She Wonders

Last night I wrote on the last page of a journal I have used sporadically since college. As I flip back through the pages, I smile, laugh, tear up, shake my head, and remember. I remember the girl I was - the girl who expressed so much of her heart on those pages.

That girl is now five years older than the days of the first entries. In many ways she has lived moments she could never have guessed at. And today, she wonders.

She wonders if that girl would have been delighted to know the now.

She wonders if the wisdom of those days long gone has been well used on the journey.

She wonders if five years from now these moments being lived will make more sense, be seen more clearly.

And in the midst of all that wonder, she tries to muster up the courage and strength to surrender. To gather up all of the unfinished story-lines, the unfulfilled hopes, the undetected graces and to place them all into the hands of the Father.

She sits, slowly breathing in and out, and reflects on the life lived. She feels the hurts, delights in the joys, and guesses at the future.

She knows with certainty that she is loved by the God who does not need to guess at the meaning and the purpose.

She asks herself the question found in many forms throughout the pages of the journal she closes and sets back on the shelf.

Will she trust God?  Does she love him as he asks her to?  Does she trust that his grace is sufficient?

Is this life being lived for him?

I Gain Nothing

"No," I said to no one in particular as I closed my Bible and set it on the floor.  ...Okay, maybe I was saying it to God...

"No," I said again, "I'm not interested in meditating on You loving and serving us."

Let me back up a minute.  Just before Lent started, I commited to a new method of praying with scripture. I made a list of the major "action" moments of Jesus' life from John's Gospel, and I've been working my way through the list.

Next up on the list: The Washing of the Disciples' Feet.

Now, back to the story...

I realized a couple of days ago that I'm really, totally, and completely kind of mad at God.  I feel like I've honestly given myself to Him.  I know I took a courageous leap of surrender by leaving my 2nd grade teaching job and coming to Springfield.  And even though I had no real expectations for what this journey would bring, I did expect that it would become something.

It doesn't seem like it has. I feel abandoned and forgotten.

This morning, I woke up to a text from a friend happily declaring that God is so good.  The text went on to describe the reasons why. I found myself thinking, "Of course. Because you aren't me, and God is willing to bring good things into your life."

Earlier this afternoon, I got a text from another friend asking for prayers.  My prayer was something along these lines: "God, please bring good things into _____'s life. Don't treat her the way You treat me. Let her be holy and HAPPY."

...did I mention that I'm kind of mad at God?

At one point, I even went so far as to let God know that I think He is taking advantage of the fact that He knows I won't walk away. This God thing - this faithful Catholic life thing- I'm all in.

Here's the truth of the matter though. We have to live the victory.

God does love me.  He does bring good things into my life. He doesn't do everything the way I would, but that is the biggest blessing He gives us.  Because He can see perfectly. His ways are best.

Does that suck sometimes?  Yes.  But only because we are human. 
Does it hurt like crazy sometimes? Yes.  But only because we are being made holy.
Does it look unreasonable and unfair sometimes? Yes.  But only because Satan is constantly clouding our vision.

Today, I'm standing at a crossroads.  I have a choice to make.  I can stand up, trust God to build the Kingdom with my suffering, and LIVE like I'm all in.  Or, I can continue about my life with my arms crossed in stubbornness, pretending like God owes me the life I envision for myself.

What do I want to do?  I want to be stubborn.  I want to wait and try to force God's hand.  I want to throw a mini-temper tantrum until He gives in.

But I gain nothing by holding on.

I gain nothing, but Satan wins.

I don't want to be someone who hands Satan a win.

So what am I going to do?

Well, first of all I'm going to pray that scripture I said no to this morning.  And I'm going to meditate on God made flesh kneeling before His Church -before me- and humbly and lovingly serving.

And I'm going to choose to trust that Jesus.  I will choose to trust that He is building.

Because I gain nothing by holding on.

Journey

It's so easy to forget that this life is a journey - a journey with more meaning that we can't see than meaning that we can.

It's so easy to fall into comfortable. Safe. Familiar.

It's so easy to forget that God is constantly calling us to become more like Him.

Sometimes we need moments in our lives that are so unexpected, so unpredictable that they spin our world around and turn it upside down in the most perfect way - the way that shows us that God is working.  God is calling.

I came across a quote in my meditation recently: "We should not be surprised if, when we embrace obedience, we find the Cross."

As I've pondered that deeply in my heart, I've come to realize a temptation within myself to think that if I only manage to be obedient God will bring about the things that I want.  I find myself believing that nothing unexpected should come my way because I've been listening and obeying.

But, obedience often leads us to the Cross.  That's how it was for Jesus.

Here's the thing about the Cross. If we look at it through our own eyes, it looks like we've been defeated.  It looks like the end of what should have been a much longer, much better story.  But when we look at the Cross through the eyes of faith, we something so much more.  We see it as an unexpected beginning, a continuation of a story that has more meaning than we can see in any single given moment.

And that Cross?  It calls us to change.  It shakes us from our comfort, our safety, our familiar. It demands that we see love differently.  It demands that we see life differently.  It demands that we trust God's power and glory in the unexpected.

It's easy to forget that this life is a constant, meaningful, and ever-changing journey.  Easy to forget that is, until we arrive at the Cross.

Slightly Confused

This video, "Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus," has popped up multiple times on my facebook newsfeed. I finally watched it a few a minutes ago, and I'm going to offer a response here.

Let me start out by saying that there are points made in this video that I absolutely agree with. There are also points (namely the whole premise/title) that are not Truth.

Religion is not in and of itself evil. The problem with religion is not that it is something contrary to Jesus or something on the opposite end of the spectrum of Jesus (as it is according to the video). The "problem" with religion is that every religion is made up of HUMANS whose daily lives, decisions, and actions are influenced by FALLEN NATURE.

The logical parallel that the poet in this video attempts to draw between Christ's rebuking of the Scribes/ Pharisees with religion as a whole is faulty. Christ did NOT come to abolish the law; He came to FULFILL the law. In doing so, He INSTITUTED the One, Holy, Catholic Church. The FULLNESS of Truth -of God's plan for mankind- rests within the rich sacredness of a religion build upon Scripture and Tradition.

Christ's condemnation in Scripture is a condemnation of people who did not allow God their whole beings - their whole hearts. He condemned people who used the law as a source of pride rather than a guide towards love. He condemned people who tried to hide behind the law and avoid actually LIVING mercy, grace, forgiveness, and love. And today He still condemns people who hide behind religion. He still condemns hypocrisy.

What the man in this video DOES understand is that far too many people today claim salvation and holiness because they can check church off their list of things they did this week. Far too many Catholics - and Christians as a whole - never allow their religion to guide them to the fullness of the Christian life.

However, what the man in this video DOES NOT recognize is that when Christ instituted The Church, it never ceased to be comprised of fallen people. It never ceased to exist in a fallen world. Rather, He insured that even when we do fail -even when our practice of religion falls short of the glory He has in mind - there is a religion through which we always have access to the grace of His obedience on the cross.

It is through a religion- The Catholic Church- that the grace for our salvation is made available to us.

Religion is not the summation of the hypocrisy its members. Rather, One religion is the NECESSARY path for us to our salvation.

I guess in a way I could say that he is almost right. And yet completely wrong at the same time...

Beautiful History

I heard a speech made by Lance Berkmen of the St. Louis Cardinals. He said some things that really got me thinking.

Many times in life, I'm super specific in my prayers. I approach God with a box, and in that box I place my limited vision of what I think will ultimately bring Him glory and give me happiness.

In 2005, when Lance played for the Houston Astros, he was playing against the Cardinals in the NLCS. Houston was leading the series 3 -1 going into game 5 in Houston. Lance is a professed Christian who, before the game, prayed that if he had the opportunity he would get a hit to help his team win the game. In the 7th inning (I think), Lance got a hit that gave the Astros a lead. His prayer at that point involved a little bargain. He promised God that if they held onto the lead and won the game leading to the first World Series appearance in Franchise history, he would give God all the glory in the post-game press conference.

Well, all was well until Pujols came up to bat with runners in scoring position. He crushed a hanging slider for a crowd silencing home run. The Cardinals won the game. (But not the series....shhh...we won't talk about that part.)

Fast forward to 2011. The Cardinals defy all the odds and are playing in the World Series. Down 3 games to 2 in the series Lance knew that it could all come down to one of his at bats. But his prayer was different this time around. Instead of praying that he make the big hit, he prayed that if he were in the position to make a huge difference he would be calm and able to focus on the at bat.

At one point in the epic Game 6, it did come down to one of his at bats. He says that when he was up there batting, he felt completely calm. He was able focus so that he could do what he had to do to keep the team alive. He did. At the rest of the season's story is beautiful baseball history.

God didn't have to make Lance get the perfect hit. He just had to grant the grace of focus.

That's what I want in my life. God doesn't have to give me the specific things that I see as valuable. All I want is the grace and peace to focus on His will. All I want, when the big moments in my life come, is to be focus enough to hear His voice and calmly use the gifts He has given me to follow His will.

If I can do that, maybe, just maybe, the rest of my life will be beautiful history.

The Hard Parts

I once saw (okay, I think I actually trice saw...but that isn't important) a Rob Bell video called "Shells." I only have vague memories of how it specifically went, but I remember the jist (okay, a friend reminded me of the jist earlier today...but that isn't important either). It went something like this...

A boy is walking along the beach collecting shells. He is happy and enjoys what he has found, but they are nothing magnificent. None of the shells are big and many are merely broken fragments. Suddenly, he sees it. A full and beautiful shell floating out in the ocean. His father encourages him to go get it. He tries to get out to it, but keeps stopping short and returning to the shore. With more encouragement, he makes it out to the shell, but he doesn't grab it. He comes back to the shore and his father who asks what happened. The boy explained that he couldn't get the full and beautiful shell. The father asked why, and the boy responded, "My hands are full of shells."

How often is this us? We cling so tightly to the things around us that we can't grasp the better things God has for us. We are unwilling to let go of the comfort of the life we've created and grown accustomed to.

I've realized in the past few days I don't really and truly surrender. When I trust and hope in a future that God has planned for me, I always focus on some possible way that it will work out. I surrender to a possibility - one that might make me slightly uncomfortable, but with which I am ultimately okay.

I don't surrender to an unknown. I don't surrender to a future full of hope and happiness that I cannot imagine for myself. I surrender only insofar as I can understand.

That isn't real surrender.

Real surrender embraces the darkness.  Real surrender trusts the God whose plans I cannot see and desires those plans in my life. No. Matter. What.

That's the hard part: joyful surrender to what appears to be a dark abyss, while trusting and hoping and delighting in God's promise.

After all, if my hands are full of my own comforting visions, how will ever grasp what is actually better?

A New Perspective

I just got home from a Reconciliation service. The priest began his homily by talking about the memory loss caused by Alzheimer and Dementia. He described the way that many who suffer from those diseases have forgotten who they are. They may not remember their family, what they like to do, or how to do things like receive Communion at Mass. They need people in their lives who can remind them of what they've forgotten - what they cannot remember on their own.

They've forgotten who they are.

Often times in our own lives we too forget who we are. Think for a moment about who we are. We are God's children. We are the objects of a great and perfect Love.

When we walk in the opposite direction of God - when we sin- we've forgotten who we are.

The Sacrament of Reconciliation is not only about God calling us back to Him and forgiving us. It's about God reminding us of who we are.

We are an Easter people. We are a people of the resurrection. Even when we sin, we are still a people meant to be alive in the glory of the risen Christ. How often we forget who we are.

When I don't do something because I'm too afraid, when I'm so caught up in what's going on in my life, when I'm distracted by so many loud things around me, I forget who I am.

God wants to remind us of who we are. He wants us to remember that we are good and holy and that the reality of who we are lies in His great love for us, not in our sins and failures.

What a quick and powerful prayer it is to ask God to "remind me of who I am."

I Want to Embrace Gratitude

Waking up for daily morning mass is really, really hard for me. I rarely find the motivation. However, this morning (even after being up until 2 a.m.) was no problem. Would you like to know why?

This morning I wanted to tell Jesus "thank You" more than I wanted to sleep.

I'm serious. That's what got me out of bed.

Gratitude is a powerful thing. I remember once going through a phase where I was struggling to examine my conscience. I wasn't frequenting the Sacrament of Confession because of it. Finally one day I went down to the Chapel and started making a list of all the things for which I was grateful. After developing a decently long list, I immediately began writing all of the things for which I was sorry. After acknowledging the gifts in gratitude, my offenses against the God who had granted those gifts - my sins - became much more obvious.

I need to be grateful. I need to be aware of that gratitude. When I am, it changes me inside. It motivates me to choose God more.

In an effort to continue the gratitude, here is a list of some things for which I am currently very grateful:

1.) Time off from teaching to relax.
2.) God's mercy and forgiveness as it comes to me through the Sacraments and through the people in my life.
3.) The ability to Sacrifice willingly.
4.) The direction God is taking me.
5.) A good job.
6.) Fantastic co-workers.
7.) A "cheap show" movie theater.
8.) Friends who will join me at extremely last minute notice.
9.) Consistent and predictable phone conversations.
10.) Having a car of my own.
11.) Moments that cause me to pause and think, "wow. I might actually be an adult now."

Maybe you feel inclined to make your own gratitude lists too.

If you would like to leave a list in the comments of this post, I would LOVE to read them. If you would rather make a list as part of your private prayer I hope that time is blessed!

How Easily I Forget

I allowed myself to get lost in blog world this morning. I let a blog I check daily lead me to a blog I've never read, which lead me to another blog I'd never read, where I saw a comment by a blog I had only read once before...as I said, lost in blog world.  While there I was reminded of something so easily forgotten.  I was reminded that genuine openness and honesty in sharing truly inspire.

This blog has been relatively quiet. I've been busy, my students have "Santa-Brain" (today's snow probably won't help that situation tomorrow), and the St. Andrew novena has me reflecting on this liturgical season with a frequency that seems constant. However, I love writing. I love articulating what is going on inside of me. And without ever ignoring humility or failing to give all glory to God, I believe that by sharing here others may be inspired.

Thus I write today.

Givenness. I'm told by my computer that it is not a word. Fine. I'm using it anyway. God calls me to be fully given. Fully given to Him, to my family, to my students, to those around me.

Givenness. He calls me to it.

Given. I am not.

I am not fully given to my family because most encounters with them are a rushed change of clothes, a quick grabbing of food, and a run out the door to the next thing on my schedule. I am called to slow down, to give.

I am not fully given to my students because I am afraid of losing the rest of myself in loving them. I worry that if I give fully, I'll become consumed and miss other opportunities. They are so undeserving of such mistreatment on my part. I am called to give.

I am not fully given to my friends because (1) I don't see them much in social situations, (2) some of them live in different states and communication is hard, and (3) I am afraid of the cost of love. I dread the consequences (which though hard, will only make friendships stronger, holier, and more reflective of God's love for us) of total honesty and accountability.

I am not fully given to God. Though I discern in prayer and He grants many graces, I do not fully know His plan for me. While I trust that it is good, I do not fully surrender. Abandoning myself completely to His holy, divine will is scary because odds are my own vision is not His, and His will be harder (and much, much better - but that does not provide me with the immediate comfort it should). Fully giving myself to Him is the only way for me to be happy. But can I say yes to the suffering that is the cost of such love? Perhaps a better question is WILL I say yes to the suffering that is the cost of such love?

Givennes. To be fully given.

That is my prayer.

St. Andrew Christmas Novena

You actually need to go here to read this post. I posted it to the AYM blog so that it could be more easily accessed.

Loving and Waiting in Perfection

You know that feeling that comes when it seems like you just can't catch a break?  That overwhelmed, tired, and worn-down feeling that is expressed peacefully with a shake of the head in disbelief ... or loudly with a stomp at the ground and angry, yet honest, shouts of frustration towards the Heavens? That's been me. I've done the disbelieving head-shake and the frustrated stomping and shouting, as well as everything that falls somewhere between.

Remember when I told you that God is making me holy? Well, its been a difficult journey.

I'm not sure when it all started, but I know that it has been going on for some time now. I distinctly remember it in the Holy Land. This time in my life has had two major characteristics. 1.) I have been pulled, pulled hard, in many different directions. Many by choice. There have been countless details in my life that have needed attention. There have conversations with teens that I have loved and would not trade for the world, but that have added to my burden. There have been events and meetings and conversations.  There have been changing friendships, changing lifestyles, and changing calls in my prayer. I have been pulled. 2.) I have felt, more so than ever before, alone. Though many times I have been surrounded by people, I have felt alone in my endeavors, alone in my person, and alone in my prayers. That loneliness has caused suffering.

I spoke also of my struggles and wonderment in regards to the Great Commission of the Gospels. It seems that God needed to stretch me, to increase my capacity to express, and to humble that part of me that takes pride in what I claim to know. Each conversation that begged of me a response to tough questions regarding the Church and God left me feeling abandoned, confused, and far too burdened. Beyond the needs of those questioning, there was another pull here. From God Himself came the pull towards deeper commitment to Him. As stood alone, undesirably called to be the representative of Christ's Church, I felt trapped inside myself. Try as I may, I could not escape.

God offered me little consolation.  I was surrounded by an abundance of desolation. My soul ached, longing for the change to which He called.  My flesh screamed in protest, begging me to give up, to walk away, to find something, anything else. My spirit was breaking.

Then I was reminded, in the most perfect way, of God's immense love. All of those things that caused so much discord within my soul came together for the occasion. I was alone, when asked by someone demanding more of me, to answer big questions.  In His wisdom, God granted me the grace to respond. In my response, God placed traces of the reminders I needed myself - that He loves us; that He truly works for the good of those who seek Him, even when everything in life seems to indicate that it isn't so; that when we are willing to turn to Him in our brokenness, He is able to heal us and change us - really heal and change us. That if He never withheld consolations, we would never realize just how much we need Him.  We would forget that everything we have is a gift, from God.  One that we do not deserve, but He gives nonetheless.

Throughout this time, in my honest prayers, I was left knowing that He was working.  However, that did not make the experience more appealing (or peaceful. As I dramatically declared to one friend, there was not a situation or relationship in my life that had peace. Even with Jesus all I did was cry and cry - hot tears of pain. I could not stop.). I knew that He was making me holy, but I have not the virtue to respond in a well-mannered, virtuous way.  Instead, I often found myself kicking and screaming, questioning and arguing - desperately seeking relief from the burdens I preferred not to bear.

And in all of that, God remained steadfast in His love and fidelity to me. He heard the honesty in the cries of my breaking heart. He listened. He loved.

He waited.

He waited for the unwilling smile that came with true surrender.  He waited for me to stop hiding, to stop pretending to run, not care, and not listen, and to stop telling Him that I couldn't, that He asked too much, that He was making it too hard.

He waited, and He loved. Perfectly.

Making Me Holy

I wouldn't call this a dry spell - though perhaps many would.  After all, it has many of the classic dry-spell characteristics: loneliness in prayer, feeling like God is not there.  However, I know that it is something more.

This is certainly a time of struggle.  God is stretching me in new directions.  He is challenging me in new ways.  I'm not learning this in my prayer. Rather, I am experiencing it in my life.  I feel justified in saying, "the hits just keep on coming."  I simply cannot seem to get on top.

It's nothing too big. Annoying conversations here.  Memory lapses there.  I've even found a whole lot of more-work-than-imagined mixed in as well. Some things are just constantly not going as planned, no matter how many times I alter the plan. This is a trying time in my life. There are many things I need to be doing to keep up, many that I want to be doing but cannot, and many more that I should be doing but am not. There is just a lot going.

The tricky part is that when I turn to God in prayer, I do not seem to meet a filling wellspring of faith, hope, love, and peace. I seem to meet silence. I pour out my heart, lay down my troubles, and wait. All I hear is silence. I know He is there.  I have no trouble believing that.  However, He is not responding.  He is testing my faith, teaching me to grow.

He is making me holy.

And it hurts. It's hard. To be honest, I'm not particularly fond of the whole process. However, I honestly want to place my life in His hands, to grow closer to Him, to live this life well so that I can be with Him forever in the next.  That means that today I will keep believing.  Today, I will choose to have hope.  I will continuing living and moving and praying.

One day, perhaps even today, I will thank Him for making me holy.

Almost

I almost went to bed without blogging.

However, the scene was a bit too familiar.

"I'm already in bed"  "No one will notice"  "I'll pick it up again tomorrow"  "It isn't that important anyway"  "I can show commitment and discipline some other way"  "I did enough things well today"  "I can skip just once"

That is how it always begins.

Then pretty soon, day after day, that monologue of excuses is all that is left where the beginnings of virtue were once planted.

So, I pulled myself out of bed, turned the computer back on, and starting typing, bringing myself one step closer to "easy, joyful, and prompt."  One step close to virtue.

The Trials of Old

Today I stumbled across an old notebook with several journal entries. As I read and remembered, I came across this entry.  It is so very true.  The me of the past is speaking to the me of the present. And I would do well to listen...

April 25, 2007

For the first time, I actually feel a desire to grow closer to God. It used to always be something I prayed about because I knew I should. Now, I really want it.

I really want to carve out and protect a place within me for God. I think the starting point is in the things about which I think. In order for God to be my focus, I need to give Him a clear path to my heart. I spend too much time fantasizing about my future. I find it enjoyable, and a lot of times, I'm imagining things I desire and think will make me happy. The truth is that true happiness lies in God's will for my life.

The thoughts that will make me truly happy are those that center around Him. If I fall asleep thinking about scripture and meditating on the grace and glory of God, I will be peaceful and my time will have been better spent. After all, God is more worthy of my attention than the decor of my dream home. Such invading thoughts crowd God and limit His space in my life.

A Need Within The Quietest Me

The past few days I have felt called to take an honest look at my life. I'm not sure where I was standing nor what I was thinking when I first experienced this prompting, but it did not go away.  So, I pursued the matter. What I discovered as a result was not something good, certainly not something of which I am proud.

My reflections drew me to genuine realization that God is not all that He should be in my life. I took a look at my quietest moments. I examined the moments when I am really alone, when the world around me stops, when I'm not on the computer or reading or listening to music or planning my classroom. The moments when I'm truly still and quiet. What I discovered was that in those moments, I am not present to God. He is neither the object of my affections nor the topic of my thoughts.

In the depths of who I know myself to be, I have shut out God. When I am sad, when I am lonely, when I am tired, when I can sense with undeniable conviction that all is not right, He is not the one I cling to.

Instead I let my imagination run free. I dream of a life that is so very different from the one I'm currently living. I delight in the fantasy of self-scripted friendships, imaginary virtues, and utterly fake sources of happiness

In my quietest moments, I run to a world that cannot possibly draw me to God because it is a world that is in no way real.

In my not-so-quiet moments I claim to love God in a way that I don't. I reassure myself with the quick murmur of timeless and beautiful prayers, which my lips pray without my heart. I tell myself that my relationship with God has enough history to make up for this time - that in the overall summary of my journey the good is winning.

God doesn't want my overall summary.  He wants all of me, in every moment, to choose Him.

So then, changes must be made. I must fast. I must pray. I must reduce and control within myself those distractions that I allow to numb me to the Truth. God wants more.

The well-being of my soul demands that He have it now.

Fallen Away

I don't know the statistics. I'm not sure I really want to. I do know that many, many Catholics fall away from their faith.

I've said on many occasions that, at this point in my faith life, it would take a whole lot for me to turn my back on my faith. From my perspective, though I have much, much more to learn, I've grown a lot in my ability to trust God. I've found that loving God and His will even when it doesn't make much sense to me is the only thing that actually makes me happy in this life, and the only thing that will lead me to the next.

In his letter to the Romans, St. Paul is in anguish over Jewish rejection of Christ. He notes that to the Jewish people God gave so much: sonship, glory, the patriarchs, the law, and the promises. Yet when God sent the Messiah for which they had been waiting, they rejected Him.  When I read that, I can connect in some way with Paul's anguish. It is sad.

What if it is my story too?

Continuing through Paul's letter, he talks about the Gentiles being grafted on the tree. He warns them not to be boastful.  He cautions them to remember that their faith is a gift. It is a manifestation of God's glory and goodness. It is through no power of their own. It is because God holds them their, through His faithfulness.

I have to remember this too. Those lessons I have learned in faith and trust are gifts. I've learned them only because God has allowed it. I learn them only when I listen well. To His voice. Not mine.

My prayer is that I heed Paul's warning. My faith is a gift. I should not boast.

It is God who holds me here.

Who I Want to Be

I have this vision of a person who is so deeply in tune with God, so filled with the Holy Spirit, that her every word is clearly what God has desired to be spoken.

Often, I find myself thinking of discernment and the inclinations of the Spirit only in terms of big decisions. I fail to view them with regard to every moment. The same is true for obedience. I think of being obedient to God when it comes to my vocation or whether I'm tithing enough to the Church, but not when it comes to my daily actions. Of course I do focus on living the reality of the Christian life, which calls me to be mindful of my daily thoughts and actions, but I tend to stop that mindfulness short of vision of the person mentioned above.

My prayer reflection today called my attention to the need for determination. I must be determined to obey God in everything, to be in the constant state of discerning His Spirit, aware of It's inclinations, and committed to carrying them through.  This determination leads to a greater desire to know what God is asking of me.  After all, how can I possibly go through with what God wishes in every moment if I do not know what He does wish?

I often find myself distracted by how frequently I don't seem to hear God.  Perhaps that plays into my tendency to forget the moment-by-moment constancy of obedience. St. Francis de Sales said to "love obeying more than we fear disobeying." 

Thus, my attempt at that vision for a person consumed by obedience to God's will begins with a prayer that asks God to change my heart that I may grow in love for obedience of Him.  I will commit to responding out of that obedience when I know what He wants for me, and I will not worry too much when I am unsure.  I'll always discern, grateful for the times when I do know, trusting Him in the times that I don't.

HAPPY LITURGICAL NEW YEAR!!!

I love advent.  If fall is my favorite season of the secular year, then advent is my favorite season of the liturgical year.  The joyful anticipation that comes with advent is inspiring.  As I prepare my heart to enter into the mystery of the Incarnation again this year, there is excitement within in me.  It's as if soon (and very soon ;) ) I will encounter something big. Something huge. Something life-changing.  And while all of that depends in a large way on my ability to maintain a disposition that is open to grace, it all seems doable somehow.  Perhaps Our Mother Mary begs for us at the side of her Son a bit more fervently this time of year.  (It is likely that is not theologically correct.  It would probably be more accurate to say that as we enter more deeply and openly into her life, we ask for and receive more blessings through her and the hand of her Son.)  Maybe the hustle and bustle, though at times nothing more than a distraction, stirs us up just enough inside of us so that we aren't lazy.  We're moving.  We're active.

This advent I need to be centered.  I need to focus.  I need the kind of discipline that comes only from peace.  May Mother Mary be my guide.  Under her mantle, wrapped up in her prayers, maybe I'll be blessed with a small taste of what she was fully.  Maybe my heart will become more like hers.  Perhaps, through her intercession, I will learn to wait with the joyful, peaceful anticipation with which she waited all those years ago.

Maybe, just maybe, my waiting will be filled with humble surrender.

Halloween

The much anticipated, much debated holiday approaches this weekend. I've already bought the candy to give out to trick-or-treaters, and I can't wait to see all of the cute kids in their costumes. I never knew there was anything controversial about the holiday until I came to college. I'd never heard of people dressing up as saints. I don't have very strong opinions on the matter. I don't really have much of a reason to right now. While I do find it questionable to have children walking around dressed like demons, witches, or ghosts, I don't think it's necessary to dress up like a saint (and certainly not to avoid the holiday all together). Also, I must admit, that I refused to put jack-o-lantern stickers on my CCD students' homework since the tradition involves the Evil Spirit of Halloween (or something like that). This article on First Things offers some interesting insights. I like what she has to say. Although her argument presented isn't perfect, I like the challenge to live the liturgy fully.

A New Rule

Starting today, I'm imposing upon myself a new rule. I'm admitting right off that it isn't brilliant, and it may not survive the weekend. I'm attempting it anyway. I must now earn the right to eat unhealthy foods. If I want to go out for ice cream, I have to exercise first. If I want to have beer before I go bed, I have to have gone for a walk after dinner. I'm considering do a similar thing with computer/T.V./video game time (I probably should not have put the nintendo in my room). I could earn that by equivalent reading time or prayer time. I'll let you know how it goes.