Another midterm. Already?

YDS does love its breaks. A reading week in February, now two weeks for spring break. Another reading week (or at least half of one) at the end of April. Add in a couple of snow days, MLK day, Good Friday and you can imagine how difficult it is to gain any kind of momentum. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, because lack of momentum means lots of catching up to do from time to time. So this is not so much spring break as it is a break from classes but not from studying.

It didn't help, of course, that I had a concussion, have been worried about Boudreau and his knee surgery and recovery (which is going slowly, by the way), faced the second anniversary of Seth's death and the impending death of my dear friend and mentor Edward Kryder. Throw in some other family-related stuff, and it's a recipe for heading back into the old groundhog hole. But you know the old joke about the kid who wanted a pony for Christmas who rushed out to the barn on Christmas morning only to find a huge pile of manure, so he grabbed a shovel and started digging, saying, "There must be a pony in here somewhere." There is, indeed, a pony, as there always is.

More often than not, the spirit of God manifests itself not in thunderbolts (although that would make life much simpler) but in the small things that let us know that we are loved and valued and that we matter. I know that I am surrounded by people who love me and whose love carries me through those times when I can't seem to find that pony. All the breaks have given me time to steady myself through emotional days and to rest when my poor head just wanted a nap. Even Boudreau's convalescence has been an opportunity to slow down when I'm at home, tending to him and keeping him quiet which helps me to quiet myself.

And Edward? Even his steady decline and entry into hospice is another teachable moment for the man whose entire life has been about teaching. He was a pastor for three decades in Buffalo, helped with the revision of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, served on the liturgical commission of the ECUSA, and taught pastoral theology and patristics to a lucky generation of seminarians at Virginia Theological Seminary. I met him during his retirement, and we quickly became fast friends, just as he seems to do with everyone. And now he seems to take joy in planning his funeral, preparing to enter into the nearer presence of our Lord, and through my sadness, I am learning what lived faith really is. Even when his dear wife, Sally, suffered a serious fall last week, he remained stalwart while all I could think of was that the two of them ought to be able to live these last weeks or months or whatever time he has left together, not with her in the hospital or rehab. He is unfazed. All will be well. God will handle it. When I took him the Eucharist last Sunday and read the Gospel passage from Matthew 6 that says:

Therefore do not worry about your life...

and can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your life...

so do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring troubles of its own...

he said in voice strong and firm, "I'm not worried." Hmmm. Maybe sometimes God does speak in thunderbolts.