Fiat

As this short season of Advent swirls around us in a flurry of busyness, the word fiat has been on my heart.   It is after all, thanks to Mary's fiat, her "yes" to God's will, that the whole Incarnation came about as it did.  She said yes to something that could cause scandal, yes to bringing up the Son of God, yes to carrying Him in her body for nine months, yes to giving birth to Him.

She probably didn't know when she said "yes" that she'd have to give birth to Him after more than a week of bumbling along on a donkey while nine months pregnant, or that she'd have to give birth to Him in a cold, dark, dirty stable, or that after His birth they'd have to hide out in the desert for two years.  She probably didn't know when she said "yes" that she would have to watch him suffer and die at the hands of the people He loved so dearly.  But she said "yes" to God, and though it caused her times of pain and suffering, she allowed God to use her to help bring about the salvation of the world, through the miracle of a tiny baby.

In a way, this is how God uses all of our fiats.  Every time we place our trust in God, we say "yes" to His will for the salvation of the world.  Most of the time we don't have any idea how His plans will unfold, but we know that it likely won't be easy.  There will be sacrifice, pain, and suffering along the way, but it is through this sanctifying grace that we are transformed to become whatever God wants us to be.  It is through our fiats that He brings about the most glorious things!

This year, my greatest desire is for us all to appreciate more fully the love that God has for us.  He came to earth to be one of us, to share in our human experience, to be treated horribly and executed so that our sins will not be held against us.

The miracle of the Incarnation becomes more real for me every year, and when I close my eyes, I find myself on my knees.  I kneel beside the manger, holding Mary's hand as she rests and recovers from the difficult journey and the birth.  While she sleeps, I watch over her baby, my brother, my King.  I want to touch the soft cheek of the baby Jesus, because I know that with only a touch, I can be healed of my petty, whiny, selfishness.

O heal me, Jesus, and help me to embrace fully the plans You have for my life.  Help me to focus on the love and blessings I do have and not be so worried and anxious about what I don't have.  And thank You for coming to save us.

May the joy and peace of the infant Jesus fill our hearts this Christmas season!

(To see the sweetest interpretation of how God's ways are beyond our wildest imaginings, 

watch the video below.)

Merry Christmas!

Slowing Down

The last few weeks have been busy for me.  I attended several workshops on how to set small manageable goals and habits for developing a prolific writing life (or whatever life you want to have, really).  In the midst of that I've been meeting weekly with a group to prepare for Marian consecration on the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary.  And in the middle of all of that, I've had some intensely stressful things to deal with.

While I enjoyed my workshops and meetings, they caused my work schedule to be even more up and down than usual and the stress was starting to take its toll.  I was so exhausted to the point where I almost wasn't sure I was going to get through work on Monday.  I was off early that day and two glorious days off in a row followed, so I had all sorts of lists going of things I wanted to accomplish and errands I needed to run.  Of course, I also had to crank out a few hours on my fiction writing project, since that's what I vowed to do in my writing workshop.

But by the time I left work on Monday, I knew none of that was going to happen.  No, not even the writing.  If I was going to survive this week, I needed to slow down and take time for myself.

It's interesting how clear it all came to me while I was taking those workshops.  I was busy making plans and creating schedules so I could follow my dream to write a book, and life happened, as life does, forcing me to reevaluate my priorities.

Like I said in my last post, writing is a part of me, and I owe it myself to write regularly.  What I've discovered for myself though is that the writing will take different forms.  Sometimes I'll have the creative energy to put into fiction (and eventually I will finish writing a book!).  And sometimes I'll need to write in my journal or on this blog in order to slow down, to reflect, to process what's on my mind and in my heart.

So yesterday I didn't venture far from home.  I enjoyed a leisurely morning, then did some basic cleaning around the apartment, walked to the nearby church for noon mass, watched an episode of Dr. Quinn (the whole series is on Amazon Prime, fyi) while I ate lunch, did some reading and journaling, walked to the library to return a few books, and then drove up to work to pick up a few grocery items for meals for the next two days just in time to give my husband a ride home.

I still accomplished some things, but I didn't kill myself over it.  I took the time to notice the clear blue sky devoid of any clouds, to feel the heat of the sun and the cool whisper of the gentle breeze, to sit on the balcony in silence and eat an apple while watching the neighborhood unfold beneath me.

And after that slow-mo day yesterday, I feel more rested.  I had the clarity to sit and write here, and there's creativity flowing in my brain again, so, depending on how the day goes, I may work on my fiction later as well.

Part of me feels guilty that I didn't follow the schedule I made for myself, especially after just coming out of those workshops!  But I think we need to learn to forgive ourselves when we don't accomplish everything we want to.  Sometimes, especially when life throws us curve balls, we have to slow down and take care of ourselves.  Otherwise, how can we ever be expected to care for others?

During these two days of slowing down, I've lived more intentionally, more mindfully, and I've reconnected with my center, which is Jesus.  He's still holding me close; He never let me go.  And He hasn't taken the pain away, but He's transforming it, and transforming me so that I can bear it with all the love with which He bears His.

This book by Fr. Michael E. Gaitley, MIC, changed my life. Just FYI.

At the Heart of It All

Whenever we turn on the news these days, someone else has died a violent death.  Or dozens have.  Or hundreds.  It's sickening, confusing, and frightening.  We don't know how to process it.  We often turn to social media where commentaries and arguments have sprung up pointing the finger at others in blame and isolating the problem to one issue, race, religion or another.

But isn't that part of the problem?  Isn't it a problem that we are so ready to jump to conclusions and harsh judgments and stereotypes of our fellow man?  That we are determined to see the worst in one another, and to take sides against one another?

It's easy to be discouraged as these horrific events continue to unfold around the world, across the ocean, in our own neighborhoods.  It's a natural reaction to want to lay blame somewhere.  We want to see someone come to justice.  But there isn't any one person at fault here.  We are all part of the problem.

As a society, we have become selfish, rude, demanding, quick to anger, quick to judge, quick to blame others for our own mistakes.  We are a culture of waste, and we have begun to see one another as disposable.  We don't see each other as human beings.  We see the car in front of us driving like an idiot and it fills us with road rage.  We see our service workers as robots or low-lifes and treat them like crap.  We see the woman with the screaming child in the grocery store and judge her for obviously being a terrible parent.

We don't take the time to put ourselves in another's shoes, to recognize the difficulties that the people around us are facing, to see ourselves in one another.

We are all part of the problem, because we are all human. Rather than be discouraged by that, though, we should take heart in it.  Since we are all part of the problem, we can all be part of the solution.  We are all in this together.

We can stop pointing fingers, stop labeling the symptoms of the problem (racism, terrorism, homophobia) and acknowledge the root of all the problems:  our lack of respect for the dignity and equal value of each and every human life.

We can start overlooking the small annoyances and frustrations we feel from other people in our daily lives.  We can treat each other with kindness and patience, whether or not we receive the same treatment back.  We can attempt to understand the differences of others, rather than fear or hate them.

This isn't easy to do, by any means, but if we all stop making hateful, angry commentary on the tragedy and start feeling it in our hearts, we can work together to slowly but surely bring about peace.

I recognized yesterday my part in the problem when I received some news about an old, loyal friend. I learned that she is joining forces with someone that I believed we both couldn't stand.  When I thought of all those years I had to stand between them and fight them off one another, I was shocked that now they would be uniting as a team. I don't know the details of the situation, but my initial reaction was to feel betrayed and hurt that my friend would consort with the "enemy" in this way.

When I felt the word enemy rise up in my heart, I remembered the horrible, hateful killings of recent days.  Is this person really an enemy?  This is a person who we had perpetual misunderstandings with, but who never meant us any real harm.  We chose to hold on to angry, bitter grudges and refused to ever see this person as a person, but rather as an obstacle to our freedom.  But the real obstacle was in our hearts, a wall we had built ourselves to keep this person out, to side against this common enemy.

I want so much to stay angry, bitter, hateful even, toward this person, but I know that if I see someone like this person as an enemy, I am part of the problem.  If I can't forgive and let go of petty grudges and the annoyances that this person's differences have caused me over the years, how can we let go of hate in our world?

I remember my loyal friend's constant example of a pure love for Jesus, of her ability to love easily, even to the point of folly.  And maybe she has found a way in her heart to forgive this person, to love this person despite their differences, so that they can work together in peace.

That is peacemaking, friends.  That is the solution.  Letting go of grudges.  Choosing love, kindness, generosity in the littlest things of every day.  Smiling while going through the motions.  Responding to rudeness with kindness and patience.  Truly desiring what is best for other people, desiring their success, their well-being--whether or not we like them.  Forgiving others so that the walls in our hearts can be destroyed by love, so that all we have in our hearts is love.

In a few days, we will likely have forgotten about these tragedies, or moved on to mourning the next ones.  But let's please, please, please never forget that we belong to one another.  That all us humans are in this together.  

Please.

Taste of Heaven

Every cup is a communion.

Wine shared in the Austrian alps, beer shared on a sunny hilltop overlooking a postcard village, coffee shared between morning rushes of customers.  Every cup is a communion.  Some communions are fuller than others, but all exist in that existential sip and the sharing it with the person next to you.

Every meal is a communion.

We sit at table, sharing pancakes made in a drunken stupor at 2 am, a steaming bowl of paella whipped up on a Friday afternoon, a plate of whatever-they-gave-me at a soup kitchen, a meal shared between two long-lost friends.  It's a communion.

There are moments in time of such communion--of Bollywood dancing outside the restaurant after cheeseburgers, of holding hands in the moonlight after eating schnitzel, of bittersweet goodbyes that leave you grieving the end of an era but so full of gratitude for having lived it with such beautiful people.

People come and go in our lives.  Some you forget you ever knew, but some stick with you.  Some throw you under buses and stab you in the back no matter how much you try to love them.  Then there are those who leave you staring in wonder at the faces and smiles around you unsure how you ever deserved the privilege of sharing anything with them, let alone days, weeks, months, and years at a place that felt more like home than home did.

To the ones that hurt you, you can only find a way to forgive them, otherwise the hurt will wound you eternally.  You will remain with a hole in your heart that won't be filled no matter how many communions you share.  Because as the priest says before THE Communion, 

"Take this, all of you, and drink from it, for this is the chalice of my Blood, the Blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.  Do this in memory of me." 

Do this.  Drink this blood so that your sins may be forgiven.  Pour out your own blood, empty yourself of your self completely, empty your cup, let go of your ego and your silly pride, and forgive those who hurt you.  It will hurt, but we must persevere up that hill and look at them with arms opened wide to receive them, whether or not they are sorry.

To the ones that loved you back, saying goodbye is hard, because you know that even if you keep in touch, things will be different. Still, I hold on to the hope that these moments that prick my heart with the pain of beauty--the perfect mix between sadness and joyful gratitude--are glimpses of heaven, although in heaven, there will be no thought of goodbye.  There will only be communion.

The Knot

It's the twisted darkness that swirls around inside, the walls we've built to keep others out, the voices that tell us we aren't good enough, pretty enough, strong enough, the selfishness that keeps us from noticing our suffering neighbor, the grudges we hold, our unwillingness to forgive and try to understand, our certainty that our way is the right way.

This darkness twists around inside us until it is a great big knot of evil that causes pain and suffering for us and those around us.

Sometimes the more we try to undo our own knots, the tighter they become.  The fact is, we can't do it on our own.  We need grace.

The good news is that there is always help available to those who seek it.  And in fact, there happens to be a special devotion to Mary, Undoer of Knots.  If you or someone you know is struggling with a particular knot or a particular mess of darkness in their life, Mary, Undoer of Knots is the one you want to talk to. 

Conveniently, a novena to her begins tomorrow!  You can subscribe to the prayers and join thousands of others at Pray More Novenas.  Or, if you aren't a novena type of person but you could use some grace, simply pray "Mary, Undoer of Knots, pray for me."  And she will.  You can count on that.  You can always count on Our Lady.

Redeeming Love

It was a scene in Jesus of Nazareth that struck me to the core: when the sinful woman came and washed the feet of Jesus with expensive ointment and her tears.  That woman was me.  That was me on the chapel floor letting my tears fall at the foot of the cross because I am unworthy.

And yet, I am loved.

I am loved to an unimaginable degree.  Loved beyond comprehension.  Though I stumble, though I sin again and again, I am loved.  We all are.

It is a redeeming love that pursues each of us.  A knocking at our hearts to be opened.

Jesus came for the sinners, not the righteous.  To the would-be killers of the adulteress he says,"Let he who is sinless cast the first stone."

 

No stones were thrown that day.  Why?  Because no one is perfect.  We are full of weaknesses, struggles, fears.  We make mistakes and bad decisions. Therefore, Jesus came for all of us.  He died for all of us.  As he hung on the cross, in the last breaths before his death, he forgave all of us.  By his blood, we are forgiven, and redeemed, no matter how grave our sins.

I've learned that this redemption is not exactly passive on our end.  God has done all the work, yes, but it comes down to a movement of the will to believe.  Often this is the hardest part--getting over ourselves enough to be humbled to the point of of accepting that we need Him.

Sometimes we believe that we are righteous enough, that our sins are not so great that we really need him.  I really am a good person, and that's enough.  It's not enough.  Heaven isn't earned--it is desired with the whole will, with all heart and soul.  You have to really want it.

When we want it, we find ourselves confessing our sins regularly.  I find that I confess the same sins over and over, and Jesus says "Go and sin no more," and I wonder how that's possible.  I wonder if I've really even been set free.  If I were truly set free, wouldn't I be able to stop doing the same stupid things?  Why can't I make it out of the church parking lot before sinning again?

"Forgiveness is only real for those who have discovered the weakness of their friends and the sins of their enemies in their own hearts, and are willing to call each human being their sister and brother." (Henri J. M. Nouwen)

I'll be honest--I'm generally not willing to call the angry, hateful customer my brother.  I'm not willing to call the obnoxious woman in line in front of me my sister.  I'm not willing to acknowledge that I have neglected to use my turn signal before too.  I'm not willing to let other people have their bad days.  I am not willing to forgive, but I expect to be forgiven.

"To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you." (C.S. Lewis)

It all comes down to a movement of the will to believe.  And maybe the truth is that I don't want to believe.  Maybe there's a part of me resisting, because I know that to go and sin no more is going to be extremely painful--the death of my pride and my self.  Maybe I believe the fact that I am forgiven just as much as I believe the fact that I will sin again.  That is where the problem lies--when I focus too much on my own faults (or even too much on the faults of others), and weaknesses, and sins, and not nearly enough on Jesus.

His grace is enough.

He does not condemn us.  Neither should we condemn each other, or judge each other, or even criticize each other.  We need to try to understand each other, because "To understand all is to forgive all."  (Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited) 

I believe that this is key to learning how to love our neighbors as Christ loves us.  To try to understand where they are coming from, and to meet them where they are at is what we are called to do.  It's what Jesus does for us.  It requires patience, and the constant swallowing of our pride, and often we fail, but that's what confession is for--to receive that kiss from Jesus on the forehead, to hear him say, "Neither do I condemn you.  Go and sin no more."

I aspire.

And I'm finding that the best way to do all of this, is to come to know Jesus better, through the gospels, the sacraments, the liturgy, prayer.  The more I seek him, the more I find him.  He's often in the most unlikely places, but he's always there, waiting with open arms for us to come to him.

I want to believe, Lord; help my unbelief!

puffin along

*I take no credit for this photo, but I had to share it.  Thanks to Nick for sharing it with me.*

When I was a teenager I read a book called Scribbler of Dreams by Mary E. Pearson.  It is a modern retake on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet without the tragic ending and with a slightly more substantial love story combined with a well-developed life lesson.

The tale is twisted in a web of seemingly harmless lies that we find stems back to huge lies in the family past of the two protagonists.  The teen lovebirds are distantly related (not enough to produce extra toes on any children they may have in the future), and Kait (our Juliet) discovers a dark family secret--the true cause for feuding among the families.

What I love most about this book is, well, the title, but also the way Kait comes to learn and truly understand both sides of the story.  Her blind hatred becomes a humbling recognition that each person involved (including herself) contributed fault, but all were unwilling to admit it and unwilling to forgive.

In the words of Cardinal Dolan, she essentially learns this:

But the answer to the question "What's wrong with the world?" is not politics, the economy, secularism, pollution, global warming. . .no.  As Chesterton wrote, "The answer to the question 'What's wrong with the world?' is two words:  I am."

I am! Admitting that leads to conversion of heart and repentance, the core of the Gospel invitation. 

That happens in the sacrament of Penance.  This is the sacrament of Evangelization.

I believe those words.  Things like rape and human trafficking and abortion really get me fuming about the state of humanity, but if I'm honest, I know I contribute to the problem.  By not living consistently in a way that affirms the value and dignity of every person I meet (and in so many other ways), I am what's wrong with the world.  But I also believe in grace and mercy, that Christ makes up for all I lack, and that gives me hope.

I also like to think of myself as a scribbler of dreams.  I am a writer, a scribbler, full of hopes and ideals, but with little idea how to truly live the dream.  Still, I will hold on to hope and keep puffin' along.

The Prodigal Patient

"You have beautiful teeth," the dentist and his hygienists told me  "But they're extremely weak and cavity-prone.  There's not really anything you can do about that."

This was their explanation for why, after I'd spent the last six months putting extra work into taking special care of my teeth, I returned to find out that I had two cavities.

That incident was a few years ago, and I kind of gave up on the dentist after that--why bother?  I wondered.  If there's nothing I can do, why go through the torture of sitting in a sticky chair with a blinding light in my eyes while someone scrapes my teeth and pokes my gums with a piece of metal?  I remembered all the times I'd spent in the chair in my youth with my mouth propped open by metal contraptions, my gums shot up with Novocaine, and my teeth filled with who-knows-what. *shudder*  No, I decided to spare myself anymore of that pain.

Lately though, I've had a little voice in my ear telling me how important it is to visit the dentist regularly, how it's good to have your teeth cleaned by someone who knows what they're doing every once in awhile as a refresher and a preventative for future disease and decay.

Finally, the prodigal patient returned.  I was received with a fair scolding, then loaded down with a new toothbrush, free floss, and coupons for fluoride rinse to encourage me to do better this time around.

A few days later, I stood in line for confession and studied the crucifix at the front of the church.  I suddenly imagined Jesus as a dentist, scraping away at the plaque on my soul.  Like my teeth, I am weak (and sinful), and there's not much I can do about it except keep trying to do what He tells me--and keep coming back to the sacraments for a deep cleaning, for guidance, for grace.

Maybe that's the best part--God  not only receives us back with open arms, but He also doesn't scold (though sometimes the transformation comes with pain), and He always loads us up with grace for the journey, to restore us, to nourish us so that we can do better next time.