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threeplusfireMass speaks to me, inside my head. The readings, the words of the priest, the spiraling sound of hymns and sunlight over the massive crucifix. I wonder how many of the coincidences in my life have been the hand of God. A strange thing for me to contemplate.
Our new priest, Father Joseph, really is a new priest. He's young, with something like a Northern accent. During the Euchrist today he and Deacon Tom both started to speak at the same time, and everyone chuckled quietly. Perhaps it made him less nervous, because he smiled more afterwards.
I've been asked to speak during a Mass in September. About the same things I spoke about to the RCIA group a couple months ago, but this time in front of many, many people. I am both elated and terrified. There is something very gratifying about thanking the people who helped me, and being able to share the hope that you can not be so far gone as to be lost entirely. Public speaking however is not my preferred method. My hands shake. Maybe they'll let me practice when the church is empty.
Visited my mother and played with the cats. My shirt is now furry. The cats have been catching grass snakes and bringing them inside to watch them squirm on the kitchen tiles. My mother is not amused.
My sister's car has died, and she has yet to get a job. Which makes me wonder what exactly she has been doing for the past few months. Not a happy situation for anyone.
Another email from my writer friend. Likes Kathy Acker, William Faulkner, and Edith Wharton. Writing back and forth makes me think of letter albums and books published a century later with all the correspondence of a lifetime. I have a folder of emails printed out and saved from hard drive failure, obseletion, and server crashes. Love letters and stories and moments best left untouched for another few years or so. These things I want to keep.
Our new priest, Father Joseph, really is a new priest. He's young, with something like a Northern accent. During the Euchrist today he and Deacon Tom both started to speak at the same time, and everyone chuckled quietly. Perhaps it made him less nervous, because he smiled more afterwards.
I've been asked to speak during a Mass in September. About the same things I spoke about to the RCIA group a couple months ago, but this time in front of many, many people. I am both elated and terrified. There is something very gratifying about thanking the people who helped me, and being able to share the hope that you can not be so far gone as to be lost entirely. Public speaking however is not my preferred method. My hands shake. Maybe they'll let me practice when the church is empty.
Visited my mother and played with the cats. My shirt is now furry. The cats have been catching grass snakes and bringing them inside to watch them squirm on the kitchen tiles. My mother is not amused.
My sister's car has died, and she has yet to get a job. Which makes me wonder what exactly she has been doing for the past few months. Not a happy situation for anyone.
Another email from my writer friend. Likes Kathy Acker, William Faulkner, and Edith Wharton. Writing back and forth makes me think of letter albums and books published a century later with all the correspondence of a lifetime. I have a folder of emails printed out and saved from hard drive failure, obseletion, and server crashes. Love letters and stories and moments best left untouched for another few years or so. These things I want to keep.
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Date: 2001-07-29 03:34 pm (UTC)Your speaking at Mass will be a source of strength for others. I am glad you are doing it.
Re:
Date: 2001-07-29 04:01 pm (UTC)Me too.