The Hermit Waits

Not patiently. Made another contact today to gain an update on the job situation. Have not heard back; perhaps it is poor protocol to inquire, but we are into the fourth week of the process, and this is the first job applied for in the private sector. Procedures and interview practices seem a bit different from the public sector, in which time frames are given and adhered to, and it used to be that letters were sent if one did not make the final interviews. I hear that now, sometimes no response is ever given unless one is selected.

The Morning Office included Chapter 61 of Isaiah. I am reminded that God dresses me in the robe of salvation, that the bride is bedecked with jewels. The hermit's habit should be a robe of salvation. Must ask God about this robe.

Then there was the glorious beauty of Psalm 108. My heart is ready, O God, my heart is ready!

Just have to get my mind ready, and my body ready, and then be at peace and ready to have this seed planted down into the earth, like a crocus bulb or a daffodil, and then live in the darkness, cold, damp, and frigid soil throughout the winter and into spring.

Bulbs aren't exactly seeds, though. No, I must be a seed that is planted and then dies, with no trace left behind except maybe some little wisp of a plant above ground that I will never see. Or, I could be a bulb that in the spring rains rots out and becomes humus deep beneath the ground. Bulbs are planted far deeper than seeds.

With you, in just adoring Him and in gratitude for bedtime and more reading of Mother Teresa's despairs, and of having read last night just how impatient--even impulsive--she was when she needed some answers from her Bishop.