I didn’t run yesterday morning; I needed the time for (a) allowing a lie-in after Tuesday’s Midnight Mass; (b) making pancakes for Margaret for breakfast; and (c) working out the homily for our 10:30 service, after being dissatisfied with the joined-up-ness (the lack thereof) in the late service’s homily. Honestly, I felt that the homiletical inkwell had run dry, and I was afraid that I would be reduced to liturgical dance or (shudder) some improvisational Thoughts for the Day. The sermon turned out all right, the service was lovely (if a little loose in its joints, as it were), and we had impressive numbers for both the midnight and the Christmas morning services — extremely reassuring, since Sunday services had been running a bit light. But all went well, hundreds of the Body of Christ gathered to receive the Body of Christ, and even the least satisfactory of the sermons from Sunday 4 Advent/Christmas Eve/Christmas Day was evidently pleasing to some in the congregation, so I’ll chalk that up as a job satisfactorily done.
After we got home from church yesterday we had leftover soup for lunch; Margaret took a nap, and I sat dozily in the living room until I experienced (and here I will steer toward delicacy rather than candour) a dramatic turn in digestive circumstances. I can’t think of anything specific I ate that would account for this; I suspect that it was part of my body purging the tensions and pressures of the past week(s). Whatever the cause, it was distinctly unpleasant, but (so far) short-lived. It did mean, however (to return to the point) that this morning I mostly walked my two miles, as my stomach didn’t relish being bounced up and down as I ran.