Well as the tatoos of the B.E. have worn off, so goes my manicure. It now looks tacky and tattered. I wonder what Aunt Bosnic would say? I paint my nails just enough to have nail polish remover but not enough to know where to put my hands on it. Perhaps I just don't want to rub off that outward and visable sign of the Big Event.
The first day back went fine. Even one of the harpies was pleasant and seemed glad to see me. And this is what I have to remember: this is a community of God, in times past they have behaved as flawed people but they still come together and worship God and try and orient their lives in a Godward direction. They are good people.
I have to admit that I carry trauma with me from my first congregation. It is like the after effects of blood poisioning from a toxic situation that left us (family) fearful. It helps to keep this before me because I come wounded, my family wounded, and financially broken. We need to be in this place at this time.
There are some choppy waters ahead: Fr. Diesel has given up on life. He has been locally ordained and left out here in Siberia for about 20 years without interaction from the powers that be (and have been). He has had little formal training, no continuing education and has been a polarizing influance on the congregation. There are those who love him dearly. He has worked hard for the church, and been to hell and back several times with people. He's been sick now for a while and is refusing any more medical intervention. This is one stoic and muleish man so that we will be looking at how to die well and with dignity.
Yea, time for the nail polish to come off.