Let us consider that Friday, March 13, 2020 was the beginning of The Apocalypse here in the United States. What were you doing on that day? Little more than three weeks ago, yet I cannot remember what I was doing. My last diary entry on March 12, 2020 reads “what happened on this day? I don’t remember. Time has passed so quickly in this time of Corona virus and yet so slowly.”
Last Palm Sunday, I was ruminating about my “Surprise Garden” and portable toilets for The Moxie Festival. You can read about it here.
My mother will celebrate her 82nd birthday this Wednesday and she doesn’t want me to bake her a cake. She is afraid of ‘Krona. Not unreasonably so, based on her age. I look back on a visit from her last year. What were we talking about? I don’t remember the details, other than Helen boldly announcing “we could live to be 100.”
God bless her.
While I am sad I cannot bake a special cake for my beautiful and industrious mother, I’m encouraged to think I may have another 17 years (at least!) to perfect her birthday treats. She likes lemon-flavored sweets and I was thinking of a lemon cake made in a loaf pan with a glaze-soaked crust. Doesn’t that sound delicious?
Next year, Mom!
I have not blogged about this much, but prior to The Apocalypse, I was an occasional French-language lector at The Basilica in Lewiston. I volunteered because there were not enough lectors to read in French and although I am not bi-lingual or even fluent, I am a good actress. I would bring the selected passage to my mother and record her reading it in French. I’d practice a few times with her and then listen to her recording.
Je pense que j’ai fait du bon travail.
Many times, as I stood in the ambo at The Basilica, I would look out at the congregation and think “these institutions are dying. What will become of these traditions? Who will remember the prayers and creeds?” The thoughts were heartbreaking to me and sometimes I would leave church feeling the weight of The Basilica’s North Jay white granite pressing heavily against my heart.
And here it is Palm Sunday, 2020. We cannot attend church, we cannot wave our palm branches during the processional. Those of us who remember cannot weave our palm fronds into crucifix accessories.
We will have to make do with other things.
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”
I hear the birds singing outside. I am reminded that “they neither sow now reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”
May you be well today and know that your heavenly Father feeds you because you are of more value to Him than the birds of the field. If you remember nothing else today, remember your high value.