A mess of things

My spiritual director is here, on this retreat. Well, she's here, but not on my retreat- she's leading a group of women through a silent/directed retreat, women who are preparing to become spiritual directors. I'm on my own, not meeting with a director, despite the fact that mine is here, 4 doors down. As I was leaving Mass just now I wondered if she'd speak to me, ask me how my weekend is going; the chapel is the loophole for the silence, where you can be forgiven for greeting each other.
I thought, if she asks me how my retreat is going, I'll say "it's going great, I'm making a mess of it."
I've been reading a lot about grace- many of my books, as it turns out, are from protestant authors, leaning I think toward Lutherans- go figure. Anyway, they have all been, so far, about how God loves the ragamuffin, the tattooed, the addict, and does not need us to be perfect in order to be in God's presence.
Man, I love that shit.  I read about these awesome churches where everyone's a different color and gender, where everyone's a step away from sleeping in a doorway, and I want to check that church out, I want our church to be that church!
One of the books I'm reading encouraged me to go to Mass, to live the rhythms of the community I'm visiting, and so I showed up at Mass and found a seat more than half-way back, chosen for its isolated-ness. I scoped out a chair that had no book in its holder, and no books in the holders around it. I wanted to keep my silence, except for the responses of the Mass, and my distance. I was all, hell yeah God! Let's do this! Bring it!
And soon, a woman came in and sat two rows behind me, and coughed. She had a junky, jarring cough that clanged out of her like that slapstick they play during Sleigh Ride at Christmas pops concerts. I am sure I visibly winced. In my mind's eye I could see droplets of germy spew shooting past me. Then, she started to breathe.
She breathed like every breath was her last, and it bugged the crap out of me. I tried not to look around, to see what this breather looked like so I could envision her while I was hating her. I considered moving seats. I, too, sighed.
And then I thought, well, shit. I'm doing this wrong, again.
Mass was... fine. The homily, nor the music, nor the...angels? None of those bowled me over. The Holy Spirit did not come down like a dove and stand on my head. No shaft of sunlight illuminated my seat. It was fine.
On my way here yesterday, I was about 7 minutes away and listening to the radio. I half-jokingly said to God "so, any last words? Want to send me a song to go out on?" The radio changed, and the song "Shake It" came on. It's a great song, catchy, and I laughed at the utter meaningless of it, sang along. God doesn't take my dares.
Anyway, starting over. Back to the books, back to the silence, back to the bad food and high temps and empty hours. Hell yeah, God, let's do this.





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