Friday, October 26, 2012

sedaqah [tze-‘da-ka]

The only place in a large dorm one can be alone without fear of interruption is the shower.
I love the shower.
Cold showers are more refreshing than sleep. On a hot summer day, they are more rejuvenating than iced coffee.
Warm showers are like comfort in liquid form. They are more reassuring and calmtenting (new word. You heard it here first.) than a fuzzy fleece blanket.

And being alone is the only place to duke it out with God. In the shower, it's just you, God, the water and the pain, confusion, hurt, anger, or [insert appropriate distressing feeling here].

This particular Friday night, since I'm now an adult and have incredibly rational and appropriate emotional reactions to everything, I beat my fists on the impervious tiles. 
I never realize how tiny my hands are until I roll them up into little clenched stones of anger. Those puny little fists are so incapable of making any difference on a cold tiled wall.

I didn't realize my fists were still clenched, until I felt the stream of shower water moving over them. And then I felt a little stream of water fall out of my own eyes as well.
And then I remembered an image, and along with the image were the words:

find love. give it all away.

And then I unclenched my hands, and did this instead:


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