Wednesday, December 1, 2021

Tired and Weary

We are at the time of the week where I am wishing that it was last week or two weeks ago, when I could enjoy Thanksgiving all over again, not the day itself, but also the anticipation of the day. While at the same time I am trying not to wish that it was two weeks ago, trying not to wish that I would not be wishful this way.  I wish I could just live in the moment, but that personality trait is not mine.  I try to train myself, but it's a hard discipline for me.

Part of my longing is rooted in the fact that my favorite time of year is from mid-September until early December 25, or some years Jan. 1-6.  And the week after Thanksgiving finds me wrestling with the knowledge that my favorite time of year will soon come crashing to a close.

Part of me wants to go even further back, back to early September when I was first relaxing into seminary classes, realizing that I could indeed do this, and that the classes would be as fascinating as I hoped they would be.

And much of what I'm feeling this week is rooted in my tiredness.

And I feel guilt about my tiredness.  It is World AIDS Day in the midst of a different plague, and I am deeply aware that my situation could be worse.  My tiredness is temporary.  It is the anniversary of the day that Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on the bus.  

This act is often given credit for launching the Civil Rights Movement, but what many forget is that various communities had begun planning for the launch, even before they could see or know what it would look like.

In fact, for generations, people had prepared for just such a moment. They had gotten training in nonviolent resistance. They had come together in community in a variety of ways. They were prepared.

Those folks had reasons to be tired in a way that I do not.

So, in this age of a new pandemic and old injustice, let me get ready for the day.  There is work to be done, but first, a walk and some time for contemplation and prayer.

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