Really, I don't know how God puts up with me.
I say that in a completely "tongue in cheek" way, the way that mothers use when referring to their kids: "I don't know how I put up with them!" which really means: "I love the heck out of them!" (and I know that God loves me more than I could ever imagine...the real blog I was sitting down to write is actually about that).
As I was sitting down to write a blog about the mystery of God's love for me, I got sidetracked by reading my last few blogs; the most recent of which was all about being more like Mary and just saying "yes" to what God asks of me. I laugh at myself because I was just having a conversation last night about how my first reaction to everything that is different or scary or that will push me out of my comfort zone is an immediate "NO!"
I mean, really. It's always no. Picture conversations between God and I going something like this:
God: Danielle, I'm sending you to Germany.
Danielle: "NO! Absolutely not. No way."
Danielle, I know it's a little scary and it will be very different from everything you know, but it will be a good opportunity for you to grow into the woman I've created you to be.
"No. Really God, I'd just rather not. I'm comfortable where I am, and I just got here and got adjusted to my life, and I'd rather just do something else. No, thanks. The offer was nice though."
...Danielle, what are you so afraid of?
"You know, God, too many things for me to list off. Not knowing anybody, the language issues, being far away from everyone I love......
Danielle, do you trust me?
"I want to..."
Don't you know that I love you? Don't you realize that I want what's best for you? That I have a full, beautiful life prepared for you, and that this is part of it?
"Yes, of course I do. This just isn't what I thought it would look like."
Danielle, do you trust me?
"sigh You know, despite all the times I try and convince myself otherwise, yes, I do."
Will you let me lead you?
"Yes."
Well, you'd better pack warm clothes, then.
Eventually, I end up seeing reason and ultimately say yes to what God invites me to. But it's usually a process of months (sometimes, years...) to get to that point. The beauty is that God is patient with me, in a similar way that parents are patient with their children. I'm reminded of my little-girl obstinate insistence on referring to a cheeseburger as a "hamburger with cheese":
Danielle, what do you want for lunch?
"A hamburger with cheese."
You mean a cheeseburger?
"No, momma, I want a hamburger with cheese."
I had great intentions, and given my limited knowledge, that's a pretty good conclusion (if I do say so myself). But I still only knew part of the picture. Mom knew better (although it still baffles me why hamburgers are named that. Where's the ham?!), but she would let me call it a "hamburger with cheese" as long as I wanted, just like she would let me think a car was run by an octopus living inside of it (how else would all the wheels turn at the same time?). God does the same thing; he will let me call things whatever I want, or make whatever plans I want, or come to whatever conclusions I want -- smiling the whole time -- knowing that I will eventually trust what he tells me, even if it takes my whole life.
It's a good thing God's timeless.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Friday, December 10, 2010
Just a quick Advent reflection:
“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38).
Lately, I’ve taken what Mary says to heart.
At Mass last week, Father said something that was one of those “very simple and obvious yet completely profound” kinds of things.
Mary said YES.
She didn’t say, “OK, great. I’ll think about it and get back to you,” when the angel told her she was going to have the Son of God. I mean, really, that’s what I probably would have said.
When we talk about discernment, or following God’s will, or whatever you want to call it, most of the time we think about it in these terms: God presenting us with some options, us weighing them for a given period of time, and then making a decision based on what makes most sense or what we’re comfortable with or what fits into our budget/schedule/life plan.
But Mary said yes! Without knowing the plan, without being sure of what it would look like, without having really any idea of how much her life would change...it was risky, it was gutsy, it was totally trust-filled. Mary isn’t the Mother of God and our Mother because she knew all the answers. She is “blessed among women” because she said yes.
God, give me the grace to live so recklessly!
Lately, I’ve taken what Mary says to heart.
At Mass last week, Father said something that was one of those “very simple and obvious yet completely profound” kinds of things.
Mary said YES.
She didn’t say, “OK, great. I’ll think about it and get back to you,” when the angel told her she was going to have the Son of God. I mean, really, that’s what I probably would have said.
When we talk about discernment, or following God’s will, or whatever you want to call it, most of the time we think about it in these terms: God presenting us with some options, us weighing them for a given period of time, and then making a decision based on what makes most sense or what we’re comfortable with or what fits into our budget/schedule/life plan.
But Mary said yes! Without knowing the plan, without being sure of what it would look like, without having really any idea of how much her life would change...it was risky, it was gutsy, it was totally trust-filled. Mary isn’t the Mother of God and our Mother because she knew all the answers. She is “blessed among women” because she said yes.
God, give me the grace to live so recklessly!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Like a Child
This morning, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself in the middle of a children’s Mass. Sometimes, if I’m really honest, my first reaction to something like a children’s Mass is, “Great. How many cheesy songs do I have to sit through?” But today, I was encouraged to have a new perspective when Tricia looked over at me and said, “Great! I love children’s Masses! They’re the perfect start to the day!”
Armed with that little bit of good ol’ unintentional “Catholic guilt,” I resolved to drop my “I’m older so I’m holier” attitude and be open to what God had in store for me. And, like I usually am, I was surprised at how He can use the smallest things and seemingly most insignificant situations to teach me big lessons.
There were kids everywhere—altar servers, musicians, lectors...and, WOW, did they do a fantastic job! Aside from the cuteness inherent in everything (“Jesus tells us to wove evewy-won”), these were kids who knew what was going on. The little second-grade lector got through the first reading more flawlessly than I’ve heard from some adult lectors (what second grader knows how to pronounce “perverse?” “Libation?”). There was a real sense that they are being taught the faith in a beautiful way—one that allows for all the awkwardness and messiness of being a child while directing them toward the fullness of an adult faith experience. One especially beautiful moment happened during the homily, when Father invited the kids up to a huge mural on the wall behind the altar to try and pick out the saints. I had a flash of perception in seeing these kids—some of the smallest, youngest members of the Church—literally walking among the saints, getting to know them personally. I found myself excited at the prospect of what these kids are going to be like when they’re teenagers, or when they’re adults. This is what building the Church is all about!
When I started really reflecting on it, though, here’s a thought that really struck me: this is what God sees when he looks at me. Lisping my way through prayers, fumbling through hand motions, praying hilariously innocent prayers. I may think I’ve got it down, I may think I’m old enough to “know better” or to be better; but the truth is, I’m still just taking baby steps toward holiness. And the beautiful, breathtaking reality is that God still allows me—no, He invites me—to walk in the company of His holy ones, those who are considered the “leaders and perfecters of faith.” Even as I’m growing into “adulthood” (sometimes a scary thought), I need to realize that’s it’s OK to be messy, it’s OK to make mistakes, it’s OK to not be perfect. Kids are not perfect (just ask my mom). But parents love the snot out of them anyway, even as they laugh and post their ridiculously quotable moments on their Facebook pages.
And I think that, ultimately, is something of what Jesus means when He says to come to Him like a little child—knowing that I am loved in my imperfections and mistakes and that I am adopted into His family; trusting that I am good as I am and that He is molding me, through all of the awkwardness, into the holy woman He intended me to be.
Armed with that little bit of good ol’ unintentional “Catholic guilt,” I resolved to drop my “I’m older so I’m holier” attitude and be open to what God had in store for me. And, like I usually am, I was surprised at how He can use the smallest things and seemingly most insignificant situations to teach me big lessons.
There were kids everywhere—altar servers, musicians, lectors...and, WOW, did they do a fantastic job! Aside from the cuteness inherent in everything (“Jesus tells us to wove evewy-won”), these were kids who knew what was going on. The little second-grade lector got through the first reading more flawlessly than I’ve heard from some adult lectors (what second grader knows how to pronounce “perverse?” “Libation?”). There was a real sense that they are being taught the faith in a beautiful way—one that allows for all the awkwardness and messiness of being a child while directing them toward the fullness of an adult faith experience. One especially beautiful moment happened during the homily, when Father invited the kids up to a huge mural on the wall behind the altar to try and pick out the saints. I had a flash of perception in seeing these kids—some of the smallest, youngest members of the Church—literally walking among the saints, getting to know them personally. I found myself excited at the prospect of what these kids are going to be like when they’re teenagers, or when they’re adults. This is what building the Church is all about!
When I started really reflecting on it, though, here’s a thought that really struck me: this is what God sees when he looks at me. Lisping my way through prayers, fumbling through hand motions, praying hilariously innocent prayers. I may think I’ve got it down, I may think I’m old enough to “know better” or to be better; but the truth is, I’m still just taking baby steps toward holiness. And the beautiful, breathtaking reality is that God still allows me—no, He invites me—to walk in the company of His holy ones, those who are considered the “leaders and perfecters of faith.” Even as I’m growing into “adulthood” (sometimes a scary thought), I need to realize that’s it’s OK to be messy, it’s OK to make mistakes, it’s OK to not be perfect. Kids are not perfect (just ask my mom). But parents love the snot out of them anyway, even as they laugh and post their ridiculously quotable moments on their Facebook pages.
And I think that, ultimately, is something of what Jesus means when He says to come to Him like a little child—knowing that I am loved in my imperfections and mistakes and that I am adopted into His family; trusting that I am good as I am and that He is molding me, through all of the awkwardness, into the holy woman He intended me to be.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The heartbeat of the Father
This is not compulsive blogging, I promise...I had actually been considering the idea of keeping my blog going even though I'm not an "official" missionary at the moment. Why, you ask? Well, it's not like God doesn't stop moving in my life just because my job description is "unemployed" rather than "full-time missionary" (haha. oh Mom, I'm so sorry!)
Anyway, a conversation I had with a friend yesterday convinced me that I should just go ahead and keep it up--hey, if nothing else, it will help me process, right?
And let me tell you, I have a LOT of processing to do!
I feel like I say something along these lines quite often: "That was the hardest thing I've ever done!" I think I'm just going to stop saying it, because inevitably something comes up that's harder than what I've just managed to work through. You know that saying, "God only gives you what you can handle"? Well, what they don't tell you is the part that comes next: "After you've handled that, God gives you more!" (Which makes Mother Teresa's sassy response make more sense: "I wish He wouldn't trust me so much!")
I’ve found that these last two months have been some of the most challenging I have experienced; God has “put me through the wringer,” so to speak—stretching me to grow in ways I honestly didn’t know I could live through (even now, I’m left with a sort of incredulous feeling: “How did I make it?” Guess I’m more resilient than I thought).
Without getting into too many details, I quite suddenly found myself in a place where everything in my world seemed to have been tipped upside down and backwards. I felt...well, disoriented is probably the best word to describe it. You know that feeling when you can’t tell which way is up, or you can’t quite remember what day it is? That’s sort of what I’m talking about...something akin to spiritual amnesia, if you will. I had literally watched all my plans crumble right before my eyes; which left me feeling rather dumbfounded.
What’s a girl to do?
First step: call mom and cry.
Second step: find refuge and seek good counsel.
Third step: PRAY. A lot.
This last week or so, I’ve had to fight the almost overwhelming desire to try and “figure it out”—by which I mean taking it upon myself to search for something that will fulfill me; or, at the very least, something I could suffer through until everything got “better.” I’ve learned enough over the past two years to know that going it on my own is not successful—-so I thought I’d take care of that by praying that God would reveal to me what it is He wanted me to do—-please, quickly!-—while still doing research and sending out resumes and trying to figure it out. Hey, it’s the best of both worlds, right? I’m allowing God to direct my life, while still actively living it. God’s gotta love that.
Maybe you can predict where this is going?
In His characteristic fashion, God very quickly set about letting me know that He wants more—-as a matter of fact, He wants all of me. Inviting God to be navigator just isn’t enough. God is asking me to see this seemingly crazy, senseless time of my life as an invitation—-to know more about myself, to re-evaluate, but most importantly, to know God in a deeper, more intimate way.
Before I can do anything, before I can ask God to lead me down any sort of path, God desires that I come to know him in a more profound way, that I trust him more, that our relationship grows and deepens as only a life-long relationship of love can. In one of his homilies, Father Jose used the phrase, “tuning our ear to be able to hear the heartbeat of the Father." And that is exactly the image that describes the kind of relationship I’m talking about. God is inviting me to lean closer, to rest on him, to attune my ear to hear the sounds of His heartbeat—-a very quiet, very subtle sound. Only when I am at that degree of closeness can he move me; and then it’s the movement of a dance, the natural movement of Him leading and guiding someone who is so close to him that I can do nothing but follow where he’s going. And that’s how I will get to where I’m going next.
I have been given an incredible gift: the time and the place and the means to stop and listen. The invitation to know God. The call to more. And far be it from me to waste this gift by running around and trying to do things myself. God wants more from me than that—-God wants more for me than that. I believe now more than ever that he has his hand on me, that he has set me apart for something that is unusual and wonderful and bigger than I as of yet can imagine.
And for now, I’m just resting in the Father’s embrace and trying to sync my heartbeat with his.
Anyway, a conversation I had with a friend yesterday convinced me that I should just go ahead and keep it up--hey, if nothing else, it will help me process, right?
And let me tell you, I have a LOT of processing to do!
I feel like I say something along these lines quite often: "That was the hardest thing I've ever done!" I think I'm just going to stop saying it, because inevitably something comes up that's harder than what I've just managed to work through. You know that saying, "God only gives you what you can handle"? Well, what they don't tell you is the part that comes next: "After you've handled that, God gives you more!" (Which makes Mother Teresa's sassy response make more sense: "I wish He wouldn't trust me so much!")
I’ve found that these last two months have been some of the most challenging I have experienced; God has “put me through the wringer,” so to speak—stretching me to grow in ways I honestly didn’t know I could live through (even now, I’m left with a sort of incredulous feeling: “How did I make it?” Guess I’m more resilient than I thought).
Without getting into too many details, I quite suddenly found myself in a place where everything in my world seemed to have been tipped upside down and backwards. I felt...well, disoriented is probably the best word to describe it. You know that feeling when you can’t tell which way is up, or you can’t quite remember what day it is? That’s sort of what I’m talking about...something akin to spiritual amnesia, if you will. I had literally watched all my plans crumble right before my eyes; which left me feeling rather dumbfounded.
What’s a girl to do?
First step: call mom and cry.
Second step: find refuge and seek good counsel.
Third step: PRAY. A lot.
This last week or so, I’ve had to fight the almost overwhelming desire to try and “figure it out”—by which I mean taking it upon myself to search for something that will fulfill me; or, at the very least, something I could suffer through until everything got “better.” I’ve learned enough over the past two years to know that going it on my own is not successful—-so I thought I’d take care of that by praying that God would reveal to me what it is He wanted me to do—-please, quickly!-—while still doing research and sending out resumes and trying to figure it out. Hey, it’s the best of both worlds, right? I’m allowing God to direct my life, while still actively living it. God’s gotta love that.
Maybe you can predict where this is going?
In His characteristic fashion, God very quickly set about letting me know that He wants more—-as a matter of fact, He wants all of me. Inviting God to be navigator just isn’t enough. God is asking me to see this seemingly crazy, senseless time of my life as an invitation—-to know more about myself, to re-evaluate, but most importantly, to know God in a deeper, more intimate way.
Before I can do anything, before I can ask God to lead me down any sort of path, God desires that I come to know him in a more profound way, that I trust him more, that our relationship grows and deepens as only a life-long relationship of love can. In one of his homilies, Father Jose used the phrase, “tuning our ear to be able to hear the heartbeat of the Father." And that is exactly the image that describes the kind of relationship I’m talking about. God is inviting me to lean closer, to rest on him, to attune my ear to hear the sounds of His heartbeat—-a very quiet, very subtle sound. Only when I am at that degree of closeness can he move me; and then it’s the movement of a dance, the natural movement of Him leading and guiding someone who is so close to him that I can do nothing but follow where he’s going. And that’s how I will get to where I’m going next.
I have been given an incredible gift: the time and the place and the means to stop and listen. The invitation to know God. The call to more. And far be it from me to waste this gift by running around and trying to do things myself. God wants more from me than that—-God wants more for me than that. I believe now more than ever that he has his hand on me, that he has set me apart for something that is unusual and wonderful and bigger than I as of yet can imagine.
And for now, I’m just resting in the Father’s embrace and trying to sync my heartbeat with his.
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