Her Name Was Mary

I sweep straw into piles, thoughts full of Mary. I met Mary today, a beautiful woman with a bleeding heart. Mary, the woman with a story; Mary, the woman sitting by the hot tub at the gym; she has sores that are festering open and I am repulsed. But there is something in her eyes-  windows to a soul aching to empty.

I hold her hopeful gaze, and she releases:

"I had three babies, but one died as an infant. She was born too soon, and she wasn't all the way formed. I got to hold her in my arms and hear her cry before she died.

The nurses let me be alone with her, and I said, 'please don't take her away. This is the only time I have with her.' Well they left me to be with her, and I saw my little girl open her deformed mouth, trying to breathe. She had one big curled beautiful black lock on her forehead and the tiniest little eyelashes curled up. She was breathing her last. I quickly rang the nurses' bell, and they ran in and whisked my baby out of the room. I started to scream: 'My baby! My baby! Don't take my baby! Just let me be with her a little longer!'

But they took her and I was a mad woman, screaming and sobbing. Then the next thing I knew they were sticking needles into my leg,  and I didn't wake up for six hours. They thought it was all too hard for me, and thought it would help to put me to sleep. But it just made it worse. When I woke up, I looked over and saw that empty bassinet, and I didn't know what had happened to my baby. It started all over again. They told me if I didn't calm down, I would have to be put out again.

Forty-three years ago that happened, and it's like it was yesterday. There's some things you just never get over. I couldn't bear to have any more children after that. it was just too painful....
But you learn to go on, and you do heal."

 Mary, I feel your pain. The pain of Calvary cradled in your arms, infant breathing last. The pain of a throbbing humanity wanting release, freedom from the sadness and suffering. Mary, Do you know that your name means "bitter?" And how can you not be bitter? You smile gracefully as you bare the wounds of a gouged heart; somehow the telling brings peace, closure.

Here am I, a passing stranger, and you trust me with the gift of soul, with the oozing of emotions made raw and vulnerable in this sharing. I am ashamed that I had only seen the sores. I am unworthy of naked-soul-gift.

I think of a Mary keeping vigil at the foot of a cross, and she is not bitter either; God's grace shrouded her in a life that should have reaped bitterness and resentment, but instead heralded Salvation. How can I, a floundering soul, reject bitterness and live a life that pleases God? What does He want from me? From Us?

Daily encounters are teaching me well. There are so many hungry people everywhere, just wanting someone to talk to - someone who cares enough to sit long and look past sores to the heart that bleeds. I need to be that someone. You need to be that someone. God calls all of us to be that person who is going to deliver his children to Him. And today...Today I was the one that was blessed, I was the one delivered.

"The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me" ~Matthew 25:40

He Always Will

photo credit: Ben Smithdeal

A dear friend of mine posted this Bible verse on my Face book "wall" this morning:

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden; nor does anyone light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on the lamp stand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven. "
~Matthew 5:14-16

I was so glad she did that because I have been thinking about this verse all day.

This is what Lent is: illuminating  a shadowed world with the brilliance of His light. God does not shower us with His grace so that we can seal it away, hoard it within.

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

Let me tell you about a lovely woman named Francis. I was standing in line yesterday with all the children in the customer service center at Walmart. Not my idea of fun. Anyway, Anna had quite the get- up on. We had just come from the gym  (she calls it the "YMZ"), and she was sporting this tie-dyed tank top with a sequin peace sign on it. Some how she managed to snatch it out of the 'give away bag ' and she said it's her "YMZ outfit."

So we were standing there, Anna all dudded up, when a woman across the room says (looking at Anna),

 "Ooooh! I love that shirt. Where did you find that cute top? That's really different."

I told the woman that we had been given the shirt as a hand-me-down. She looked at me, smiling, and then:

"I always did handy-downs (that's what she called them) with my kids. And I always bought nice clothes for my kids. So when they was done with them, I jest passed the blessin' on to someone else. That's the way it always works. I give and give and God he jest blesses me more than I ever give.

I had all this furniture in my garage, and I didn't know where to put it. But I didn't want to get rid of it 'cause it had sentimental value. So the Lord, he showed me jest what to do with it. He showed me places to put everything. He blessed every room. He's gonna' bless me right out the house and into the garage!"

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

We talked a little more about blessings and furniture, and then she reached a hand out to me.

"Do you mind telling me your name? You see I always meet people, and then when I pray for them, I don't know a name to put with the face. So I decided that from now on, I would ask people their names for when I pray for them."

At this point, I was feeling so humbled and moved by genuine kindness.

"And...your name?" I asked.

"My name is Francis." She said. "You sure do have cute children. They really are a blessing."

photo credit: Ben Smithdeal

We then introduced all of our children to each other- this huge meeting, this sharing, this communion...right in Walmart.The man standing in line behind me witnessing all this looked at us like we were nuts. I don't know what he was thinking. But I do know this: The world is in desperate need of Francises. The world is craving the gentle charity and benevolence of kind strangers. But that's just it: We are not strangers! We are all God's children, one family.

We cannot wait until we are in church, or with friends, or even at the ball games to open and give of ourselves- in our comfort zones. We must be light to all, in all- right where we are, right now!! Lent is all about giving, opening  up and pouring out to others so that He can refill us. And He always will. Always.

The Only Requirement

Today things felt, well, a little grey. More rain outside and an uncomfortable awareness bulged the seams of this first day of Lent. Have you ever noticed that when you try to be "good," your eyes are opened to just how insufficient you truly are?  I don't know if it's because I am suddenly more sensitive to  my shortcomings when I try to improve upon them, or if it's the Devil trying to defeat me, but I end up feeling so discouraged.

But what do I want? Do I want to do "good" so I can say, "Wow! I'm doing such a great job living for Christ. I know God is proud of me!" ? I think of the tax collector in Luke's gospel:

"But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, 'O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner."
~Luke 18:13

When we have the painful realization that all of our efforts are ashes, dust in a dry land, then we are given the gift of humility, the gift of gratitude for God's amazing and endless mercy.

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified."
~Isaiah 61:3

Think of what God does for us:

Beauty for ashes. Oil of joy for mourning. Praise for the spirit of heaviness.

Living for God doesn't happen on a point scale. Living for God is all about how much we love Him. Every single moment is a chance to start fresh, to love anew.

I find comfort in the words of the beautiful St Therese:

"If I did not simply live from one moment to the next, it would be impossible for me to keep my patience. I can see only the present, I forget the past and I take good care not to think about the future. We get discouraged and feel despair because we brood about the past and future. It is such folly to pass one’s time fretting, instead of resting quietly on the heart of Jesus."

Maybe it's all part of the waiting I wrote about a couple of days ago. We must learn to wait on God, and sometimes we need to learn to wait on ourselves as well. We must be patient with our faults, but not tolerant of them; we must understand our weaknesses, but not coddle them; we must persevere in our love of God, knowing that his "power is made perfect in weakness." (2Corinthians12:9)

God can use these cracked vessels, waiting to be filled, to bring about his glory:

 "For you see your calling, brethren, that not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called.  But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty."
~1Corinthians 26-27

God calls me just as I am: impoverished, weak, stumbling, and groping. All he requires is that I love him.

"Beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity." (Colossians 3:14)

Opening The Eyes Of Our Hearts

We've seen these sights literally thousands of times, yet they never become background. John Paul drives, and I snatch the opportunity to look, just look out the window.

Years ago I rode on a bus to and from school every day, an hour plus each way. For thirteen years I rode that bus, and I never did get tired of looking out the window. I guess I've always been swimming in thought.

Patch worked fields blanket the landscape, somehow made lustrous by mottled whites and dimmed greens.

And after all these years of gazing, just looking, I'm stunned by the miracle of it all. How is it that our eyes, little spheres locked in our heads, can span horizons and penetrate heavens, clutch beauty to feed our souls? How do we take it all in?

This time that has passed, I have thanked God for beauty and the gift of appreciating His creation. I have thanked Him numerous times for my vision without grasping the enormity of what it physically takes for my eyes to see. Isn't it amazing that we can gaze at the ever changing landscape as we're driving and see it all, know it all, feel it all ??!!

We pull off the road to the spot where we are meeting a friend. No sign of our friend, and I notice we are parked under a tremendous Sycamore.

"Oh, look!" I tell the children excitedly. "There are Sycamore balls covering the grass. I'm going to hop out and get some for our nature collection. I think I'll even take a picture."

"Mom, you're crazy!" John Paul shakes his head.

"Yep. I'm crazy, John Paul. Don't ever forget that it's your enthusiasm for life that will keep you alive!"

"OK, Mom."

I hop out of the car and gather up Sycamore pods.

All the little ones cry out, "Can I hold one?! I want a ball!" I'm picturing seed fluff all over the car and wondering if I had made a mistake...

I gently tug one of the seeds loose from the swollen pod. 

"Do you know what's amazing? That enormous tree right over our heads started from a seed this big. Everything needed to make that tree grow, all the genetic information is held within this tiny seed."

Sam gives an audible gasp. He never knew this. And here I am, knowing it since I can't remember not knowing it, and I'm awestruck all over.

We go to the "Y", my head all spinning in miracle, and I come careening back to earth. There are two middle aged women having a conversation, unaware of my presence.

One of them says, "I am NEVER having kids. I hate them. I even hate the ones I rent." ( I think she watches children for her job.)

The other one kind of laughs. Enter: my children. The same woman (that said she hates children) is oohing and awing over them, telling them how cute they are. She talks a little about the children in her care during the day. She is all sweetness.

I tried not to judge this woman, but once again, the truths of the day, what God had been showing me all day came to perfect insight.

When I only see the inconvenience of children, people, life in general, My eyes are closed to the miracle. Right in front of me are countless miracles, and I am blinded by my own needs and selfishness. I am refusing to witness the miracle, to embrace the gift, to live in the present moment.

So much of being able to live in the present moment has to do with opening our eyes to the miracles, the "infinite treasures of the moment." We have to be able to sift the truth out of the turmoil: the truth of God's love, the truth of living, the truth of miracles everywhere present.

photo credit: Ben Smithdeal

Lent begins today, and I found this excerpt from Abandonment To Divine Providence heartening. I hope you will, as well. Praying for all of you, dear readers, to have a holy, peaceful, and fruitful Lent:

For those who abandon themselves to it, God's love contains every good thing, and if you long for it with all your heart and soul it will be yours. All God asks for is love, and if you search this kingdom where God alone rules, you can be quite sure you will find it.For if your heart is completely devoted to God, your heart itself is this treasure , this very kingdom which you desire so ardently. The moment we long for God and to obey his will, we enjoy him and all his gifts, and the fulfillment of our enjoyment exactly matches the extent of our desire for Him.

To love God is to want to love Him in all sincerity, and it is because we love Him that we want to serve Him as instruments through which he acts both through and in us. The activity of God is not related to any shrewdness shown by a simple and holy soul, but to its loving desires....Once God sees these good intentions, he ignores everything else and regards as having been done what would most certainly be done if the soul's good will were inspired by sounder reasons.

So good will need fear nothing. Would it fall, it stumbles under the protection of the almighty hand which never fails to guide and support it whenever it goes astray....it helps the soul when it falls into error because of its false judgement and makes it realize how it should mistrust its natural instincts and abandon itself absolutely to the infallible guidance of God.

(excerpt taken from Abandonment to Divine Providence, pg 114, emphasis mine)

This Lent

I walk in a different direction today to surge with rising waters. The rain has gathered and flows on through creeks and rivers. I want to enfold in that swelling, the fullness of Spring and rebirth.

I walk with animals this morning: a frisky puppy, a most affectionate kitten, and a patient mature dog; rock solid, he is- the most amazing dog ever.

Puppy tangles in leash befuddling eager steps. He stops me here- at this place I need to be. Thorns sear sky blue and pierce my thoughts. Earth flows and swells and thorns crown all this beauty.

Lent begins on Wednesday, and Lord where do you want to bring me in those forty days? How do I get there? To You? How can this tangle of thorns unfurl  life's blossom?

Light stirs on hurried water, and He flows in me. I feel God's presence, His awesome power, His majesty.

I am enraptured by Creation...and this moment. This prism of loveliness and all things good.

I delight in all life leaping and chanting "Spring!"

 Then a moment of panic: the kitten. The kitten! He

followed me down here and he is nowhere to be seen. I search frantically for him and look up to see Roy, our  yellow lab, standing in the middle of the lane. Usually he comes bounding along with me, so I was surprised to see him just standing there.

I call and call him, but he will not budge. He is the most obedient dog I have ever known, so this too catches me off guard. He is immovable, a soldier standing resolute. 

Then I notice something else.

He had been waiting.....for the kitten.  My little lost kitten, lost to me in my giddy revelry. But Roy knew. And he silently waited, not in a hurry. As soon as Mittens (the kitten) caught up, Roy came too.

In that instant, in the tender gesture of an animal, I knew the answer. It became clear to me what I need to do this Lent.

WAIT.

I think of bygone Lents and of my attitude coming into Lent. What can I do for God? What can I give up? What do I need to do?

It's been all about me. I think I'm being holy by giving up coffee or sweets , not that those things aren't good to give up. It's all in the intention. Isn't it strange how God reveals himself in the simplest of ways? Seeing my dog standing there waiting, I realized that the reason we give things up during Lent is to empty ourselves out for the filling of God. We do not unite ourselves to Christ in suffering by giving up sweets. We unite our souls to God, partake in his suffering by waiting . Waiting patiently and having faith that like the Spring, CHRIST WILL COME AGAIN!

We need to hollow and wait. Hollow and wait. Empty vessels, waiting to be filled.

I walk back to the barn to feed the chickens. There is a little girl waiting for me in a doorway.

She is cold, and she shivers. "Mommy I was waiting for you. Do you want me to help you feed the chickens?"

"Yes, lovely. You always wait for Mama don't you? You know the secret."

"What secret, Mommy? I love secrets."

"Let's feed the chickens, and then I'll show you ."

"Can you show me the secret now, Mommy?"

"Follow me into the barn."

She reaches her dimpled hand in to scoop up eggs, the first of the year, and she holds that secret in her hand: the mystery of waiting, the mystery of resurrection. Fresh life nestled in straw, promise of birth.

I look on starkness, a vulnerable landscape just waking from Winter's sleep and it's always the longest wait when it's almost over. But I know the secret now, too. I know what will happen if I only trust and wait.