Grateful for Life

It is Sunday afternoon, hot with clouds filing in orders across the sky.  This morning's sky was different, like the edge of a white blanket, as if the day were slow to rise, preferring to crawl under the covers.  Mass was simple, beautiful and satisfying.  Katherine went with me. I feel an especial joy in her companionship.  She told me of an spiritual experience she'd had at the guidance of one of our Dominicans.  She put herself in the place of Bartimaeus, and asked Jesus for what she most wanted-to remember.  She was struck by his look that took account of her wholly-a look full of a loving embrace of every aspect of her life and her person.  I think that she must have received the gift, even though it gives her pain.  We went to see Where the Wild Things Are last night, and although I was filled with a childish excitement, full of memories of my childhood, the snowball fights, the snow forts and tunnels my brother and I dug through the sides of the drifts that filled the creek behind our house.  Her memories gave her pain and suffering.  I felt powerless in the face of her intense feelings and recollections. 
I often feel like Dicken's character, Stephen Blackpool, from Hard Times, who complained that things "are all a muddle." I don't have any answer for Katherine.  I don't know what gift I would ask Jesus for, maybe love.  What else would I want? 
Merton's entry for today's reflection ends on a note of pessimism about politicians and military men.  The times haven't changed much.  I am doing the laundry, and loving Katherine.  That's all I can do today.  The world will have to wait until tomorrow.