I have a secret pleasure: each day, when the sun has gone to his bed and the stars dimple the skies, I often go among the old hours of my day, gleaning from them what is of some worth.
I hold each of these kernels of deeds, close to my heart, breathing in their soothing perfume, taking from each bud what comfort they give in telling me how I’ve lived my hours. Sometimes, there are many buds; often too few. Sometimes, I remember to thank God for the strength, the wisdom, the patience, which He gave me, enabling me to complete tasks, achieve goals.
Often, though, I number among the 9 lepers who forgot to return to thank Jesus.
Yesterday, the first day of my 9, everything I did I gave to Jesus. No morsel did I hold back for myself. No ache at letting go did I feel, no firm tug at my will to comply either. From morn to night, I skipped in happiness to the Heart of Jesus to empty my basket at God’s altar.
I know this was possible only because my spirit is wrapped up in the anthem of joy and relief at 9 days away from shadows. I wish this could be me always; yet no such vow do I make. For once, I don’t want to go outside the gate, nor crest the hill to sight what lies beyond. All that matters for these 9 days is to live in the meadow of today.
And on the first day, I lived it by giving, no holding back.