Fair warning: if you are an only child you probably won't completely understand this blog. Just use your imagination =)
I feel like I should start with a few other important disclaimers, but I'm going to skip them all. We all want to be the favorite child in our family - or at least feel like we are loved just as much as all of our other siblings. In a perfect world that would always be the case, children wouldn't clearly know which child is the favorite and which one is not, disappointment and confusion wouldn't run rampant in the child who isn't the favorite. But this, dear friends, is not a perfect world in which we live.
I love my family - let's just begin by saying that (despite the fact that I just said I was skipping the disclaimers). My brother has come home from college for two weeks and it has been wonderful seeing him and spending time with him since he's been away for so long. However, in this and his last trip home it has become abundantly clear to both of us that he is the favorite child. Perhaps I am the older one and I had my day, but we both agree there is more to this change than our ages or the passing of time. It doesn't even come in the big things, but in the little things - I get sick and I'm banished to the basement, he gets sick and gets checked on and runs are made to the drug store for him and I get blamed for passing on that wretched cold as if it was my intention to get him sick in the first place (it was not). It continues to come out in all the little things, and I could go on but the point is that my brother and I both quite clearly see that he is the favorite child.
It was funny to joke about at first, with each new little thing that showed his "favorite child" status we would look at each other and laugh. But the more I think about it, and the more little things that come about, the less funny it is - the joke, quite frankly, is over. So what am I to do? Sit here and throw a temper tantrum (which, oddly enough, has actually crossed my mind)? Complain and yell to anyone (and/or my parents) about how I am not the favored child? The joke really isn't a joke anymore and with each new little thing that confirms my suspicions I feel even more disappointment and confusion - what did I (or didn't I) do to clearly not be the favored child? I'm left with nothing but ill-feelings, confusion, hurt and disappointment...and a seemingly endless list of questions, most of which begin with "why"?
Last night as I ended a beautiful Christmas evening with Mr. Irish, we prayed over each other (one of my very favorite ways to end our time together, but more on that in another blog!). I asked for prayers for my family and for the way I feel about recent events and not being the favorite child. Earlier in the evening when we talked about this topic he told me that I am his favorite - a nice sentiment, but I'm not his child (and thank goodness for that). But as we prayed he opened his heart to our Heavenly Father and the words and wisdom of God came spilling through Mr. Irish as he lovingly reminded me that I am the favorite in God's eyes. He reminded me that no matter what I do or where I go I am always, always the favorite in God's eyes...and in His heart.
As I said earlier, this world we live in is far from perfect, but there is a world that we were made for that is perfect: Heaven. In that world God's love is so radiant, so wonderful that all of His children are loved the same (though I imagine that Jesus may in fact have some extra pull with God). We, individually, are all His favorites - isn't that what we long for? To be someone's favorite? Whether it is our parent's favorite, our sibling's favorite, our significant other's favorite, we want to be someone's favorite, but all too often we fail to realize that we already are God's favorite. He dotes on us, I can even imagine Him bragging about us. I am His favorite, and so are you - yet another mystery of His unending love. You, dear child, whether you realize it or not, are God's favorite. Allow that truth to sink into your heart, permit God to write that truth in your soul.
Father, help me turn to You with greater fervor and frequency. Help me and all of Your children to know that we are Your favorite, no matter how far we've fallen away from You. Your approval, Your love are all we need. Father, I need help in finding who I am - help me and all Your children find ourselves in You, help us to see ourselves through Your eyes. Help me hear Your heart and fill me with Your love, all I ask is that I come to know Your heart. AMEN.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
let all mortal flesh keep Silence.
As we prepare for Christmas this coming Sunday, I figured it would be fitting to share one of my favorite Advent songs. The tune itself is quite haunting, though in a truly beautiful way. It just kind of sticks with you, and the lyrics are quite beautiful as well!
Song: Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence
Artist: Various
Lyrics:
Silence. It, all too often, becomes a nice concept that we never really live out. I'm finding, however, especially in these final days of Advent, that silence is a beautiful opportunity to ponder the coming of Christ. Ponder nothing earthly minded, rather, we are instead to ponder the blessings of His hands, the gift that Christ becomes not only at His birth, but on the Cross.
The way the lyrics are written are sometimes challenging when you simply read them. They are written in that poetic way that I so often hating analyzing in high school. Now, however, their difficulty makes them that much more intruiging. The way the lyrics are written aren't really at all how we talk, which I think points that much more to their importance. Perhaps the most important line is the last line of the first verse, "He will give to all the faithful, His own self for heavenly food." He comes to give. He comes as the Eternal Gift - a gift that truly keeps giving throughout the generations.
In ancient times when people wanted something of important to be conveyed they would repeat a single word. When something was of the utmost important, the word was repeated three times, as in the end of this song, "Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia! Lord Most High!" The word Alleluia is the Greek rendering of the Hebrew word "Hallelujah" which is a melding together of the words "Hallel," which means "to praise" and "YHWH," the Hebrew name for God, reserved for the holiest situations. In fact, "YHWH" was never said outloud. The Greek "Alleluia" and the Hebrew "Hallelujah" mean the same thing - praise God, an action we are all called to renew as we prepare our hearts and souls for the coming of Christ at Christmas.
Song: Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence
Artist: Various
Lyrics:
Let all mortal flesh keep silence, and with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded, For with blessing is His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth, Our full homage to demand.
King of Kings, Yet born of Mary, As of old earth He stood,
Lord of Lords, In human vesture, In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful, His own self for heavenly food.
Rank on rank the host of heaven spreads it's vanguard on the way,
As Light of light descendeth from the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish as the darkness clears away.
At His feet the six-winged seraph, Cherubim, With sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to His presence as with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Lord Most High!
Ponder nothing earthly minded, For with blessing is His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth, Our full homage to demand.
King of Kings, Yet born of Mary, As of old earth He stood,
Lord of Lords, In human vesture, In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful, His own self for heavenly food.
Rank on rank the host of heaven spreads it's vanguard on the way,
As Light of light descendeth from the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish as the darkness clears away.
At His feet the six-winged seraph, Cherubim, With sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to His presence as with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Lord Most High!
Silence. It, all too often, becomes a nice concept that we never really live out. I'm finding, however, especially in these final days of Advent, that silence is a beautiful opportunity to ponder the coming of Christ. Ponder nothing earthly minded, rather, we are instead to ponder the blessings of His hands, the gift that Christ becomes not only at His birth, but on the Cross.
The way the lyrics are written are sometimes challenging when you simply read them. They are written in that poetic way that I so often hating analyzing in high school. Now, however, their difficulty makes them that much more intruiging. The way the lyrics are written aren't really at all how we talk, which I think points that much more to their importance. Perhaps the most important line is the last line of the first verse, "He will give to all the faithful, His own self for heavenly food." He comes to give. He comes as the Eternal Gift - a gift that truly keeps giving throughout the generations.
In ancient times when people wanted something of important to be conveyed they would repeat a single word. When something was of the utmost important, the word was repeated three times, as in the end of this song, "Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia! Lord Most High!" The word Alleluia is the Greek rendering of the Hebrew word "Hallelujah" which is a melding together of the words "Hallel," which means "to praise" and "YHWH," the Hebrew name for God, reserved for the holiest situations. In fact, "YHWH" was never said outloud. The Greek "Alleluia" and the Hebrew "Hallelujah" mean the same thing - praise God, an action we are all called to renew as we prepare our hearts and souls for the coming of Christ at Christmas.
Monday, December 19, 2011
these wounds that Stay.
We all have them: battle wounds. Perhaps we haven't all been to war, but we all have our battle wounds from being alive. I've heard it said that life is a dance and you learn as you go - what a beautiful idea...if you lived in a bubble. Life is better described as a battle. Fyodor Dostoevsky once wrote that "God and the devil are fighting...and the battlefield is the heart of man." Dostoevsky, in my opinion, has it far more correct. The battlefield is our hearts and the wounds we get in this battle hang around, they go deeper than we even realize.
Recently I was telling Mr. Irish about wounds that I have from old relationships and how sometimes, without realizing it, he reopens those old wounds, he hits those nerves. These wounds are wounds that I forgot I even had, wounds that I got years ago in this battle of life, wounds that I thought had healed. Now, I know deep in my heart that Mr. Irish didn't cause those wounds and that he doesn't mean to hit those nerves - but perhaps they get hit because they haven't fully healed. Sure, they scab over, but they don't really heal. These wounds - and we all have them - stick around...until we invite God in to heal them.
There is an episode of Grey's Anatomy (an annoyingly guilty pleasure of mine) called "These Ties That Bind" and its one of my favorite episodes. In it, nearly all of the main characters deal with something from their past, something that is keeping them from moving on, from living in the moment, from becoming the person they could and should be. Just the name of the episode makes you think - what ties are binding me? And why would I want to be bound in the first place? That sounds like such an unpleasant word (unless we are talking about marriage). But to be bound by ties, to be held back sounds so unpleasant, so uncomfortable, so restrictive and yet we allow ourselves to be bound, we bind ourselves by the wounds that run so deep. We bind ourselves by the wounds (and there are so many) that we fail to give to God to heal. We try to bandage them up ourselves and then move on. Perhaps those bandages we put on the wounds are the very things that bind us, that keep us from healing and moving on completely.
This summer I blogged about holding on and how it is often the easier choice in life. We hold on to our wounds, often times without realizing we are doing so. We hold on because they are our cross to bear. We hold on to the wounds that our parents leave (though they try their best, they inevitably leave wounds because they too are human), we hold on to the wounds that failed relationships leave us with, we hold on to the pain because we know it, because we are familiar with it. I heard a story recently from a conference where the speaker invited everyone in the audience to write down on pain in their life that they wish they could get rid of and never deal with again and then take that piece of paper and put it in a basket at the front of the room. People RAN to get rid of pains in their lives. Then the speaker said that you had to take a pain back from the basket - most people dug around until they found their own. We don't want new pain, we get used to our own familiar pains and wounds. The wounds become this thing that is simply a part of us, they define who we are and how we function.
Then I started thinking about Jesus' wounds. After His death on the cross, His wounds defined Him. Thomas refused to believe that Jesus had come back until he could put his finger in Jesus' wounds.
Why do we still see, paint, imagine, depict Christ with His wounds?
Don't you think that once He ascended into Heaven He was prefectly healed of His wounds? Why would we want to be continually reminded of the wounds that He endured, the pain He endured on our behalf? There are two reasons we continue to see Jesus with His wounds:
Recently I was telling Mr. Irish about wounds that I have from old relationships and how sometimes, without realizing it, he reopens those old wounds, he hits those nerves. These wounds are wounds that I forgot I even had, wounds that I got years ago in this battle of life, wounds that I thought had healed. Now, I know deep in my heart that Mr. Irish didn't cause those wounds and that he doesn't mean to hit those nerves - but perhaps they get hit because they haven't fully healed. Sure, they scab over, but they don't really heal. These wounds - and we all have them - stick around...until we invite God in to heal them.
There is an episode of Grey's Anatomy (an annoyingly guilty pleasure of mine) called "These Ties That Bind" and its one of my favorite episodes. In it, nearly all of the main characters deal with something from their past, something that is keeping them from moving on, from living in the moment, from becoming the person they could and should be. Just the name of the episode makes you think - what ties are binding me? And why would I want to be bound in the first place? That sounds like such an unpleasant word (unless we are talking about marriage). But to be bound by ties, to be held back sounds so unpleasant, so uncomfortable, so restrictive and yet we allow ourselves to be bound, we bind ourselves by the wounds that run so deep. We bind ourselves by the wounds (and there are so many) that we fail to give to God to heal. We try to bandage them up ourselves and then move on. Perhaps those bandages we put on the wounds are the very things that bind us, that keep us from healing and moving on completely.
This summer I blogged about holding on and how it is often the easier choice in life. We hold on to our wounds, often times without realizing we are doing so. We hold on because they are our cross to bear. We hold on to the wounds that our parents leave (though they try their best, they inevitably leave wounds because they too are human), we hold on to the wounds that failed relationships leave us with, we hold on to the pain because we know it, because we are familiar with it. I heard a story recently from a conference where the speaker invited everyone in the audience to write down on pain in their life that they wish they could get rid of and never deal with again and then take that piece of paper and put it in a basket at the front of the room. People RAN to get rid of pains in their lives. Then the speaker said that you had to take a pain back from the basket - most people dug around until they found their own. We don't want new pain, we get used to our own familiar pains and wounds. The wounds become this thing that is simply a part of us, they define who we are and how we function.
Then I started thinking about Jesus' wounds. After His death on the cross, His wounds defined Him. Thomas refused to believe that Jesus had come back until he could put his finger in Jesus' wounds.
People knew it was truly Jesus by His wounds. His wounds defined Him...then. True, we identify Jesus by His wounds, by the holes in His hands, His feet and His side, but His wounds don't define Him. Jesus is defined by His love, by the peace He offers all of His children. He is defined by His miraculous conception and birth, by His the way He lived His life, by the way He continues to guide His children. Most pictures of Jesus show His wounds, but they aren't usually the focus of the picture, Jesus is usually doing or holding something.
- Perhaps it is in our sufferings that we are most united to Jesus. It is easy to give Him praise when everything is going right, but when we are suffering we can most unite our sufferings to His, and we come to understand His heart in a different and a deeper way.
- Seeing Christ with His wounds gives us hope. It might sound weird, but remember how I said that most of the time in pictures we see Him doing something? We find hope in that because we see His wounds, which are far deeper, both emotionally and physically than ours and yet we see Him triumphing over them. We see Him ascending to heaven. We see Him as the sower, we see Him comforting others, we see Him overcoming those wounds and deep down that is the same thing we desire, to overcome our wounds.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Anchor.
Earlier this week I blogged about stability and our lack thereof and that the only true stability that we ever find in this life is found deep in the heart of God. Even as I wrote that blog a song came to mind, one that I've loved for years, one that even refers to one of my favorite names of God/Jesus found in Hebrews 6:19: Anchor. When I think of anchors I think of strong, massive things that hold ships steady, even in a raging sea. Often when I think of God I think of a strong, massive being that holds me steady, even in raging seas. It is no wonder that I've loved this song for so long (not to mention that my favorite band ever sings it...and for that matter I'm shocked that I have yet to feature one of their songs in this series!). Without further ado, the song of the week (the excuses series is on hiatus until further notice):
Song: Anchor
Artist: Lifehouse
Lyrics:
I stand with a blank expression now
And I can't believe myself
Would someone tell me how
Did I get here
I am walking
Changing slowly
I am chasing
Climbing closer
I know that I'll never be alone
You will never let me go
You are my anchor
Hold my hand while I'm sinking in the sand
No one else could understand
You are my anchor
It seems that I lost track of time
And I can't believe my mind
Would you save me if
I reached out to you
I am waiting
Watching, standing
I am reaching
Climbing closer
I know that I'll never be alone
You will never let me go
You are my anchor
Hold my hand while I'm sinking in the sand
No one else could understand
You are my anchor
Anchor yeah
Can you hear me, hear me
Can you hear me
I hadn't listened to this song in a while until this week and I almost forgot how brilliant it really is. Don't we often wonder how we got to where we are? We stand with a blank expression and we feel totally lost, completely unaware of our surroundings and how the heck we've ended up here. In fact, that only person who can really tell us how we got here is God. Others can fill in some details, but God saw the whole story playing out. We are walking, listening to the story, recalling how everything got so messed up in the first place and as we listen, we are slowly changing, climbing closer to God. As St. Rose of Lima said, "there is no other ladder by which we may get to Heaven apart from the Cross."
Then, the chorus comes crashing in...hope. I know that's I'll never be alone, a truth we come to know only by faith, only by continuing to listen to God. You (God) will never let me go, yet another truth we know by faith. Even when Peter started to drown in the water as he walked towards Jesus, Jesus saved him from drowning. God is our anchor - He holds us steady in our raging seas, even if we put ourselves in a raging sea by separating ourselves from His love (a.k.a. sin). He holds our hands while we sink in the sand or in the ocean or in the drama of life. He holds our hands while we sink into worry about finances or the future or whatever, He holds our hands while we sink into even more illusions of stability. Truly, no one else can understand us like He does, not just because He made us, but because of how deeply He loves us.
We lose track of time in our despair, in our worries, in our attempts (feeble though they may be) at control or stability in our own lives. Life can so easily be like quicksand and we are sinking, though most of the time we don't realize it until the quicksand reaches our shoulders. We can't believe what we are seeing, we can't believe just how far we've allowed ourselves to sink, so we ask God, "would You save me if I reached out to You?" All I imagine when I hear that line is God reaching out His gloriously strong arm from Heaven and gently, lovingly replying, "Yes. Of course my dear child, how could I not? You reaching out for Me is all that I've been waiting for."
Repeat the pre-chorus and the chorus, then we seem to have come full-circle, "Can You hear me?" The question repeats. He always hears us. He continues to be our anchor.
His love is our anchor. His love is our stability, it is unfailing, unchanging, timeless and immovable.
Lord, let Your love be my anchor, today and everyday, especially when the storms rage around me. AMEN.
Song: Anchor
Artist: Lifehouse
Lyrics:
I stand with a blank expression now
And I can't believe myself
Would someone tell me how
Did I get here
I am walking
Changing slowly
I am chasing
Climbing closer
I know that I'll never be alone
You will never let me go
You are my anchor
Hold my hand while I'm sinking in the sand
No one else could understand
You are my anchor
It seems that I lost track of time
And I can't believe my mind
Would you save me if
I reached out to you
I am waiting
Watching, standing
I am reaching
Climbing closer
I know that I'll never be alone
You will never let me go
You are my anchor
Hold my hand while I'm sinking in the sand
No one else could understand
You are my anchor
Anchor yeah
Can you hear me, hear me
Can you hear me
I hadn't listened to this song in a while until this week and I almost forgot how brilliant it really is. Don't we often wonder how we got to where we are? We stand with a blank expression and we feel totally lost, completely unaware of our surroundings and how the heck we've ended up here. In fact, that only person who can really tell us how we got here is God. Others can fill in some details, but God saw the whole story playing out. We are walking, listening to the story, recalling how everything got so messed up in the first place and as we listen, we are slowly changing, climbing closer to God. As St. Rose of Lima said, "there is no other ladder by which we may get to Heaven apart from the Cross."
Then, the chorus comes crashing in...hope. I know that's I'll never be alone, a truth we come to know only by faith, only by continuing to listen to God. You (God) will never let me go, yet another truth we know by faith. Even when Peter started to drown in the water as he walked towards Jesus, Jesus saved him from drowning. God is our anchor - He holds us steady in our raging seas, even if we put ourselves in a raging sea by separating ourselves from His love (a.k.a. sin). He holds our hands while we sink in the sand or in the ocean or in the drama of life. He holds our hands while we sink into worry about finances or the future or whatever, He holds our hands while we sink into even more illusions of stability. Truly, no one else can understand us like He does, not just because He made us, but because of how deeply He loves us.
We lose track of time in our despair, in our worries, in our attempts (feeble though they may be) at control or stability in our own lives. Life can so easily be like quicksand and we are sinking, though most of the time we don't realize it until the quicksand reaches our shoulders. We can't believe what we are seeing, we can't believe just how far we've allowed ourselves to sink, so we ask God, "would You save me if I reached out to You?" All I imagine when I hear that line is God reaching out His gloriously strong arm from Heaven and gently, lovingly replying, "Yes. Of course my dear child, how could I not? You reaching out for Me is all that I've been waiting for."
Repeat the pre-chorus and the chorus, then we seem to have come full-circle, "Can You hear me?" The question repeats. He always hears us. He continues to be our anchor.
His love is our anchor. His love is our stability, it is unfailing, unchanging, timeless and immovable.
Lord, let Your love be my anchor, today and everyday, especially when the storms rage around me. AMEN.
Monday, December 12, 2011
dear Stability
Dear Stability,
Where have you gone? Were you ever really here? I'd like some part of you, not even necessarily all of you (though that would be fabulous). I'd like a place of my own to call home, not some place to rent, but some place to own. I'd like a husband, a few cute little kids (and of course the money to pay for them all). I'd like a job that not only pays all my bills but leaves me with a little extra 'fun' money to take an occasional vacation. I'd like to not make payments on a nice car, I want it to be all paid off. Any one of those things would be nice, just a little stability in my life. Stability, why can't you share yourself just a little bit with me? Have I done something to offend you? Is that why we aren't friends? I miss you, if, in fact, you were ever here, and I'd love to be friends (again).
Love,
Amanda
Wouldn't that be nice? I've been thinking about this whole concept a lot lately. I can remember having a conversation with one of my bosses a few years ago about how my whole life is unstable (and this conversation is just as true today as it was nearly 3 years ago): you have a boyfriend, not a husband, an apartment (well, now I'm living with my folks) not a house of your own, a part-time, not a full-time job. In short, nothing is really stable. Even when we find some stability we only want more of it. I can remember not all that long ago when I didn't even have a job, now I have a part-time one and all I can do is dream about a full-time job, or at least another steady part-time job. Then I began to wonder, have I ever really been stable? Sure, maybe as a child I thought everything was stable and that I was completely taken care of...though I'd bet if you asked my parents nothing was ever truly stable.
So then I began to reflect...when have I at least felt stable? In an odd way I felt stable this summer. Sure, I had no job, but I had God and I had (yes, I do mean past tense) complete faith that He was going to take care of me. [Ah, the ebbing and flowing of faith. When I have nothing left, it is easier somehow to trust God. But the second I get a little illusion of control over my life, trusting Him becomes infinitely harder.] Why did I feel stable? Because I had Stability. God, I've come to realize, is the only stable thing in this world. We get an apartment and we want a house, we get a house and we want a bigger one. We get a car that runs and we want one with power windows, we get a car with power windows and we want one with four wheel drive. We find an amazing boyfriend and we want a fiancé, we find a fiancé and we want a husband, we find a husband and we want kids. If you give a mouse a cookie called the illusion of stability, the mouse is only going to want to eat all of the cookies in that imaginary jar of stability cookies. God, in His infinite wisdom, only ever gives us the illusion of stability, the illusion of control over our own lives for only in Him can we find true stability. If He actually gave us true, unwavering stability and/or control over our own lives we would be...Him. I'd like a little more control over my life, but I certainly don't want to be God. I'll stick with things the way they are if my only other option is being God, thank you very much.
Then, it hit me: we are made for Heaven. Simple, sure, and yet so easy to forget. We are created in the image of God, and therefore in the image of stability. God is perfect; He neither needs nor wants for anything. We are a reflection of stability, but we aren't the true image, we aren't stability, nor can we create it. Reflections can't create something solid - that's like saying that your reflection in the water can lift a stone. Reflections can only create more reflections, more watered down versions of themselves. When we try to bring about stability in our own lives (and apart from God) we only create and even more diluted illusion or reflection of stability. We need Him to create stability for us. We are made to long for the fullness that we lack. We are made to hunger for the stability we can only ever find in Heaven, in God Himself. The more I reflect on all the things I want the more convinced I am that everything I want can be found in God. He might not build me a nice house, complete with a husband and kids and buckets of money, but He will rest my heart. He will hold my heart and fill it with His peace until the time comes when He calls me Home and we can all rest in eternal stability. Until that day comes in all of its glory, I'll do my best to rest my heart in the only stability I've ever found in this world: the Eucharistic heart of Jesus.
Where have you gone? Were you ever really here? I'd like some part of you, not even necessarily all of you (though that would be fabulous). I'd like a place of my own to call home, not some place to rent, but some place to own. I'd like a husband, a few cute little kids (and of course the money to pay for them all). I'd like a job that not only pays all my bills but leaves me with a little extra 'fun' money to take an occasional vacation. I'd like to not make payments on a nice car, I want it to be all paid off. Any one of those things would be nice, just a little stability in my life. Stability, why can't you share yourself just a little bit with me? Have I done something to offend you? Is that why we aren't friends? I miss you, if, in fact, you were ever here, and I'd love to be friends (again).
Love,
Amanda
Wouldn't that be nice? I've been thinking about this whole concept a lot lately. I can remember having a conversation with one of my bosses a few years ago about how my whole life is unstable (and this conversation is just as true today as it was nearly 3 years ago): you have a boyfriend, not a husband, an apartment (well, now I'm living with my folks) not a house of your own, a part-time, not a full-time job. In short, nothing is really stable. Even when we find some stability we only want more of it. I can remember not all that long ago when I didn't even have a job, now I have a part-time one and all I can do is dream about a full-time job, or at least another steady part-time job. Then I began to wonder, have I ever really been stable? Sure, maybe as a child I thought everything was stable and that I was completely taken care of...though I'd bet if you asked my parents nothing was ever truly stable.
So then I began to reflect...when have I at least felt stable? In an odd way I felt stable this summer. Sure, I had no job, but I had God and I had (yes, I do mean past tense) complete faith that He was going to take care of me. [Ah, the ebbing and flowing of faith. When I have nothing left, it is easier somehow to trust God. But the second I get a little illusion of control over my life, trusting Him becomes infinitely harder.] Why did I feel stable? Because I had Stability. God, I've come to realize, is the only stable thing in this world. We get an apartment and we want a house, we get a house and we want a bigger one. We get a car that runs and we want one with power windows, we get a car with power windows and we want one with four wheel drive. We find an amazing boyfriend and we want a fiancé, we find a fiancé and we want a husband, we find a husband and we want kids. If you give a mouse a cookie called the illusion of stability, the mouse is only going to want to eat all of the cookies in that imaginary jar of stability cookies. God, in His infinite wisdom, only ever gives us the illusion of stability, the illusion of control over our own lives for only in Him can we find true stability. If He actually gave us true, unwavering stability and/or control over our own lives we would be...Him. I'd like a little more control over my life, but I certainly don't want to be God. I'll stick with things the way they are if my only other option is being God, thank you very much.
Then, it hit me: we are made for Heaven. Simple, sure, and yet so easy to forget. We are created in the image of God, and therefore in the image of stability. God is perfect; He neither needs nor wants for anything. We are a reflection of stability, but we aren't the true image, we aren't stability, nor can we create it. Reflections can't create something solid - that's like saying that your reflection in the water can lift a stone. Reflections can only create more reflections, more watered down versions of themselves. When we try to bring about stability in our own lives (and apart from God) we only create and even more diluted illusion or reflection of stability. We need Him to create stability for us. We are made to long for the fullness that we lack. We are made to hunger for the stability we can only ever find in Heaven, in God Himself. The more I reflect on all the things I want the more convinced I am that everything I want can be found in God. He might not build me a nice house, complete with a husband and kids and buckets of money, but He will rest my heart. He will hold my heart and fill it with His peace until the time comes when He calls me Home and we can all rest in eternal stability. Until that day comes in all of its glory, I'll do my best to rest my heart in the only stability I've ever found in this world: the Eucharistic heart of Jesus.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
not really Ready.
Break-up excuse: I'm not really ready for...commitment.
Why it sucks in human relationships: Let's face it, commitment may as well be a four-letter word in many relationships. I'm going to go ahead and blog on this assumption: this line comes out after an undetermined period of dating, whether or not that's exclusive. It doesn't came after the first or second date, but after at least a month of dating. Therefore, this excuse sucks because there has been some premise, some idea that these dates were actually going "somewhere", i.e. an actual exclusive dating relationship, engagement, marriage, you decide. We get our hearts sucked in and start falling for this person only to be seemingly blind-sided by their lack of readiness for commitment. Or, even more devastatingly, this wretched line comes after months and months of exclusive dating, leading one to believe that commitment actually is a possibility, when apparently it was never even part of the long-run deal. I've also heard this excuse translates to "I'm not ready to commit because I want to get more from you, or from other people before I commit. Feel free to wait around and pine for me until I'm ready to commit to you...which may, in fact, never happen."
Why it sucks when using it with God: I can almost hear God laughing at the mere thought of this excuse being used on Him. I don't really think of God as a mean, vindictive bully in the playground, but somehow I can just hear Him laughing at this excuse. We aren't ready for commitment? HELLO! He sent His ONLY Son to die for us, to literally lay down His life for us and we aren't ready to commit ourselves to Him? Goodness gracious, what more are we looking for from God? It sucks because, on some level, we aren't ready to commit because we think we could get more out of God if we hold out just a little longer. Besides, what gives us the audacity to ask more from God than He has already given us?
Why this excuse doesn't work on God: See above. I can hear Him laughing. It doesn't work on Him because He has already committed to us. I once heard Mark Hall (of Casting Crowns) give his testimony and how he realized that God doesn't need us. Ouch? Just wait. God doesn't need us, but He wants us. I'd rather be wanted than needed - need can so easily turn into use, which, as Blessed Pope John Paul II once said, is the opposite of love. God wants us to commit to Him and like I've said all along through out this series, God will keep waiting for us - He's got eternity, remember?
How to move on: Pray. Take a moment, a second even, to ask God to show you how much He loves you. When (yes, when, not if) you become overwhelmed by His love for you, commit to Him. It doesn't have to be at some showy altar call or some epic facebook status about how much you love God, do it in your heart. Jesus tells us, in the Gospel according to Matthew, "But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you" (6:6). Let your commitment to Him be in your heart, deep in your heart. Then, live from the depths of your heart and allow His love to radiate through you.
"Dear Jesus, Help me to spread Your fragrance everywhere I go. Flood my soul with Your spirit and life. Penetrate and possess my whole being so utterly, that my life may only be a radiance of Yours. Shine through me, and be so in me that every soul I come in contact with my feel Your presence in my soul. Let them look up and see no longer me, but only You, my Jesus. Stay with me and then I shall being to shine as You shine, so to shine as a light to all" -Cardinal Newman...adapted by Blessed Mother Teresa
Why it sucks in human relationships: Let's face it, commitment may as well be a four-letter word in many relationships. I'm going to go ahead and blog on this assumption: this line comes out after an undetermined period of dating, whether or not that's exclusive. It doesn't came after the first or second date, but after at least a month of dating. Therefore, this excuse sucks because there has been some premise, some idea that these dates were actually going "somewhere", i.e. an actual exclusive dating relationship, engagement, marriage, you decide. We get our hearts sucked in and start falling for this person only to be seemingly blind-sided by their lack of readiness for commitment. Or, even more devastatingly, this wretched line comes after months and months of exclusive dating, leading one to believe that commitment actually is a possibility, when apparently it was never even part of the long-run deal. I've also heard this excuse translates to "I'm not ready to commit because I want to get more from you, or from other people before I commit. Feel free to wait around and pine for me until I'm ready to commit to you...which may, in fact, never happen."
Why it sucks when using it with God: I can almost hear God laughing at the mere thought of this excuse being used on Him. I don't really think of God as a mean, vindictive bully in the playground, but somehow I can just hear Him laughing at this excuse. We aren't ready for commitment? HELLO! He sent His ONLY Son to die for us, to literally lay down His life for us and we aren't ready to commit ourselves to Him? Goodness gracious, what more are we looking for from God? It sucks because, on some level, we aren't ready to commit because we think we could get more out of God if we hold out just a little longer. Besides, what gives us the audacity to ask more from God than He has already given us?
Why this excuse doesn't work on God: See above. I can hear Him laughing. It doesn't work on Him because He has already committed to us. I once heard Mark Hall (of Casting Crowns) give his testimony and how he realized that God doesn't need us. Ouch? Just wait. God doesn't need us, but He wants us. I'd rather be wanted than needed - need can so easily turn into use, which, as Blessed Pope John Paul II once said, is the opposite of love. God wants us to commit to Him and like I've said all along through out this series, God will keep waiting for us - He's got eternity, remember?
How to move on: Pray. Take a moment, a second even, to ask God to show you how much He loves you. When (yes, when, not if) you become overwhelmed by His love for you, commit to Him. It doesn't have to be at some showy altar call or some epic facebook status about how much you love God, do it in your heart. Jesus tells us, in the Gospel according to Matthew, "But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you" (6:6). Let your commitment to Him be in your heart, deep in your heart. Then, live from the depths of your heart and allow His love to radiate through you.
"Dear Jesus, Help me to spread Your fragrance everywhere I go. Flood my soul with Your spirit and life. Penetrate and possess my whole being so utterly, that my life may only be a radiance of Yours. Shine through me, and be so in me that every soul I come in contact with my feel Your presence in my soul. Let them look up and see no longer me, but only You, my Jesus. Stay with me and then I shall being to shine as You shine, so to shine as a light to all" -Cardinal Newman...adapted by Blessed Mother Teresa
Monday, December 5, 2011
diving In.
It never ceases to amaze me just how many similarities there are between my relationship with Mr. Irish and my relationship with God. In my mind those continuing similarities are only further proof that marriage is indeed a beautiful vocation, no less important than religious life or priesthood, as many people often think. In fact, often times it is because of my relationship (and the lovely little things that happen therein) with Mr. Irish that make me realize certain things about my relationship to God.
We, as humans, are afraid to actually dive in. We always want to know where all of the escapes are, how to get to them, how to open all the hatches, and how fast we can run away. We do it with everything: how long is my lease on my apartment? How long do I have to make car payments for? How long must I sit through this class? How long is the marriage preparation process? What is the least amount of work I can do and still pass this class or keep my job? We are constantly aware of how far away the "finish line" is, whether its the end of the semester, the end of the year, the end of the season or whatever else it may be, we are aware of it. And that awareness often times keeps us from diving in. We know that Christmas is coming soon, so why dive in to Advent? We know that Jesus comes back from the dead, so what is the point of Lent? We fear the depths of the ocean...we would rather just get our feet wet. We'd rather give up a little something for Lent instead of challenging ourselves; we'd rather get swept up in the hustle and bustle of the holidays rather than slow down and prepare for the coming of Christ. After all, no one else seems to be diving in, so the waters remain cold and we don't want to freeze...we'll just get our toes wet, thank you very much.
I could ramble on in vague ways about these similarities in these relationships, but I always love a good, concrete example - something I can really wrap my head around. Take this weekend for example: Mr. Irish challenged me to really be in the relationship, especially the more serious we get. I resisted...at first. We (I'm talking more about "we" as humans, not so much "we" Mr. Irish and I) get comfortable in our way of life, in our friends, in the way we like to do things and we don't want to go any deeper for fear of...drowning? We all have our fears, and they are different for each one of us, but they are all there. Then I realized that this same fear, this same resistance is quite similar to the resistance we all experience at one point or another with God. I didn't resist Mr. Irish's challenge because I don't love him (because I truly do love him), rather, I resisted it because I'm afraid of going deeper - its unknown, uncharted territory. The same is true in my relationship with God, I reach this nice, happy place with God and I want to rest. I think I've reached a mountain top, when, in truth, I'm only on a plateau, the mountain is still before me. We fear really diving in with God because we don't know what lies in those waters...the lochness monster perhaps? As a good friend once told me, "you can't keep asking for God to deepen your faith and then complain when you feel yourself drowning." Such a statement is true in both relationships: I've blogged and talked and prayed about a relationship that would challenge me and push me to holiness - why would I resist when, thanks be to God, I've been given just that? At the same time, I'm always praying that God would dwell more richly in my heart, would take me deeper into His unending love - how can I continue to rest on this plateau when a mountain of Love stands before me, begging me to climb it?
It seems to me at this point, that in both relationships, I have three options:
If I started to climb down the mountain, what good would that do? So I came all this way for nothing? What happens when I get halfway down and I realize that I want to go back up? Then I'm walking the same path over again, what a waste. If I walked away from either relationship I know I would be breaking my own heart...and someone else's. I'm not a quitter...neither Mr. Irish nor God (though both in obviously different ways) have never given up on me so who am I to just quit on them?
That leaves me the with last option...keep climbing. I come back to one of my favorite lines from "Zombieland" when Woody Harrelson's character says, "nut up or shut up." It is comical and yet so true - we have to get off the fence, we have to dive in if we ever want to find true happiness. We have to set aside time in Advent to be still, to be calm, to prepare for the coming of Christ. We have to set aside time in Lent to be somber people, to prepare for Holy Week, to prepare for the death of Christ, not just His Resurrection. If I sit on the plateau, if I get caught up in the holiday rush then I may never be truly happy. Oh, sure, I might think that I've found happiness, but I haven't. I found contentment, but I haven't found joy, I haven't found peace that fills my heart and soul, I haven't found Him at all. Don't be like all of the other apostles in the boat, be like St. Peter, though he may have been afraid of drowning, that fear didn't keep him from walking on the water to be with Jesus. Don't let the fear of drowning, or the size of the mountain, or the risk of heartbreak keep you from going deeper, from climbing, or from letting your heart truly fall. The glory of the depths of the ocean, the top of the mountain and true love are worth all the risks; let yourself believe in happily ever after. Amen.
We, as humans, are afraid to actually dive in. We always want to know where all of the escapes are, how to get to them, how to open all the hatches, and how fast we can run away. We do it with everything: how long is my lease on my apartment? How long do I have to make car payments for? How long must I sit through this class? How long is the marriage preparation process? What is the least amount of work I can do and still pass this class or keep my job? We are constantly aware of how far away the "finish line" is, whether its the end of the semester, the end of the year, the end of the season or whatever else it may be, we are aware of it. And that awareness often times keeps us from diving in. We know that Christmas is coming soon, so why dive in to Advent? We know that Jesus comes back from the dead, so what is the point of Lent? We fear the depths of the ocean...we would rather just get our feet wet. We'd rather give up a little something for Lent instead of challenging ourselves; we'd rather get swept up in the hustle and bustle of the holidays rather than slow down and prepare for the coming of Christ. After all, no one else seems to be diving in, so the waters remain cold and we don't want to freeze...we'll just get our toes wet, thank you very much.
I could ramble on in vague ways about these similarities in these relationships, but I always love a good, concrete example - something I can really wrap my head around. Take this weekend for example: Mr. Irish challenged me to really be in the relationship, especially the more serious we get. I resisted...at first. We (I'm talking more about "we" as humans, not so much "we" Mr. Irish and I) get comfortable in our way of life, in our friends, in the way we like to do things and we don't want to go any deeper for fear of...drowning? We all have our fears, and they are different for each one of us, but they are all there. Then I realized that this same fear, this same resistance is quite similar to the resistance we all experience at one point or another with God. I didn't resist Mr. Irish's challenge because I don't love him (because I truly do love him), rather, I resisted it because I'm afraid of going deeper - its unknown, uncharted territory. The same is true in my relationship with God, I reach this nice, happy place with God and I want to rest. I think I've reached a mountain top, when, in truth, I'm only on a plateau, the mountain is still before me. We fear really diving in with God because we don't know what lies in those waters...the lochness monster perhaps? As a good friend once told me, "you can't keep asking for God to deepen your faith and then complain when you feel yourself drowning." Such a statement is true in both relationships: I've blogged and talked and prayed about a relationship that would challenge me and push me to holiness - why would I resist when, thanks be to God, I've been given just that? At the same time, I'm always praying that God would dwell more richly in my heart, would take me deeper into His unending love - how can I continue to rest on this plateau when a mountain of Love stands before me, begging me to climb it?
It seems to me at this point, that in both relationships, I have three options:
- Sit on the plateau, refuse to move, go deeper, climb the mountain or do anything at all.
- Climb down the mountain and give up all together.
- Dive in and climb the mountain (and yes, I understand diving in and climbing are moving in two different directions, but you catch my drift.)
If I started to climb down the mountain, what good would that do? So I came all this way for nothing? What happens when I get halfway down and I realize that I want to go back up? Then I'm walking the same path over again, what a waste. If I walked away from either relationship I know I would be breaking my own heart...and someone else's. I'm not a quitter...neither Mr. Irish nor God (though both in obviously different ways) have never given up on me so who am I to just quit on them?
That leaves me the with last option...keep climbing. I come back to one of my favorite lines from "Zombieland" when Woody Harrelson's character says, "nut up or shut up." It is comical and yet so true - we have to get off the fence, we have to dive in if we ever want to find true happiness. We have to set aside time in Advent to be still, to be calm, to prepare for the coming of Christ. We have to set aside time in Lent to be somber people, to prepare for Holy Week, to prepare for the death of Christ, not just His Resurrection. If I sit on the plateau, if I get caught up in the holiday rush then I may never be truly happy. Oh, sure, I might think that I've found happiness, but I haven't. I found contentment, but I haven't found joy, I haven't found peace that fills my heart and soul, I haven't found Him at all. Don't be like all of the other apostles in the boat, be like St. Peter, though he may have been afraid of drowning, that fear didn't keep him from walking on the water to be with Jesus. Don't let the fear of drowning, or the size of the mountain, or the risk of heartbreak keep you from going deeper, from climbing, or from letting your heart truly fall. The glory of the depths of the ocean, the top of the mountain and true love are worth all the risks; let yourself believe in happily ever after. Amen.
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