for better or for worse, I am committed to the end of my journey.

Along the way I am learning to hold close small victories- to raise them to proportions out of bounds of everyday life. Being raised and accepted as a lay reader, holding the processional cross, a hand weighted on my head with all the blessings of a good man, and the warm touch of oil on my forehead. I hold dear a quiet thanks for speaking my mind at a faculty-student meeting which allowed others to raise doubts. The knowledge that my voice was finally heard and I am no longer shouting in the dark to stone effigies in the shape of faculty. A quiet morning spent with friends. This is the fodder my soul is using to keep on the plodding journey. And now is not the time for parsimony.

Are we there yet?

Amazing how things like going back to school have the ability to reduce you to your six year old self. When all you lived for was the weekends and the vacation days. I find myself continually counting the days until I have some time off. Constantly checking with other students to make sure I have the correct number of days counted, because I might have made a mistake. What if I counted more? What if I counted less? Oh, the horrors of having an extra, unplanned for day! Its hard when I am so close to getting out of here, but still a semester away. Hell, I can barely concentrate on the semester at hand! I have a paper rewrite that was due yesterday and I still haven't even started. I pulled it up on Tuesday night after the finals were over and just ended up starring blankly at it for a while before shutting down my laptop and going to bed. Again I did the same last night and today. So I am still no closer to my goal.

Daily I am telling myself I made the right choice. I will graduate. I will love my job. I will make the difference in life that I know I need to make. But there are so many days when I fear this. I wonder. Is it enough? Will I enjoy my job when I hate the process of obtaining that job so much? And the truth is, I don't know. I really don't. I think I know that I will love helping people. That I will find true meaning to my life by providing health services for those who have no other way of doing it. That starting a health clinic out of my church will give me the depth of life that I need to survive. But I don't know. And not knowing is killing me.

I wonder sometimes if this is, in a tiny way, what Jesus felt. If all people who teeter on the edge of service, true service, and calling feel this doubt. I wonder if they toed the edge praying for respite or if they bravely stepped out into the abyss. I stand by the edge, ready to take that jump. But I fear the unknown. And am frustrated by that fear. I have never feared like this before, but then, the stakes were never so high as they are now. Not just my own life, but so many will rest in my hands. What a burden, what a blessing.

Adventures of a mad alcolyte

Or perhaps just a mad verger.

I am now officially the newest alcolyte in St. Paul's Epsicopal Church. And I didn't even drop Jesus, so I guess I can stay. Especially since I didn't throw the choir off with my singing as I don't think they'd ever find my body if I angered the choirmaster. I am not even sure exactly how I got roped in- I do remember approaching the verger to say hello and ask him about something or other wholly trivial and the next thing I knew I had a cassock half over my head while he was pointing to the processional cross on the other side of the sanctuary. Nothing like being tossed in with barely a by your leave and no directions what so ever. My roommate was smart enough to run when she saw what was happening to me. Smart, smart girl.

This week has been an interesting one- if more then laid with procrastination. Which is, I suppose why I am sitting here instead of doing a nursing process that is due tomorrow. I did try in good faith to go to the coffee shop, but apparently Cafe Latino has either closed completely or is trying a new sales plan that involves random closures throughout the week. Too bad really as I loved going to that coffee shop, I would hate for everything but Starbucks to close here.

I also found out that I might be able to pasture a horse at one of the other parishoner's pasture. Which is wonderful news for me. I have been wanting to get a horse for a long while, but the bording costs are very prohibitive. Plus, with a ten acre pasture, if I don't get a chance to ride as often as I would like at least the animal would have plenty of room to roam and play out extra energy. I was so excited I promptly spent most of yesterday looking at horses available for adoption in Texas, though I won't be able to adopt for a few more months and need to get a truck and trailer before I consider getting a horse.

And, if I can find the right horse, I might be able to train for mounted search and rescue as well- though it will be with a bunch of nutters who seem to also enjoy riding about in fairy costumes. You'd think they would have seperated those into two websites, really. On the top of the page you see all the information and requirements needed for mounted search and rescue, the program that is run by the Bexar county mounted police and then you scroll down a bit and there she is- a woman dressed as a fairy riding a small grey horse with a horn taped to its head. Random.

Right, back to work with me....