I am going through one of the most difficult seasons. I don't want to say there haven't been offers of help, or people concerned, or even steps taken. But, the truth is, if I'm making forward progress, I'm quickly not making forward progress again. I don't have enough blog space, nor do you have enough time and capacity to understand the journey that I have been on and what it has transitioned into, both in the last several years and the last several weeks. I am drowning in both a loss of information and too much information that may or may not apply. I reach out for help only to receive cancellation, or month-long delay, or interest but inability to move much beyond that. I receive helpful suggestions, action plans, treatment courses, therapeutic interventions, prayerful support from well-meaning and loving friends. Still, I can't figure out what's happening nor determine the course for how to make effective change. And change is needed yesterday. Unti
"Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurled And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world Above its sad and lowly plains They bend on hovering wing And ever o'er its Babel sounds The blessed angels sing." Christmas Eve never fails to bring out the wisdom captured in a carol. Seems my go-to song for years has been my favorite musically, too: It Came Upon The Midnight Clear . I've re-read Edmund Sears' lyrics every season with something new grabbing my mind. This year, I wonder just how long the world has been 'weary'? O, Holy Night speaks of the same ("The weary world rejoices.") Why are those Merry Gentlemen commanded to "rest" and not "dismay"? Some might think we've experienced the ultimate in weariness with this continuing state of pandemic, which has brought new meaning to the "sad and lowly plains." The range of sadness runs anywhere from literal death to t