February 25, 2009. Ash Wednesday. It was a hard day today. My mood was wretched indeed, and yet, because of the day it was I went to Mass. As Fr. Christian marked a cross of ashes on my forehead, my mood began to change. The folly of letting little things drag me down began to be put into perspective. Sin and sorrow are great realities. Powerlessness afflicts us all, but there is hope. There is promise ...
Getting a Dirty Face
Ash to ash, dust to dust,
from dust we came, to dust return.
Our mortal frames such short times live,
so briefly walk upon this earth,
so soon like candles burnt and snuffed,
whose light must cease to shine.
And yet we walk, and yet we shine,
and for a few years we live,
and live for what? ourselves to please?
transient pleasures to obtain, to use, to lose?
And when these pleasures have been had,
and when allotted days are done,
what, pray tell, remains of them;
what purpose has there been?
What difference have we made in life,
or was that living all in vain?
Was it useless, pointless, wasted, gone?
Are we merely vapor in the wind,
to be blown aside, dissipated in the breeze,
forgotten as if in truth we'd never been?
Or is there pattern, grand intent,
design and purpose to our days?
Does our coming, walking, going really matter,
has our living changed a world,
or left a print upon its face?
Does design perhaps inhabit vastness we can not perceive?
Can our ending be beginning; is there more to come?
Is there meaning in our doing?
Can we seize upon that myst'ry we can not perceive?
Can the dross we know we carry
be removed and made no more?
Can we step forth in shining radiance evermore?
Can we fly?
Ash to ash, dust to dust,
within a certain hope,
in Him.
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