When You Need to Create

A few months back, my best friend confided with me over cocktails at the Columns that she had been having some crazy dreams.  Almost every night over the course of a few weeks, she dreamt that she was pregnant.  I did not find this to be disturbing or abnormal, as I myself have had this dream before.  Plus she has been married for five years, so I figured that the subject of babies was naturally on her brain by this point.  But there was more to it.  There was an elaborate plot line I do not fully recall anymore, but the gist of it was this: She dreamed she forgot the baby every place she went.  That she forgot it in the car.  That she was feeding it soup straight from a can.  She had absolutely no idea what to do with it.  Everyone flew straight to the oh so obvious conclusion: the dream clearly indicated that she longed to have a baby but lacked confidence in her parenting skills.  She wasn't sure they were ready for a baby, they weren't at the right place yet, she still had other things she wanted to do before a baby, etc.  I reassured her that she would make an incredible mother, but even as I said it, I felt there might be more to the dream than the obvious.

I am not one to embark on a lengthy analysis of my (or heaven help us, others') dreams.  Nor am I accustomed to enure them with elaborate meaning.  But then a few weeks passed and Best Friend came back to me with some interesting information.

She had begun to crochet an afghan.  This on its own does not seem like much.  But when she began organizing the project, picking out the yarn, deciding on the pattern, and then putting it all into action, the dreams stopped.

Suddenly it all made sense.  She didn't need a baby.  She needed to CREATE.  Carrying a baby for nine months, giving it life, and then caring for it is the most profound act of creation of which we human beings are capable.  Her mind and heart found what it was seeking in the creative process of planning and crocheting a project.  It was also true when she forced herself to find the time to create in the kitchen.  We both share a passion for cooking.



Every year Trinity Episcopal Church on Jackson Ave. celebrates Johann Sebastian Bach's birthday with "Bach Around the Clock," a 27 hour ongoing concert featuring performances from school groups to some of the city's greatest musicians, like Delfeayo Marsalis.  While Bach does dominate, other classical composers as well as jazz and some out of the box selections (can we say "Harry Potter" theme) all resonate throughout the church.  You come and go as you please, and no admission is charged.  If you get the urge to hear a really stellar violin solo at 3 a.m., you know where to go.

After margaritas and Mexican, our two best friends (conveniently married to each other) accompanied us to "Bach Around the Clock."  And something amazing happened there.  I was reminded of Best Friend's dream.  In this amazing church, listening to brilliant works of art coming from the fingers, lips, and throats of talented individuals, my soul, so anxious and wound with worry, settled down, breathed, and sighed so loud I thought it echoed across the pews.  They weren't playing hymns, but that didn't matter.  What came from them was a gift from God.  God gave them the gift to be able to produce music of this caliber, and they in turn gave it back to us, sending our spirits soaring to the rafters.

My husband and I aren't exactly opera people.  But listening to one soprano perform an aria caused us both to clutch each others' hands.  I had tears in my eyes by the end.  How can a person's voice do that?  I was--and am---convinced that nothing short of God's intervention could bring a sound so ethereal from any of our very human and inherently flawed throats.

We were so awed by the performances that we returned the next day.  The New Orleans Youth Orchestra was playing.  I prepared myself to be underwhelmed.  These were just a bunch of kids, after all.  Quite the contrary.  They played the way I imagine heaven will sound.  Those little tiny children who can't drive or vote or do long division---heck, I'm pretty sure some of them are probably still struggling to keep their shoes tied---produced a sound beyond the scope of ordinary existence.  As if I was hearing music for the first time, I realized the skill and dedication these children were exhibiting, and how we all have a contribution to make, no matter our size, education, or economic status.  Live music will do that to you, will remind you of the truly amazing side of humanity.

All this to say---God made us in His image.  So often that part of us in which God resides is not visible to our neighbors.  So often we see only the destructive side of people.  God was and is the great Creator, and he made each of us with a need to create.  Not all of us are going to have the ability to play like those children in the orchestra, but we each have something to create and to contribute.  My husband is a writer.  My mother can look at a room and in two minutes rearrange it in a way that brings out beauty formerly unknown.  My father has an amazing garden.  My grandmother, self-trained and with no experience save that of her own kitchen, proves that food can truly be art.  My dancing sister moves her body in ways I never could.

When we lose our ability to create, our self-made demons emerge.  At first we might just be grumpy or confused.  But soon that God-given energy to create---that blocked up, denied, repressed gift---has to go somewhere, and it can so easily lend itself to destruction.

Which is why it is time for me to go cook.  And crochet.  And sing in all my off key glory.

     

When You Have the Music in You

"For he who sings praise, does not only praise, but also praises joyfully; he who sings praise, not only sings, but also loves Him whom he is singing about/to/for."

---St. Augustine of Hippo

Sometimes I catch my husband glancing at me with a smile on his face.  I will pause for a moment and wonder why.  Then I realize I've been singing all along, entirely unaware of the song in my heart pouring out of my lips.  I blush and say, "I've got the music in me."  And it's as if it overpowers me, takes over me, and spontaneously soars from my mouth.

But it's more than music that is in me.  Clearly, obviously, without question, it is God.  How else can you explain that something coming from nothing, the quiet one moment and the exuberant rising and falling of voice the next?  And how can you explain the feeling I get when I let my mind go, my thoughts fall away, and the magnificent fervor of song rise up through my whole body?

I truly believe that singing is a kind of prayer.  And it is certainly a form of praise.  So often in prayer we seek things, bring petitions, ask things of God.  This is perfectly acceptable.  In fact, he tells us to do this, encourages us to come to him.  But wouldn't it be wonderful to send him praise as well?  Can you imagine how God must feel when, after listening to so many pleas and woes and recitations of complaints and fears, He hears someone glorifying Him, singing out the joy that God inspires within?

Sometimes when I don't know what to say, when words have fled, when my thoughts are all a jumble, all I have is song.  They are the songs I learned long before I could actually read the words and follow along in the hymnal, some of the earliest sounds of my memory, songs that have remained ingrained in my mind long after the Periodic Table of the Elements and sine, cosine, and tangent formulas have faded away.  I reach for these songs, and they never fail me.  They always deliver me from the immediate situation, from my worry, from my fear and bring me to a place far beyond those things.  I actually feel lifted up when I lift up my voice.

I do it in the shower.  A lot.  I do it when I wash dishes or fold clothes.  I whisper those wonderful words as I fall asleep at night.  Recently, when pacing back and forth watching my second graders pick apart their lunches, I found myself singing under my breath.

Not until adulthood, when I really began to seriously read the Bible, did I discover how closely those good old church songs adhere to the words of Jesus, to the poetry of the Psalms, the messages of the Gospels.  I never thought I knew many Bible verses word for word, but then I realized when singing out that I knew far more of them through song than I ever realized.

St. Therese of Lisieux said that "prayer is a surge of the heart."  I can think of no greater example of that than letting your voice ring out in praise of Him.

St. Joseph

We say it every night.  The Prayer to St. Joseph.  I suppose it's one of those things that makes us Creole, uniquely New Orleans.

New Orleans has a deep sense of tradition surrounding St. Joseph's Day.  On March 19th, the feast day of St. Joseph, Catholic churches across the city have elaborate altars in his honor.  These altars are covered with enormous quantities of food.  Often the different food is symbolic, and the ubiquitous Italian cookie is always present.  Every year my great aunt rolls out pound after pound of dough and shapes them into cookies to cover the altar.  New Orleans was (and is) a port city, and consequently, quite a few people of Italian descent came to us and remained here.  They brought with them the tradition of honoring St. Joseph, and the native Creole population embraced it as well.  The tradition hearkens back to Sicily, where prayers to St. Joseph were thought to provide relief during a time of famine.  During the famine, a diet of fava beans brought them through, and today they are still placed on the altar.  Now we call them "lucky beans."

Here in New Orleans we have another special tradition surrounding St. Joseph.  When trying to sell a home, we bury a statue of St. Joseph in the yard and pray to him every night.  After your home sells, you dig up St. Joseph and display his statue in your home out of gratitude and love.  St. Joseph was a carpenter and also a hard worker, so associating with the home seems natural.  Of course, my husband and I speak to God and Jesus very regularly about our concerns, blessings, and petitions.  But praying for St. Joseph's intercession for the sale of our home seems like one more step in growing closer to God and those great people who were closest to Him across time.

For a while, I felt guilty praying to God about something as trivial as selling a home.  But then I realized that things like home and family are close to His heart.  He loves us.  Plain and simple.

Why all this urgency to sell our home?  What is motivating us to move?  More than anything in the world, we want to start a family.  And having a family in our 650 square foot, third story walk up, yardless apartment in the middle of the city just doesn't seem right.  Couple that with the fact that our dog Henry, truly a member of our family and so very dear to us, endured a serious operation and medical issues that render it impossible for him to go up the stairs to our apartment.  No longer will visits to the park do the trick; it is overstimulating and too much for him.  He needs a quiet yard and a one story home.  Right now, he is with my parents, and I miss him terribly.  I feel like our family is divided right now.

Which brings me to why I believe prayer to St. Joseph is so very important in all of this.  The Holy Family.  For two people who want to begin a family, looking to Joseph is so crucial.  Husband of Mary, foster father of Jesus, who better to exemplify all that it means to value family and home?  Joseph had some great struggles; how could someone from his time and place comprehend something as extraordinary as the Annunciation, as his betrothed bearing the son of God?  How easy it would have been to condemn Mary, to turn his back on her, and to want nothing to do with Jesus.  And yet he had such tremendous faith!  He trusted in God, grew in love with Mary and Jesus, and made a home for them.

I hold up the prayer card every night when we lie down in bed, and we say the prayer with our whole hearts.  My husband joked one night that we no longer needed the card; we know it by heart.  What a bittersweet moment!  On the one hand, I was saddened that we were still saying the prayer because it meant we were still trying to sell our home.  Yet I also felt moved that my husband and I have faithfully stuck to this practice, that each night we come together and share this, that we are growing in faith.  St. Joseph will always have a special place in our marriage, our hearts, and our home.

When You Want It RIGHT NOW!!!

There are moments in life when our adult bodies aren't so far removed from those of our childhood.  It's as if there is another layer of self just beneath the surface, like what can be seen with the eyes is just a film coating a tinier reality.  And the foot-stomping, door-slamming, yelling and screaming child wants it all RIGHT NOW!  Trying to speak of an abstract concept like patience to that self is about as successful as embarking upon an introduction to the fiscal cliff or delineating the history of strife in the Middle East.  All that it knows is RIGHT NOW, and instant gratification is demanded.

Perhaps being patient would be easier if there were guarantees.  When I was waiting for God to send my husband to me, I used to assure him that I could be ever so much more patient if He would only assure me that I would in fact get married.  Just the knowing would be comfort enough to get me through the waiting.  But waiting without any certainties is a torment, especially to the child-self.

How am I any different than the child whose questions about when it will be lunch keep driving me mad?  For him, the span of time between breakfast and lunch is an eternity.  We must sound like that to God, making a speck of time a century and fussing over something that will occur in good time.  We may grow up, but we rarely outgrow those longings, those needs, that imperative NOW NOW NOW!  The funniest thing---often when we do get "it," we don't know what to do.  We focused so much on the wanting that thoughts of application were never broached.

Would having had a guarantee that I would most definitely get married have made finding my husband any sweeter?  Would I have learned as much, grown as much, and been as grateful?  Not sure.

My outpourings of please please please and soon soon soon to God----do they sound the same as my prayers to find the person with whom I was meant to spend my life?  I am sure He listened to those with lots of sighing, knowing full well He had a plan for me, wishing I would trust more.  It's as if I can hear him saying, It will happen.  All in good time.  In my time.  At the right time.  Trust in me. 

So why does it seem so unbelievable?  Why so far-fetched?  On my wedding day, right until the point I was actually entering the church, I kept exclaiming, "I can't believe this is happening!  I can't believe this is really, actually, truly happening."  My mother said, "You MUST stop saying that!"  Why the disbelief?  What was the source of the astonishment?  That God would love me, too, among all the other people in this world?  That He actually had a plan just for me?  That something so longed for, prayed for, dreamed of could finally come true?  And if something as complex, nuanced, and unbelievably important as two people falling in love could come to pass through His grace, why not something as simple as the sale of a house?

It will sell, I tell myself.  God knows it.  Oh, for stronger patience and renewed faith.

I walk through the park in this early spring and see the live oaks full of yellow sprays of pollen and pale young green leaves screaming of life and rebirth.  They fill my soul with joy, with promise.  Then I notice wrinkled brown leaves---just wrinkled brown leaves, no sign of life---on two of the live oaks.  They are huge and magnificent and ages old, and I am immediately stricken with fear.  I ask my husband if he thinks they are dead, and he says it certainly doesn't look good when all the other trees are flagrantly displaying life and renewal.  A few days later, I return on my own for a walk of silent reflection, trying to set aside my anxiety and open my heart to spring.  And I see it!  I pull down my sunglasses, jerk them off entirely, just to be sure.  There it is---the slightest, lightest green, a sign of new life emerging from beneath the brown, the old leaves already falling away to make room for the new.  The trees are not dead.  They are being reborn, just like their neighbors, only a little later than the others.  I regretted my walk by those trees, thinking them dead, doubting their viability.  I should have looked at them and said, "All in God's time.  They may be brown now, but one day they will be green.  Just a little more time and a bit more patience.  Nothing lasts forever."

There is fruit on the tree, new life growing all around us.  We might be waiting now, but we won't always be.  Though we might feel like a little child, like NOW is all there is and all there ever will be, when we look back on our lives and all He has done for us, we just know that isn't so.  Though green today, the fruit will ripen and be ready.  That fig tree had never borne fruit for Him, but He gave it another chance.  He was patient, and He believed.

Cans, Dreams, Plans

I stare at the photo in my last post---a post that occurred so long ago, over half a year---and I am flooded with an awe that cannot be contained.  Amazed.  It's a word I use frequently now.  Yes, over half a year since I posted.  And the contents of that half year could well fill another person's whole year, possibly years.

Just three days after that post, all my cans and dreams and long made plans collided.  I wasn't expecting it.  Isn't that everyone always says?  To be honest, I felt like something was about to change, a prickling on the surface of my skin, a small intake of breath at what I might find.  But after so many years of disappointment piled on top of false hopes, I didn't trust it.  Not a feeling.  Not anymore.  Fortunately, I trusted God.  And that turned out to be enough.

How could I have expected what would ultimately happen?  It was so beyond anything I could envision.  It was bigger than my own thoughts, more vast than my own brain could process.  I was incapable of imagining such a thing.  For so long, I had not allowed myself to believe in a life of endless possibilities.  Such a notion was a thing for children or for people who had never found rough spot along their roads.  Not for a single girl about to turn 30 in post-Katrina New Orleans.  Not for a single girl---clearly really a woman now---whose last real relationship had ended almost four years before, who spent her time raising other peoples' children, who was all work to do-bills to pay, entirely comfortable with a glass of wine, a good book, pajamas and lights out by 10:30 on a Friday night.

Then what did I still believe in if not a life where everything was possible?  God.  That was certain.  What had happened as this girl grew into a woman with all the work, bills, responsibilities, and ups and downs that came with such a transformation?  I slowly, almost imperceptibly, grew closer to God than I  had ever been before.  Did I believe that in God all things were possible?  Absolutely.  Maybe.  With an, "I sure hope so," but a little bit of wincing doubt in the background of it all.  I so wanted to believe it.  And ultimately, that was enough for Him.  He recognized the fear that held me back as part of my humanity, looked beyond it, and awoke in me an awareness of where my walk with Him had taken me.

And where was that exactly?

Just three days after my short post, consisting merely of a photograph about embracing cans, allowing the dreams and plans to follow, my life was forever changed.  I opened myself up to the love of my life.  And in November I'm going to marry him.

FOG ON THE BRIDGE

On New Year's Eve, I drove across the longest bridge in the country to visit my parents.  I did not want a New Year's Eve filled with booze and cigarette smoke and bleary-eyed dejection, crowds of unknown people pulsing with longing and anxiety for things they cannot even name, strange bodies seeking each other at midnight in desperation.  I've lived that New Year's, and it's not for me.  I wanted to welcome in the new year surrounded by the two people most important to me, my puppy in my lap, a cozy fire, hot chocolate, cinnamon rolls, and an old black and white 1940's film.  But first there was the fog to get through.

This time of year we always battle fog.  Not snow or sleet---fog.  Fog that creeps in from both lake and river and blankets the city from all sides.  Like a cat in a bag struggling to get out, to find its way.  There were restrictions on the causeway.  Only 35 miles per hour, and only one lane open.  My mother urged me to wait to leave.  But I wanted to get home, to begin what I had set out to do.

Only the night before, while reading Margaret Silf, I encountered the notion of different spaces being sacred---gardens, temples, sanctuaries, islands, and. . .causeways.  Yes, a causeway.  A bridge that transports you from one place to another.  That spans great distance.  Creates a link, a connection.  A physical manifestation of prayer, which spans the distance between us and God, connecting us to Him.

In the fog, I struggle with things that have plagued me all year.  Patience.  I want to set the pace.  I want to go as fast as I choose.  And yet even if I disregarded the speed limit, such a desire would be impossible to meet.  We were in one long, solitary row of cars; the car in front of you, and the car in front of that, and yes, the driver in front of him---all of them contributed to how fast we would go.  All of them contributed to the decision, had a stake.  How frustrated I become in life when I can't call the shots.  When I have to admit that things are out of my control.  Control.  Yes, another issue.

In the fog, I lack control.  I can't see in front of me more than a few feet.  Just the lights on the tail end of the car in front of me.  I have to slow down.  I have to concentrate.  And I have to admit that I don't know what's ahead.  And that's okay.  But it's never okay for me.  I always want to know---not just what's a minute ahead, but an hour, a week, ten years.  Instead of just being present where I am, I must know exactly what's going to happen, how it will occur, and put forth effort to manipulate it or control it.  I can't do that in a fog.  I just can't.  Really, most days, my whole life is a fog.  Any sense of control or foresight is just pretense, a false means of comfort.

Where is real comfort?  In God, of course.  I know He will see me across that great bridge.  I know He sees even when I cannot.  Release.  Trust.  Be still.  All things that were struggles in 2011.  All things I must embrace in 2012.

Here I am on this journey that some might consider dangerous.  I could have stayed at home.  But God wants us on the journey.  He wants us out in His world, no matter how foggy.  Among so many names for Christ, He is known as the Light of the World.  The sun peeks out from the clouds, slowly at first, then with more vigor.  Its rays begin to burn off the fog.  Jesus the light of the world, a beacon in the fog.

As I approach the shore, only a bit of fog remains, floating beside me almost like a cloud.  And out of that gray haze come two pelicans, their broad wings spread, their beaks lifted high.  For a moment, they coast beside me, as if they are following me, before dropping down into the depths of the lake.

Pelicans.  Our state bird.  In medieval times, they believed that pelicans would wound themselves and feed their young with their own blood in times of starvation.  Like Christ and the Eucharist.  In fact, St. Thomas Aquinas actually described Jesus as "the loving divine pelican."

There He was beside me, even in a fog so deep it was seemingly impenetrable.  Dear God, thank you for being with me even in the midst of my greatest confusion, even when I feel most alone.  Thank you for helping me to recognize Your presence in that moment.   Help me to remember this moment always.  And open my eyes to those countless moments every day when You are with me, and I don't even know it.  You are always with me.  Open my eyes, Lord.  Open my eyes.

NOTE:  All photos are from nola.com.  I would never take pictures while driving, especially in a fog!

ONE SOLITARY LIFE

He was born in an obscure village,
The child of a peasant woman.
He grew up in still another village,
Where he worked in a carpenter shop
Until he was thirty.

Then for three years
He was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book.
He never held an office.
He never had a family or owned a house.
He didn't go to college.
He never visited a big city.
He never traveled two hundred miles
From the place where he was born.
He did none of the things
One usually associates with greatness.
He had no credentials but himself.

He was only thirty-three
When the tide of public opinion turned against him.
His friends ran away.
He was turned over to his enemies.
And went through the mockery of a trial.

He was nailed to a cross
Between two thieves.
While he was dying,
His executioners gambled for his clothing,
The only property he had on Earth.
When he was dead,
He was laid in a borrowed grave
Through the pity of a friend.

Twenty centuries have come and gone,
And today he is the central figure
Of the human race,
And the leader of mankind's progress.

All the armies that ever marched,
All the navies that ever sailed,
All the parliament that ever sat,
All the kings that ever reigned,
Put together have not affected
The life of man on Earth
As much as that

ne  olitary  ife.
~~Dr James Allen Francis, © 1926~~

Dwelling Places

Father's homily last Sunday centered around John 14:2.

In my Father's house there are many dwelling places.

Father pointed out that each of us has a place in Heaven prepared for us by God if we choose to open our hearts to Jesus.  But he also pointed out that Jesus's name is Emmanuel---God WITH us.  He is with us here on earth, too, and provides dwelling places for us here as well.  These dwelling places are special places of peace where we can be at one with Him and feel Him more deeply than ever.  It's a place where we can be close to God and feel most comfortable speaking to Him with an open heart.  Father encouraged every one of us to seek out a place like this.  The act of seeking a special dwelling place such as this will also ensure that we set aside time every day to have conversations with Jesus.  Whether it's sitting out on the swing on a front porch watching the world go by, crabbing at the lake, a special chair, a ride on the ferry, or playing the piano, we all need a place where we can connect with God on an intimate level.  He asked us to think of where that place was for us personally and to truly make an effort to dwell in that place as much as possible.

My special dwelling place would have to be the park.  The joy of seeing God in nature is sometimes unbearable for me; I can't contain it---I want to cry, sing out, run after my puppy in sheer ecstasy!  Joy is everywhere at the park, and God's love shows itself in so many ways.  Fathers teaching their children to ride bikes.  Mothers with babies feeding the ducks.  Friends sharing conversation.  Not to mention the beauty of enormous oaks, the budding of knockout roses and hydragneas, swans and ducks floating over the water, birds tending to their nests, trees soaring up high, reaching their branches to the sky, gloriously waving to God.  And a sweet little puppy looking up at me adoringly, a huge grin on his face for being in this place, at this time.  My little dog reminds me to cherish the gifts God gives me in the moment, at this place in my life, embracing the present.  All of the things I encounter in the park hearken back to the essence of what Father was trying to tell us.  EMMANUEL.  God with us.

He most certainly is.  Every single day.  If we just open our eyes.

The Mystery of Faith

My priest gives such great homilies.  I always feel so moved and inspired after hearing him speak.  Yet the week is so hectic, I often forget the main points of his homily by the time the following Sunday rolls around.  I'm going to try to make a point of sitting down each Sunday and recording what I feel was most memorable about Father's homily so that it can stay with me all week long.

Before touching on the gospel today, Father discussed Mary's role in the Church.  She is our Savior's mother, was present at his birth, death, and resurrection, and other than God the Father, was closest to Him.  Mary remains close to Jesus and can help bring our needs to Him.  We can look to her to remember the important events of His life and the miracle of his birth.  We all want to be close to Jesus and to know him intimately; what better way than to make Mary, the human being who was closest to Him, our dear confidante?

Father particularly encouraged us to grow closer to Mary and Jesus by praying the rosary.  I admit that I neglect this important part of my unique Catholic faith.  Recently I purchased a new rosary (the one I had was given to me as a child during CCD, or catechism), and searched online for sites that say the rosary for you.  You just say it along with them.  Perhaps this sounds lazy, but if it helps me to broaden my faith and actually grow accustomed to the process of saying the rosary, I'm all for it!  I am positive I know all the joyful mysteries; things start to go off course with the others, particularly the Luminous mysteries, which are newer.  By using the websites, I can focus on my prayer while listening to the mysteries said aloud and hopefully fully learn them and open my heart to their richness.

Father said something concerning the rosary that really hit home with me.  He said a quote that held deep meaning (possibly said by Kirkegaard, though there seem to be variations in his words):

Life is not a problem to be solved.  It is a mystery to be lived.


Saying the rosary helps us through the mysteries of life.  The rosary and its mysteries are akin to the nature of life itself.  When we say the Joyful Mysteries, we experience the joy of Jesus's birth, the Visitation, Mary's Annunciation, etc., and can also think of times in our own lives in which we have experienced joy.  We can share this joy with Jesus and grow in our understanding of the joy He experienced in His own life and the joy we receive from Him.  When we are on top of the world and experiencing amazing and profound glory, we can say the Glorious Mysteries, and share in Jesus's life and works yet again.  When we are despairing, hopeless, and feeling tremendous sadness, we can say the Sorrowful Mysteries, taking comfort in the fact that our Savior also suffered and that He is aware of how we feel and wants to bring us solace.  When we are at our most enlightened and feel that ideas and concepts are truly becoming clear to us, we can say the Luminous Mysteries, and share yet in again in Jesus's experience, growing in understanding of our own life through His.

The homily itself was about Jesus's use of the phrase "I am."  Today He said He was the gate and the shepherd.  I love the idea of Jesus as a shepherd, caring for us, bringing us all together, feeding us, nurturing us.  Father went on about this as well, but his words concerning the Mysteries of the rosary were what really struck me today.

Here is my new rosary.  It is made of turquoise and Desert Sun beads.  Desert Sun glass beads are wrapped in precious metal foil (gold on mine) and then painted with a special paint that shrinks when the beads are fired.   I purchased it from The Littlest Rosary Shop.  It was handcrafted by a Catholic family, which means a lot more to me than if it just came off an assembly line in a factory.

 

New Year, New Outlook

I'm pretty behind on this.  That's what happens when I make New Year's resolutions---um, would goals be a better word---concerning diet, exercise, cleanliness, keeping up with friends, writing, praying, and vitamins.

A while back I read Tracy's post about having a word of the year.  You were supposed to pick a word that would define your year.  Something to work on, inspire, and guide.  A theme, if you will.  (Writing "theme" has now caused "The Mary Tyler Moore Show"'s them song to play in my head).  Tracy got this idea from another blogger.  To give you some examples, Tracy's word for 2011 is BALANCE.  Kim's word for 2011 is BUILD.

I thought it was a cool concept.  And beyond that, my thoughts ceased.  I seemed to lack inspiration.  Later the opposite occurred.  I was flooded with words.  It was a veritable deluge of vocabulary.  Everything from balance to hope to truth to dream to. . .well, it went on and on.  They all seemed lovely.  Couldn't I have MANY words?  But that seemed to defeat the purpose.

I shrugged my shoulders and determined to forget about it.  While I had recognized that this was a cool concept, obviously it wasn't resonating enough with me.  If it had, I would have been able to apply it to my own life.  I put it out of my head.

Fast forward to Mass on January 2nd.  We were celebrating the Epiphany, even though the actual date isn't really until January 6th.  The first reading was Isaiah 60:1-6.  It began:

Arise, shine out, for your light has come, and the glory of Yahweh has risen on you.


There seemed to be a theme of light.  Wise men guided by a star.  The candles twinkling on the altar.  I was already feeling it.


The reading continued until the following line stood out to me:


At this sight you will grow radiant, your heart will throb and dilate, since the riches of the sea willflow to you, the wealth of the nations come to you;


RADIANT.  It hit me!  As if something actually flew into my forehead.  Boom!  I knew my word for 2011.  RADIANT.


RADIANT.  I will recognize Christ's radiance.  I will be radiant, as Jesus was.  I will be a light in the darkness, just as Jesus asks us to be.  I will recognize those things that are radiant in my own life.  I will rid myself of those things that are not radiant in my soul and in my day to day life.  I will focus on the light, not the darkness, opening my heart to the positive and turning away from the negative.  


As we sang the words to "We Three Kings," my voice rose higher as the chorus came:


O Star of wonder, star of night
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to thy Perfect Light


His Perfect Light.  His radiant nature.  And finding that which is radiant in me.  It all made sense now.

  

O Holy Night!

Oh holy night!
The stars are brightly shining
This is the night of the dear Savior's birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till he appear'd and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born
Oh night divine
Oh night,
Oh night divine

Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His gospel is peace
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His name all oppression shall cease
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name.

Christ is the Lord
Oh praise His name forever
His power, and glory evermore proclaim
His power, and glory evermore proclaim

Fall on your knees

Oh hear the angel voices

Oh night divine

Oh night when Christ was born

Oh night divine

Oh holy night, 

Oh night divine

Happy Thanksgiving!

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies.
 
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.

For the beauty of each hour,
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and vale, and tree and flower,
Sun and moon, and stars of light. 

  

Lord of all, to Thee we raise,

This our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye,

For the heart and mind’s delight,
For the mystic harmony
Linking sense to sound and sight.
  

Lord of all, to Thee we raise,

This our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human love,

Brother, sister, parent, child,
Friends on earth and friends above,
For all gentle thoughts and mild.
  

Lord of all, to Thee we raise,

This our hymn of grateful praise.

For each perfect gift of Thine,

To our race so freely given,
Graces human and divine,
Flowers of earth and buds of Heaven.

Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.

---Folliott S. Pierpont     1864

Christmas. . .already?!?!?!

A few months ago at mass, Father said that every Catholic household should have a Bible, a crucifix, and a nativity scene.  I realized that I don't have one!  I used to love playing with the hard plastic nativity scene my parents had, arranging the different people and animals and recreating the Christmas story.  I also loved staring at (but not touching) my grandmother's beautiful Italian creche.  As a child, it seemed so fancy and exotic, with the moss draped around it and the delicate paper affixed to it, the face of Mary so ethereal.  The best nativity I have ever seen was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  A few years back, I was in NYC at New Year's and was able to view it.

I ordered my own pretty little vintage nativity scene through ebay.  While I adore the Met's creche, I think this version will be more my style---at least, more suitable to my 650 square foot condo and simple life.  When it comes in, I'll post a picture.  :)

Patient Trust

When I read Kelly's blog the other day, she referred me to Amy's blog, where she had written a wonderful passage concerning waiting and how difficult the unknown can be.  She encouraged people to share their stories about when God felt far away or when His plan seemed unclear.  I have personally struggled with this a great deal.  As a single woman, I hope and pray that marriage and a family is in my future, but I also have to accept that this may not be God's plan for me.  I am SO STUBBORN sometimes and just cannot wrap my head around the idea that God might not want this for me!  It's hard to balance between cynicism and idealism.  I want to remain hopeful, but I also want to be realistic.  My relationship with God helps me find that balance.  When I am filled with anxiety over the future, when I am impatient and want instant gratification, when I begin to doubt God's plan for me, this prayer helps tremendously.


Trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient
in everything to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip 
all intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something
unknown, something new.
Yet it is the law of all
that progress is made 
by passing through
some stages of instability.


And so I think it is with you,
your ideas mature gradually
let them grow
let them shape themselves 
without undue haste.


Do not try to force them,
as though you could be today what time
(that is to say, grace and circumstances
acting on your own good will)
will make of you tomorrow.


Only God could say what this new spirit
gradually forming within you will be.
Give Our Lord the benefit of believing
That his hand is leading you,
and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself
In suspense and incomplete.

---Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

If you get a chance, check out Amy's blog.  There were some amazing stories shared and some great examples of strength even in the midst of suffering.