The last few weeks have been more than a little challenging. I have entertained the idea of running away, to the point of considering both heaven and hell as optional places of destiny. God seems to be demanding a greater obedience of me, which, in His usual loving fashion, comes along with wonderful consolations...and mostly manageable desolations...thus far. This wife of His is getting more used to His needs, if God has needs...perhaps wants is a better word, but all words fail really. There is an understanding, a correction, and then more understanding, then more correction...and so it goes. But He does seem to say, without ceasing, "I love you." The discomfort truly is like having a baby...as referenced in John 16. There is pain, but you know in your heart, this kind of pain will produce fruit, so you accept it...even while it hurts.
It appears that the stories about specific events seem to generate the most interest. I guess that's why Jesus chose the parable. Had He spoken to people like Aquinas...I don't think Christianity would have ever succeeded! Being right means very little if no one can understand you. (this is a jab at the priests in my life, who have to love me no matter what) But truly, to reach someone, you need to speak, perhaps not their language, but in a language they can understand.
Recently, I've been praying in Latin. Let me be clear, I do not speak Latin, I have never studied Latin...my knowledge comes from spelling classes as a little girl, back when our definitions always included the Latin or Greek roots. I have an idea of Latin, but not much more. So I went to my priest friend and asked him, or made the statement, how easy it was for me to enter a contemplative state as I prayed in Latin....how good it made me feel...how connected to God. I told him I was confused, because I really didn't understand the words I was speaking...and we talked about it, the motion of the words, the flow, their connection to the romance languages...and the polyphonic manner of them. And of course, because I did not "know" the words, I had to concentrate that much harder on each one...my focus was intense...and the world disappeared...and there is happened, me and God were one again. What bliss! What peace! Delicious innocence!
So, without speaking words, God prepares me again for the next thing. I am sick of dealing with my reason, my pride, my jealousy and all the others things that get in my way...but still things get in my way. These days, I am almost immediately made aware of the foolishness of my own emotions. How quickly they change, how easily we are each misunderstood, and how "explaining things" doesn't always make it better. People will think what they want to think, no matter how much you try to explain things. A handful will be open to a new thought, but only a handful. The rest, well, are just not ready. What else did Duffy tell me? He affirmed I am really not connected to the world much anymore, and to not be afraid of that.
For a couple of years, perhaps for many years...when I am in His graces, other people want to be there, inside of it, too. And how I wish I could take them there, or show it to them...and let them enjoy what I have come to know...but too often, they kind of get stuck on me, rather than God. They confuse me with the real thing. What I mean is that, in friendships, I can only be so much of a friend these days. Like Yoda, "lay down my life, I would" for my friends, but try as they might...no one can get too close to me...for me, I understand that as, "what I have given God is His alone and belongs to no other man or woman." But I can still love and laugh and be present with others. It's just that, I always feel safest with "He who loves me best." Sometimes that can be manifest in another human being, but it is momentary, expedient, necessary for whatever work lies ahead for me...and the other person involved. As each day passes, I am less and less sad about what I have given up in light of what I have received.
I know you would like stories of the hospital perhaps...each day there, is more death experiences that life...and in the life experiences, there is death; in death there is life...but I suppose the more real we can be with each other, the more we feel God. Sitting with my priest friend, the first half hour or so, I found myself stumbling over my worries and concerns about things I was doing in my life that did not seem to be producing fruit. I was wanting from him practical solutions. But God had other planes. First, another priest entered the conversation, and we got to discussing Hebrew and Greek, our different ways of ministering and we laughed. This other priest is only beginning to understand who and what I am...he teaches me too, about a world I know so little of, on the other side of the world. Then he leaves us to our conversation...I try again and stumble through things I think I want to say...and fail. And God saves me, another person arrives. I offer her my seat and plan to excuse myself, but she is open to my presence. And the conversation becomes even more fascinating. I am sharing things I would never have shared when there was just two. And this woman, how easily she accepts me...how good that makes me feel...and we all speak our truths. And my priest friend gets to observe how I live my life. This will inform future conversations. He will now provide even greater insight for me. And what I have seen and heard, I know that also give him a gift. So I don't feel too bad about being there, I see and feel God's hand in it all. And I am always aware, always attentive to the reality that such a beautiful gift could end suddenly, abruptly...without any fanfare...but in my heart, I know I have done the right thing. I have done exactly what God asked me to do.
After the woman left, and all the foolish walls I had put up began to fall away, I spoke about what was most important...about the secrets of my prayer life and what God seemed to be doing to me and for me...and I was so excited that I had the courage to share it...authentically. And we seemed to crawl out of the negativity that was so pervasive in both of our lives and into the dawn. I know that sounds odd, but his illness is always with me, the pain he feels but I never ask about, because after all, he is a priest. I must always honor his vocation and he so perfectly honors mine. Truly a trinitarian experience that not everyone will understand. Yet, I wish we could all treat each other with so much respect. Authentic. Grateful. Humble. Blessed. I think we both found hope and joy and promise in God.
That said, this special friendship is not the only one I have, but perhaps the only one of which I am willing to write about now. I have other friends, who I love...but have not yet reached this understand with me, who understand how I completely belong to God. Well, I should say, what I know I have...I have given back to God. I am certain there is much more that I have that I have not given away...that I do not yet realize I am holding on to. For if I had given all myself back to God, I would not be here, would I? But I suppose I am motivated to write these words because there are people who want parts of me that I am no longer able to give away. There are conversations and things to do that I just can't do anymore. Even in my deep depressions, it seems, I cannot give in to certain things...because my brain sees the end of them, and what a waste it would be to entertain certain thoughts.
Some of these things, I am actually sad to let them go. It's not that they are bad, but they empty time. Some of them, I am not yet ready to release. I still want to write, because I still want others to want to try this life. I still want to teach...and oh my heavens to learn. To learn one must be vulnerable...to put an idea out there in space and be willing to hear that it might be wrong...or perhaps more frightening...to be right. But keeping it inside, we live in fantasy...making it right or wrong without external consult. Ignatius would not be pleased.
So to the title of this section: Message received. On Saturday, at the end of our Commissioning Mass for the ACTS retreat...at the most perfect moment, in silence, after Father had bowed at the altar, we all heard the voice, a female voice, from a cell phone, "Message received." And I almost began to laugh out loud. It was perfect. Here we were, celebrating the feast of Lourdes, with many people and a large group of women, committing themselves to hard work and evangelization...with the scripture readings overflowing with images of motherhood, of nursing babies, and holding them...and having that one particular boy grow into a man, who teases his mother, when she complains at the wedding feast..."They have no wine." and the boy looks at her and says to her"And your point is?" But she knows her son, the message was understood. "Do whatever He tells you." and through obedience to Mary's command, the water became wine. And not just any wine...good wine...the best wine...at the wedding...and then, at the Last Supper, when the apostles did not yet know it was the last one...the best wine was served again...that of God himself.
Message received: Do whatever He tells you.
You will not be disappointed.
Love, Cindy
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