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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2021-04-14 19:55:05 -07:00
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writing/sawtooth/limerent-object/prequel.md
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@ -126,16 +126,32 @@ Outside Dee walked slowly to one of the concrete blocks that served as benches a
He was not ready yet. Not ready for his penitential *patres nostri*. Not ready to go see his advisor. He didn't feel ready for anything.
*If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you so that you may be revered...*
*...If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you so that you may be revered...*
He didn't even feel ready for this prayer, for this call out to God? What iniquities faced him? He was privileged to be able to attend such a school as this. He was loved by God and the church. He was lucky to have been born with a mind so expansive, a body so healthy.
Perhaps the iniquities were within.
*I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I hope; my soul waits for the lord more than those who watch the morning, more than those who watch the morning.*
*...I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I hope; my soul waits for the lord more than those who watch the morning, more than those who watch the morning.*
Dee wished it were night. He wished he could once more sit in the quad and look up at the stars, or down at the grass and try to differentiate the shades of green, there in the dark where color eluded him, to find in that liminal state some sensation of the Lord.
Instead, he stood from the concrete block on which he had been sitting, winced at the brightness, and jogged around back of the abbey where a path lead down through the tall grass and the trees to a small altar.
At least he could get get up from where he was and away from this edifice of concrete and glass. It was, he was promised, beautiful in its own way. But around behind the Abbey, toward the lake, a small path wound through the woods, and there, between the trees and beside the water, stood the statue of Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, the only other coyote saint he'd ever come across, and the saint most venerated by his father.
*...O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem...*
Dee was not the farmer his father was, had few enough ties to her patronage of ecology and environmentalism, but in her he saw at least a face like his own. In her, he saw something of a people he could belong to, though she was from far to the east of his home in Idaho --- for Saint John's would never truly be his home.
*...It is He who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities.*
*Redeem Israel.*
Israel, who struggled with God.
He envied, as always, the Jewish tradition, that eternal argument about who God was, what he meant, in which God was an active participant. Perhaps here, he could wrestle with Him. Tumble with his faith. Get all scuffed up.
But Catholicism only offered him so much leeway, and this school even less.
"I don't want to be here," he confessed to the statue, then sighed and knelt. "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..."
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