Today we were at the morning communion for Ash Wednesday,

and as the black cross of ash and oil 

was traced on my forehead

 and the words

 "Remember you are dust and to dust you will return"

were spoken over me

 I remembered the cross on the prairie in Minnesota where I stayed in a hermitage three years ago.

I remembered lying face down before the cross.

The earth was hard and cold,

the grasses winter-seared and harsh;

yet I, who hate the cold,
and love my comfort,
was overwhelmed with the deepest sense of peace.

It felt like the sweetest resting place.
Like coming home.

Be Blessed