Sunday, January 30, 2011

Let go, let God

 " ... is it possible the cry of my heart dont reach yours; I carry your beloved name before the tabernacle and repeat it there as my prayer, in torrents of tears which our God alone understands - " (Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton, Letter to her son, William, 23 July,1820)
 
The still sticky-wet snow lays thick upon everything hushing the world and me. Leaving heart prints whose shadows run scared, although they have been whispered here before. Days long past echo sometimes through time reminding of things I had done when I was young and should have known better. Did know better. St. Francis, I am told, continued to grieve past sins long after he accepted Mercy. God's forgiveness and his own. He continued all of his life to practice deep contrition spilling tears upon tears over his compliance in Christ's passion and death. This same saint who is purported to have experienced deep ecstasy at contemplating the complexity of a simple blade of grass. I have spilled tears, too, hard, leaden, using Cover-Girl to fill in the deep grooves. Eyes swollen over the offending and, then, in the understanding of how much He. loves. me. still and eternally. Over how He scooped me up in arms wide; a squandering daughter returning. He running and scooping; me melting in shame into Him. Father, I have sinned against you. He melting the shame. And now my only son - wayward, knowing better and me blaming, searching, aching, clinging desperately to hope and ceaselessly praying. Let go, let God. Have I? The boy has let God go. I must have done something wrong.

"Just wait," she, a woman I once knew, sneered, "until they are teens or young adults. You'll see - they will abandon their faith, too. Just like all mine did." All five.
"No, not mine!" I fired back, but not for hearing. "Mine are different, raised right. Mine will never leave. They know better!" Puffed up by pride - or not - I actually believed it.
"What is wrong with boys these days?" My mother laments, referring too, to sons and other grandsons.
Well meaning friends offer, "He'll come around. He's just finding his way."
His groping will leave scars. He, stubborn, unyielding, head hard as cement, creates unnecessary burden. He is not a bad kid. I know this. He is smart, handsome. You can fall into his eyes, sapphire like deep pools. His heart is kind. He often seeks to shelter others, to feed his friends; to lend a hand to make things easier, better for them.  He was the one, when his sister lay bed-ridden not able to care for her own babe, barely able to walk, not able sometimes, who insisted. Words strong with conviction, "I want to do this, Mom. I want to help take care of my nephew." Once he fed bread and the Word to drunks and homeless men in the misty, wee hours of West Virginia mornings, promising them God's love. But it was not enough. It is not enough to be kind-hearted. I wish he had never gone to that God forsaken place. (Why did I let him, send him?) He wasn't ready for the battlefield. Wasn't fully girded. Too raw, too undisciplined, too attracted to bad, too tempted. And it squashed him. Pulled him in promising fun. Turning away is fun; sin is fun. So says Satan. But not really. Not for long. Not forever. Truth knows and my prodigal self knows, too, all too well. I am glad he is home, relieved. And at times I wish he'd move out. Those words sting sharp - seem like curse words almost. He squanders and I want to save him. Have I failed to pay close enough attention? Like when he was barely one and reached his hand up to touch the fiery hot underbelly of the barbecue grill? Tiny little hand singed forever in my guilt-filled mind. Let go, let God.

Long ago, the holy man Abraham climbed that Moriah mountain, carrying the knife and the fire for the slaughter, placing the wooden bundle of sacrifice upon his Isaac's shoulder. The promised son born late to a long waiting Abraham and Sarah. Yahweh instructs, "Take your son Isaac, your only one, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah. There you shall offer him up as a holocaust on a height that I will point out to you." (Gen 22:2, emphasis added)  In the preparation, in the stacking of the wood and the placing of his son, hog-tied, upon the altar did Abraham recall Isaac's first step? His first word? The days spent teaching his son about obedience and trust in God, about dangers in the wilderness, about the days of Sodom and Gomorrah? About Lot's wife looking back?

God's command seems so bizarre, so cruel. So heinous. But Abraham passes God's test and Isaac is spared. Abraham's unwavering obedience proves love of God above all else. And he is rewarded. "I will bless you abundantly and make your descendants as countless as the stars of the sky and the sands of the seashore; your descendants shall take possession of the gates of their enemies." (Gen 22:17)

I am wildly in love with them, my kids. And I know He is the Source, the eternal Spring from whence my love flows. He asks me, too, to give them whom I love back to Him. After all, they are His, first and foremost. Can I in obedience let go of my Isaacs? Offer them on His altar? Let go, let God. Even when that child, no longer a child, is tumbling, topsy-turvy, spinning tether-less and all I want to do is hang on, knuckles white with the grasping. Let go, let God. Will my obedience, too, be rewarded?

Faith does not leap aimless. It is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.(Hebrews 11:1) And so, I hope for all wayward sons, my own and others. Pray, too, for their mothers quick to blame themselves. God does not wail like me, "I must have done something wrong" when we turn our backs to Him. When we lose sight of Him, it is our doing. He continues to keep watch, to Love and He waits for us to come home. And when we do, He is there with arms open wide. And so, I will let go and let God, and entrust my son to him. And continue to pray, to love, to watch and to wait ready for the embrace.


Friday, January 28, 2011

A Walk in the Snow



Who giveth snow like wool: scattereth mists like ashes. Psalm 147:16


He commandeth the snow to go down upon the earth, and the winter rain, and the shower of his strength. Job 37:6

And he was transfigured before them. And his face did shine as the sun: and his garments became white as snow. Matthew 17:2


The glory of Libanus shall come to thee, the Ar tree, and the box tree, and the pine tree together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary: and I will glorify the place of my feet. Isaiah 60:13


O ye ice and snow, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. Daniel 3:70

And with you perhaps I shall abide, or even spend the winter: that you may bring me on my way whithersoever I shall go. 1 Corinthians 16:6

As the cold of snow in the time of harvest, so is a faithful messenger to him that sent him, for he refresheth his soul. Proverbs 25:13

And then come, and accuse me, saith the Lord: if your sins be as scarlet, they shall be made as white as snow: and if they be red as crimson, they shall be white as wool. Isaiah 1:18


Fire, hail, snow, ice, stormy winds which fulfill his word: Psalm 148:8


He hath cut down cedars, taken the holm, and the oak that stood among the trees of the forest: he hath planted the pine tree, which the rain hath nourished. Isaiah 44:14



All Verses are from the Douay-Rheims Bible

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Teach me Joy

"Whoever shall devoutly recall to me the joy I felt upon uttering the words, 'Behold the handmaid of the Lord,' I will most truly show him that I am his mother, and unfailingly I will succor him." - The Blessed Mother to St. Gertrude


O blessed Mary, my mother, Queen of Joy,
As I finger each stone polished smooth, I offer you 
my heart, my soul.
You invite me
to enter your own.
Here you teach me joy.

There is suffering in the joy.
An annunciation and an ardent yes,
life-changing for you, for all of us.
Your soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
 knows, too, of the coming travail.

In Joy
you withdraw, along parched road to bring comfort to your kinswoman,
honored to serve and to love.
Joy bounds in belly swollen as her babe leaps
in recognition of the Emmanuel warming your own.

God's own son, Emmanuel
Your own, too, God-with-us,
welcomed to earth by sleepy-eyed bovine and bleating fleece.
O the Joy that awakens an unconscious and wounded world!
And they come hither and yon to see for themselves,
to savor the Glory and share this Joy.

O, my Queen , you are also our Mother of Sorrows
Was Joy extinguished by the way of His cross,
as you carried that weight with each beat of your heart
pierced at the sight of His body all bloodied and scourged?

Did it find you, still, amid the Passion,
bearing you,
allowing your eyes to kiss 
His face swollen and bruised?
Did Joy take wing, sweet sorrowing Mother,
as your lips met His sacred feet bolted fast to splintering wood?

Dearest Mother, 
you knew in your sorrowing heart,
in the depths of your magnifying soul, of the Joy abandonment brings.
His own abandonment at Golgotha found you steadfast
in the sweet, soothing rhythms of love caressing Him 
 as Mercy rained down upon the earth
drenching mankind in a promise 
and 
Hope

You are our Queen of Joy
because He is Risen,
He has trampled death.
Because He promises us all a share in 
His Resurrection.
And so, the hope of our faith is realized
and I, too, rejoice.

I, too, rejoice
even when worry lays heavy and 
words sear.
Joy in the face of rejection and loss
and disappointment.
It exists in the abandonment,
In the eternal, forever 
abandonment.

Blessed Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Queen of Rejoicing
continue to teach me to live
Joy.




Saturday, January 22, 2011

Daybook on January 22

FOR TODAY


OUTSIDE MY WINDOW

It is a biting 15 degrees. The sky is white; everything is draped in varying shades of wintry grays and browns.

I AM WEARING

Black yoga pants, a gray sweatshirt and tan moccasin slippers. I resemble the world outside, yet my heart beats warm.

ON PANDORA

Piano Radio

AROUND THE HOUSE

In the bedrooms upstairs, bodies begin to stir, some remain tucked beneath cozy quilts too drowsy to rise or perhaps too shy. Belmont Abbey College girls here for the weekend; here to commemorate the anniversary of Roe v Wade; here to March in protest on Monday and in Hope.

FROM THE KITCHEN

The smell of morning coffee fills the house. Comforting. Welcoming.

I AM HEARING

Occasional footsteps. Water rushing down pipes and doors opening and closing. Soon their voices will rise and fall and the girl giggles will expose anticipation of a weekend jam-packed with activities.

I AM READING

Essays by G.K.Chesterton 

And I am still happily, dwelling on the words and in the heart of 
Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton

I AM HOPING AND PRAYING

With every inch of my being for my son who is traveling along a precarious path. Perhaps, I hope, it is simply a detour. Perhaps he will (re)discover and follow the one and only true sign directing him home.

I AM THANKFUL

That Megan and her friends made it home after a long drive involving bad directions and missed turns.

That Katie is doing so well, is back in her own home and loving every moment of caring for her Sam and dear, little Isaac. 

That Kevin is still here and talks to me.
For Erin and her practicality and her humor.
For my husband who helped ready the bedrooms for our young guests. And for his presence in my life. For hugging and kissing me and telling me the pot roast I made on Monday was the best I've ever made. And for loving me despite my moods and tendency to brood too long.

For Jesus in His real, true Eucharistic Presence.

Thank you, Jesus!

I AM PONDERING

Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his only son, whom he loved with all his heart. The other day, I stumbled upon this excerpt, from When I lay My Isaac Down, by Carol Kent: 

"Our 'Isaacs' are the heart sacrifices we make when we choose to relinquish control and honor God with our choices when all seems lost. We have to decide if we will let go of our control over a person, situation, or event, or if we will hang on for dear life and refuse to relinquish something we cherish."

A FEW PLANS FOR THE WEEKEND

Hospitality. Hanging out with Katie and Isaac later today. Celebrating the joy of Baptism on Sunday with dear friends. Ready to welcome a precious little soul - another dear child of God - into the arms of our dear Mother Church. This blessed event reminds, too, on this weekend - this day - of the senseless and countless loss of life through abortion. We remember that all life is sacred and we - all of us - are really and truly, first and foremost His children. We belong to Him.

A child is a gift of God. If you do not want him, give him to me.

Mother Teresa


A PICTURE THOUGHT



Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Small Steps, Big Strides

The fruits of the Spirit are perfections that the Holy Spirit forms in us as the first fruits of eternal glory. The tradition of the Church lists twelve of them: "charity, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, generosity, gentleness, faithfulness, modesty, self-control, chastity." (para 1832, Catechism of the Catholic Church)


For years I craved it, sought it, absolutely longed for it. At first, I thought if I righted all the wrong I had done, it would happen automatically. It did not. Just as a child must learn first to creep, then to crawl and finally to stand alone upon two wobbly legs before taking those first small steps, I've had to learn Joy. 
Joy, I have found out, is not the same as happiness. Many things in life make me happy - a clean house, watching a good movie, a day off with no errands to run. Happy is certainly good, but fleeting like a butterfly lighting upon one flower to the next.  Joy is eternal. Joy is supernatural. Joy must be lived. It's not passive.  Joy, I have learned, cannot reside in my heart until I empty myself of myself; until I cease living for myself and live for others instead. When He alone reigns in my heart and in my soul, Joy comes and begs relationship. I cannot and will not grow in Joy unless I enter into prayer with my Father. Without meditation, without contemplation, without Jesus in His Eucharistic presence I cannot continue to learn Joy. It takes Grace and my cooperation with it.

Invariably, because I am human, because I am a still a child, there are moments when I tumble and fall - moments of selfishness and frustration when I can taste the sting of ugly words hurled at loved ones even before they leave my lips; moments of anxiety and lack of trust or of complete and utter exhaustion leaving me no patience. There are moments, too, of heartbreak - sometimes profound - or of deep struggle; dark moments when all I can do is beg deeply for the light. Yet, He remains unchanged, my constant, offering Love and Mercy to lift me on my feet and steady my gait. In my childlike acceptance, I once again find Joy, pure and beautiful not only in the smallest of moments, yet even amidst great crisis; even in suffering.

And so, in looking back over the years since I first sought Joy, I realize that each small step - one just as precious as the next - has lead to great strides toward a Father whose arms are opened wide for the embracing.



(c) 2011 Darby C. Fitzpatrick




Thursday, January 6, 2011

Three Kings Daybook

And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them, until it came and stopped over the place where the child was. They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. (Matthew 2:9-11)
Outside my window
I see winter in all her glory. The pines and cedars stand prominent now sharing the promise of evergreen. A telltale sign of Hope to those who have eyes to see, of a life to come - a life everlasting. The Burford hollies along the side of the house are heavy with a profusion of bright red berries, providing a ready reminder of the abundance of Joy to be found even in winter.
I am wearing
Still in my p.j.'s and slippers
On Pandora
Christmas music. Because, no matter what anyone tells you, it is still Christmas!
Around the house
Christmas is everywhere ... in every room. The three Kings have arrived! I am considering keeping my creche up until the Feast of the Purification on February 2.
From the kitchen
The dishwasher is kaput. Washed it's last load last night. My husband wants to take me shopping for a new one tonight. I just want the new one to leave my glasses and dishes sparkling and I'd like the machine to be very quiet. I've been studying many dishwasher reviews and find that there are really too many good choices. It is too overwhelming.
I am hearing
Eight month old Isaac squealing and cooing as he rolls around the floor and practices getting up on all fours. He hasn't quite figured out how to move forward, but can scoot along backwards just fine. He is growing so fast.
I am reading
Long live Christmas  - because it is still Christmas! In the past I have been saddened by how quickly the world stops celebrating Christ's nativity. "It only just began!" I would wail. But this year is different. "Go ahead, put away your tinsel and throw your trees to the curb! I know a secret and I share it with my friends and I share it with my God and all the saints and angels, too! The celebration continues and we are keeping it in our hearts and in our homes even though you claim it is over and you beg us to douse our twinkling lights and throw away our wreaths." And I am glad. Glad to be in on this secret and happy to continue the feast!
I am creating
I want to sit with my husband, an engineer, and design a house. A future house perhaps, or maybe one that will simply exist in our dreams. I know what I want in a house and I think between the two of us we could actually design it.
I am hoping and praying
That someone very close to me finds his way back. That's all I will say for now.
I am pondering
The mention of women in the genealogy of Jesus from Matthew's Gospel. Specifically, Pope Benedict's exegesis on the text from a book I received from my godson, The Blessings of Christmas. Perhaps later I'll find more time to expound - it is fascinating!
 I am thankful
For everything.
A picture thought

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Resolved

"The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul." G.K. Chesterton
I don't often make New Year's resolutions, but my friend Kathy at Faith on the High Wire is hosting a New Year's Resolution "Linky Party" and her invitation to 'attend' has given me an opportunity to consider making new promises to myself, to God, and to share my thoughts here.


We measure our lives by the passing of years. I am 50 years old. I have been married for 25 years. This year my grandson will celebrate his first birthday. Some events are celebrated joyfully and others are marked by sadness or simple nostalgia. I am sure there is nothing wrong with looking forward to special events, beach vacations, going out to dinner, or retirement, but I'm beginning to think that I am way too attached to my anticipation of certain events and to my expectations of how they will unfold. I expect that grandbabies will be born on or near their due dates, and that their mommies will never become too ill to care for them. I expect that daughters will graduate from high school and head to cosmetology school because all she's talked about for the past year is how much she loves to style hair. I expect that sons will drop out of college, but not drop out of Church. If I've learned anything in 2010 it is that although it is beneficial to make plans, I mustn't cling to them; mustn't own them, because God always has other plans.

And so, I have come up with only one resolution - to live my life from one moment to the next. I don't mean merely to exist from one moment to the next, swaddled by indifference and boredom, tackling one perfunctory task after another like some lifeless automaton. No, I will not wish my life away - beginning my Monday wishing it were Friday and complaining that weekends are never long enough or relying on the anticipation of an upcoming event  to motivate me to merely muddle through the next few months. I resolve really and truly to live my life from one moment to the next; to seek Him each and every day; to find Him everywhere, in every situation; to invite Him into my simple, ordinary, very little life and abide with Him there. And to be a most gracious host, grateful for His coming. Always grateful for the gifts He brings, particularly the gift of the present moment.