I was the reader at Lauds this morning, the text from Isaiah's 55th chapter: Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the water.
For some reason I looked at the rest of the chapter later today. Thorn bushes and nettles, cypress and myrtle. I could make a list of today's nettles:
I spent over 90 minutes with UPS on the phone today, trying to figure out why their insurance people still haven't managed to pick up The Egg's broken computer, despite repeated assurances over the last three weeks that "it will be picked up tomorrow."
A piece of research equipment that was ordered last week was "stuck" in the system.
Unbloggable work issues.But images of the cypress trees in the cemetery at Wernersville are dancing at the edges of my vision, reminding me of a late evening walk there last week, and the deep welling water that was God in the silence.
Cypress and myrtle. Their growth means there is water stirring somewhere. Cool. Quenching. Life-giving water.
The company that made the sink offered to replace it.
And public safety called, they found my breviary, dropped from bag as I got out of the car in the parking lot this morning. And as it doesn't have my name in it, it took them a bit of detective work to figure out who it might belong to.