Mondays with Niko: Snow and Sun

     Yes, another weather report. After about three says of snow, we have a sunny, but below freezing day. The key word is sunny--so walking to coffee today, even the trees were elated that they could do some photosynthesis, and began throwing snowballs on the mall strollers below them. Gleeful trees--one aimed for me just as I walked under it and it landed with a tremendous plop, turning me into a thinly constructed snowoman. I could hear a faint chucking from deep inside the pith.
    We continue to struggle with the prodigal and had an agonizing weekend when we said NO to his late night plea to spend the night with us--it was a driving snow. Yet, he managed, still resisting the shelter, still resisting the help there for him, still wanting to be taken care of by his parents--almost 38 years old. So he slept in a 7-11 and rode the light rail and was dog-tired, but he coped, and we hope that if the choice is between that and the shelter, he'll find that place for a shower and a hot meal, a locker and a bed, and, actually, some dignity.
     We begin the 2nd week of Lent--and the mindfulness that goes with it--fasting, prayer, almsgiving. I am fasting, consciously under-eating,  dedicated to more writing, meditative, and planning the Lenten series. But I'm not off to a good start, lacking the discipline when my well-being is so disturbed by the worry and anger with the prodigal--and, really, a concern that he will not survive, that, after so long and so much trouble, he simply will not survive--that when all is stripped away except the love of his parent, he won't recognize that as love, but will remain furious with us for not taking care of him--physically taking care of him, which, truly, is our only function in his life.
     Is it possible to go a day, just one day without talking about him, being angry with him, not sleeping because of him, being frustrated by him. Agony in the garden indeed. Take this cup, indeed. How do we move from "Take the cup" to "thy will be done, with only a comma for punctuation. A comma of all things. What resides in those spaces before and after? Some great gift, some power, call it the Holy Spirit, that allows us to move forward in true obedience, in spite of the cup's not being lifted. How can we find that gift?
Is it through healing services? Healing and Taize and prayer and hope. How did that happen so quickly with Jesus in the garden--or did it?