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.

Because Grace

Interviews, small talk, phone calls, holding others accountable/confrontation--these are the things that make up an introvert's living hell, and they are all things that I am required to do more and more often in this phase of life called adulthood.

Working in customer service is difficult for an introvert like me.  I'd much rather be holed up in a corner reading a book.  Instead, I am constantly surrounded by people.  For 8 hours a day, I am constantly on and at the ready to answer life's most difficult questions such as, "Where is the bathroom?" and "Can you make that nonfat?"

Now, I've always carried this cross, a social handicap of sorts that prevents a speedy connection between my brain and my mouth.  The words I really want to say don't come out when I want them to.  Instead, they stew and brew inside of me for hours, days, weeks, years until suddenly they burst out through my pen (or through my fingers on the keyboard).  My pen has a quick wit; my tongue. . . not so much.

I've often prayed for the courage or the words or whatever it is that would relieve me of this cross, but I recently realized that what I really wanted was a sort of miraculous personality change.  And then I realized that such a miracle, while totally possible for God, would be entirely against His will.  He made me the way I am for a reason, and He loves me for me.  He doesn't love who I think He wants me to be.

Nothing that we do or don't do can make Him love us any less.  His love is unwavering.

So then what? I'm stuck an awkward introvert forever?  Of course not.

For one thing, I have taken Elizabeth Bennet's words to Mr. Darcy (about his inability to converse easily with strangers) to heart:  "Perhaps you should take your aunt's advice and practice."  I do practice every day in customer service.  And though it often feels uncomfortable and awkward, it has become easier, more natural. I would still rather be holed up in a corner reading Pride and Prejudice, but that wouldn't be worth much to anyone.  Instead, I offer my weakness, my cross, to God and I let His power be manifested in it.

"'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'"  I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.  For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities; for when I am weak, then I am strong." ~2 Corinthians 12:9-10

I fall constantly, but that causes me to constantly rely on God for His grace, strength, and mercy.  I am constantly forced to forget myself (lest I wither away in the misery and despair of over thinking everything) and turn my mind to Him.  I think it is in this way that His will is done best:  when we offer ourselves as empty vessels, He fills us with His love, and that love overflows to other people until we're empty again, and He fills us again, and on and on the circle of love and His magnificence goes.

"I can sanctify you in an instant. But I love your long and patient work; it keeps you humble.  Acquire loving humility--it will exalt you.  Discouragement never elevates anyone.  Keep going.  Don't stop.  I kept going on the road to Calvary and in spite of such agony.  I got there.  Look at Me and you will find new courage.  And honor Me by calling Me to help you."  ~He and I 

It can get a little wearisome--I get tired of confessing the same sins over and over.  But when I look back at all the plans I had for myself, and how practically all of them failed and fell to the wayside, and I see that in some ways I am exactly where I never wanted to be, and in some ways exactly where I hoped to be, I know that I know nothing.  I can put forth effort and work toward my goals, but He will only lead me there when I am good and ready.  In the meantime, I will continue to seek Him, and He will continue to fill me and mold my heart to better match His.  It won't be easy, and it's going to hurt.

And I'm oddly okay with that, because it will totally be worth it.  Because His grace is enough.

Because grace.

The Infinite In-Between (take two)

We had both been looking for this:  a break from the mundane and drama-filled ball of stress we call life.  So two old friends embarked on a weekend encounter hoping to find refreshment for our thirsty souls.

The Spirit moved within us and we experienced God, were reminded of His Presence in our everyday lives, were filled with renewed vigor to live our lives for Him.  We reunited with old friends and shared two day of peace.  It was all we were given, and we soaked in every last drop.

Then came Monday.

We faced it stretching and yawning, renewed and prepared to face anything.  It was a good thing too, because I walked into a storm.

My professional life exploded (in a good, but rather challenging way), and with it came the reality of planning the simplest, lowest-key wedding possible while trying to avoid any and all things that have to do with the words:  Pinterest, bridal showers, monograms, and wedding registries.

The pressure keeps mounting and in all the chaos and noise I find that I'm not praying.  And when I try, I find that I can't.  

How can my Lord feel so near one day, then so far the next?  Because love is not about feeling.  Love is a choice.

It's the choice to wake up every day and dance in the rain and laugh with the thunder, even though I'd rather stay curled up in bed eating brownies and watching Disney movies.

It's the choice to be grateful when I'd rather be begrudging.

It's the choice to keep moving even as the tears flow freely.

And I seem to be caught perpetually in this infinite in-between:  dragged down by stress and fear, but wanting to keep walking on toward the light.  We are pilgrim souls, weak and imperfect, but redeemed.

I am Peter walking on water, and as soon as I look down at my own feet, I begin to sink.  My feet may fail, but Christ will not.  If only I could keep my eyes, my trust, my hope, my reason for being on Christ. . .

And that's become my prayer.  No words are needed, just a glance toward heaven and I know: 

I am Yours, and You are mine.

Seasoned

For a little while in college, I had a strong desire to move to California.  I had a lot of friends from the southern part of the Sunshine State who told me of their magical land where it is sunny and in the mid-60's year round.  Being from Ohio, I'd grown up hearing "If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes."  I had waited twenty-something years and still didn't like the weather.  One miserable winter day, I told my mom about my California dream.

Her response:  "People who live without seasons don't live in reality."  I love my mother, but she is a murderer of dreams. (Or resurrect-er of Truth, as she prefers it.)

In any case, per the norm, she was right in a way.  Obviously people who live in California and other parts of the world that have perpetually glorious weather face reality in their own ways, but it's different for those of us who experience all the seasons.

Not only do we face all four seasons, but sometimes we face them all in one week.  It could be 80 degrees and muggy in the morning and 50-something and wet by mid afternoon.  It could be 75 and sunny one day, and snowing the next.  There are tornadoes and floods and blizzards and ice storms and weeks of seemingly endless rain.  Yes, it's miserably unpredictable.  Yes, the pollen might kill you.  Yes, the humidity will negate any and all products you have used in your hair.  But this is reality.

November snow.

The reality is that life happens, just like weather happens, and sometimes it's out of our control.  We are weathered and worn, and no one makes it out alive.  But without the storms, we wouldn't recognize the sunshine.  The bitter cold winds of winter make the muggy 90 degree days feel like a welcome warm hug.  We learn that tornado and flood warnings usually only mean breezy thunderstorms and big puddles.  Partly cloudy means the sky will likely be a gray canvas of claustrophobic misery for the next two or three days, but when the sun finally does shine again, we will appreciate it that much more.

I've heard that in order to learn how to accept God's will for our lives, we should first learn to accept the weather.  That's QUITE the challenge in the Ohio valley, but I'm learning.  I'm beginning to realize that rather than be bitter toward the ever-changing climate, I should learn from it.  It makes me stronger.  It keeps me on my toes.  It makes life interesting and spicy.

Today as I walked out to my car to go to work in the early morning darkness, I shivered for the first morning in more than a week. I gave the sky the stink-eye and said, "Really?  I was really enjoying those muggy, 80 degree hugs!  Are we back to this already?!"  Then I sighed and shrugged, because it doesn't really matter.

Even if I can't see the sun, I know that it is still shining above the clouds.  Whatever the weather, God is still Good.  He is the Author of all life, and He made life to be full of seasons:  growth, death, purification, and rebirth.

The really good news?  He makes all things NEW.

The Knot

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

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

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

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

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

The Haunting, Wistful Fragrance of Violets

In honor of Mary, I wanted to share these powerful words on the subject of womanhood from the character of author Catherine Marshall in the film A Man Called Peter. These words are from the 1950s so they may sound dated, but they are still relevant:

I never thought much about being a girl until two years ago when I learned from a man what a wonderful thing it is to be a woman. Until that Sunday morning, I considered myself lucky to be living in the 20th century; the century of progress and emancipation; the century when, supposedly, we women came into our own. But I’d forgotten that the emancipation of women really began with Christianity. 

A very young girl received the greatest honor in history. She was chosen to be the mother of the savior of the world. And when her son grew up and began to teach his way of life, he ushered women into a new place in human relations. He accorded her a dignity she had never known before and crowned her with such glory that down through the ages she was revered, protected and loved. Men wanted to think of her as different from themselves, better, made of finer, more delicate clay. It remained for the 20th century, the century of progress, to pull her down from her throne. 

She wanted equality. For 1900 years, she had not been equal. She had been superior [emphasis hers]. To stand equally with men, naturally she had to step down. Now, being equal with men, she has won all their rights and privileges; the right to get drunk, the right to swear, the right to smoke, the right to work like a man, to think like a man, to act like a man. We’ve won all this, but ought we to feel so triumphant when men no longer feel as romantic about us as they did about our grandmothers; when we’ve lost something sweet and mysterious; something as hard to describe as the haunting, wistful fragrance of violets?Of course, these aren’t my original thoughts. They are the thoughts I heard that Sunday morning. But somehow, some thoughts of my own were born and the conclusion reached that somewhere along the line, we women got off the track.

Poets have become immortal by remembering on paper a girl’s smile. But I’ve never read a poem rhapsodizing over a girl’s giggles at a smutty joke or I’ve never heard a man brag that his sweet heart or his wife could drink just as much as he and become just as intoxicated. I’ve never heard a man say that a girl’s mouth was prettier with a cigarette hanging out of it or that her hair smelled divinely of stale tobacco.

May: The Month of Mary

Yes, we Catholics have a whole month devoted to Mary.  Not devoted to worshiping her, but devoted to seeking her intercession and learning how to be more like her. We entrust ourselves to her care.  Why?  Many reasons, but to put it simply:  because God entrusted Himself to her.  This woman was pure and sinless, a humble Jewish woman who trusted God with her whole life, body and soul.  She carried the Son of God inside herself, gave birth to Him, raised Him.  Then she felt a sword pierce her immaculate heart as she watched her perfect, sinless boy suffer under the crushing weight of our sins.  While He was on the cross, He offered her to us:  "Behold, your mother." (John 19:27)  He gives her to his beloved disciple (HINT:  that's YOU).  We would be fools not to accept her motherly love and guidance.  After all, if we want to be like Jesus, shouldn't we entrust ourselves to the same motherly love and guidance He had while on earth?  I mean, I think so.

If you aren't convinced (okay, even if you are), check out  Father Michael Gaitley, MIC's 33 Days to Morning Glory:  A Do-It-Yourself Retreat in Preparation for Marian Consecration.  The book contains thoughts and reflections of Mary by Saints Louis de Montfort, John Paul II, and Maximilian Kolbe as well as Blessed Mother Teresa.  Insightful and inspiring, it's a great explanation of how Mary helps us grow closer to her Son.

If you're looking for a shorter, simpler way to grow closer to Mary, try the 31 Days of Mary.  I don't remember how or when or where, but at some point while I was at school, I stumbled on this gem of a devotion for the month of Mary.  For each day of the month of May, there is a virtue of Mary and a little blurb for reflection.  It's a simple way to meditate on Mary each day during the month we devote to her.  I've searched online and can't find the source of this simple prayer, so, hoping that I'm not infringing on anyone's rights, I typed it up, made a few adjustments, and posted it on this blog in the right hand column under "Pages."

May it bring you closer to Our Lady and Our Lord!