Holiness in the ordinary

O, how everything that is suffered in love is healed again. Saint Teresa of Avila

 Over the years as I was raising my family I often wondered how I could ever possibly attain holiness amidst runny noses, surly children, broken appliances, mountains of dirty dishes, my own crankiness, cabin fever and loneliness? How is holiness possible, after barking at your spouse because he failed to read your mind (again)? How is holiness even possible when all you want to do is run away, even though you absolutely haven't the energy to do so? 

Not to run from them so much as to flee from your own failure to make everyone happy, to keep from pulling out your hair, or to keep up with the laundry, and the cooking, and the driving hither and yon, or simply to scrub the sparkle back into your sinks and shower walls? 

Especially when you know, more than anything, that you really need to scrub that sparkle back into your soul?

You know, HE loves us in those difficult moments (in all moments), more than anyone else does or is even capable. He loves us - you - infinitely and eternally. Despite yourself, just the way you are. Right here and now, where you are, knee-deep in struggle or maybe even over-your-head.

He invites you to holiness despite, and especially in, the ordinary, every day. In those up-hill battles you wage with your loved ones, but mostly with yourself. In your failure to love your family and yourself perfectly.

He invites you to offer yourself and not only all that is good - when you easily find joy and life runs smoothly, but all that seems bad, too, - the hardship that you may experience on any given day and in any moment. All of your ennui, frustration, disappointment, discomfort, pain and sorrow. He never refuses the suffering you pour out to Him to unite with His own. 

He invites you to Love in the ordinary

 and in so doing, you will become holy. 

Jesus remind me that your most important work took place 

during your passion and death. 

Draw me to your Holy Cross, so that I may enter into your salvific work. 

Hide me within your wounds.

Remind me that I am made holy as I feed my hungry family and give drink to the thirsty toddler.

Remind me that I am made holy by washing and drying and ironing their clothing 

so that they don't go naked. 

Because sometimes I forget.

 

Remind me that I am made holy by providing them shelter 

and caring for them when they are not well, even when they're all grown up. 

Remind me that I am made holy when I do my best to instruct them in the faith 

and counsel them when they are doubtful. 

Because sometimes it's hard. Very hard.

 

Remind me that I am made holy when I comfort them in their sorrow 

and when I forgive them for hurting me.

Remind me that I am made holy when I offer prayers for them - multiple times a day. 

Remind me when I whisper those prayers to you with a heart that is still

and when I shout them to you in tears full of exasperation.

 Because sometimes I am way too hard on myself. 

Remind me, dear Jesus, of your infinite Mercy and your forgiveness when I do fail.

Because sometimes I have difficulty believing it.

 Remind me of your enduring Love.

And let me never forget your invitation, your call, to conversion.

And remind me, dear Jesus, to always answer that call.

Because sometimes I forget.