But For Love

Each day is better than the one before.
That statement is a miracle. I suppose no one but God will get that.  No one can step into my life and know how completely alone I once was, to appreciate what a miracle it is that I can speak today a thank you from the deepest part of whatever it is that make me...me. 

How much I am willing to write here is still limited by my need to keep safe the gifts given to me, but I am compelled by God to speak in some way about it. Now I am aware of certain people reading my words, so I am inclned to hold back, lest I be misunderstood. I suppose there will be a day when God will command me to speak freely about some things, perhaps He is doing that now...but until I know more, I have to keep working it out as I am able.

Thomas a Kempis explains that feelings are unreliable, which is true, but they are authentic indicators that the Spirit of God moves within us.  It's just that our interpretations of what we feel, the mind's understanding, is not always so truthful.  We want what we want. We see what we want to see. We draw conclusions that support our theories...and if our theories are not based in truth...then all sorts of unfortnuate things will happen. 

I spent the night with the guests of the Missionaries of Charity.  We had some revealing conversations out in the yard...discussions of how and why the pregnancies occurred, how many children...and I was saddened to learn that many of the fathers were in jail. The conversations were oddly not judgmental. The discussion kept going, I shared in with the 'foolish assumptions' I had in my youth...and then I asked the question, by not asking the question, that was in the front of my mind:

"I suppose I was looking for someone to approve of me. I wanted my father to love me, to say that he loved me...and since I couldn't get that, I looked for it elsewhere."  

That comment opened a door. Everyone was completely engaged. What I learned was that none of these women had any fathering...good fathering...ever.  One said her dad has been in jail for 17 years and she has seen him only a few times.  Another said that she wanted to talk with her father about important stuff and he would brush her off, or just help her to get high. Some just sat quiet but listening intently, while the children played.

I waited for them to make a another connection. Then I heard the holy words, "I don't want my daugher to grow up like that." 

But for love, this world and everything in it would be condemned to hell. But for love, we would never know anything but hunger and want. But for love, loneliness would be the only authentic feeling our brains could understand. But for love, many would die by their own hands. But for love, existence would arrive and end without meaning.  But for love, real life would not exist.

For love, we are here. For love, we risk. For love, we give and forgive.  For love, we serve one another. For love, we do not stay hungry, naked or alone. For love, we bring life from life.  For love, we sacrifice. For love, life has meaning and purpose.

In a conversation yesterday, about an upcoming movie, I can't recall the name of the movie...it is about a young woman who realizes she was an aborted baby that survived and went in search of her mother. I found myself weeping deeply, thinking about that.
It's taken almost 24 hours to understand my own tears.  The feeling then now has a name: In my heart, I am not much more than an aborted fetus, looking for my mother. I did meet her and she died, by her own hand...those are the facts...but I am still looking for her...I am looking for her love, for her approval, for her hand in mine, to rest my head on her chest and hear her heart beating, to have her sing me to sleep...even at age 55...those are deep, deep hungers inside me.  And nothing can make them go away.

But for love, I can live with them...because others, who were not required to love me...have loved me anyway.  I stand within myself and feel the goodness of that love.  I stand outside myself and see the miracle that it is: to be loved.

For real love is all that Corinthian stuff: it is given without expectation of anything in return. It fills the soul and it's taste is sweet. It is without burden, it is free. It is more than enough...and giving it away only makes it grow more deeply inside. It does not attached but is deeply connected. It is a perfect appreciation of the gift of being alive.  It is the onlysalvation we can know while we are in these bodies. 

One of the guests understood this idea. I watched her as she spoke of her understanding that the past, her past, was not going to be in charge of her life anymore. That she knew what mattered and how she would move forward...and how she felt called to help others out of hell.  I watched the other women listen to her and marveled at God's work. 

So I guess that explains my tears this morning, during a Latin Mass, in which the priest, who read the gospel in Latin, by my sweet Sister Anima Christi, held her prayer book close to me and let me read along...of Susannah...and the woman found in adultery and brought to Jesus...

What was, is no more. What you had lost, has been returned to you. Remember the mercy given. Remember the love you feel in this moment. then go and do likewise.

Love, Cindy