Lent Day 6. First Sunday of Lent in Reiwa 6

In the 6th year of the Reiwa Emperor.
Regarding March 11th, Julian Calendar.

I made it to church for the first time in ages, and I needed it. My goodness I needed it.
My confession was long, but I wish I had the words to explain what I wish I could. Father Gregory is so incredibly forgiving that I wish, at times, he would be harsh, yet I do not know if I could bear that either. It’s difficult to say, “I did this,” without a excuses. And I failed in this again. But perhaps, someday, I’ll be able to manage that. How sweet is confession.

I set up my camping chair just outside of the genkan and closed myself off. Nagai (probably) opened the inner doors so I could hear. I participated in as much of the service as I could, and I even took communion. It was a wonderful day.

The rains are intense here. I met with Kimura and the house people for next door. I hope that I’ll be able to purchase that house. It’d be a wonderful thing to have, but we’ll see. I’m wading into a deal of debt here, so I’m not sure what all to do, but . . . so it is.

Although I made my prayer and reading goals . . . I really didn’t. I didn’t focus enough. This Sunday has been a bit of a wash. I need to get myself together. Still . . . even so, it was better than most.

I ate too much for dinner, which was bad, and I’ve learned that while I can have oil on Saturday/Sunday, I ought to avoid it. It doesn’t seem to be in the spirit, and rules lawyering doesn’t matter much before a real judge. I know what I did, and even if it is fine for some, it is not fine more me.

I postponed my Japanese lesson for tomorrow (having done no work for it) and I also have my bank re-enlistment, and also my back doctor appointment. Wish me luck.

How strange to think another week has passed
And knowing not the number left to live
How many worthless words I have amassed
How little merit I have found to give

If all I am were crushed into a ball
And turned to diamond underneath the heat
I doubt that even purified, my all
Could be less than a tribute to defeat

But still I must press again against the foe
The foe within the for without the all
And hope that in these struggles I will grow
And grow to something if however small

Give me but the strength to rise again
Give me but the strength to wait ‘till then

Fall down seven times
Counting breaths upon the road
Then stand up eight times