I didn’t write a blog post in response to last week’s “delta” photo challenge because my muse failed me. I looked the word up to try to gain insight. My husband and I talked about it’s meaning in relation to mathematical statistics and I read other’s posts about growing up in delta regions but just couldn’t grab hold of a connection between my experiences and the word.
Posting wasn’t the only thing I almost didn’t do this past week.
I almost skipped going to mass on Sunday. My husband and I had co-hosted a party on Saturday night that had been many months in the planning so waking up Sunday morning and heading out to church didn’t happen. In the back of my mind I knew 5:00 mass that evening was out there but honestly, I didn’t expect to go.
But I did. And there, five days past the day I normally post my blog, I found my delta.
During his sermon Fr. Francis talked about church being a place of rest and encounter and it was then I realized MY delta, my place where my concerns and my burdens meet with those of all others and flow out into the sea of trust in a higher power, of trust in a God who takes on those burdens for us, had been right in front of me all the time.
Which connected me to this week’s photo challenge about bridges and a quote by George Colman the Younger that especially resonated with me after my husband’s retirement a few years ago.
“Praise the bridge that carried you over.”
Being in church on Sunday found me contemplating those bridges, on the ways that people have carried me through and over the deltas of my life, the places where too many events and too many concerns may have converged at the same time to overwhelm me. During those times it was faith and it was the people around me who got me through.
And so I leave you with a grouping of my Instagrams that feature bridges.
Feel free to insert yourself on any one of them with me and accept my thanks for helping me over.
The credit goes to you and to God.