Maybe it was because I know so many folks who are wrestling with the dustiness of this life right now: the parishioner who just kept vigil with her sister as she died an awful death of cancer; another watching his father lose ground to the same disease every day; the couple my age agonizing their way through a complicated pregnancy; the young woman also losing her battle with a vicious cancer, knowing she only has a couple weeks left to live. . .and these are just a few examples of what people I know are dealing with right now. . .
Or maybe it was because I started thinking about Jean and Ethel and Mousy and all the other saints who were still remembering that they were dust on Ash Wednesday of 2008, and have subsequently returned to the dust over the course of this past year. . .
Or maybe it was because two year old Jindrah, who absolutely loves to remember his baptism and make the sign of the cross on his forehead, approached me and the kneeler last night with this huge anticipatory smile on his face, but left with a look of confusion and hurt when I didn't smile back this time and had marked him, not with water, but with ash. . .
Whatever it was, Ash Wednesday really got to me last night. It pained me to be making those crosses, to be reminding these people I love and care about that they're going to die, every last one of them, from the two year old to the ninety year old and everyone in between - and only God knows when each of their journeys will come to an end. I've certainly buried some folks I didn't expect to this past year, as well as those I knew were dying and would not make it to be marked in ash once more.
Life is precious. . .life is so, SO precious. . .and we squander and abuse and disregard so much of it. . .
Seize the day, friends, and rejoice in it, whatever it may bring. Because today itself is chock full of life, and this day is the only day you know for sure you've got.
Peace,
C.
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