It's been raining for over a week. And if it hasn't, it certainly seems like it. I love the rain, usually. it washes away the dust and grit, smells clean, and sounds pleasant on the rooftops. Rainy days lend themselves to staying inside, reading a book, building a fire in the fireplace, napping. But much of what we have to do is not inside. I've ventured as far as our little chapel to scrub grout from the newly laid tiles, and to ring the warning bells for the Daily Offices, but otherwise I'm not a very good duck. I hate the damp, especially when it's cold. Other Sisters have braved the wet to harvest in the soggy garden while I stayed inside and cooked dinner. I feel guilty. (Not guilty enough to help them, obviously.) I rationalize that cooking is important too. Of course it is; that's not the point. So what's the point here?The real point is I'm feeling guilty about other things and trying to blame it on the weather. I'm craving the independence I used to have, even if it was slavery to a job. It felt like independence and at the moment this life feels like slavery. I'm in a funk spiritually, which is the worst funk to be in… mad at God for calling me to this life but not mad enough to say "no siree, not me, big buddy." So instead I whine about the rain.
Intellectually I know that I am not my feelings. Just because I feel like the martyred one today doesn't mean I will tomorrow. Or tonight even. Something will happen to lift my spirits and keep them soaring. For the past few weeks they've lifted briefly only to crash and burn after a moment or two of flight. But this too will pass. And if it doesn't I'll find something else to whine about.
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