I normally don't write this late in the day. The last entry, I think needs re-doing, but I'm leaving it alone. When the time comes to put 'the book' together and tell the story a bit better...maybe when I know where I will be in a year...maybe then.
I've got "Whale Rider" on TV. A great movie about a little girl born to be a leader, but because she was a girl, her grandfather did not believe she could lead. Watched it yesterday. Pulled a Hannah in the Sanctuary this morning and then went to a Bible Study where I realized I've been pulling "Hannah's" for some time, and then came home to lunch, hit play and there it was again: "Whale Rider."
Where do we belong? Who are we? What does God require? Add the phrase "of women" and the answers change dramatically.
Each morning of late, I stand before the dawn at the church, before I enter into the church, and pray St Patrick's Breastplate. Nothing quite like it at dawn. Christ before me. Christ in me. Christ on my right. Christ on my left. And all those other wonderful words: I arise today...in the belief in the threeness, in the confession of the oneness of the creator of creation.
And the sun shines on me. Or not. But if I don't pray it, my day just doesn't feel right.
Many times, I play the piano...usually three "Hail Marys" along with a silent recitation of the Angelus. Depends on how scared I am of the people who now keep showing up earlier and earlier to Mass. They like it when I play. They tolerate the wrong notes, but now they are comfortable enough with me to know when its a "good" day or a "bad" day with my music. I haven't mastered putting people out of my mind as I play. I admire any musician who can play for an audience. It still terrifies me.
Today I prayed. I stood at the altar, my back to the dawn, my face to the crucifix and a stillness came over me and I felt heavy, thinking if I could, I would turn to liquid and melt into the altar. Why, I can't tell you. I wept in just realizing the gift of my own life. And I wept for all the pain in the world. And I remembered staining the altar on 18th street with my tears 15 years ago. I wondered why I was still doing this. Why is it so satisfying and cleansing to weep?
I turned to the dawn and saw the lady who arrives sometimes before me, walking with her cane back to her car. She comes every morning to replace the votive candles that rest below the statues of Mary and St Joseph and St Elizabeth and some others. Her job is to make sure that when people come to pray, they have a candle to light.
Every day she comes. Sets the candles up and goes home.
I looked at her from the altar and wept more. I was watching beauty. I was watching the Body of Christ. He wasn't just next to me. He wasn't just before me. He was completely surrounding me. He was still in the pews that were empty at that moment, He was on the altar, before the altar, outside in the woman, in the tree and in the sun and in the sparkling of the stained glass windows.
Beauty. Grace. Mercy. Joy.
And when I'm around, tears.
Do I belong at the altar? God calls me there. God joins me there. But as a woman, do I belong there? I can't answer that question. But when I am there, the Father and I are One. I feel it. I know it. It is truth.
And what I receive there is more than peace or consolation, it seems even greater than love if there is a thing greater than love. It fills me up and says Go and do likewise. It alone makes me beautiful...or at least believe I am beautiful. And it shows me how deeply connected we are to each other.
So when no one looking and I think God and I are alone, I will return there and receive whatever He chooses to share...
and I'm kind of thinking, if I can just be open enough...that would be everything. He would share everything with me.
And being a woman simply wouldn't be an issue for Him.
Be brave. Ask for the miracle. Then open your hands to catch it!
Love, Cindy
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