On putting on the habit

 

I am a creature of habit.

Most days, I say Morning Prayer. On Fridays, I do not pray, in any formal sense, for prayer is the work of God, and Friday is my day of rest from work. Six days a week, I am reminded that my voice, however small, makes a difference in the world; and one day each week, I am reminded that nothing in this world depends on me, that should I die before this day is out, the world would carry on without me, just as it did before me.

Most every day, I receive the gift of the presence of Jesus, in bread (and sometimes, wine). Some days, with formal liturgy, prayers that echo through the ages; other days, with a simple blessing offered by a grateful heart. Often, I receive the presence of Jesus in bread that is spread with butter and marmalade, because the Bible says that God’s Word is like honey, but that is only because people had not yet learnt how to make marmalade. Afterwards, they did—thanks be to God!

Some days, two or three times a week, I go running.

I do the laundry.

I pause each late afternoon, to cook a meal for my family.

Most things that I do, I find ways to encourage and enable other people to do, too.

Except the laundry. The laundry is my cross to bear, on which I am daily put to death by my children’s refusal to put their dirty clothes in the laundry basket at the end of each day, as any god-fearing person should. And only Jesus can help bear the weight of my cross.

That’s about it. The rest of my time is held, open, and used in a variety of irregular ways, such as the funeral I took today, or visiting the housebound as I did yesterday, or being available to those who need to unburden themselves of anything, except laundry, as happens often enough.

I am a creature of habit.