Holy Hour

We had perhaps 85 people for the Holy Hour with Exposition and Benediction for the Year for Priests, on the Feast of St John Vianney.
85? I don't think that's bad at all.
I butchered, of all things, Holy God We Praise Thy Name.
Could have been worse, I could have screamed out loud, (and almost did.)

I've never had a charley horse before, and I didn't know it was possible to have on in your toe.

As we finished the Divine Praise and I swung back around on the bench -- zing! my big toe, by which of course, since I am descended from the High Kings, I mean my second toe, suddenly jerked to one side at a horrific angle shooting an electric current through the rest of my foot that could have lit up an airfield.

I didn't even know my name, much less what key I was playing in.

So it goes.... sorry, Lord.

I'm glad I didn't bother formatting additional verses of HGWPTN, and sending them to TPTB. I had had started on it, because with a "worship aid", (a rare bird in our anti-deforestation-paper-saving community,) we were not limited to the few in the hymnal, and some of the less-used verses seemed particularly pertinent, and besides wouldn't we want to sing a complete, albeit paraphrased, Te Deum?

Apparently not, the program provided words and music for 3 verses, with a big note -- we will only sing the first two.

And the Holy Spirit can just go soak His head?

So it was laziness, or defeatism, or something, but I knew any work I put in on it would be wasted, right?

Except why would that have mattered, I should have done the work and offered it to them anyway, no?
Why should the fact that my efforts would be wasted, my contribution ignored, play into my decision?
I wouldn't have been doing it for them, (despite their being in the position to accept or reject my offering.)

The humility of St John Vianney fascinates me. And shames me

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