The end of the year quickly approaches. And, with with so many other people, I am contemplating resolutions. I'm actually a huge fan of resolutions--I'm such a big fan, that I don't restrict myself to the beginning of a new year to make them. Any excuse will do, really. I make resolutions during Lent and Advent. But even with these designated extra times, I find myself wishing there was a time, smack dab in the middle of the summer for a period of resolution-making and attempted resolution-keeping. I find it amazing (and actually heartening) that in our modern world people still find the need for discipline. Because that's really what resolutions are about--we need an excuse to be disciplined, to stop the cycle of selfishness, of gluttonous, slothful, in short, sinful behavior. This is great, and should definitely be encouraged.
Oh, yeah, back to resolutions. As I mentioned in the last post, my resolution for Advent was to be more open (i.e. vulnerable). This is EXTREMELY difficult for me. It's actually quite the paradox that I am a writer that struggles with opening up, expressing the real me. But, there it is. And given four weeks to contemplate my struggle, and practice the virtues that accompany it, I barely scratched the surface. On Christmas Day, I shook my head, and muttered, "I need more time."
So, my first resolution of the New Year is, once again, to be open: to find that unique balance between "guarding my heart but not hiding my face." To be the real, authentic Marie. That's a tall order. It may take me beyond this year to achieve it. But, if you think about it, each saint did just that. They were completely, and unabashedly THEMSELVES. And, more importantly, THEMSELVES IN CHRIST. This then is the call to holiness, the call to sanctity. As St. Irenaeus so beautifully expressed: "The glory of God is man FULLY ALIVE." Here's to being fully alive in 2011.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
The Best Christmas Ever
As I write, snow falls gently outside my window. It looks like we may have a white Christmas after all. Soon I will be decorating the house: setting up the Christmas village on our buffet table, wrapping the banister in garland, hanging Christmas lights, and, of course, decorating the Christmas tree.
This year Christmas will be different. My sisters will all have their new babies and husbands to look after, and, as the sole remaining unattached daughter, my role in Christmas preparations will be raised to new heights. It's hard, during these times, not to yearn for "Christmases long, long ago"--those Christmases (now very fuzzy and warm, like a commercial from the 80s) when my sisters and I rushed downstairs first thing Christmas morning, checking our stockings, and spying the gifts under the Christmas tree. And then those Christmases when, a bit older, we made seven different kinds of cookies while watching our favorite Christmas movies. We are creatures of habit. And it's even harder when we really enjoyed those now-fled rituals.
Last night, I confessed to my sister that my high (and unrealistic) expectations constantly set me up for disappointment. This year, I dream, Christmas will be THE BEST EVER. But my BEST EVER Christmas is usually a combination of all of my favorite Christmas memories: Midnight mass, stocking stuffed to overflowing, sticky buns all warm and gooey in the oven, hot, piping tea, snow falling down, Beethoven or a waltz by Strauss filling the air, opening presents, accompanied by my glowing family, the movie Christmas in Connecticut or one of my other perennial favorites, Christmas cookies, Christmas dinner, Andy Williams singing "It's the most wonderful time of the year," Egg nog and pumpkin pie, and then off to bed, happy, full, and fulfilled.
There's just one snag in my brilliant plan--life is far too complicated and mysterious for it all to unfold "as planned." Two of my sisters live at least an hour away. They will probably arrive at different times, and, depending on the weather, might not even be able to come. And even if they come, they will most likely have their hands too full to partake much in baking. And so, if I want my "Walton Christmas," I've got to do it myself. And, again, I better prepare myself for disappointment.
Fortunately, I have another option.
Instead of over-planning, fretting, and sweating to make everything perfect, I have a far better idea this year. This Advent, my "resolution" or desire was to be open: open to others through generosity and open to God through obedience, patience, and expectation. Yes, expectation.
Expectation is one of those words that can have both a negative and positive connotation. I can expect too much, and be terribly disappointed. But that kind of expectation comes from expecting too much of others, or myself. But, living in holy expectation is utterly different.
I think this can be best understood with the metaphor of the expectant mother. Technology may tell her that she should have her child on a certain day (her estimated day of confinement, or delivery). But, as one of my sisters and plenty other women could tell you, this truly is an estimate. You have no idea when your baby is coming. All you can do, then, is wait in expectation. This kind of expectation is an acknowledgment of your complete lack of control. And yet, you know that what is coming is going to be amazing, a true gift from God.
This year, my desire for Christmas is to have this attitude of expectation. Just as Mary and Joseph eagerly anticipated the birth of Jesus, so, too, I wait in joyful expectation for the coming of the Lord. And I know, without a doubt, that his presence in my life will far exceed any merely human expectations. With God in control, this may just be the best Christmas ever.
This year Christmas will be different. My sisters will all have their new babies and husbands to look after, and, as the sole remaining unattached daughter, my role in Christmas preparations will be raised to new heights. It's hard, during these times, not to yearn for "Christmases long, long ago"--those Christmases (now very fuzzy and warm, like a commercial from the 80s) when my sisters and I rushed downstairs first thing Christmas morning, checking our stockings, and spying the gifts under the Christmas tree. And then those Christmases when, a bit older, we made seven different kinds of cookies while watching our favorite Christmas movies. We are creatures of habit. And it's even harder when we really enjoyed those now-fled rituals.
Last night, I confessed to my sister that my high (and unrealistic) expectations constantly set me up for disappointment. This year, I dream, Christmas will be THE BEST EVER. But my BEST EVER Christmas is usually a combination of all of my favorite Christmas memories: Midnight mass, stocking stuffed to overflowing, sticky buns all warm and gooey in the oven, hot, piping tea, snow falling down, Beethoven or a waltz by Strauss filling the air, opening presents, accompanied by my glowing family, the movie Christmas in Connecticut or one of my other perennial favorites, Christmas cookies, Christmas dinner, Andy Williams singing "It's the most wonderful time of the year," Egg nog and pumpkin pie, and then off to bed, happy, full, and fulfilled.
There's just one snag in my brilliant plan--life is far too complicated and mysterious for it all to unfold "as planned." Two of my sisters live at least an hour away. They will probably arrive at different times, and, depending on the weather, might not even be able to come. And even if they come, they will most likely have their hands too full to partake much in baking. And so, if I want my "Walton Christmas," I've got to do it myself. And, again, I better prepare myself for disappointment.
Fortunately, I have another option.
Instead of over-planning, fretting, and sweating to make everything perfect, I have a far better idea this year. This Advent, my "resolution" or desire was to be open: open to others through generosity and open to God through obedience, patience, and expectation. Yes, expectation.
Expectation is one of those words that can have both a negative and positive connotation. I can expect too much, and be terribly disappointed. But that kind of expectation comes from expecting too much of others, or myself. But, living in holy expectation is utterly different.
I think this can be best understood with the metaphor of the expectant mother. Technology may tell her that she should have her child on a certain day (her estimated day of confinement, or delivery). But, as one of my sisters and plenty other women could tell you, this truly is an estimate. You have no idea when your baby is coming. All you can do, then, is wait in expectation. This kind of expectation is an acknowledgment of your complete lack of control. And yet, you know that what is coming is going to be amazing, a true gift from God.
This year, my desire for Christmas is to have this attitude of expectation. Just as Mary and Joseph eagerly anticipated the birth of Jesus, so, too, I wait in joyful expectation for the coming of the Lord. And I know, without a doubt, that his presence in my life will far exceed any merely human expectations. With God in control, this may just be the best Christmas ever.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Fortune Cookies and Restless Hearts
"Stop searching forever...Happiness is just next to you."
"Can truth be found in a fortune cookie?" I wondered silently, as I stared at the message written on a slip of paper in what has to be the blandest cookie known to man. Usually, the fortunes that accompany Chinese food are extremely vague, and have little relevance to my life. But this time, the message seemed to be written just for me.
Recently, I have begrudgingly admitted that the current theme of my life is St. Augustine's exclamation, "Our hearts are restless until they rest in you, O God." So far, I've got the restless part down to a science. I'm always looking towards the horizon, wondering what is just beyond my view.
And yet, as I wander, I can't help but wonder what it is that I am trying so desperately to find--far, far away from the familiar...and family. I have been living at home for the past few months, applying for grad schools, interning at a Nature Reserve, and being present to my sisters and their ever-growing families. My fellow writer friend Christina asked me the other night a very simple, yet profound question: "What am I doing right now that makes me happy?"
The following is an answer to her question. I am happiest in my current state of life when I am...holding my niece Lily, and she slumbers soundly on my chest; researching the Victorian period or reading a novel from the Nineteenth Century; reciting/reading animatedly from a book of constellation myths and a dozen entranced children eagerly await my next sentence; taking a solitary walk under the clear night sky or gazing dreamily at the wisps of clouds surrounding a milky-white moon; sharing movies, music, and books with friends; baking and cooking, and mixing flour and spices...
Of course, the list above is far from exhaustive, but it speaks volumes. It is easy to overlook happiness when your eyes are weary from gazing into the distance. While I am far from believing in the prescience of a fortune cookie, I am convinced that God is really good at his job. He knows my heart, and more than anything, he knows how to draw my attention to the blessings I have in my life.
Can truth be found in a fortune cookie? I have my doubts, but I do believe that God can work through the natural world, sending us signs from a variety of sources, perhaps, even from a fortune cookie. Most fortune cookies provide nothing more than amusement from their readers. But in this case, I think we could all benefit from heeding its command to: "Stop searching" endlessly. Happiness just may be next to you.
Monday, September 13, 2010
For the prophets among us
It is never easy to be a prophet, especially if you're trying to earn a living. You don't have to look very far to find examples of the sad fate of many prophets, professional or otherwise: Jeremiah, Daniel, and John the Baptist to name a few.
Nobody wants to hear that they are living a life of sin, should part with their money and abandon the pleasures of this world. "What?! You want me to put on a sack cloth and sit in the dirt? Oh, not dirt, but ashes? You've got to be crazy!"
And many believed they were crazy, or after something. A prophet does not attract financial backers that say...a painter might. So I can sympathize with the more modern concept of prophet: the poet. They don't call them starving artists for nothing. Yeats, Keats, Dickinson, Hopkins, they each struggled to find even an audience for their poetry.
Yet, this is the poetry that still resounds today. These poet-prophets had a farther reaching grasp than the more successful, pop-poets of their day. So here's for the unacknowledged, the unheralded, most likely brilliant prophets among us! For they will live long in the memories of those who have yet to come.
Nobody wants to hear that they are living a life of sin, should part with their money and abandon the pleasures of this world. "What?! You want me to put on a sack cloth and sit in the dirt? Oh, not dirt, but ashes? You've got to be crazy!"
And many believed they were crazy, or after something. A prophet does not attract financial backers that say...a painter might. So I can sympathize with the more modern concept of prophet: the poet. They don't call them starving artists for nothing. Yeats, Keats, Dickinson, Hopkins, they each struggled to find even an audience for their poetry.
Yet, this is the poetry that still resounds today. These poet-prophets had a farther reaching grasp than the more successful, pop-poets of their day. So here's for the unacknowledged, the unheralded, most likely brilliant prophets among us! For they will live long in the memories of those who have yet to come.
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Ultimate Choice
"Hell Hath no fury like a woman scorned." When our goodness is rejected, it becomes much easier to turn the other direction: "He doesn't love me?!?! Well at least I can hate him!" When one is scorned, one feels powerless, overlooked and worthless. Without the strength that comes from a deep faith and trust in God, without the grounding knowledge that our worth does not depend on another human's approval, we can swing the pendulum to the other side--from extreme abjection to extreme pride. "How dare he not return my love? There must be something wrong with him; he must be foolish to pass up someone as wonderful and beautiful as I am..."
If the above is true, then is its opposite true as well? "Heaven hath no rapture like a woman praised." Think about it this way--besides Jesus, who has received the most glorious entrance into heaven? The answer is, quite obviously, the Virgin Mary. So far, only she has been worthy to enter heaven with both her body and soul intact. She was so worthy of praise that all the earth sang out its approval, embracing her and serving her: "A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars." The day of her Assumption must have been one full of rejoicing, both on earth and in heaven.
We have all been scorned, we have all been overlooked, to one degree or another. Yet, it is in how we respond to this that determines our fate. Are we to be furious? Or praiseworthy?
In order to be furious, all we have to do is turn inwards--boil and seethe with the idea of our humiliation--someone must pay for this insolence! We become a screeching harpy, a terrifying, imperious queen of fire and ice, fear and pain. Or we turn cold, impervious to emotion, a citadel forbidding entrance to anyone. It is an easier route in the beginning, it even seems to be the most prudent, most instinctive response--we are wounded, so we either fight back with all of our remaining strength or turn tail and hide. Yet it is much harder to turn from that decision once it has been made. For we have let evil into our heart, and upon its entrance, it takes root and spreads, the most deadly of diseases.
The decision to respond in love, to turn the other cheek, to say "I'm done on this side, you can turn me over" seems foolish and terribly imprudent. For one, I have done nothing wrong, so the fault must lie in the offending person. Why should I give them what they refused to give me? It seems unfair and disgraceful. Aren't we taught to flee from danger? Isn't this just clinging to a slightly morbid hope that he/she will change his/her mind?
In the eyes of the world, it does seem rather stupid to embrace pain and humiliation, to stay instead of flee. We react in horror when we hear of saints who not only cared for the lepers, but kissed their wounds--yep, that's right, made contact with their mouths on terrible, oozing sores! Why, oh, why would you do that? Why wouldn't you just let them die among their own kind, and continue on alive and well, free to do the work God has sent you to do? Of course, the answer seems simple, even though it makes us shudder to understand its implications: To show love to these forsaken, diseased people, that is what these saints were called to do.
Like it or not, we are called to the difficult path, the path full of brambles and thorns, and yes, even humiliation and rejection. We are in good company, though. We are joined by saints and angels, who, like us, were put to the test, and made the difficult, painful decision to respond in love. More importantly, and more reassuringly, we are joined by the master himself, Jesus, who has borne all of the suffering of the world upon his body and soul.
Yes, it is difficult. It is much easier to flee in the face of it. But we must learn a lesson from Jesus, as he beckoned the doubting Thomas to place his hands in his open side, to feel the marks on his hands, to acknowledge not only the existence of suffering, but its significance. Let us strive, not to be furious and fell queens of ourselves, but praiseworthy and trusting servants of the Master.
If the above is true, then is its opposite true as well? "Heaven hath no rapture like a woman praised." Think about it this way--besides Jesus, who has received the most glorious entrance into heaven? The answer is, quite obviously, the Virgin Mary. So far, only she has been worthy to enter heaven with both her body and soul intact. She was so worthy of praise that all the earth sang out its approval, embracing her and serving her: "A great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars." The day of her Assumption must have been one full of rejoicing, both on earth and in heaven.
We have all been scorned, we have all been overlooked, to one degree or another. Yet, it is in how we respond to this that determines our fate. Are we to be furious? Or praiseworthy?
In order to be furious, all we have to do is turn inwards--boil and seethe with the idea of our humiliation--someone must pay for this insolence! We become a screeching harpy, a terrifying, imperious queen of fire and ice, fear and pain. Or we turn cold, impervious to emotion, a citadel forbidding entrance to anyone. It is an easier route in the beginning, it even seems to be the most prudent, most instinctive response--we are wounded, so we either fight back with all of our remaining strength or turn tail and hide. Yet it is much harder to turn from that decision once it has been made. For we have let evil into our heart, and upon its entrance, it takes root and spreads, the most deadly of diseases.
The decision to respond in love, to turn the other cheek, to say "I'm done on this side, you can turn me over" seems foolish and terribly imprudent. For one, I have done nothing wrong, so the fault must lie in the offending person. Why should I give them what they refused to give me? It seems unfair and disgraceful. Aren't we taught to flee from danger? Isn't this just clinging to a slightly morbid hope that he/she will change his/her mind?
In the eyes of the world, it does seem rather stupid to embrace pain and humiliation, to stay instead of flee. We react in horror when we hear of saints who not only cared for the lepers, but kissed their wounds--yep, that's right, made contact with their mouths on terrible, oozing sores! Why, oh, why would you do that? Why wouldn't you just let them die among their own kind, and continue on alive and well, free to do the work God has sent you to do? Of course, the answer seems simple, even though it makes us shudder to understand its implications: To show love to these forsaken, diseased people, that is what these saints were called to do.
Like it or not, we are called to the difficult path, the path full of brambles and thorns, and yes, even humiliation and rejection. We are in good company, though. We are joined by saints and angels, who, like us, were put to the test, and made the difficult, painful decision to respond in love. More importantly, and more reassuringly, we are joined by the master himself, Jesus, who has borne all of the suffering of the world upon his body and soul.
Yes, it is difficult. It is much easier to flee in the face of it. But we must learn a lesson from Jesus, as he beckoned the doubting Thomas to place his hands in his open side, to feel the marks on his hands, to acknowledge not only the existence of suffering, but its significance. Let us strive, not to be furious and fell queens of ourselves, but praiseworthy and trusting servants of the Master.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Growing Pains: A Maggie's Place Retrospective
It's been ages since I've posted anything. I suppose I could blame this on my crazy work schedule, and I wouldn't be too far from the truth. But the fact of the matter is, I have, in the past six months, received an education far different from the one I received in college.
During this time, I have been schooled in the practical and at times mundane application of virtue. Here are a few lessons I have learned while serving and living at Maggie's Place:
During this time, I have been schooled in the practical and at times mundane application of virtue. Here are a few lessons I have learned while serving and living at Maggie's Place:
- If you think "breakin up is hard to do", try loving someone and sticking with a relationship through thick and thin! Love is hard work!
- Working with the earth is good for the soul. Weeding is a great way to de-stress and take out any frustration on plants and not humans.
- As my chiropractor says, "Contrary to popular belief, I cannot feel your pain." In other words, if you want someone to know how you feel, you must tell them. You cannot expect them to be mind readers.
- There is beauty in every person. The world does not want you to know this. It wants you to believe that only certain people are beautiful. This is silly. Beauty is everywhere. Beauty is wrinkles and baby fat rolls, laughter and suffering. (Thank you, Clarissa for opening my eyes to this truth).
- God loves to answer our prayers, even the ones we think are not important. He is a loving father and loves to dote on his children. I prayed for a piano, and God gave me one. How's that for providing?
- Second to the one who created you, no one knows your needs like you do. Listen to your heart and your body. Know what you need to be healthy, happy, and sane. The world will keep on turning even if you take that power nap. Take care of yourself before you take care of others.
- Everything is formation (I will elaborate on this one in another post).
- Deal with conflicts as they arise. Do not try to wait it out or ignore it.
- Boundaries are everything. Read the book Boundaries by Cloud and Townsend to see what I mean.
I know that my education in living is just beginning. It's humbling to realize just how much growing I still have ahead of me. And, let's face it: growing is painful and sometimes painfully slow. So, be patient with me, world, while I continue to learn in the years ahead.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Journey into the Unknown
When we encounter an obstacle on a journey, it oftentimes seems easier to go back the way we've come. The prospect of moving forward into the unknown is frightening and seems foolish. Why risk getting lost or hurt, or at the very least confused? But it is in the very act of setting out into the unknown that we begin to live. Life is not a retracing of one's steps, a search to find the familiar grooves of one's glorified past. That, in essence, is death. Rather, we must press on, and continue to seek, risking dangers and exposure. We are called to stride forth, remaining hopeful that it is God who lights the path before us, and it is He who accompanies us on our journey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)