Iron Gate on W. 80th Street
Oh, the weekend...
Friday tried my heart in ways it hasn't been tried in awhile.
I took Saturday to recover, to go for a walk, to sit quietly, to let sweet friends tell me I was brave and strong, to let that sink in and repair what was broken.
I watched as God opened up new avenues for closer friendships, opportunities to share our hearts - joys and sorrows - with one another. I was hurting because I was alone, but I was happy because I was not alone, if you follow.
Sunday morning started at a communal table in the West Village, drinking coffee out of bowls and eating breakfast with my Thursday morning girls. We were celebrating the fact that one of us was about to take the plunge and officially become a member of our church congregation. She was already family to us - the membership process more of a formality - but such a happy and meaningful formality nonetheless. Certainly worth celebrating with coffee in bowls.
I looked around, as we sat in a circle, and thought about what we each brought (metaphorically) to the table. The struggles and the successes. Stories of our pasts and hopes for our future. All so broken and all so beautiful.
Later at church we stood and sang "For All The Saints." My heart was still achy, but also full. That particular hymn has potential to make me cry on any day. But this weekend? Forgetaboutit. Tears were inevitable. I wasn't quite sure, though, if they were happy or sad tears. I think there were some of both, thanksgiving mingled with loss, sweet and salty together.
I thought, "If I have to pick a theme for this weekend, it would be 'hemmed in.' I feel hemmed in." Sometimes that 'hemming in' felt negative - like a wall, a barrier between me and what I wanted. But it also felt positive - like protection and provision.
Good and bad, sweet and salty, happy and sad, hand in hand. That was my weekend. That's life, I think, no?