Moon-set

After Mass last night, I had a wonderful visit with new friends. I am just overwhelmed with the feelings of love I have for all the 'new' people in my life. I am truly convicted by John of the Cross' thesis: in order to have everything, one must desire to possess nothing. I derived this idea from his writings, "The Ascent of Mount Carmel."
During my second year of seminary, when I began to realize that I was actually going to succeed at getting my Masters of Divinity degree, I began to fear the true cost of the degree. Not monetary cost, but the 'price of knowledge' cost.
Two, or maybe three, of my professors watched and listened to my struggles. I am thinking Ed Sylvest put up with the most from me. I would sit in his office, his Methodist office, where statues and portraits of Mother Mary abounded, and he would close his eyes and smile as I would describe my very Catholic spirituality in a very Methodist school, but never once would he say to me, "You really should..." and take the responsibility of my choice off of me. Prof. Clifton Black connected me with a wonderful spiritual director in Grand Prairie...a wonderful Catholic spiritual director, who after three visits, told me that I was Catholic and needed to return to Holy Communion...and then I left her behind, believing that it just wasn't that important.
Then God hit me with Fr. Duffy who introduced me to Mark Link. I was surrounded by two Jesuits who were older and wiser and knew how to talk to a stubborn woman like me. Duffy laughed his way through my conversion and Mark Link provided arguments that I could not refute.
So what have I written here about those "first communions" when I returned to that life as a Catholic? Perhaps I have already bored you with those stories. Some days I have to pray to God as I walk in the line to the priest, "Please God, don't let me pass out up there." I can realize what is happening in receiving Communion, but only so far, in the presence of others. Back at St Marks, where nobody knew me, I could walk right out of the sanctuary and into the chapel and 'go ahead and feel' the gift of the sacrament. That was always nice and perfect.
But a person always has to change her behavior just a little, every time, so no one will know what is really happening. I suppose that is, until someone writes it down.

I am writing fiction all the time, right...just fiction. :-)

So last night, after laughing all too long with wonderful new friends, I began my private prayers much too late for my own good. They were different, they were what I would call my 'deep woods' prayers. These are prayers that I sing, perhaps a little too loudly and perhaps my notes aren't even close to being correct, but deep in the woods, I know only the animals and God hear me. The animals don't mind and God loves my wrong notes and words. The world, however, has other ideas about proper ways to pray.

So I went into my deep woods prayers and then found myself back on the ground again, deeply drowning in God's perfect love and not wanting to leave it. The word deep seems to prevail because, in the past, I felt God holding only the back of my head, as He often does...it is always a warning to me, kind of a 'something wonderful this way comes' kind of feeling and then it is so important to remain still and not be distracted by anyone or anything that enters the area. One can always say no to a union, and I know friends who have said no...but for me, I try to accept all gifts that come to me, unless I am driving or something like that.

Last night, the prayer was not just resting in His Hands, but I felt my entire brain being cherished. Kind of strange words I suppose, but I am hoping they might help someone who is walking the same path...I felt as if the neurons and dendrons...or whatever those synapses are called, were beginning to connect in new ways. It was so wonderful and not scary. I rested in it, hoping that God might 'reconnect' me so that I could be of more service to Him in my daily work. Perhaps he wiring me to listen better and love more.

And then I thought: I am lying on the ground. It is late at night. I look above me at the night sky and I can see Canis Major, but no, its Leo I see, and his large paws and I'm thinking I never saw that before. I'm thinking I really need to get up, but I don't want to. If God is 'fixing' me to be a better servant then I need to stay where I am and wait. "Let it never be about me, Lord." And then part of me begs for discernment. Let this be from God. I am on holy ground, right? I should be safe enough. How could I be feeling such peace and love if it was not from You, Lord? But one should always be wise during these things...if that is possible.

And other things happen, words are exchanged, many thanks are given...and the air is so delightfully still...and even the dog across the alley has gone to sleep...I breathe in the days, so rich and full of blessings, recall the moments in my head, wondering what parts God might want me to use and then I laugh...He wants me to use all of it silly woman! All of it is a gift! How can you think otherwise? What have you held that did not come from Me? What feeling did you know that I did not give to you? Exactly which breath did you take on your own? Silly woman! Abide in Me. The rest will all make sense...or not, but let it go. Rest in Me.

And then I go to my car, only I forgot where I parked. I laugh again.
Then I see my car. And off to the side, the crescent moon is a gentle orange color, just barely above the horizon. I think of Luke and his quest. I think of Don Quixote and his quest. And I think about my quest. It's all going to work, you know, with or without me...and whether I succeed or fail doesn't really matter. What matters is that I tried. That is a gift acceptable to God.

John 16:33 "In this world you will have hardship, but take care, I have conquered the world!"

Love, Cindy