I fumbled with the water this morning and I brushed my hair out limply, halfheartedly. I knew the words. Most of them anyway. I ache for a day of doing nothing. I grumbled sin. I walked over to a quiet dining room where snide remarks, heavy with resentment, were hurled nasty at me. My heart caved in the disappointment of the moment. Where, Lord, is the blessing of this day? I sin in forgetfulness. As we drive to church, we hear grunting and wobble uncomfortably dismiss this as normal. Until a considerate stranger points out that our tyre is flat.
We park on the side of the road, and as I wipe the sweat from my moisturized face, I sinfully twitch my lips in irritation.

I walk hungry, holding my loving mother’s hand as we speak of random beautiful things and I forget that my stomach is empty because my heart is full. We zip off in another car, hunting for a church that will still have us, late & exhausted. We find the old treasure- where my grandfather had worshiped many years ago. We swim against the current of the outflow of the satisfied congregation. We are the last to take the journey of the 14 stages of the Cross. I write intently as my mother reads from lovely pictures as we make our way in awe. The blessing of a new, profound message of the Cross and a realization of the Sacrifice.

On our way home, we visit extended, family, enjoy acceptance, communion and food, brothers and sisters in love and the Father.

As I ready myself for the evening worship, I realize that my sins in the morning and untoward, unwelcome surprises led me to the Cross and a wonderful, blessed day.

The way to happiness is always through the Cross.

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