Quietly Lit on a Sunday Morning
🌿 Essay: Quietly Lit on a Sunday Morning
Sunday mornings,
time slows down just a little.
There are no treatments.
There are no plans.
There is no need to prepare to welcome anyone.
There is only the light streaming through the window,
the presence of my family still asleep,
and my own breathing.
On such a morning,
I sometimes wonder, "Am I being of use to anyone?"
Did yesterday's treatment
reach that person's pain?
Perhaps my words were too gentle.
Or perhaps they were not enough.
But the very fact that such questions arise
might be proof that I was "by the side of someone's story."
More than whether I was useful,
it is whether I turned my heart toward that person's pain.
I believe that is the essence of my work.
Sunday mornings are
a time to face such quiet questions.
And,
a time to think softly,
"May I be a light for someone again tomorrow."
Today, too,
amidst my own immaturity, my wishes,
and the gentle light, I quietly set myself in order.
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