Words and Thoughts and Guidance

Little sweetheart, tonight is Holy Thursday or Maundy Thursday. It's the night of the Last Supper and the contemplation of Gethsemane.

I went to services again tonight and so much of what was said and transpired made me think of you and long for you and want to speak to you quietly, a bit like I'm doing now, I suppose, by writing this.

Sometimes when things are especially resonant, I'll circle them in the bulletin where they are printed and appear or if it's something that's spoken, I'll write it down in my own hand there.

Tonight, early in the service, during the Prayer of Confession, there was a passage that struck and stung me. It was talking about the Disciples but I took it deeper into my own heart. It read: that they "loved and followed you but they had also failed you."

Sometimes, when I think of things, moments where we argued or I was upset or mad, I am so overcome with remorse, little sweetheart. We only had so little time together and it absolutely crushes me to think I ever spent any of it quarreling or moody. It brings me to bitter tears to think of any moment in which I may have hurt your feelings. I know it's human - I know we both hurt each other's feelings from time to time and that we both are terribly emotional - that's a wonderful thing to share because we didn't frighten one another with our intensity. But still I regret it so very deeply and pray that you forgive and still love me as I do you with all my heart and soul.

Later on something else touched on that very theme. Something about praying to soften our hearts and being quick to forgive. Again, I feel that about myself. You are very kind and quick to forgive, my little sweetheart. And it was something that you were teaching and still are teaching me. 

After the homily and just before communion, there was a hymn, another I remember from last year. It's called Go To Dark Gethsemane. What struck me about it last year and again tonight is that next to the hymn itself, where the composer is usually listed, in big capital letters it says: REDHEAD. Isn't that amazing, my little gingersnap? The composer is actually someone with that last name - Redhead. It seemed that you were especially close in that moment.

Then, near the end, during the benediction, the pastor, the associate one, the young woman, Jes, I've told you about, was reading something from scripture in closing. "Do not be far away", she said.

My heart leapt because that's something I would always say to you, isn't it, little sweetheart? Even if you were only going into the next room or even just shifting your weight a little next to me in bed - "don't go too far away", I would always say to you.

And then, Jes, continued. "Oh, my help, please come quickly."

I needed to write these two things down and I began to do just that, but part of the Holy Thursday service is the slow outing of lights and by the time I began, the last of them were outed and we were in darkness, as we are to leave silently so. But I had my pen in hand and just kept writing even though I couldn't see. And that in itself is rather apt, don't you think, my little sweetheart?

You can see all now, all that there is. But I must wait, seeing now, as we say, through a glass darkly.

In this mortal life I must wait in darkness and just have faith that you are near and waiting for the moment you may take me to you. I must listen closely and heed your words of guidance. Even as I say and write not seeing, "don't go too far away, oh my help, my little sweetheart, please come quickly."

I love you my dear one, my true one, my only one. I love you forever. With all my heart and soul I do.