Palm Sunday

I was genuinely moved by the anthem that preceded the litany of parting at today's service: "Hosanna to Our Savior King," by Sondra Tucker. We had a combined choir of children and grownups; the grownups were able to sing in counterparts, which I love. The adults did one stanza a cappella, which was lovely, and the children did a good job on their stanza as well. Then, toward the end of the piece, a handful of the soprano voices suddenly soared up with full power -- a genuinely thrilling moment. Then they did it again. I almost gasped, it was so beautiful. In general, I prefer not to applaud during a worship service (it's not entertainment), but it's nice to make an exception for the kids -- and even more so when I'm moved nearly to tears.

We had a nicely secular Easter party at the church yesterday for about 25 kids from the Bronx (ages 4-13 or so), culminating in an Easter egg hunt in the sanctuary. The bouncing castle was a big hit, of course, but the sleeper hit was a bunny-themed hopscotch game. The kids got such a kick out of doing it; or at least they did while I was there to call out the jumps as they made them and praise them for their various techniques. I'm inclined to think that the greatest gift we gave these kids was not the free trip to Manhattan, or the abundant fresh fruit (they LOVED the grapes, but left the apples), or even the crafts and games, candy, chicken nuggets, etc., but rather the opportunity for one-on-one attention and praise that they may or may not get on a regular basis in their daily lives.

This is also the secret, I think, behind the PowerLunch reading program. My reading buddy is so happy when I rearrange my schedule so that we don't have to miss a week. Or when I take a taxi to get there after missing the bus. These things say to her, more clearly than any words, that she is important. Which she is. She's a smart, sweet kid, not perfect, but she's still finding her way. Aren't we all?

One more thing that's been on my mind this week: I was unfortunately right about Z. If our friendship is not dead, it's at least unconscious and bleeding. I need to listen to those small misgivings rather than subjecting them to rational analysis. Most people just aren't that rational; we're massive bundles of sensitivity wrapped in a thin veneer of self-confidence.

The bad news is that I find it difficult to keep more than 2 or 3 people in my prayers, but the good news is that I mostly have been keeping them in my prayers. Always the same 2 or 3, for the last few weeks. In all honesty, my prayer muscles (like my physical muscles) are flabby from under-use. None of this is easy. I feel like if I start exercising more - and praying more - and getting rid of a lot of extra unneeded stuff - I will regain a lot of energy. It's the small daily disciplines, perhaps, that make life worth living. (Quadrant II for you Steven Covey buffs.) So why are they so hard?