Cold wind whipped and whistled around the church this evening and the temperature inside was not much warmer--45 degrees. Apparently no one informed the programmable thermostat that we might want some warmth at the Ash Wednesday service.
Not that I am complaining. Much. I keep promising myself that I'll try to give up complaining for Lent but before you know it I'm complaining about how difficult it is to stop complaining. I'm tired of hearing myself gripe (she griped). Please, someone, make it stop!
I'll start by not complaining about how cold it was in church. Maybe shivering in a freezing sanctuary is the right way to start the season of self-denial. At least I had a warm coat! With a hood! And gloves! And a blanket! And besides, all that shivering led some interesting vibrato to the singing and extra texture to the ashes marking my forehead.
But I'm not complaining! Merely reporting the facts as I see them, objectively and without rancor. At least that's what I'm telling myself. When I cross the line from reporting to complaining, I'm sure someone will tell me.
First, though, tell me this: is it technically considered a complaint if I complain that not complaining is my cross to bear?