(Save it for when you need it. May you never need it.)
This post first appeared at the Episcopal Cafe, Speaking to the Soul, on February 10, 2021
There are days that will not let go.
They drag at you like a bramble.
Whether with the weariness of worry,
or of sickness, or decay,
they etch themselves inside the bones,
an internal calendar of dismay.
They make mockery, singing off-key:
This is the day that the Lord has made …
This is the day that the Lord has made,
and in the beginning each was given its bounds:
there was evening, and there was morning,
none allowed to stay for ever.
This is the day, fleeting like a breath,
a long-drawn sigh, mortal like us;
may we find compassion for its brevity,
love it like an enemy, pray for it as a persecutor.
This is the day that the Lord has made.
May God give it only the measure that it deserves.