Out of the depths

More than watchmen for the morning...

It's been a tough winter, and a tougher Lent so far.  A tincture of agere contra  has been prescribed, so I will refrain from listing what has beset and besieged me (frankly much of this I could not blog, though I keep saying I could put it a novel) and merely say that I'm keeping my eyes fixed on the graces, like the watchman for the morning.  I'm hoping to see hope.  Hope is patience with the lamp lit.  Tertullian.

Graces....

Sitting on the floor last night, with a wide-eyed baby in my lap, talking with her young mother about the longing for an uninterrupted night's sleep I had when The Boy was that age, listening to her worries and hopes.

A smudge of violet crocuses on the hillside next to campus.

A pot of bolognese sauce on the stove.

The letter that said The Boy has a place at college next fall. "Good news is enclosed" it said on the front.

Out of the depths, O Lord, I cry to you.
Lord, hear my voice...