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!

Eat the Mystery

When we find ourselves groping along, famished for more, we can choose.  When we are despairing, we can choose to live as Israelites gathering manna.  For forty long years, God's people daily eat manna--a substance whose name literally means "What is it?"  Hungry, they choose to gather up that which is baffling.  They fill on that which has no meaning.  More than 14,600 days they take their daily nourishment from that which they don't comprehend.  They find soul-filling in the inexplicable.

 They eat the mystery.   ~One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp

We are wandering like the Israelites in the desert of faith on our journey to the Promised Land.  We have the choice to continue following the path of love to Truth, to continue participating in the Mass and eating the mystery that is the Eucharist, and letting that be enough for now.

I know that for those of us who have recently graduated from college in this economy, mystery is often the only answer we know.  It can be frustrating while we strive to figure out where to go, what to do next--unless we embrace the mystery that is this life, eat this mystery, and savor it.  Savor the bitterness that comes with the sugar and spice, because it is all part of the gift.

Out of Control

      Sometimes the obscurities of life become overwhelming and it feels like I simply can't get a grip on anything--nothing is in my control and it all seems to be slipping, slipping away. . .like the dream that feels real, but the details of which fade quickly in the light of day.  Try as I might, I can't fit the pieces together to make sense of anything.  My world crumbles around me and I am helpless to stop it.
      In the turmoil, I desire peace--answers to put my mind at ease.  But the more I grasp for answers, the more unsettled I become.  It's when I remember that there is Something bigger than me at work--love, the love of God, the will of God moving and working through me.  This is my anchor of peace.  I always seem to know that it's there, that it's all I need, but living this truth requires being mindful of it constantly--constant trust and surrender in acceptance of the mystery. 
      I've come to find that the journey of faith isn't about what I plan to do with my life or my future.  It is about the becoming, about learning how to know and do and understand God's will in the moments.  It's being my best self and putting forth my best effort in all I do.  It requires practice and patience, but leads to finding joy simply in taking care of life's responsibilities in the present, and responding to everything with love.

"That Christ's love is extravagant means that it is always better to err on the side of hungering too much, rather than too little; better to wear our hearts on our sleeves rather than let them harden from cynicism and despair; better to be willing to let our hunger make us look like fools  than to pretend we have life under control and that our hunger doesn't matter. To love Christ is to suffer the full unanesthetized pain of not being in control, not being able to "make" things go our way, not being able to make the edges of life match up. To attend Mass is to bow to mystery, not certainty."  ~Heather King  (emphasis mine)