Sometimes I think the real new year starts in September. So much seems to renew itself - such as my own spirits, for instance.
If I could find one moment to symbolize this, I think it would be last night at about seven forty five. Our church folk group (or choir if you prefer) assembles downstairs about fifteen minutes before the opening hymn begins. During the summer, a lot of people stop coming to sing, and this summer was worse than usual. Often I would show up and it would be me as the sole accompanist, with only two singers.
When I went down, one singer after another streamed in, some I had not seen in many months. By the time we went up to sing, we were a dozen strong, and when it came time to sing "How Great Thou Art", we sang it like I haven't heard it in a long time.
So I went downstairs after mass (yesterday happened to be the "breakfast of possibilities," the day designated for volunteer signup), and re-signed up for everything I already did. It seemed fitting somehow. Everything has come around again.
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