Aimless Wanderings

Maybe it's just me, but I kind of thought there for a little while that life would somehow get easier or less complicated the longer I adulted.  As if the more I practiced, the easier it would get, or the longer I waited, the clearer the answers would become.

All I've learned, and especially this year, is that instead of answers, we only face more questions.  We all have our own battles that we're facing, and for the most part, we all just go around living like everything is fine. Is that because we feel we're supposed to be adults and just suck up our feelings and deal with our problems?  We hear screaming children from various corners of the store at work and we always sort of look at each other sadly and say, "That's how I feel inside."  It hurts my ears, but I admire the honesty of children, and I wish I could be that vocally honest about my own feelings sometimes.

Courtesy of my brother, from Fawnly Prints

Those brave souls who speak out about their struggles and insecurities--I admire their ability to be vulnerable, to bare their souls, to speak up so that others who are experiencing similar battles can know that they are not alone and can find comfort or perspective or fuel for their own fight.  But sometimes our battles are so deeply personal, or we are so deep in the thick of it that speaking up is not in the cards for us right now.  

So what do we do?  Keep plastering on our brave faces and plugging along like everything's fine?  

Some other alternatives are to 1) scream in the middle of the grocery store (tempting, I know) or 2) offer enough vague complaints that people have pity on us and begin to pry in well-meaning attempts to offer support, but then we remember that we actually don't want to talk about it because it's so personal and complicated that a general explanation will never do and neither will giving this person access to our deepest, darkest secrets.

Or, we can choose to continue to wander aimlessly as we strive to fight our battles with brave faces and find balance in our awkward, complicated lives.  We can learn to appreciate the present and enjoy life where we are while we wait for life where we want to be.  And we can take comfort knowing that God is with us in our wanderings.  He sees each (mis)step we take, and His hand guides us gently along the way.  

When we have a bad day--one where we're so physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted that we actually feel like this might be it, this is where we lose it completely--He gives us a new day full of new mercies.

That's right, as we finish our Head and Heart Reset yoga flow with Adriene in the early morning before work, the final twist turns our head to the window so that we see the first glimmer of morning light through the trees, the beginning of the gentle fade from black night to blue day.  And as we sit outside for morning prayer, the cool fresh air fills our lungs and the chattering of the birds soothes our souls and we are reminded that He loves us, that He is working in us even when we are filled with pain--or confusion, or disgust at our own sin, or anxiety, or depression, or anger, or questions, or all of these things and more-- that the cross must come before the glory.

When we remember that He is there with us through it all, we learn how to accept these unpleasant things as they come, even if we don't always accept them happily or patiently.  And we learn, as Rainier Marie Rilke wrote in Letters to a Young Poet, to 

". . . be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue.  Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them.  And the point is, to live everything.  Live the questions now.  Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.  Perhaps you do carry within yourself the possibility of shaping and forming as a particularly happy and pure way of living; train yourself to it--but take whatever comes with great trust. . .take it upon yourself and hate nothing. . ."

You can find Alanna's music on iTunes and Bandcamp!

As I've been learning this all the hard way in the last several weeks, I've been wandering aimlessly to the soundtrack of the lovely young poet Alanna Boudreau's album Goodbye Stranger.  Her music (especially this album and her previous album, Champion) helped me to the realization of what I've written here.  By providing a lovely sound to listen to along with intricately beautiful images and poetry, her music presents and reflects great mysteries that sweetly linger and haunt my thoughts. They leave me questioning and pondering, but in such a way that I find myself able to enjoy the uncertainty, that I'm now able to sit more comfortably with my constant questions, and to explore beauty from different perspectives.

Having realized that, I find myself here, telling you, dear reader, that you are not alone in your aimless wandering, in your questions answered with more questions, in your pain, in your fight.  We are all in this together, and the great God who loves us more than we know, has us all in His capable hands.

To Believe or Not To Believe

On a cloudless autumn day, under the sky so peacefully blue, the sun shines down like rain.  The tops of the trees catch the light like fire and begin to flicker like flames in the soft breeze.

And in the midst of the warm, bright plans we make, doubt creeps in and darkness grips the soul of it all.

Sweet gray pots etched with silver words and holding baby flowers catch my eye and speak to me: Love, they say.  Joy.  Believe.  Words that remind me, words that call forth beauty, hope, peace, words that call me on to live these things in my life.

We don't need any more plants in our tiny apartment, but the words and the sweet baby orchid blossoms of white and purple beckon me.  On closer inspection, I see the pots are cracked--hence the reason they are sitting in the break room marked down for associates.   

I don't need a broken pot with another orchid in it, I tell my husband.

No, you don't, he says, but you're going to get one anyway.

He knows me well.

I find it difficult to choose only one, because I need all of these reminders!  I know that the greatest of these is Love and that in the humdrum routine of the daily grind I struggle often to be Joy, but I choose the healthiest looking plant with promising baby white blooms and it tells me Believe. 

Life goes on and continues to resist our efforts to move forward.  As darkness and doubt creep in, it would be easy to let them consume us, to crush our hope.  But there in the corner of our living room is a little broken pot that reminds us:  Believe. 

Believe.  And I know that this imperfect pot is a grace, a simple moment of beauty that God is using to show me my imperfect self and a deeper truth.

While we make our plans, we trust in God and His perfect plan.   We know that when the outcome is not what we would prefer it to be, ultimately it is what God wants, and therefore, it is perfect.  This is not always easy to grasp, but then, the cross never is.  And we know that without the cross, there would be no glory.

Without our cracks, our brokenness, our wounds, our weaknesses, our darkness, we would not need His Mercy. 

We are all imperfect, cracked and broken, but no matter how beaten and bruised we are, we always have a home with God.  He heals our wounds and uses them to make us more beautiful than we were before.  We learn to trust in Him.  And life happens and we get hurt again and again, but we continue to trust and believe in His Mercy, His Healing Love, His Goodness. 

Sometimes the wounds cut deep and take time to heal, and sometimes the darkness seems never-ending, and as we wait to feel healed, we wonder what the point is of continuing to believe, to hope.  But in the darkness and in our pain, we are closest to Him on the cross.  He holds us in His Heart so that our thirst is His thirst, and I have found that the surest way to quench this thirst for both of us is to choose to believe, to pray over and over, "I believe; help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24).

And He will.  He will absolutely help your unbelief.  And it probably won't be at all in the way you think, but He will fix your broken pot, and in the meantime, He'll give you grace, which might look like precious baby orchids.  Or something else entirely.  Or something that you can't even see.  No matter how the grace falls--like petals, like snow, like an invisible strength deep inside you--never forget that He loves you, He loves you, He loves you!

HE LOVES YOU.

P.S.  If you're looking for a more book-length encouragement on how to keep hoping in the darkest darkness, check out Daring to Hope by Katie Davis Majors.  I highly recommend it! #goodreads
 

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.

Note to Self

"Cast all your anxieties on him, for he cares about you.  Be sober, be watchful.  Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking some one to devour.  Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same experience of suffering is required of your brotherhood throughout the world.  And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, establish, and strengthen you." (1 Peter 5:7-10)

 Cast all your anxieties on him,  Give him your worries, your pains, your fears, your tears.

for he cares about you.  He loves you with an everlasting love, a merciful, steadfast love.  He loved you first and will love you forever.

Be sober, be watchful.  Get off your phone.  Turn off the TV.  Be mindful of the words you say, of the thoughts you entertain.

Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking some one to devour.  Keep your eyes on God, let God be your strength, your focus, your light, so that you do not become easy prey.

Resist him, firm in your faith, Give God your yes in all things--embrace the crosses and the sufferings he sends your way, trusting that he will carry you through the darkness, no matter how long it takes.

knowing that the same experience of suffering is required of your brotherhood throughout the world.  No one is alone in their suffering, in their fight against sin.  We all experience anxiety, temptation, fear, loss, doubt.

And after you have suffered a little while, even if it seems much more than a little while,

the God of all grace who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, because he calls all of us, because he loves us dearly, more dearly than we can ever know

will himself restore, establish, and strengthen you.  You look forward to it, and hold onto the promise with hope, and in the meantime you continue to Cast all your anxieties on him, for he cares about you.

"As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you; abide in my love." (John 15:9)

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.

Monday Morning Musings

Life has been getting me down more often than not lately, but I've been doing a lot of much needed reading and reflection.  (I recently re-read St. Therese's Story of a Soul, and for Advent I am re-reading Consoling the Heart of Jesus by Father Michael Gaitley .  I *highly* recommend them both!)

The last two weeks have just not been good, and I needed a new one.  I was so thankful as I walked to work in the angry, gusting wind this Monday morning that it was a new day and a new week and I could start fresh.  And that even though it was mid-December I only needed a light jacket!

The first thing I saw when I got to the coffee bar was a note from an old co-worker and dear friend, who must have visited the store the night before and couldn't leave without leaving her love.  As is her way.  I was so warm and light inside knowing that even though the time and place are gone for good, there is still so much love in the club.

The morning was going smoothly until my first customer rubbed me the wrong way.  Yes, I know that I should know better than to let half-sleeping people get to me so early in the day, but it happens.  And it stirred up feelings of frustration and anger at how rude, inconsiderate, and thoughtless people can be.  

I prayed, "Lord, how am I supposed to love this?  This behavior hurts my pride.  It's inhumane.  How do I just smile and not let this get to me?  Surely you don't want me to simply ignore this injustice?"

Jesus' face came to mind, sweaty and bloody as he hung on the cross.  He tried to answer me with his voice but all he could do in his pain was gasp for breath, and then I didn't need an answer--grace intervened to make it clear:  He is in pain too.  And there's something I can do about it.

As a kid in a Catholic home, I very often heard the phrase, "offer it up" when life's injustice's hurt me.  All that meant to me as a kid though, was that I should "suck it up" because my problems weren't real problems in the grand scheme of things.  

What it really means to "offer it up," is to offer up my pain--of inconsideration, of other people's ignorance, of humiliation, of biting back snarky replies, of silencing my complaints, of keeping my gossipy observations to myself--

in union with Jesus' pain--of his passion, of rejection, of betrayal, of sin.  

It's the same as sitting with a friend when they are hurting.  You can't take away their pain, but you can sit with them and console them to help lighten their load.

When we offer up our suffering in union with Christ's, these sacrifices made in love, console Him.  This opens His Heart and allows the rays of His Love and Mercy to shine through us.

As St. Therese said, "To pick up a pin for love can convert a soul."  It's these little acts that, done with the eyes of our hearts fixed on Jesus, become acts of love and make all the difference.  

So at work, I displayed cookies with love, and brewed coffee with love, and cleaned up sweet, sticky messes with love, and listened patiently to things that I had less than zero interest in with love.  Another customer annoyed me and I took a moment to breathe in my frustration, prayed that Jesus transform it, and breathed out His Mercy with love.

Feeling full of love, I drank my coffee like I did in the old days before I gave up (*read as: tried to give up) dairy: in a ceramic mug with some good old  whole milk.  My hope was that even though it might upset my stomach, the vitamin D in the milk might help make up for my current state of D-deficiency due to lack of sunshine.

It was delicious, but the fact remains that I am highly dependent on the sunshine for my happiness. (Note, "happiness," not "joy."  There's a difference.)

These last few days have been gloomy and overcast, but warmer than usual for December.  Saturday felt very much like it did when I was in Seattle last October.  I loved Seattle and Portland, and every bit of the Pacific Northwest that I saw.  It's gloomy a lot there too, but at least it's near the coast where the ocean is a constant reminder that there is a whole world out there beyond the gloom.  Here in Ohio, we're landlocked, and rather than rain clouds, we have whitish, grayish blankets of clouds that cover us for days to the point that I begin to feel claustrophobic.

Anyway, my coffee tasted like sunshine this morning, and after a few hours of rain, the dark lumpy clouds stretched apart just enough so that the light caught our eyes and we looked out the window, barely believing that it could be real, and yet...there..."stupid cloud, move over just a little bit more"...there it was...THE SUN!

Thank You, Jesus.  For everything.

Death By Mocha

Happy National Coffee Day!!!

After a morning of  making countless $1 Pumpkin Spice Lattes, you might think that I wouldn't want to spend my afternoon writing about it.  HOWEVER, I drank a PSL myself and have that caffeine and sugar coursing through my veins and sparking inspiration all up in my heart and soul.

I came home and finally looked up this 20/20 story my mom has been telling me about, about baristas and the horrible things they do to people's drinks.  I found it fascinating.  I can relate to these bitter baristas.  In fact, just yesterday I had a moment of understanding as I realized the reason we get so frustrated with customers and they get so frustrated with us is that we are not speaking the same language.

The language we speak is that of well-trained and experienced baristas.  We know where these coffees come from, the altitude at which they are grown, the anatomy of a coffee plant, the names of the farmers who grow it, how the coffees are processed, what each step in the process entails, and what each step means for how that coffee will ultimately taste when we brew it, not to mention what all the variables are in the brewing process and how they affect the taste of the coffee.

The language our customers speak, on the other hand, is often (not always, but often) a twisted mess of coffee terms made popular by places from McDonald's to Starbucks to Intelligentsia.   They often know only that they need something to wake them up, or that they like caramel frappes, or that they hate coffee and want a coffee drink that doesn't taste like coffee.

The biggest challenge of our jobs as baristas is to pick through and translate the layers of this language in order to discern the unique palates of our many customers so that we can find the right drink for them--all in the most fast-paced, efficient, and pleasant way possible.

In general, baristas are grossly underpaid and undervalued for these intricate skills.  This only causes more bitterness and frustration as they attempt to read their customers minds, create personalized, handcrafted beverages, and navigate the crowds of zombie-like people dying for their daily caffeine fix on their way to work and school--all before 8 am.

In the 20/20 interview, the baristas spoke of decaffeinating rude people's coffee, or adding extra charges to their drinks.  I understand the desire to do these things--it's extremely tempting sometimes!  As anyone who has ever worked in customer service will tell you, people can be downright nasty.  It can be very disheartening, especially for those of us with the determined Anne Frank-attitude to see the good in humanity.

Thankfully, there are plenty of really wonderful people we encounter every day too!  These wonderful souls of grace who very clearly recognize us not as machines but as humans like themselves, are often what get us through the seemingly never-ending days.

I actually started writing a coffee shop musical back in college, based on my experiences.  It was a sad little story line, but this video beautifully portrays (*minus the bit of vulgarity*) the plight of the modern barista, set to a familiar musical:




What stuck out to me most was their question "When will I be redeemed?"

Well, here's what I've learned:  they have already been redeemed.  We all have.  It's a matter of accepting the sacrifice that paid our way out of this "hell" we're living.

We can't always change our situation (especially in this economy) and land our dream jobs right out of college (or even four years out of college), and in the meantime, we have to pay rent somehow.  We can't change how people act towards us, but we can change how we act toward them.  Instead of being the pretentious coffee know-it-alls we are stereotyped to be, we can adopt a servant's heart.

We can serve coffee with genuine joy and love.  We can be kind even to the rudest customers (you never know what horrible experiences someone might be going through!).  We can swallow our own opinions of what makes a good coffee and instead maintain the attitude that everyone has different tastes.

I have worked in coffee for 6 years, which is 4 more than I ever anticipated (trust me, I never anticipated being in management, but here I am).  As a whole, I have loved my experiences.  I love the people that I've met, the skills and knowledge that I've gained, the free coffee I've been allowed to drink, and even the work itself.  It's fun!  Some days I look around in gratitude and shake my head in wonder thinking, "They actually pay me to do this!"

Other days though, I shake my head thinking, "There is not enough money in the world. . ."  I find myself struggling through the daily grind to be happy and nice to people when I just want to sit in a corner and be angry and frustrated.  I get so tired (the kind of tired that is beyond caffeine's reach) of  being outgoing (I'm an extreme introvert) on a daily basis and being up for hours before the sun.  It's these days that make me ask the question:  what am I even doing here?

What I have come to understand through it all, is that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  In all my vain attempts to get out, I still sought God's will for my life.  My ultimate goal, after all, is not a successful career, but holiness.  God gave me glimpses of what may lay ahead, and with those glimpses, reminders that as much as I want to be, I am not ready for the next step.

Even though I have days where I curse the ground I work on (by the way, we actually call the ground we work on the IBG, because we believe our bar was built on an Indian burial ground), and want to cry at the sad state of humanity, and then I spill brown mocha powder all over my black pants, I believe it is all part of the process. It is part of growing up, yes, but most importantly, a part of being humbled, of dying to myself.

If we are to be redeemed, we must first die to ourselves, so that we may rise again with Christ:

And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. [Luke 9: 23-24)

The particular slow and painful death God has chosen for me just happens to be death by mocha.

I still fail and fall frequently, but I am reminded over and over again of His redeeming love, mercy, and faithfulness.  I encourage you, wherever you are, to accept your form of "death" as the grace to participate in the fullness of your redemption.  It's all we can do, really.

But in the meantime, we'll do some of this too:

Shelby's Last Latte

Abiding

The creeping cold of winter freezes the soul, and the dry darkness sets in.

In those dark moments, everything you do feels like failure, and everything you want to change you can't change yet.  Patience isn't asked; it's required.  Virtue by default.

The weight presses down, squeezes out a tear here and there.  And then there's the darkest moment--when the soul is black and blends in with the darkness, but the Shepherd's voice calls out, searching for His beloved lost sheep.

In the darkness, you, His beloved lost sheep, cannot see Him, but you hear His voice:  "My child, I am here."

He is here, and you feel His presence.  You see before you a heavy wooden cross, splinters sticking out at the ends.  He hands it to you and you see all of your weaknesses and all of those things beyond your power  nailed to the cross.  It's too heavy for you.

"I can't--" you say, but He puts His arms around yours and embraces you with the cross.

"I am with you," He assures you.

You can't help falling in love.  You embrace the cross too, and light fills you.  The weight is not lifted, but you are able to carry it.

"I will do these things for you," He says.  "Just stay with me, daughter.  Abide with me, in my love."

You nod and say, "I trust You.  I trust You, my Jesus. I trust You."

"I will be with you always.  Stay with me, and abide in my love.  I will make you new."

O my God, fill my soul with holy joy, courage, and strength to serve You.  Enkindle Your Love in me and then walk with me along the next stretch of road before me.  I do not see very far ahead, but when I have arrived where the horizon now closes down, a new prospect will open before me, and I shall meet it with peace.  ~St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein)

Divine Romance

I love Jesus, but I don't always act like it.  No that's not true.  I usually act like it, but I rarely live it like I mean it.

In every moment I am faced with the choice to embrace or deny Him.  Unfortunately, I don't usually think about how the many little decisions I make each day will make Him feel, but how they will make me feel. It's so easy to deny Him, but loving Him hurts and requires more than merely going through the motions.

We are called to see Christ in others, but it's hard.  It's hard to see Christ in someone who hurts us or our pride.  It's hard to see Christ in someone who is being irrational or high maintenance.  It's hard to see Christ in a spoiled brat or in your crazy, dysfunctional family.

I find that when I've ignored Christ in these people for too long, I eventually find myself out of excuses and on my knees in tears, all those ways I failed to love staring me in the face in the form of cuts and bruises and open, bleeding wounds on the cross.

It's hard to see Christ in others, but it's harder still to see what my sins have done to our Savior.  It's hard to get angry about slow drivers when I'm looking at the Cross.  It's hard to justify my lifestyle when I read about starving children in Africa.

Just above all those wounds that I've inflicted, though, I see the face of Christ.  My tears wash a drop of blood off his feet, and He is consoled.  I am consoled.  We are not alone.

It's only when we embrace the Cross and all that comes with it--the pain, the heartache, the humiliation, the loneliness--that we are able to find that sliver of grace that allows us to smile patiently at the person annoying us, or to accept the humbling knowledge that we are the ones in the wrong.  This grace is what opens our heart to true love--love for Christ and love for others.

I wish I was better at remembering that throughout my days.  I wish I could look at every person I encounter and see Christ, but I usually only see myself.  I wish I could live life as it is with a heart full of love and mercy, and not try to make it something it's not.

Whenever I find that I've strayed far from my Love, when I feel the weight of my sins as they catch up to me, when I fall to my knees trying to wade through the mess I've made, I remember how I fell in love with Jesus.  I remember how He held me, how He picked up the pieces of my broken heart and slowly mended them back together.  I remember how He is always faithful, that no matter how many times I fall, whenever I look up, I still see His loving face.

I remember this divine romance, how He lured me away from the darkness and into the light.  I remember that it's as true today as it was when this romance first began.  Some days I don't feel it, but I always know it.

I don't really know what the point of this post is, except that it's a reminder for me to make my religion "less of a theory and more a love affair" (G.K. Chesterton).  It's less about living by strict rules and guidelines of what's right and wrong, and more about living with an open heart full of love and mercy.

Because that's what I've learned--growing in faith requires letting yourself fall in love with God, and Him with you.  It's a good thing to remember as we get closer to Christmas.  The holidays aren't about the things we get each other, the fun and crazy parties, the decorations, or the crazy-good shopping deals.  The holidays are about a baby, a baby whose Mother opened her heart completely to God and He filled her womb with His Life.  I can only imagine how desperately in love the mother of God was when she first held the Savior in her arms.  To have grown the Son of God within her, to look upon his face--there could be no greater beauty, no truer love.

This divine romance is one we are all called to, to embrace Christ in every moment of our lives, to allow Him to grow within us and consume us.  I aspire.

The Following

It's been a long week and I drive with the windows down and I hear
I'll find strength in pain and I will change my ways. 
I'll know my name as it's called again.*

The music moves and pulls me out and on and grace trickles through.
Suddenly it's clear:
when you come to know that God IS, always and forever, everything changes.

The almost imperceptible workings of grace chip away slowly at the blinders around my eyes,
and I begin to see more and more through the eyes of God.
The way of faith requires daily conversion, a choice--to choose God, to choose love, to choose life.
The choice between continuing to love Him and follow Him, or to go my own way and ignore Him.

Doubt creeps in when this self-protective heart and over-thinking mind recognize this freedom, when I realize that I could stop right here, turn to apathy and live life in comfortable indifference.

After all, no matter what I do, God will remain all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving.  HE IS.  With or without me.  "Through it all, Love remains."**

i am, but only because of Him.  I could continue to exist for awhile without acknowledging Him, but when I took my last breath, that would be it.
We would be parted forever.

He doesn't need me, but He wants me.  He wants you.  He wants us to let Him love us.  And He calls us by name.
We try to follow, but weak and stumbling we fall.

Over and over He calls us back to Himself, and over and over we have a choice to make--to move forward or step back, to allow grace to carry us through the hard times or to determine to plunge through the hard times alone, to do all things for His glory or to do all things for our own glory.

If I am to live truly, I must acknowledge where I come from.
If I am to live fully, I must embrace Who I come from.
I must embrace the cross, and in doing so, find strength in pain.
I must change my ways, and continue falling deeper in love with the Creator, the Redeemer, the Spirit.
I must continue to center myself and my life around Him,
so that when He calls again, I'll know my name, and be ready to follow.


*Mumford and Sons, "The Cave"*
**Collin Raye, "Love Remains"**

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.

The Alchemy of the Cross

I read this in my Magnificat one day:

"The Lord gathers up the tears of humanity and transforms them into the waters of life by the alchemy of the cross, where suffering and death are changed into joy and life by the self-gift of love."

And then I read it again:

 "The Lord gathers up the tears of humanity and transforms them into the waters of life by the alchemy of the cross, where suffering and death are changed into joy and life by the self-gift of love."

I see it:  the Lord walks among us, teaching, healing, collecting our salty tears--the blood of our souls.

I see him, Christ, drink the tears, swallowing our tears for us, being brave and strong for us like we can't be for ourselves.  He sits with his friends and drinks, sits in the garden and begs his Father to find another way.  He knows, though, that this is the only way.

He takes up the cross, and they beat him until he bleeds--the blood of the Lord, spilled out and given for us.  He carries his cross and they nail him to it.

He takes his last breath, and they pierce his side.  Blood and water pour out--baptism.  They lay him in the tomb and on the third day, he is gone.

He is risen, and he brings with him salvation and new life for us.

All this is the result of a gift of self for love.

In my study of Theology of the Body, this is a recurring theme:  self-gift of love.  It points to the sacrifice of Christ on the cross.  He did that for us, and if we are to follow him, we must be faithful in every aspect of our lives.

After Mass on Holy Thursday, Jesus' question to his disciples kept coming back to me:  "Do you know what I have done for you?"

On Good Friday I watched the priest and deacon process in in silence, and then lay face down on the ground in front of the altar. It struck me that this is what Christ has done--he laid his life down for us.  And the priests have done this in his example.

"Do you know what I have done for you?"

At the Easter vigil I counted my blessings, looking back at the many ways I could see how God saved me in grace, how he brought me where I am instead of taking me where I wanted to go for a specific reason--to give me new life.

The hard part now consists in dying to my old self, and giving myself completely out of love for him.

That reminds me of a funny experience I had about two years ago:  I was praying, and meditating on the Institution of the Eucharist when I suddenly heard John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler (from the 80s film Say Anything) in the back of my mind saying, "I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen."  I realized that it was the same with me and God.  I had given him the pen to write my story, but he had given me his whole heart.  He didn't just want my pen, to be the narrator of my story in an Emma Thompson from Stranger Than Fiction kind of way.  He wanted all of me.  Just as he gives himself to us in the Eucharist every single day, he wants all of us, not just a part of us.

He wants us to let him love us, just as we are.  Only when we let him love us can he turn our pain and sorrow into joy.

Made With Love

The coffee grinder at work sprays coffee grounds all over the place like it's its job.  It's not.  Its job is actually to grind the coffee and shoot it straight down into the proper awaiting receptacle.  But for some reason the static or the pressure or something causes the black grounds to spray all over the front of the machine, the counter, the ice machine, the floor, my hands--they get everywhere, all over everything.

It's a little annoying, but only because it happens consistently throughout the day in the middle of everything else, even as I vainly attempt to sweep up the grounds with the paintbrush we keep handy, customers holler behind me that they'd like a grande latte nonfat no foam and I smile and nod and drop the brush and move to the espresso grinder and portion out more coffee grounds, then wipe away the extras.

Coffee grounds are everywhere.  They cling to my glasses, stick to my hands, get under my fingernails.  It seems like no matter how hard I try to clean them up, they keep coming back.  Like no matter how hard I try to be positive, to better myself, to be holy, I keep complaining, making excuses, and putting myself first.  The mess I've made just seems to get messier.  Even as I begin to teeter on the brink of despair, however, someone offers me love and encouragement to keep the faith.

So the other day I was brushing away coffee grounds while people and their chatter buzzed around me.  I sighed and prayed, "Dear Lord, this is for you."  And suddenly, it wasn't coffee grounds--it was the blood of Jesus.  I was at the foot of the cross with Mary, John, and Mary Magdalene.  The blood was the result of my sins, but it was poured out freely, given up for me.  I was the soldier who pierced the side of Christ, baptized in the blood and water that poured out--mercy.

Those grounds, in that moment, were God's will for me.  They weren't my will, but when I accepted them as God's and offered them to Him, I saw that they were my small, seemingly insignificant way of participating in the redemptive suffering of Christ.  What I do isn't much, but to offer my work with love, to serve drinks with the desire to quench the thirst of Christ, to smile at the cranky and keep my snarky comments to myself, to not give in to the frustration that surrounds me--this is true freedom.

Mother Teresa said, "To work without love is slavery."  We are all called to true freedom.  It doesn't come by our efforts, but by a movement of our will, an alignment of our hearts with God's sprinkled with His Mercy and Grace.

As Mumford & Sons sings, "There is a design, an alignment, a cry of my heart to see the beauty of love as it was made to be.  Love it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free.  Be more like the man you were made to be."  When we allow this love, this mercy and grace, to embrace us and fill us, we will become who God created us to be.

*          *          *

I also have been reading the Catechism everyday for the Year of Faith, and this passage from today was too relevant.  God knows what's up when we don't have a clue.  God has control when we have none.  He is Good, and He makes all things Good and all things new--we must believe and trust in that.

272     Faith in God the Father Almighty can be put to the test by the experience of evil and suffering. God can sometimes seem to be absent and incapable of stopping evil. But in the most mysterious way God the Father has revealed his almighty power in the voluntary humiliation and Resurrection of his Son, by which he conquered evil. Christ crucified is thus "the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men." It is in Christ's Resurrection and exaltation that the Father has shown forth "the immeasurable greatness of his power in us who believe".

273     Only faith can embrace the mysterious ways of God's almighty power. This faith glories in its weaknesses in order to draw to itself Christ's power. The Virgin Mary is the supreme model of this faith, for she believed that "nothing will be impossible with God", and was able to magnify the Lord: "For he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name."

keep it real

I am a work in progress--we all are.

Sometimes it feels like all work and no progress, but this is life.

I find that these are the times that God has not abandoned me at all but is working in such tiny, detail-oriented ways that I can't see Him past my own anxiety.

So I keep working and pray and trust that progress is around the corner.

That doesn't mean I don't also collapse in a puddle of tears after each step, but hey, I'm just keeping it real.

Before glory came the cross.

The Little Way

We stumble along this little way to holiness beginning like children pushing good-deed beads in our pockets for kind words and doing our chores without complaining.  Then life happens and we get hurt and we grow up and suddenly everything seems much more complicated, holiness seems lifetimes away.  I am tempted to whine and complain and stomp my feet until I get my way.  St. Therese of Lisieux (the Little Flower, whose feast we celebrate today!) speaks of our need to be childlike, but there is a difference between childlike and childish.

In the words of St. Therese:
"I have always wanted to become a saint.  Unfortunately when I have compared myself with the saints, I have always found that there is the same difference between the saints and me as there is between a mountain whose summit is lost in the clouds and a humble grain of sand trodden underfoot by passers-by.  Instead of being discouraged, I told myself:  God would not make me wish for something impossible and so, in spite of my littleness, I can aim at being a saint.  It is impossible for me to grow bigger, so I put up with myself as I am, with all my countless faults.  But I will look for some means of going to heaven by a little way which is very short and very straight, a little way that is quite new.

"We live in an age of inventions.  We need no longer climb laboriously up flights of stairs; in well-to-do houses there are lifts.  And I was determined to find a lift to carry me to Jesus, for I was far too small to climb the steep stairs of perfection.  So I sought in holy Scripture some idea of what this lift I wanted would be, and I read these words:  'Whosoever is a little one, come to me.' It is your arms, Jesus, that are the lift to carry me to heaven.  And so there is no need for me to grow up:  I must stay little and become less and less."

Even though I've learned and read about Therese for as long as I can remember, I never really understood her until I read Heather King's book Shirt of Flame:  A Year With Saint Therese.  In Ms. King's words:

"Forget trying to achieve your own holiness, Therese seemed to be saying:  you are infinitely too feeble, weak, and misguided to accomplish anything on your own.  You're like a bleating lamb, wandering blindly around with your divided, wayward heart.  You're like a lost sheep, trying to get spiritual good marks by denying your humanity.  You're like a straying member of the flock, off in a corner trying to heal your own wounds and relieve your own obsessions.  Stop struggling and the kingdom of God will be accomplished through you.  Sit down on the floor, like a baby, and Christ will bend down and lift you up.

That is where you will get the strength to be a martyr.  That is where you will get the courage to make your way through the suffering and loneliness of daily life.  That is where you will get the joy to turn to the lost lamb beside you and assure him or her, as Christ assured the repentant thief as he hung on the cross:  "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise" (Luke 23:43)."

"Be not afraid to tell Jesus that you love Him; even though it be without feeling, this is the way to oblige Him to help you, and carry you like a little child too feeble to walk." ~St. Therese

And so we can submit ourselves to the will of God with humble confidence and know that all is grace.  Happy feast day, Little Flowers!

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.