Ordinary Days

It has been awhile since I’ve posted anything on this blog and I’m not exactly sure what’s up with that.   Nothing terrible has happened; in fact, lots of good things have filled my days and caused me to sleep well at night.

I’m satisfied and content with my job, my friends, my children and my family.

 But eating lunch with friends or going to a birthday party with food served doesn’t seem to be blog-worthy anymore.

Keeping my feet on the floor and feeling the good and the bad are part of who I am, not a choice that I make each day (or not so long ago, a choice I made every hour.)  

You know, I’m just walking the dog, mowing the grass, hanging out with friends, going to church, hugging my kids, opening my mind and heart and allowing them to love without fear.

 Just ordinary stuff. Not much to write about, I suppose.

I’ve started to re-think that though since reading a note from our Music Minister in my church’s Order of Worship. Apparently, after the celebration of Pentecost Sunday, the church enters into the Ordinary Season of the liturgical calendar. This season lasts until Advent and officially ends the high church season.

On a practical level, that means the banners in the sanctuary won’t be changed for awhile. The bird, aka Holy Spirit, won’t be swooping around in the sanctuary. The Grim Reaper won’t be extinguishing any candles with his hands and the choir is stuck with green stoles for awhile.  If you look closely, even the Christ candle is gone.

The liturgical seasons that Kathy (Music Minister) wrote about caused me to think of the season of my own life.  I like to think of it as early autumn, since most of the women in my family have lived well into their 90s. (You know, I’m hopeful for a few Indian Summer days left in me to raise just a little bit of hell.)

But I’m coming to think that maybe a comparison to the liturgical calendar’s seasons would be more appropriate than the traditional four seasons..

If I take that route, I’m, without a doubt, in the Ordinary Season, and with any luck, I’ve left the High Church Season behind; honestly, I’ve never cared much for poinsettias and lilies.

The last few years of my life have had their share of loneliness and reflection the Lenten Season often brings.

 I’ve even had a couple of my own Good Fridays, when I was left feeling that even God had forsaken me.

I like to think of my time spent in Residential Treatment as my time of Advent, preparing for something spectacular, the discovery of a life worth living.

My own personal Christmas and Epiphany occurred as those shepherds and magi, looking all the world like family and friends, rejoiced with me in this life-changing realization.

My Easter and Pentecost took the shape of sheer joy in finally knowing that I was not alone, that it was actually possible for me to be so much more than what I had become. . . .finally, there was hope, unending, undying hope. And, after a deep breath and a relaxing of my shoulders, I’ve entered into this very beautiful time of the Ordinary.

(Technically, I don’t even fall under the anorexia category anymore. Apparently, now I’m just an ordinary crazy. )

Trust me, though, there is nothing more extraordinary than the ordinary. The church following the teachings of Jesus, without his constant physical presence (remember, no Christ candle.) Doing the everyday work that we are called to do without the pomp and circumstance that the high church season often brings. While technically it is the Ordinary Season, I’m starting to think that it is possibly the most holy season of all.

In my own Ordinary Season, I’m beginning to realize that this is the reason for all of the other seasons. For the last several years, the Ordinary Season has been my goal. So now, just like the church, I will live and work and love with all of my heart, knowing that being ordinary is being exactly what God has created me to be.