He systematically destroyed me

A chance to pray

I won't share here what my friend was going through, but I was glad of the opportunity to pray together, to remind and to be reminded of God's boundless love for us and the awesome ways He shows it.

A very nice compliment

So yesterday I'd resigned myself to sitting out the second communion hymn: J.S. Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring. Our director wanted to go straight into it from the preceding song, and I didn't have chords for the well-known instrumental part, even though I'd played it before, a few years ago. I grabbed some chords off of the Web last night, and had a printer issue that I resolved this hectic morning by rebooting it, only to discover at church that it was incomplete.

So when I noticed this after our first run through this morning, I took a few minutes to figure out what was missing. She gave me some coda chords she wanted me to use, which I needed to transpose because I was using a capo, but we ended up not using them because of when the communion procession ended.

It went pretty well. Afterward, my director said, "You, sir, are a hell of a musician."

I don't know about that; I was mostly just arpeggiating chords - okay, a little added fill, but not much - and only had to figure out a few of them on my own, but it sure was a nice compliment.

I keep mentally practicing

I doubt that I'll ever need to say them; I wish I felt absolutely certain that I will in the unlikely event that I do ever need to, regardless of the circumstances: "Thank you, but no; I've already hurt my wife sufficiently for both of our lifetimes."

Don't Ever Give Up

I've no idea if this post will be at all coherent, and that's okay.

Before I could start in on much of anything else this morning, I was reading a little of Matthew Berry's weekly fantasy love/hate, even though I don't have time for fantasy football. I like the other things he writes about in his column. Since it's Jimmy V week at ESPN, he ended that part with the quote from Valvano's famous speech at the ESPY's back in the 90's. It struck me, because of the strange feeling I had driving home from the pharmacy last night of wanting to set the cruise control, take my hands from the wheel, and close my eyes. I knew better than to give into this, of course. Oddly, it wasn't rooted in any circumstances of my life. Things are actually going pretty well.

After toileting, I lit the Advent candle for my first time of praying by its light in the morning. Sixth day of Advent. Clearly I haven't been doing this season right, not preparing my heart as I should, and that certainly has nothing to do with not having a whisky Advent calendar in my life.

I love to pray the Office of Readings during Advent and Christmas, by the light of the Advent wreath and then the Christmas tree. This morning's prayer time (link will probably not be valid indefinitely) was hard for me, but I think it will end up being in a good way.

Instead of the invitatory listed at the link above, I like to use Psalm 24 daily for most of Advent. This morning, when I reached the psalmist's observation about who can ascend to the holy place, I lamented my continued impurity and desire for worthless things. It was nearly a despairing feeling to know that I still struggle so much, until I remember that I am supposed to struggle, so that I might never seek to enter God's presence by any means except His grace as expressed in the Savior whom His people await. Then, in Psalm 34, I recognized that I am my own chief enemy, from whom I need the Lord to deliver me.

The Isaiah reading reminded me that all of God's children will ultimately find their place in Him, although some chastisement along the way may be in order.

And I still love the reading from St. Anselm, with its insistent call to make this time, this season, what it should be. I am not the first to long for God, even since Christ walked the earth fulfilling the Israelites longing for a Savior. I should, however, never give up seeking Him, or I shall certainly not encounter His presence.

It's a different world . . .

. . . than where you come from . . .

I've never been so rushed to put together a training basically from scratch.

A less angsty Thanksgiving

I am thankful that, even with a friend in NYC on the actual anniversary of my ill-fated weekend (the November calendars for this year and 1977 coincide), I had very little thought of those events this year.