The week ahead

"I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry." — Psalm 40:1

The week has begun and I know where it is going.

All Saints is Sunday. I have been thinking about it since Pastor Holloway mentioned it yesterday, not with dread and not with anticipation but with the feeling of a woman who has packed for a trip and is sitting by the door waiting for the car. I know what I am carrying. I know who I am carrying. I have carried them before.

The prayer this morning was the list and the minute and a little longer than the minute because I sat in the chair and the house was quiet and Biscuit was breathing on his spot by the stove and Junebug was in the window and the clock said six-fifteen and I did not move.

The psalmist says I waited patiently. I am not patient by nature. I am patient by practice, which is the same thing after enough years but does not feel the same at the beginning, and this morning I waited and the Lord inclined, and inclining is a leaning, which is a physical word, which means God has a body in the psalm, or at least a direction, and the direction is toward me.

I will write about the dead on Saturday. Today is Monday and the dead can wait because the dead are patient, which is the one advantage the dead have over the living — they are not in a hurry. I am not in a hurry either. I am sitting in the kitchen with my coffee and my list and the week ahead of me, and All Saints is coming the way November always comes, and I am ready.

Lord, I am waiting. You are leaning. That is the posture.