I have been contemplating going into ear bud sales. Seriously. Because I have four kids, who are all obsessed with at least one electronic device, and I am not kidding when I tell you that every day I am told, "I need new ear buds", or "I lost my ear buds" or "who took my ear buds", or "these ear buds stink", or "my ear buds broke". I have four kids, and that means I have 8 ears that are demanding to be plugged in at every moment of the day.
And I wonder.
What are they even listening to?
What is the message that is running straight into their ears, filling their minds, running down into their heart?
They think they are plugged in to something...do they realize that in truth, they are completely tuned out?
Today's Gospel. Have you read it?
Mark 7:31-37
People bring a deaf man with a speech impediment to Jesus.
"He took him off by himself away from the crowd. He put his fingers into the man's ears....then looked up to heaven and groaned, "Ephphatha!-that is, "Be opened!""
And now, touched by Jesus, this man can hear.
Now, with a single word, this man can speak.
I look off into the next room. My children, with ear buds clogging both ears, off in their own worlds, tuned in to something not really here, and cut off from the people that are sitting right next to them.
And honestly? I can not say I always know what they are listening to...Who they are listening to.
And I have a strong urge to take them away from the crowd, to bring them to Jesus, to open their ears.
How can we possibly hear God when our ears are crowded?
How can we ever speak to others of a truth we are unable to hear ourselves?
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Thursday, September 3, 2015
afternoon prayer vs. every other thing I want to do that in the end, will not matter at all
It is nearing 2:30pm which means that if I continue to sit at this computer, or do the laundry, or find some other meaningless task, I will not get in my afternoon prayer time before kids roll in, and then it will be off in the mini van we go, to our various things that we say the kids love, but really just exhaust us all and make us grumpy.
The afternoon.
It is my tough and challenging time.
I mean, I am the greatest wife ever. When my husband is at work.
And nobody rocks motherhood like me. When the kids are not home.
I start out so darn good too, ya know?
Wake early...find a quiet place...rosary and Gospel reflection.
I am a down right Saint...until about 3:45pm.
And it stinks.
Because when I go to sleep I do not happily recall my beautiful morning prayer time, or the gratitude I felt while watering my garden alone. No. I dwell on the crappy way the day ended.
I have read that the devil comes at night. He strikes when we are most tired. When our fuses are short and the battery low. And I believe this. I do. Because all day yesterday all I wanted was to sit with my husband with the day behind us, and watch The Jim Gaffigan Show, which I might add, is just like watching my own life, minus a kid and with the addition of commercials. But by the time 10pm came around, I was not wanting to see, or hear or look at anyone. Not my husband. Not my kids. Not even Jim Gaffigan.
Somehow, slowly but surely, my grip on God loosens. As the day goes on, my focus widens, and eternal perspective gives in to discouragement.
I have just 40 minutes.
40 minutes before the first bus arrives, and then we begin the marathon otherwise known as an afternoon with kids who need to go to therapy, football, the gym, and need pick ups and drop offs and of course dinner is expected, which if you ask me, is a useless meal and can we please just enjoy some bread, cheese and wine and call it a night?
But I am not talking about dinner.
Afternoon prayer.
It is hard.
Hard to stop the millions of things we all say we must get done.
And yet, when I take the time to really look at the crucifix I can never get myself to take off...
I am disgusted with myself.
What could there possibly be that needs to be done that is more important than spending time with the one who allowed nails to pierce his wrists and feet, all so that I could have a chance at eternal happiness?
Nothing.
I know that.
You know that.
Or maybe you don't know that, but you know it now.
Nothing is more important than spending time with God.
I am going to throw a load of wash in the dryer because it is full of football things needed later today.
But then I promise...
I will find a quiet spot and reach out to God, and pray for the grace to get me through this afternoon.
I want to be a Saint all day...not just from 5am-3:45pm. Unless there is an opening for that role...then I am totally qualified.
But really.
I want to be a good wife and a good mom until my head hits the pillow.
And I know that none of that is possible without Jesus.
Screw the laundry.
God comes first.
The afternoon.
It is my tough and challenging time.
I mean, I am the greatest wife ever. When my husband is at work.
And nobody rocks motherhood like me. When the kids are not home.
I start out so darn good too, ya know?
Wake early...find a quiet place...rosary and Gospel reflection.
I am a down right Saint...until about 3:45pm.
And it stinks.
Because when I go to sleep I do not happily recall my beautiful morning prayer time, or the gratitude I felt while watering my garden alone. No. I dwell on the crappy way the day ended.
I have read that the devil comes at night. He strikes when we are most tired. When our fuses are short and the battery low. And I believe this. I do. Because all day yesterday all I wanted was to sit with my husband with the day behind us, and watch The Jim Gaffigan Show, which I might add, is just like watching my own life, minus a kid and with the addition of commercials. But by the time 10pm came around, I was not wanting to see, or hear or look at anyone. Not my husband. Not my kids. Not even Jim Gaffigan.
Somehow, slowly but surely, my grip on God loosens. As the day goes on, my focus widens, and eternal perspective gives in to discouragement.
I have just 40 minutes.
40 minutes before the first bus arrives, and then we begin the marathon otherwise known as an afternoon with kids who need to go to therapy, football, the gym, and need pick ups and drop offs and of course dinner is expected, which if you ask me, is a useless meal and can we please just enjoy some bread, cheese and wine and call it a night?
But I am not talking about dinner.
Afternoon prayer.
It is hard.
Hard to stop the millions of things we all say we must get done.
And yet, when I take the time to really look at the crucifix I can never get myself to take off...
I am disgusted with myself.
What could there possibly be that needs to be done that is more important than spending time with the one who allowed nails to pierce his wrists and feet, all so that I could have a chance at eternal happiness?
Nothing.
I know that.
You know that.
Or maybe you don't know that, but you know it now.
Nothing is more important than spending time with God.
I am going to throw a load of wash in the dryer because it is full of football things needed later today.
But then I promise...
I will find a quiet spot and reach out to God, and pray for the grace to get me through this afternoon.
I want to be a Saint all day...not just from 5am-3:45pm. Unless there is an opening for that role...then I am totally qualified.
But really.
I want to be a good wife and a good mom until my head hits the pillow.
And I know that none of that is possible without Jesus.
Screw the laundry.
God comes first.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
when life makes you sick
Gospel Reflection Luke 4:38-44
I woke up one morning completely unable to move. A severe pain in my neck and shoulders that ran down the right side of my body had me crying out in pain. I spent ten full days in a neck brace, completely still in my bed, not knowing what was wrong with me, while I silently prayed. And while I prayed upstairs in my bedroom, I listened to the sounds of my home; the children’s after-school chatter, dishes being piled high into the sink, the TV loud, the familiar sound of the garage door opening and dog barking, all alerting us that daddy was home. For ten days I did this. I was still. I could not participate in the life that seemed to be carrying on a floor below without me. And that was a big moment for me. It was big because up until I woke that morning unable to move, I was sick of my life. I was sick of always moving. I was unhappy, I was unsure of who I was, and I was tired of the after-school chatter, the plates piled in the sink, the way that the dog barked when my husband came home. It all felt so meaningless; my life felt it had no purpose. And now that I could not be a part of it? I wanted it back. I missed it. And I prayed hard for it.
I do not share this thought with many, but there is a part of me that believes my illness was more spiritual than physical; that what I was afflicted with was a severe fever of my soul. Because it was too painful to get up and go about my life (a life that was quickly slipping into a miserable string of ungratefulness and total lack of God), I had nothing left to do other than to pray. And so it was there, still and alone, with nowhere to go, that I found myself face to face with my healer. And he stood over me. And as soon as I was able to get up out of my bed, all I could do, and all I ever continue to want to do, is to go out and share this good news with the entire world. How clear it all became; my purpose was not something to be found within myself, but to be found in Jesus. And from the moment I could stand again on my own, the need for everyone to know this truth was immediate.
You see, when the fever was rebuked, Simon’s mother-in-law did not get up and wait on Jesus and Simon because she was a woman, and that was her role. She got up and immediately served them because that is what the healing power of Christ does in you. It cures you of the very thing that has you struck down, unable to move. Physical, spiritual, emotional affliction; these come upon all of us. And so when we are graced with the healing touch of Jesus Christ, is it not our right and our duty to get up, run to the other towns, and proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God? I say that it is. I say that we should. And I say that we do it immediately.
Jesus tells the crowd, “To the other towns also I must proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God, because for this purpose I have been sent.” Who is my crowd, what is my purpose, and am I fulfilling what God has sent me to do?
Jesus, my healer, I have felt the power of your hands upon me, and I am so grateful. Please, send me out into the world to proclaim your good news. I pray I do not hesitate, but rather, that I immediately get up each day and make this my sole purpose: that through the way I live my life, through what I say and write, what I do and how I choose to behave, that every action and word shouts out into the town that “You are the Son of God!” Heal me of all my afflictions and rebuke every illness of my heart that keeps me from constantly running towards you. Amen.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
small sins
Whenever I read about the Pharisees, there is a part of me that worries I am just like them. It is not because I do not believe that I sin. I know I sin. Daily. Sometimes hourly. Despite my efforts not to, I still sin. So that is not what worries me. What worries me...or should I say terrifies me, are the times I do not even recognize my sin.
The Pharisees. They did not recognize their sin.
I once sat at the lake at 3pm with a friend, and as our children played in the sand and water, we prayed the Divine Mercy. I shared with her a long time ago experience; a shameful one, and in sorrow told her, "I had no idea what I was doing was wrong."
I think it is safe to say that most of us, if we look at our lives honestly, can find at least one experience, just one situation we willingly put ourselves in, and ask ourselves now, "What the heck was I thinking?"
I have had times I was not thinking.
But when you are stuck in yourself, thinking of just yourself, and relying on just yourself, seeing God in yourself is impossible.
Sin is blinding.
Sin is the work of the devil, who I know all too well to be so very real, and he works day and night on you, convincing you that what is wrong is right. He robs you of grace.
Over drinks one night, a friend told me she didn't believe in needing to confess her sins.
They were not that big.
How terrifying that statement is to me.
I pray I never lose sight of any of my sins, no matter how small.
Do not, my friend, underestimate the small sin in your life.
Small sins have a hideous way of growing into bigger sins.
Like a cancer, a fatal disease; if you ignore it, it will grow, take over, and possibly kill you.
Notice them.
Confess them.
Recognize them.
"Small interior sins tend to snowball into bigger sins, until the soul rebels directly and violently against God himself in a vain attempt to alter reality to fit his own distorted vision of self." - John Bartunek, LC, THD The Better Part
The Pharisees. They did not recognize their sin.
I once sat at the lake at 3pm with a friend, and as our children played in the sand and water, we prayed the Divine Mercy. I shared with her a long time ago experience; a shameful one, and in sorrow told her, "I had no idea what I was doing was wrong."
I think it is safe to say that most of us, if we look at our lives honestly, can find at least one experience, just one situation we willingly put ourselves in, and ask ourselves now, "What the heck was I thinking?"
I have had times I was not thinking.
But when you are stuck in yourself, thinking of just yourself, and relying on just yourself, seeing God in yourself is impossible.
Sin is blinding.
Sin is the work of the devil, who I know all too well to be so very real, and he works day and night on you, convincing you that what is wrong is right. He robs you of grace.
Over drinks one night, a friend told me she didn't believe in needing to confess her sins.
They were not that big.
How terrifying that statement is to me.
I pray I never lose sight of any of my sins, no matter how small.
Do not, my friend, underestimate the small sin in your life.
Small sins have a hideous way of growing into bigger sins.
Like a cancer, a fatal disease; if you ignore it, it will grow, take over, and possibly kill you.
Notice them.
Confess them.
Recognize them.
"Small interior sins tend to snowball into bigger sins, until the soul rebels directly and violently against God himself in a vain attempt to alter reality to fit his own distorted vision of self." - John Bartunek, LC, THD The Better Part
Sunday, August 23, 2015
decide today whom you will serve
I had a minor nervous breakdown last week, as I sat at the kitchen table and tried to read e mails. E mails that contained upcoming schedules. Schedules for cheer practice, football practice, Religious Ed classes, and various ministry deadlines and events. Now, if I were Padre Pio and able to bi-locate, or even Elasta-girl from The Incredibles, I might not have broken down in tears. But I am no Saint, and I am no super hero. I am just me. Mom. Wife. Catechist. Ministry Coordinator. Tortilla chip fanatic. And I have to say, the calendar set before me just seems impossible.
Let's take Monday for instance.
Kids will come home from school, only they won't really come home. They will get off of the bus, see their home, then hop into the car. I will throw something at them that resembles a nutritious snack. Which is a lie. They will get chips and cookies and if they are lucky, a bottle of water. Together, we will go to Religious Ed class. Luke will run through the parking lot like a rabid raccoon, and by the grace of God not get hit by the angry mothers who find Religious Ed a total inconvenience, and make his way to his class. I am Annie's teacher, so we will go to class together. After class we will get back in the car, and quickly head to the high school, and pick up the two teens-one from football practice, the other from her art class in New Haven. Keep in mind, I do not expect either one of them to be out on time, but if I think about that right now, my head might spin off. From there we will drive back home, where we will grab something that resembles dinner, that clearly I had to make ahead of time, and now I will leave most of the kids home to take care of themselves, while I drive Annie to cheer practice.
Cheer gets out at 9pm.
And no homework has yet to be done.
This is Monday.
A fine way to begin the week, don't you think?
And so I really prayed about this. Well, after I cried, and complained to everyone I saw about how busy I am...then I prayed. Should I home school Religious Ed? Do we quit cheer? Do I move to Africa? Do I cut my hair shorter? Which, yeah, I know, the hair makes no sense, but this is what happens to my brain when it gets overwhelmed. I mean, really, what are my options? And then God stepped in, as He always does, because He is the ultimate rock star and always comes to my rescue. I was at daily Mass, seriously considering telling the Religious Ed Staff that I would be unable to teach this year, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Evan. Evan was in my 5th grade class last year. He is a great kid, with a beautiful faith, and as he made his way back up the aisle from Holy Communion, his eyes caught mine, and his sweet face broke out into the biggest, best smile you have ever seen. He waved. I waved back. And a wave of love and light swept over me. The question burned in flames above my head....How could I not teach?
We are all busy. But we all get the same amount of hours in the day. And I don't think that my problem is not enough time, but rather, how I choose to spend my time. I do not want to force my daughter to quit a sport (yes, cheer is a sport) that she enjoys and works hard at, nor do I want to give up teaching children about their faith. And sure, I can teach another day, but those days are actually busier than Monday. Monday is my day of rest! When discussing this with another football mom the other day, her response was, "Oh well, yeah, we had to cut out religious ed all together. I mean, who can get there by 4pm, that is ridiculous. It was too much. Something had to go."
Something had to go.
This made me sad.
It still makes me sad.
Because I am convinced that life is not going to get any slower. It just keeps moving faster and faster. Kids are pulled in a million directions, and parents have to split up and play tag team, just to get the kids where they need to be.
We say we do it for the kids.
We say we do it because they love it.
But what does this say about us?
Where we stand?
Something had to go.
Sunday is far from a day of rest.
Sunday is the day our entire town worships sports.
And it hit me like a ton of bricks.
If we could just live out our God given lives the way He planned...with Sunday as a day of rest, I wouldn't have this problem!
Sports would be on Saturday, and my kids and I could go to religious ed on Sunday, after Mass, like we are supposed to.
We are rewriting our lives to fit our own desires, and I have to be honest...it is not working out so great.
My son has a Mormon friend, who quit the High School football team because games were on Sunday.
I have yet to meet a Catholic in my town with that kind of faith.
Myself, included.
And I would consider becoming Mormon, if they allowed coffee and wine, and well, also if they realized that the Catholic faith is the truth. So yeah. Becoming Mormon is not really an option.
But I will tell ya...this is a holy discontent that is starting to rise in me, and I am feeling like I might have to take a stand.
My kids should not have to choose between God and sports, because without God, there would be no sports.
God comes first.
Period.
So we will take each day as it comes, minute by minute, and do our best.
Dinner will go in a crock pot at the crack of dawn, and I will pray extra hard for patience, and sanity.
After the woman told me "religious ed had to go", I took a moment and called out to the Holy Spirit for the right words...because the words that came to my mind were totally not appropriate for the Holy Spirit. And finally I said, "Yeah, well, no Religious Ed is not an option for me. For starters, I am a Catechist. And I love it. And really, it would be foolish of me to remove God and learning the faith from our day, when you consider that HE is the only thing that gives me the strength to get through my day in the first place." After a pause, the woman dropped to her knees, begged for God's Mercy and asked if I would take her to Church.
Just kidding.
She drove away.
But I mean, really? What kind of message are we sending our children when we are okay signing them up for teams that travel, and spending hours on a Sunday morning sitting on the side lines of some field, but we quit our Religious Education because we are just too busy?
I want my Sunday back.
And I want this world to get its priorities straight.
You can't remove God, and do everything else, because God IS everything, and that is all there is to it.
"Decide today whom you will serve...As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord." -Joshua 24
Let's take Monday for instance.
Kids will come home from school, only they won't really come home. They will get off of the bus, see their home, then hop into the car. I will throw something at them that resembles a nutritious snack. Which is a lie. They will get chips and cookies and if they are lucky, a bottle of water. Together, we will go to Religious Ed class. Luke will run through the parking lot like a rabid raccoon, and by the grace of God not get hit by the angry mothers who find Religious Ed a total inconvenience, and make his way to his class. I am Annie's teacher, so we will go to class together. After class we will get back in the car, and quickly head to the high school, and pick up the two teens-one from football practice, the other from her art class in New Haven. Keep in mind, I do not expect either one of them to be out on time, but if I think about that right now, my head might spin off. From there we will drive back home, where we will grab something that resembles dinner, that clearly I had to make ahead of time, and now I will leave most of the kids home to take care of themselves, while I drive Annie to cheer practice.
Cheer gets out at 9pm.
And no homework has yet to be done.
This is Monday.
A fine way to begin the week, don't you think?
And so I really prayed about this. Well, after I cried, and complained to everyone I saw about how busy I am...then I prayed. Should I home school Religious Ed? Do we quit cheer? Do I move to Africa? Do I cut my hair shorter? Which, yeah, I know, the hair makes no sense, but this is what happens to my brain when it gets overwhelmed. I mean, really, what are my options? And then God stepped in, as He always does, because He is the ultimate rock star and always comes to my rescue. I was at daily Mass, seriously considering telling the Religious Ed Staff that I would be unable to teach this year, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Evan. Evan was in my 5th grade class last year. He is a great kid, with a beautiful faith, and as he made his way back up the aisle from Holy Communion, his eyes caught mine, and his sweet face broke out into the biggest, best smile you have ever seen. He waved. I waved back. And a wave of love and light swept over me. The question burned in flames above my head....How could I not teach?
We are all busy. But we all get the same amount of hours in the day. And I don't think that my problem is not enough time, but rather, how I choose to spend my time. I do not want to force my daughter to quit a sport (yes, cheer is a sport) that she enjoys and works hard at, nor do I want to give up teaching children about their faith. And sure, I can teach another day, but those days are actually busier than Monday. Monday is my day of rest! When discussing this with another football mom the other day, her response was, "Oh well, yeah, we had to cut out religious ed all together. I mean, who can get there by 4pm, that is ridiculous. It was too much. Something had to go."
Something had to go.
This made me sad.
It still makes me sad.
Because I am convinced that life is not going to get any slower. It just keeps moving faster and faster. Kids are pulled in a million directions, and parents have to split up and play tag team, just to get the kids where they need to be.
We say we do it for the kids.
We say we do it because they love it.
But what does this say about us?
Where we stand?
Something had to go.
Sunday is far from a day of rest.
Sunday is the day our entire town worships sports.
And it hit me like a ton of bricks.
If we could just live out our God given lives the way He planned...with Sunday as a day of rest, I wouldn't have this problem!
Sports would be on Saturday, and my kids and I could go to religious ed on Sunday, after Mass, like we are supposed to.
We are rewriting our lives to fit our own desires, and I have to be honest...it is not working out so great.
My son has a Mormon friend, who quit the High School football team because games were on Sunday.
I have yet to meet a Catholic in my town with that kind of faith.
Myself, included.
And I would consider becoming Mormon, if they allowed coffee and wine, and well, also if they realized that the Catholic faith is the truth. So yeah. Becoming Mormon is not really an option.
But I will tell ya...this is a holy discontent that is starting to rise in me, and I am feeling like I might have to take a stand.
My kids should not have to choose between God and sports, because without God, there would be no sports.
God comes first.
Period.
So we will take each day as it comes, minute by minute, and do our best.
Dinner will go in a crock pot at the crack of dawn, and I will pray extra hard for patience, and sanity.
After the woman told me "religious ed had to go", I took a moment and called out to the Holy Spirit for the right words...because the words that came to my mind were totally not appropriate for the Holy Spirit. And finally I said, "Yeah, well, no Religious Ed is not an option for me. For starters, I am a Catechist. And I love it. And really, it would be foolish of me to remove God and learning the faith from our day, when you consider that HE is the only thing that gives me the strength to get through my day in the first place." After a pause, the woman dropped to her knees, begged for God's Mercy and asked if I would take her to Church.
Just kidding.
She drove away.
But I mean, really? What kind of message are we sending our children when we are okay signing them up for teams that travel, and spending hours on a Sunday morning sitting on the side lines of some field, but we quit our Religious Education because we are just too busy?
I want my Sunday back.
And I want this world to get its priorities straight.
You can't remove God, and do everything else, because God IS everything, and that is all there is to it.
"Decide today whom you will serve...As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord." -Joshua 24
Saturday, August 8, 2015
mercy moments: my attempt to see and be mercy
You know when you have picked up a great story to read, because you think about it all day long. Phrases and scenes pop up in your head like a neon sign, and characters become so real you would think they could sit at your table and join you in a cup of coffee. A good story changes you. You are one person on the first page, and by the time you reach the last, you have been transformed. And I love this. I love good books, and I love great stories. And I long to be constantly transformed into someone better than I was when I pulled that book off of the shelf.
I am nearly finished with Mercy In the City, by Kerry Weber. This book, like most of my favorite books, was a gift from a friend. It is about a young, single woman's quest to complete the Corporal Works of Mercy during the season of Lent. It is funny, it is real, it is thought provoking. And it has had me contemplating, "How merciful am I?"
I mean, when push comes to shove, when it is not Lent, or good deeds to cross off of a list, am I merciful?
When no one is looking, and nobody sees, am I showing mercy?
Kerry goes out of her comfort zone when it comes to mercy.
She spends a night...a full night...at a homeless shelter.
She wakes at ungodly hours to stand on a bread line with the truly hungry.
She opens her house to anyone...and I mean anyone...
and I do not know that I could do this.
With my life as it is, a mother of many and a household to run, I physically and logistically do not know how I can do this.
As I write, an old friend in need of a place to stay, who went to bed not feeling well, sleeps in the office.
And the coffee maker, after painfully giving birth to one last lukewarm, pathetic cup of coffee, died on me.
And as I type this, a little boy makes his way down the stairs, sleepy eyed, and will no doubt, want to be fed shortly.
The same little boy who woke me out of a dead sleep at 2am for a drink.
We think, and by we I mean me...that in order to do great things, to please God, to truly prove our love for Him, our efforts need to be huge, our acts of mercy off the charts impressive.
And that is only a sign of how little I know, understand and trust my God.
He knows my heart.
He knows what I am capable of.
And He gives me a mustard seed.
It really isn't about impressing Him with my works, but simply that I not forget Him in all that I do, and that I take action in any small way that this exhausted mom can.
You see, I believe there is opportunity for me to be mercy nearly every second of my God given day.
Fasting for others.
Caring for the sick.
Giving shelter to the homeless.
Drink to the thirsty.
Feeding the hungry.
I am not on a breadline.
I am not in a homeless shelter.
But I am alive today, and I will encounter many people, in my own home, and out on the streets.
People I love, people I do not know, people that annoy me, people that I would rather not run into at all.
And so this is my prayer for today:
I pray I do not ignore, close my eyes, or walk away from the simple mercy moments God gifts me with.
Because they are there. They are right here.
It is entirely up to me to recognize them, and respond.
It is up to me to see Jesus in everyone, and to be mercy.
I am nearly finished with Mercy In the City, by Kerry Weber. This book, like most of my favorite books, was a gift from a friend. It is about a young, single woman's quest to complete the Corporal Works of Mercy during the season of Lent. It is funny, it is real, it is thought provoking. And it has had me contemplating, "How merciful am I?"
I mean, when push comes to shove, when it is not Lent, or good deeds to cross off of a list, am I merciful?
When no one is looking, and nobody sees, am I showing mercy?
Kerry goes out of her comfort zone when it comes to mercy.
She spends a night...a full night...at a homeless shelter.
She wakes at ungodly hours to stand on a bread line with the truly hungry.
She opens her house to anyone...and I mean anyone...
and I do not know that I could do this.
With my life as it is, a mother of many and a household to run, I physically and logistically do not know how I can do this.
As I write, an old friend in need of a place to stay, who went to bed not feeling well, sleeps in the office.
And the coffee maker, after painfully giving birth to one last lukewarm, pathetic cup of coffee, died on me.
And as I type this, a little boy makes his way down the stairs, sleepy eyed, and will no doubt, want to be fed shortly.
The same little boy who woke me out of a dead sleep at 2am for a drink.
We think, and by we I mean me...that in order to do great things, to please God, to truly prove our love for Him, our efforts need to be huge, our acts of mercy off the charts impressive.
And that is only a sign of how little I know, understand and trust my God.
He knows my heart.
He knows what I am capable of.
And He gives me a mustard seed.
It really isn't about impressing Him with my works, but simply that I not forget Him in all that I do, and that I take action in any small way that this exhausted mom can.
You see, I believe there is opportunity for me to be mercy nearly every second of my God given day.
Fasting for others.
Caring for the sick.
Giving shelter to the homeless.
Drink to the thirsty.
Feeding the hungry.
I am not on a breadline.
I am not in a homeless shelter.
But I am alive today, and I will encounter many people, in my own home, and out on the streets.
People I love, people I do not know, people that annoy me, people that I would rather not run into at all.
And so this is my prayer for today:
I pray I do not ignore, close my eyes, or walk away from the simple mercy moments God gifts me with.
Because they are there. They are right here.
It is entirely up to me to recognize them, and respond.
It is up to me to see Jesus in everyone, and to be mercy.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
grumbling
I wake up and swear that I won't do it.
Well, I don't literally wake up and swear. At least not since college, when I was late for brunch and couldn't find my meal card, and probably woke up in an unfamiliar dorm with a raging headache, and well then, yeah, I probably did swear as soon as I woke up. But that was a long time ago. I'd like to believe that I am now a new creation. But back to the point.
I wake up and swear I will not complain.
That I will not grumble.
Then cut to me, after morning Mass, and upon seeing my sweet friend who I have not seen in so long, I open my enormous mouth, and out it all pours.
You know, once in confession I asked the Priest if he could invent a contraption for my tongue; something to hold it still. He said he could try. I should really find him and see if he has made any progress.
Because the grumbling!
It comes all too easy.
Have you heard, we had horrible poison ivy?
And did you know, my kids nearly drove me to drive off of a cliff this summer?
And how about the mice and mites in my home?
Did I tell you about the dental visit with my kids and how much money their teeth are costing me?
How about the story about how I need a job?
Or the dead mouse under my stove?
Or the fact that I need to start dancing topless on tables just to afford drivers ed? (who am I kidding...I would never dance topless...I had four kids and nursed them all until they were 14...no one is paying for THAT!)
But honestly.
Why?
Why is it so easy to grumble.
To complain.
My daughter asked me while I was in mid conversation, "Why do you keep talking about the poison ivy?"
Why DO I keep talking???
I was struck by today's reading...
"How long will this wicked assembly grumble against me?" Numbers 13
I am that wicked assembly.
Even more eye opening to me was Monday's reading, when the children of Israel are lamenting about how good they used to have it! How the food was better! And now they are famished! And they say "we see nothing before us but this manna."
They forgot.
They already forgot how they were saved.
They already forgot the miracles.
When I grumble, and when I lament over my life, I, too forget.
I forget how I have been saved. Repeatedly so.
I forget where I have been.
I forget the miracles.
I see nothing before me...
I see no blessing
I see no gifts
I see no light
I see no Jesus
When I focus on what is wrong
what is hard
what is uncomfortable
what is unfair
what just flat out stinks
my heart hardens
I listen to all the wrong voices
I choose to walk according to my own will
And that walk is a walk through the wide open gate
that leads to darkness.
That poor friend of mine at church this morning.
Did I even ask how she was doing?
I think I did.
I might have.
I cannot remember.
Want to be my friend?
I sound awesome, right?
Good grief.
Jesus, my counselor...
help me.
Help me to stop grumbling.
Help me to search for you everywhere.
Help me to see you and hear you and take you with me everywhere I go.
Help me to always be grateful.
Help me to always remember the miracles.
And please Lord, silence my annoying tongue that gets a kick out of talking about me, and then me again, and then more and more of me...
I want to see nothing before me...but you.
I want others to not see me before them...but to see you.
Just shut me up, really, Lord.
Please, just shut me up.
Amen.
Well, I don't literally wake up and swear. At least not since college, when I was late for brunch and couldn't find my meal card, and probably woke up in an unfamiliar dorm with a raging headache, and well then, yeah, I probably did swear as soon as I woke up. But that was a long time ago. I'd like to believe that I am now a new creation. But back to the point.
I wake up and swear I will not complain.
That I will not grumble.
Then cut to me, after morning Mass, and upon seeing my sweet friend who I have not seen in so long, I open my enormous mouth, and out it all pours.
You know, once in confession I asked the Priest if he could invent a contraption for my tongue; something to hold it still. He said he could try. I should really find him and see if he has made any progress.
Because the grumbling!
It comes all too easy.
Have you heard, we had horrible poison ivy?
And did you know, my kids nearly drove me to drive off of a cliff this summer?
And how about the mice and mites in my home?
Did I tell you about the dental visit with my kids and how much money their teeth are costing me?
How about the story about how I need a job?
Or the dead mouse under my stove?
Or the fact that I need to start dancing topless on tables just to afford drivers ed? (who am I kidding...I would never dance topless...I had four kids and nursed them all until they were 14...no one is paying for THAT!)
But honestly.
Why?
Why is it so easy to grumble.
To complain.
My daughter asked me while I was in mid conversation, "Why do you keep talking about the poison ivy?"
Why DO I keep talking???
I was struck by today's reading...
"How long will this wicked assembly grumble against me?" Numbers 13
I am that wicked assembly.
Even more eye opening to me was Monday's reading, when the children of Israel are lamenting about how good they used to have it! How the food was better! And now they are famished! And they say "we see nothing before us but this manna."
They forgot.
They already forgot how they were saved.
They already forgot the miracles.
When I grumble, and when I lament over my life, I, too forget.
I forget how I have been saved. Repeatedly so.
I forget where I have been.
I forget the miracles.
I see nothing before me...
I see no blessing
I see no gifts
I see no light
I see no Jesus
When I focus on what is wrong
what is hard
what is uncomfortable
what is unfair
what just flat out stinks
my heart hardens
I listen to all the wrong voices
I choose to walk according to my own will
And that walk is a walk through the wide open gate
that leads to darkness.
That poor friend of mine at church this morning.
Did I even ask how she was doing?
I think I did.
I might have.
I cannot remember.
Want to be my friend?
I sound awesome, right?
Good grief.
Jesus, my counselor...
help me.
Help me to stop grumbling.
Help me to search for you everywhere.
Help me to see you and hear you and take you with me everywhere I go.
Help me to always be grateful.
Help me to always remember the miracles.
And please Lord, silence my annoying tongue that gets a kick out of talking about me, and then me again, and then more and more of me...
I want to see nothing before me...but you.
I want others to not see me before them...but to see you.
Just shut me up, really, Lord.
Please, just shut me up.
Amen.
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