Because She Asked Me To

I am so distant.  God is there, very close. But I, I am far away.  December has been one of those months.  For some reason, I can't seem to bring myself to a confessional.  I can't seem even to bring myself to much prayer.  Last night, I laid in bed, In Conversation With God in hand, and there it was, all right before. And I, I was distant.

I read about interior mortification.  I knew, though much of me wanted to hide it, that this would not be easy.  I take such delight in the wandering of my mind. Last night, I was reminded of just how much that deprives God of me now. Or rather, how much that deprives me of God.

I didn't want to pray. I would say that I couldn't. I would claim that Satan or something had a hold on me that I couldn't escape. But it wouldn't be true.  The biggest thing I was fighting was myself.

The prayer that has come so easily to me lately struggled to fight its way to the surface. What was the point really?  Even Mary seemed so far away.  In her I saw condemnation. I saw disappointment.  I saw the harsh reality of all that scared me. Would I dare to draw close?  Would the terrible judgment of her gaze break me apart.  Suddenly I knew, though I certainly didn't feel, that this was not the woman I have come to love. And the woman that she is, wanted me to draw close.

And so I prayed those ancient words.  Not because I wanted to. Not because it was the easiest thing to do, or because I saw a purpose.  I held my breath, shut my eyes tight, and through no power of my own I asked for Our Mother's powerful intercession because I knew that I should. Because she asked me to.