Laetare Sunday

Whether it was the time change or the storm that brought howling (literally) winds, torrential rain, and parti-colored lightening or the greyness of the morning, we slept late, missing church.  I woke, the cream filling in a tightly squeezed Oreo between my Beloved and his 100+ pound golden retriever service dog, Sam, with Ozzie, the marmalade tabby, just next to him.  I finally managed to roll over successfully, waking everyone in the process.

My Beloved got up immediately and I intended to, as well, thinking of all the things that need doing, most of them a little scary after five months of unemployment (try to pay bills, balance checkbook, belatedly pull together things for doing taxes), but Sam sighed (something of which he is a master) and laid his head across what would have been my lap, had I been sitting up.  Oz snuggled in against my legs and Sam put a protective paw around him. 

And so I stayed a full 20 minutes longer, watching the last of the rain drip itself out, and feeling the warmth of the covers and the animals against me, the sounds and smells of brewing cappuccino coming from the kitchen, letting the serenity wash over me.  Still knowing all that needs doing, but setting it aside to rest in the quiet joy, I thought:  take the moments of peace when they are given, gifts of grace.  There will always be struggle to return to, the Lent, the Passion; enjoy the garden when you stumble into it, even knowing what’s before and after – even not knowing what’s after – and remember to say “thank you” on the way out.