It’s Sunday, the Sabbath for us, and I want to put aside yesterday’s mess and let the quiet of the day in.
And it’s Fast Sunday. The first Sunday of the month, we adult Mormons and children of varying ages as they feel comfortable doing so put aside food for 24 hours. We donate the money (and then some, hopefully) that we would have spent on our own tables towards feeding those in need: thinking of others, perhaps feeling what some have to go through who have so little, putting ourselves aside for the moment. Trying to focus on serving God and all mankind.
Or else simply going growly and hungry and complying out of peer pressure. Or not even. It’s up to each to decide what they’ll do and how they’ll approach it.
It is, in its best, a discipline that shows that our spirits are masters of our bodies and not the other way around, and, as well, a time when our prayers feel intensified as we dedicate our fast towards some particular person or persons in whatever kind of need.
I used to be more fully a part of this. But my health is what it is, and I’ve been counseled to skip the fast and not feel guilty about it. Certainly the full 24 hours’ worth, at least.
Wistful, then, is more the word.
My niece Rachel contracted a virus and has been ill for several weeks while trying to manage a busy householdful of small children. I am sending up an especially heartfelt prayer for her today.
I have in-person friends and blog readers that I know of who need that caring and thoughtfulness, too, and I’m trying not to miss anyone.
And, as I sit here typing this, I suddenly realize I need to say a prayer for the in-the-wrong-place collection agency guy: he so needed the changing that only comes through love, even though he’ll never know I did such a thing, and I need it to help me see him as a hurt person and let it go.