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.

The Way I Am

As I sit here letting my fingers glide over the keyboard, I know that it has been too long since I've really written on here regularly.  Ingrid Michaelson is playing, and I am reminded of that time her song "The Way I Am" was an incredible grace for me.

The song was new to me, but I loved it.  I was on a retreat with the Little Flowers (my household, which is like a spiritual sisterhood) my sophomore year of college.  In a moment of prayer, little introverted me received an immense grace.  I felt for the first time really and truly unconditionally loved for me.  I felt I had lived my life up until then content to hide in the shadows of my older siblings, lost in my own little introverted head.  God whispered to me that day that I am unique, that I have my own light to shine, and I don't have to compare myself or try to live up to someone else's expectations:  I have only to be me, and God will take me the way I am.

With the words of Ingrid's quirky song in my head, I felt really and truly loved and alive.

It's funny how over the years we change, and yet we stay so much the same. 

I couldn't resist!

At a workshop I recently attended, I heard it put this way:  Change is inevitable; growth is optional.

I love that.  Change will always come with time, and often without our having any control over it--seasons, age, sickness, outward obstacles that prevent us from going where we want to go.  Growth, however, is an option.  Growth is born out of our reaction to whatever life throws our way.

Lately I've been focusing on that whole, "Bloom where you're planted" idea.  Part of that blooming means first rediscovering myself.  For too long I've played the victim of circumstance.  I can't seem to get ahead making any big changes, so I'm starting small.  These small steps are creating momentum, and I find that I'm accomplishing more, but more importantly, I'm remembering who I am.  That helps me remember to do the things I love. 

By making a priority to write, I am remembering that writing is a part of who I am.  It's how I express myself, how I best communicate with others.  I have stories in me that I need to tell, and I'm letting myself tell them now.  As I allow this part of me to bloom, as I accept my need to be this person, I am being more true to myself, and that will help me not only move forward but also live more fully where I am.

In many ways, though I've changed and grown a lot over the years, I am still that immature, romantic college sophomore who made the song from an Old Navy sweater commercial her anthem.  She's a part of me, a part of who I have become, a part of who I am becoming.  The darkness that has fallen over my life these days is similar to the darkness I experienced before that revelation, but I've placed my hope once again in God and in His particular care for me.  

In my time of need, He is reminding me how much He cares for me.  He is telling me that He won't take away all the pain, because the pain brings me closer to His own suffering heart.  He wants to hold me close to His heart, to let His blood cover me and purify me.  He takes me the way I am.  He wants more for me than I want for myself, and when I give Him full reign over my life, He teaches me how to love myself better, and in turn, love others better.    

He takes me the way I am.

He takes you the way you are.

He loves us unconditionally.  Even if we keep making mistakes and falling and failing miserably and ignoring Him completely, He is still there to pick us up.  And He wants us to do this for each other.

I aspire.

The Fall

This fall has been the most beautiful I can ever remember experiencing.  The warmer temperatures and glorious sunshine that lingered allowed the leaves to ripen ever so slowly, drawing out their true colors in a spectacular show of God's palette.

Treetops stand out like flames blazing over rooftops, 

     

fireworks suspended in the branches,

 

glowing yellow dappled lights that work as the sunshine's minions even on the darkest, cloudiest days.

The extraordinary beauty of it all may be a result of weather patterns, or maybe I'm just more aware.  I am at a place of serenity, where God has given me the grace to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change (or at least attempt to change) the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.  

This season has been a serene one here in small-town Ohio.  At least, as far as the beauty of creation goes.  The world is tumultuous, our country is divided, and we as a race of humans are slowly coming to grips with the ramifications of our distracted half-living. But I have hope.

Because in the mornings I see the way the sun glows rising

and spreads its light through the trees to shower the earth.

And in the afternoons when I take walks and stop a thousand times to try and capture the way the light spreads through the leaves like fire 

and my phone's camera fails to do God's creation justice, I smile, knowing that all our man-made technology will never be enough to inspire and foster hope, goodness, love, mercy.  For that, we need something, Someone greater.

Because of that, I find myself more often on my knees giving thanks and seeking mercy.  On election day, I consecrated myself to Divine Mercy, because God is BIGGER and BETTER than this mess we have created for ourselves.  

I joke that I'm an eternal optimist--95% of the time.  But I am eternally optimistic, that is, optimistic about eternity.  No matter the messes we make for ourselves or the struggles we experience in dealing with other people or with our health or with the demons in our own minds, we have hope.  

I believe in our redemption through Christ and the cross, and I believe in the hope that rises with His resurrection, and I believe in the grace of His Divine Mercy which He offers any time we ask for it.

I pray that in this time of turmoil and change, as fall fades to winter and our country transitions to the next phase and the world continues to turn, that we all find the serenity and peace of mind needed to carry on hopefully.

Love and Coffee

Coffee coffee coffee is my mantra. I love coffee.  I love trying new coffees, making coffee, sharing coffee.  When a co-worker/coffee friend gave me a delicious bag of beans from a recent trip, I thanked her for sharing the coffee with me, and she replied, "Of course, that's what coffee is for."

Communion.  Every cup is a communion.  It is the sharing, the community, the relationships between co-workers and customers that have grown and evolved over the years that I love the most.

Still, I don't necessarily want to be a barista forever.  And in the restlessness of wondering, the aching for more than pouring coffee and making lattes and being constantly sucked dry of all energy from being on my feet and socializing all day (which let me tell you, for this introvert, is exhausting), I find peace only in the One who made the stars and the sea and the coffee trees.

Gratitude is too shallow a word to describe the depth of joy I find at the gift of His peace, manifested in His mercy and grace, especially in the darkness that has recently visited.  In the exhaustion that cannot be cured by coffee (yeah, I said it), He picks up my weary soul and carries me through it all.

Just after the recent canonization of my beloved Saint Mother Teresa of Calcutta, I picked up a free copy from church of With Great Love, a book of reflections on Mother Teresa by Susan Conroy, who spent time working with the saint. Saint Mother Teresa and her patron, Saint Therese of Lisieux have always been close to my heart, and I aspire to follow their examples of putting great love into the every little action, no matter how simple.

In this looooong week of work full of too many too-early mornings, God, in His mercy and grace, graced me with the perfect reflection on this very subject from Susan Conroy.  It's a lesson I have heard so many times throughout my life, and a lesson I have attempted to apply to my time working in coffee over the years.  But as I recently heard, our spiritual lives are not linear.  They are not gradual uphill climbs, but rather, they are paths full of stumbling and falling and, by the grace of God, persevering toward that seemingly ever elusive holiness and perfect communion with Him.

Every cup is a communion.  Not a perfect communion, but a communion of all our broken humanity scooped up into a mug, a chalice, a hug, a smile.

"Let every action of mine be something beautiful for God," said Saint Mother Teresa.  As she wandered the streets of Calcutta, she and her sisters performed simple tasks, such as sitting with the dying so they didn't have to die alone, or providing a blanket to someone who was shivering, or giving a glass of water to someone who was thirsty.  As Conroy describes:

"It was not the work that was extraordinary, but rather, the way in which it was done.  It was the spirit of the work that made it extraordinary: the spirit of love, humility, tenderness and respect with which each human being was touched and held and cared for.  It was precisely this spirit of love and humility that made Mother Teresa a saint and made every action of hers 'something beautiful for God.'

"It is always about the love.  Love, love, love.  Mother Teresa said that this is the reason we exist--to love and serve God by loving and serving one another....

"It doesn't matter how much we give, but rather how much love we put in the giving.  [Mother Teresa] encouraged us to 'put love into everything you do, and you will be fulfilling your vocation.'

"'God is Love,' Saint John the apostle tells us.  Do everything with God.  Do everything with 'the fullness of charity' in your heart, and you will be fulfilling your duty and your destiny in a way that is most pleasing to God."

No matter what I do, even as I search for work beyond barista-ing, I can put love into each little action, into each cup of coffee I pour, into each dish I wash, into each person I meet.

Yes, coffee coffee coffee is my mantra, but what is coffee all about?  It is about the people, the communion, the love.

"It is always about the love.  Love, love, love."

 

 May we never forget.  <3  

So Much Love In The Club

It was an identity crisis--were we baristas or...something else?  We weren't sure, so she cried out in a half-joking way, "Is there anyone here who can tell me what coffee is all about?"

And in classic Linus fashion, the answer came: "Sure, I can tell you what coffee is all about:  It's about love."

You may think I'm crazy for saying that, but hear me out.

Coffee is all about the people--the people who grow coffee, the people who harvest it, the people who sell it, the people who buy it, the people who roast it, the people who brew it, the people who drink it, and all the people in-between. 

In my time as a barista,  I've known some that truly warmed me inside and out with their funky, hearty characters--and that goes for both people and coffees!

 New crops of new coffees came in every few months, and so, it seemed, did new people.  We once built a graveyard display for Halloween of all the coffees we'd loved that never returned to satisfy our longing taste buds.  I never saw many of those coffees again, but new coffees came along to expand my palate, to teach me to experience coffee in new ways.  Similarly, I never see some of the people who built that display with me anymore, but new people came along to expand my heart, to teach me to love in new ways.

Today is National Coffee Day, and this week marks four and a half years of me making coffee from this coffee company.  A LOT has changed in that time--people, coffees, structures, machines, uniforms, products, policies, I got married, etc., but this week I returned back to the basics:  no more orders and schedules, I'm just making coffee.

To make this move,  I had to say goodbye to some people who I've grown close to, but that is nothing new to me.  It seems that in the last 13 months especially, I've said goodbye to so many.  I miss them all in different ways, but I'm a better person for having known each of them, and they each hold a special place in my heart.  

All of these people have come to me because of coffee.  We became a family of co-workers, of customers, a community who shared more than cups of coffee, but cups overflowing with love.

I've said this before and I'll say it again:

Every cup is a communion.

To all the generations of my dear barista family and all the customer-friends we've collected over the years:

I always believed but I never really knew until I met you that coffee really is all about love.  Thank you for filling my heart and my cup.

Just a few generations of coffee-family. #somuchloveintheclub

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 Wedding Party

We live in an age where marriage is constantly discredited and written off.  I hear all the time, "Oh, I don't believe in marriage."  And "You should just do what you want."  I find it ironic that in a time such as this when marriage is held in no to little regard, when people marry two or three or four times because "marriage doesn't work," everyone also suddenly wants "equal rights" for marriage.

Think about it.

Sex and children have been separated from marriage.  Sex has become a recreation, an expression, a source of "self-discovery" for teenagers who are taught birth control because "they're going to do it anyway, and we don't want them to have to face the consequences of their actions."  This is dangerously unrealistic.

Life is a series of choices and consequences.  It kills me when young girls who find out that they are pregnant claim, "I don't know how it happened."  What are they being taught in sex ed?  Are educators sugar coating the FACTS OF LIFE with condoms and oral contraceptives?  How is that educational?  Or healthy?  Teenagers learn little except that they can do whatever they want as long as they use protection.  Well why aren't they being told to protect their hearts?  Why aren't they being told that they are valuable, they have dignity, brains, and talents and their worth is not dependent on losing their virginity?  Why aren't they being told that giving someone everything they want is not how you build a relationship of mutual trust and respect?

This distorted reality of "casual," "experimental" relationships is not inspiring people to suddenly settle down into loving, committed marriages.  Nor does it teach them the value of strong marriages as the foundations for happy, well-adjusted families.  But these families are necessary to the foundation of society.

Still, I find it ironic that it wasn't until this time when marriage and family have been obscured and broken and "modernized" that there has been an incredible increase in public support for same-sex marriage.  I guess I don't understand why the same people who think marriage "doesn't work" are suddenly so intent on letting anyone take part.  It's not that I don't think same-sex couples can have loving, committed relationships, or that they shouldn't have the same rights as everyone else, it's that I hold that marriage is not even a political issue, it's a spiritual one.

Mother Teresa spoke often of the spiritual poverty of the West.  It's a lukewarm, numbed down, "believe in anything and stand for nothing" kind of spiritualism.  Because I stand for things that make people uncomfortable (i.e. life vs. abortion, the traditions of my faith, the awesomeness of nuns, marriage, natural family planning) I am often seen as a close-minded, heartless, judgmental bigot.

Which is funny, because I'm actually a very understanding person.  Just because I believe these things doesn't mean I judge people who don't.  It doesn't mean I don't have the reason and the heart to see where other people are coming from and learn to understand why they think the way they do.  I only ask that I receive the same respect.

So when I say that I believe in marriage, that I don't believe in divorce, that I believe marriage is between a man and a woman, that I don't believe marriage is a magical spell that binds people together happily ever after, that I believe it is not to be entered lightly because it is not a walk in a park but a road to salvation, I say it from my heart, not from my Catholic cradle as a mindless recitation of old-school traditionalist beliefs that were shoved down my throat.  These beliefs come from the heart of an educated woman who has had a lifetime encounter with Christ via Catholicism, which she accepted fully only after coming into a fuller understanding of it, its traditions, and its teachings.

I also don't spout my beliefs as a holier-than-though preacher (God knows I am far, far from perfect), but as a person who loves people and desires the greatest good of all humanity.  I believe Jesus shows us what true humanity and true freedom are.

I believe that we are all destined to communion with God, which is why I love weddings.  I believe that weddings are the earthly taste of the love and glory we will find in heaven.  Yes, in a way, I believe that heaven is one giant, never-ending wedding reception, but not the kind we have here on earth (I do hope there's an open bar. . . ;-) ).  I believe it is the marriage of Christ and His Bride, the Church, the wedding feast of the Lamb.  It is something spectacular and glorious beyond all human imagination, but something we receive a taste of at every Mass, and at every wedding.

In heaven, there are no lonely bridesmaids drinking the night away with drunken groomsmen, wondering when it will be their turn.  The bridesmaids and groomsmen are the angels (this may not be theologically correct, but my friend Angie and I like to think that it is).  There are no women abused verbally, physically, or emotionally.  There are no adulterous encounters to tear families apart.  There is only God in all His Glory and endless Mercy, loving us unconditionally.

What we experience of this union on earth is imperfect, and corrupted by our sinfulness, but it is a taste of what we hope for.  At a wedding, we watch the groom's face light up with love and anticipation as the woman he loves processes down the aisle toward him.  It's the same love and anticipation Christ has for us as He waits for us in heaven.  The aisle to heaven, however, is not covered in rose petals scattered by our niece in a sparkly dress.  It is lined with roses and thorns, sickness and health, suffering and joy, good times and bad.  It is narrow, but, thankfully, we don't have to walk it alone.

God said, "It is not good for man to be alone," so he gave man a woman.  Together they sinned, he banished them from paradise, and then he sent his Son to give up his own life in order to redeem them.  We are all called to follow Christ's example, to lay down our lives for one another, to pour out our lives for one another.  Some of us are called to do this in marriage, but marriage isn't supposed to be easy--it is a way to salvation.  The wedding represents the ultimate goal of heaven, and the joyful union we'll find there.  The marriage, the life of "happily ever after" is the walk down that really long, narrow aisle--but waiting there at the end is our first and forever truest love, Jesus Christ.

The best part is that God does not abandon us during this journey.  He sends loving family and friends, as well as the Holy Spirit to be with us and guide us along the way so we can enter eternal life with him.  That's why, even when we make mistakes, even when we hurt and deny him, even when the going gets tough and we feel like he doesn't see us anymore, even when the life we planned with him doesn't turn out at all the way we dreamed it would and we want to just give up, He still loves us.

Marriage (any vocation for that matter) requires that we first die to ourselves and give of ourselves freely, totally, faithfully, and fruitfully all the days of our lives.  And when our lives on earth are over, we get to enter heaven, where there will be an epic party to celebrate.

Endurance

I have a bad habit of thinking that I can save the world.  It's not so much that I think I have what it takes as it is that I have these desires to do more with my life than make coffee, to go out and actually help people, to see the suffering in the world come to an end.

This idea first manifested in college when I thought I could save a person close to me. That my love was big enough to change a heart turned out to be a silly dream. As I wondered at the mess I'd made, I asked God why this had to be.  After three nights of crying myself to sleep, He told me, there in the deepest part of my heart that hurt so much: "You didn't trust me."


He didn't just leave me with that somewhat cryptic message.  He guided me along the way of healing through discovering a devotion to the Divine Mercy of Jesus.  It was a journey I'd already been on unknowingly, but the pieces began to fit together and I began to see more clearly every day that I can't save anyone--not even myself--because God has already saved the world.  By His Passion on the Cross, His death and His resurrection, Christ has already set us free.

I began to reflect on the Passion, and to unite my sufferings to Christ's on the cross.  Finally, after many months of prayer and novenas (the 54 day rosary novena is a personal favorite) I reached a point in my personal life of being able to say to my friend:

I have trusted in the Eternal God for your welfare, and joy has come to me from the Holy One because of the mercy that will swiftly reach you from your eternal savior. With mourning and lament I sent you forth, but God will give you back to me with enduring gladness and joy. (Baruch 4:22-23)

My heart was finally at a point of peace knowing that when I see my friend in heaven (and I will see him in heaven), our earthly drama and suffering will be perfected in "enduring gladness and joy."

Still, I had a nagging thought that I was supposed to do more. I graduated college during a recession with a degree in English and no career goals, so while I went back to work at my high school job at the family business, I began reading about the problems of the world.

I was inspired to go to third world countries and kick down doors of brothels and save the innocent women forced to work in them.  I wanted to track down not the pimps but the men who paid for such services and so created a market for the business of selling people and objectified women everywhere. I wanted to teach children whose only chance at freedom from poverty was education.  I wanted to provide a safe haven for women who are victims of abuse, or who want to choose life but can't do it on their own.  I wanted to be Dorothy Day and Mother Teresa.

But I am most definitely not either of these women.  And from the looks of things, going off to foreign countries to fight perverts and love the poor and abused is not what God has planned for me.

Like Saint Therese, I wanted to choose all vocations, so I chose love, which encompasses all other vocations.  I began to realize that, like Therese, as much as I desired to be a missionary, I was destined to stay close to home.  I found myself making coffee (lots of coffee) and I realized that God was teaching me (slowly and patiently because the selfish brat in me won't go down without a fight) how to love.

I'm finding that all God wants of us is for us to be who He created us to be.  If we let Him love us as we are, if we stop trying so hard to be what we're not, or at least what we're not yet, He will be able to accomplish His mission through us.

As for suffering, it has been my experience that it brings us closer to the heart of Jesus.  I believe that in our sinful world, we cannot be free of it, but we can embrace it as an opportunity to take part in the redemptive work of God.  In the suffering of our neighbor, we can learn to be compassionate and understanding.  SO much easier said than done, but St. Edith Stein says it so well:

The world is in flames. The conflagration can also reach our house. But high above all flames towers the cross. They cannot consume it. It is the path from earth to heaven. It will lift one who embraces it in faith, love, and hope into the bosom of the Trinity.

The world is in flames. Are you impelled to put them out? Look at the cross. From the open heart gushes the blood of the Saviour. This extinguishes the flames of hell. Make your heart free by the faithful fulfilment of your vows; then the flood of divine love will be poured into your heart until it overflows and becomes fruitful to all the ends of the earth. Do you hear the groans of the wounded on the battlefields in the west and the east? You are not a physician and not a nurse and cannot bind up the wounds. You are enclosed in a cell and cannot get to them. Do you hear the anguish of the dying? You would like to be a priest and comfort them. Does the lament of the widows and orphans distress you? You would like to be an angel of mercy and help them. Look at the Crucified. If you are nuptially bound to him by the faithful observance of your holy vows, your being is precious blood. Bound to him, you are omnipresent as he is. You cannot help here or there like the physician, the nurse, the priest. You can be at all fronts, wherever there is grief, in the power of the cross. Your compassionate love takes you everywhere, this love from the divine heart. Its precious blood is poured everywhere soothing, healing, saving.

The eyes of the Crucified look down on you asking, probing. Will you make your covenant with the Crucified anew in all seriousness? What will you answer him? “Lord, where shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

The path from earth to heaven. . . the path from suffering to glory. . .the path from self to love. . .the way is by the cross, but we must have faith, we must believe, we must hope.

I aspire.

What Dreams May Come

As a dreaming little girl, I saw Someday as a picture perfect scene that would magically unfold when I grew up:  all my hopes and dreams would come true for all of happily ever after amen.  It was a Disney princess-contrived fairy tale, I'm sure, worsened only by the sappy chick flicks I ate up in my teens.  It's a lesson we all learn some way or another that the road to Someday isn't a red carpet lined with roses; it's the Via Dolorosa, the way of suffering.  The way to glory is the way of the Cross.

As I sat in church yesterday, thinking about my childish dream that life would painlessly (or at least more easily) unfold, I realized that if it had, I never would have come to experience the love of Christ the way that I have.  Ever since the first day I realized that Someday wasn't coming anytime soon, I found myself desperately searching for answers, for courage, for strength.  In my suffering, I heard the cry of Christ from the cross, "I thirst."  And I found that He just wants to love and be loved, the same as me.    

He brought me through one dark period of my life, but once again I find myself wandering in a dim uncertainty (though this is an altogether different kind of pain).  Life seems to be getting the better of me these days, but I've been working hard to make some changes.  Yesterday, just when I felt like I was completely lost and none of my work was paying off, He showed me in an unmistakable way through the Eucharist--a glimpse into Someday, which I now recognize to be Heaven itself--that He has not forgotten His promise to make me all new, to transform me by grace.

So today I picked up the cross and whined and complained the whole way because I'm tired and people are rude and why can't I just get out of here already?  I kept asking for grace--in the form of some comfort that it is all working out--but as Flannery O'Connor said, "All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful."

I heard this prayer today--

A Confederate Soldier's Prayer

I asked God for strength, that I may achieve;

I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked for health, that I might do greater things;

I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for riches, that I might be happy;

I was given poverty, that I might be wise.

I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men;

I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life;

I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.

I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for.

Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.

I am among all men most richly blessed.
(Author Unknown, but God bless him!)

--and now I am certain that true, transforming grace is not magic, nor fairy dust that will make us fly so we never have to face grown up problems.  It is Blood out-poured, a Life given freely--not painlessly--for us so that while we walk along the Way, we don't have to walk alone.