I got out of bed this morning after not having slept well, following on the heels of my 22-hour Christmas Eve extravaganza (visiting three outposts "outside the wire" via convoy, etc.). By the time I needed to get up, my body was finally saying, "I guess it's time to sleep now," so that was a bit annoying. Talk about powerlessness!
After my morning prayers I hoofed it over to the shower trailer, and found as I hustled over there, that it wasn't as frigid out this Christmas morning as it has been other mornings. Jack Frost was definitely nipping at whatever body parts he could attack, but at least permafrost wasn't setting in to my extremities. This morning, anyway.
To my utter delight, I discovered we actually had HOT water in the shower this morning. Hooray! Thank you, Santa!
Mmmmmm. Hot water on a chilly morning.
I've discovered that it's a good practice to get thankful for the small things in life. Sets the mood appropriately.
Good thing, too. As I went to towel off, it dawned on me why my nice fluffy clean-from-the-launderers bath towel was very wet in places, before I'd even used it. Someone, passing by on his way out of the showers, had knocked it off its hook. Onto the floor.
Onto the wet floor.
Onto the wet, muddy floor.
Whoever had done this had then hung the towel back up, without comment. I, unsuspecting, had then begun to try to dry myself with a wet, grimy towel. After all, who knows where that mud has been?
Sigh. Uggh.
I'm still glad for the hot water this morning, though. Thanks, Santa!
Blessings and peace to one and all,
Fr. Tim, SJ
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