Back in the office now after the Big Event 4.0, a RevGalBlogPals continuing education event, I'm a little overwhelmed by all I learned. I'm trying to absorb, to let things settle into my guts, but it's hard to do as I run full tilt into Ash Wednesday.
I met women whom I'd only previously "known" through their blogs. I laughed, cried, pondered, and wondered how to bring this good news back, to translate these lessons of hope and grace, how to make change into freedom.
And I'm still jet-lagged.
I had hoped to do another complete month of blogging upon my return, but I missed two days because I was tired and nothing I typed made sense. (This may well still be the case.)
So, I was catching up on my podcasts and I heard this poem on The Writer's Almanac for 27 February and now I know what to give up for Lent.
I met women whom I'd only previously "known" through their blogs. I laughed, cried, pondered, and wondered how to bring this good news back, to translate these lessons of hope and grace, how to make change into freedom.
And I'm still jet-lagged.
I had hoped to do another complete month of blogging upon my return, but I missed two days because I was tired and nothing I typed made sense. (This may well still be the case.)
So, I was catching up on my podcasts and I heard this poem on The Writer's Almanac for 27 February and now I know what to give up for Lent.
Perfection, Perfection
("I will walk the way of perfection." Psalm 101:2)
I have had it with perfection.
I have packed my bags,
I am out of here.
Gone.
As certain as rain
will make you wet,
perfection will do you
in.
It droppeth not as dew
upon the summer grass
to give liberty and green
joy.
Perfection straineth out
the quality of mercy,
withers rapture at its
birth.
Before the battle is half begun,
cold probity thinks
it can't be won, concedes the
war.
I've handed in my notice,
given back my keys,
signed my severance check, I
quit.
Hints I could have taken:
Even the perfect chiseled form of
Michelangelo's radiant David
squints,
the Venus de Milo
has no arms,
the Liberty Bell is
cracked.
I have had it with perfection.
I have packed my bags,
I am out of here.
Gone.
As certain as rain
will make you wet,
perfection will do you
in.
It droppeth not as dew
upon the summer grass
to give liberty and green
joy.
Perfection straineth out
the quality of mercy,
withers rapture at its
birth.
Before the battle is half begun,
cold probity thinks
it can't be won, concedes the
war.
I've handed in my notice,
given back my keys,
signed my severance check, I
quit.
Hints I could have taken:
Even the perfect chiseled form of
Michelangelo's radiant David
squints,
the Venus de Milo
has no arms,
the Liberty Bell is
cracked.
Comments
--Brandt
Perfect. ;)
And I want you to notice that you left for the continuing ed event and returned without anyone of my relatives having a crisis to call you back from leave with a jerk. Yeah for not family crisis!