healing

I went to church this morning feeling weighed down by the long day's work ahead of me. I usually try to keep Sundays work-free, but there was just SO much to do before deadline, I knew I'd have to push through it today. I expected I'd likely work until ten or eleven, for the fourth night this week. I wasn't feeling particularly hard-done-by, just pragmatic. Tired, but pragmatic.

I'd missed the last two Sundays at St. Paul's and consequently did not know that today's service included a fairly lengthy healing litany and annointing. It took me by surprise. It may have been how my priest presented it or it may just be how my ears perceived it, but when the invitation was given for annointing it sounded imperative, like everyone should be lining up. I didn't even really think about it all that much when I rose from the pew with my friends, and walked toward Markus, my priest. With every step, the weight of the day became more and more pressing, and the weight of countless other worries joined in, and I felt exhausted to the marrow of my bones. I had tears in my eyes by the time I reached Markus. He just looked at me and didn't say anything for an eternity measuring about three seconds. He just stood their, all in white, with a look of calm on his face. "Courage. And wisdom," I said. And he took my head in his hands, marked a cross on my forehead with ointment, and prayed. I couldn't tell you what he said if my life depended on it, but I won't soon forget the warmth of his hands on my head or the warmth of the tears as they flowed.

When I got home, I ate left overs. I took a nap. I had a long phone visit with my parents. I went ahead with a Scrabble date instead of cancelling in favour of work. I called friends who invited me over for dinner and let me do three loads of laundry at their place while we watched old episodes of Grey's Anatomy. I took a day off and feel SO good about it. It felt like the wise thing to do, the courageous thing. I suspect that for a lot of people, taking a day off and choosing not to worry about work isn't so much an act of courage but is just a healthy way of life. Though I know I'm far better at it than I used to be, it's still more familiar for me to walk the path of pragmatic martyrdom than to choose a path that's healthy, balanced, restful. Which is why I feel thankful for the prayers of my friend, my brother, my priest, and for his hands and that warmth.

Courage. And wisdom. Here's hoping.