What have they got that I ain't got?

“It is Jesus that you seek when you dream of happiness; he is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; he is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is he who provides you with that thirst for fullness that will not let your settle for compromise; it is he who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is he who reads in your hearts your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle. It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives, the will to follow an ideal, the refusal to allow yourselves to be grounded down by mediocrity, the courage to commit yourselves humbly and patiently to improving yourselves and society, making the world more human and fraternal.” (Pope John Paul II)

Thank you, JPII, for articulating exactly what it is I so often hope to say.

While I love this quote in its entirety, I especially love how he talks about “the courage to commit yourselves humbly and patiently to improving yourselves and society...” I think this is really what this year is all about for me—or, at least, it informs a lot of what we do, and why we do it, and how.

I’ve never really thought about needing courage to be humble and patient before, but there was a very good reason JPII used that word (I mean, he was the Pope, after all; I think it’s safe to assume he’s got some things figured out!). So, why would he say that? Why would we need courage to be humble and patient?

Humility requires the courage to believe that someone else knows better than you. It requires trust—sometimes trust in a person you’re still not so sure of. Humility requires the courage to look at yourself in the mirror and still be able to say, “I am worth something,” while at the same time acknowledging that everyone else is as good as—better, even—than you. Courage is necessary if you are going to be truly humble in a world that says, “Look at me! Tell me all the good things I’ve done!” It means being willing to be overlooked, undervalued—manipulated even—all because you point to something greater.

You need courage for patience so that you don’t become discouraged when things don’t go your way, or don’t happen on time, or unforeseen circumstances pop up. You need courage to be patient in the face of other people telling you to give up, for ridiculing you for pursuing something of seemingly no (earthly) worth.

Courage is necessary for me to keep going every day, to look at myself and see where I lack, and to know what to do to fix it. Courage is knowing when to ask for help. Courage is not being afraid of failure, but embracing it as one step on the road toward perfection. Courage means knowing that I’ll never be perfect, but I’m going to try anyway.

I have a long way to go before I become truly humble or patient, but I feel like God is slowly re-forming my heart so that I am confident in being small, and excited about being unnoticed. It’s crazy, I know. So keep praying for me, because it’s going to be a long, hard journey, and I’ll need all the help I can get!

“Remain in my love”

The last couple weeks, I’ve been praying about my identity in Christ—and, wouldn’t you know it, we’ve actually been talking about it in formation a lot too. A couple days ago, we talked about the fact that when God revealed Himself to Moses (and later on, when Jesus makes the most definite statements about who He is), he says “I AM,” and not “I DO.” And that’s the same way God is calling me to form my identity—not as “I do,” but as “I am.”

So, I’ve realized that I do not want to be valued or loved for what I do, but for who I am; not for things I say or tasks I can complete or roles I can fill. I want to be loved. And I realize that right now there is really only one person who can fit that bill. The only times my heart has been fulfilled in its desire to have someone say, “you are beautiful, and I love you, remain in me” have been when Jesus says that exact thing. It penetrates to my soul, it fills me up, it makes me beautiful and keeps me going.

“Arise my beloved, my beautiful one, and come!”

At the same time, I think if I want people to love me for who I am, I have to be willing to share that with others, to open my heart to the people I meet—not dodge the subject, not try to be funny, not talk about what I do because that what I think they want to hear—to unreservedly, unashamedly, unapologetically open wide my heart and invite others to look inside. I need to always return to the Lord for the answer to that question, “who are you?” I must constantly return to prayer. There will always be work, always opportunities to form community, but the real task is to rest in the fact that God is enough.

So who am I?

I am daughter.
I am bride.
I am loved beyond measure.
I am called to more: “let me see you, let me hear your voice. For you are sweet, and your voice is lovely.”
I am pursued.

Whenever I ask the Lord who I am, what I should do, His response is always, “Remain in me, remain in my love.”

May Jesus grant me the courage...

Putting down roots

This week was the youth minister’s retreat here at camp, and one of the first things we talked about in our small groups was the last time we truly felt joy in our lives. And wouldn’t you know it, I could honestly say that the last time I felt joy was yesterday.

After the 8 day retreat, I had kind of a hard time coming back into the “real world” (which is funny in itself; most people come to Covecrest to get away from the real world, but it’s what my real world consists of now...); it felt really jarring to come out of 8 days of silence and complete, intimate closeness with Jesus and to be thrust immediately into the work of preparing for groups to come in...I mean, literally, not four hours had passed before we were welcoming in buses full of teens. The last thing I wanted to do that day was serve; all I wanted to do was go back to the chapel and listen to Jesus talk to me again.

I immediately became frustrated with myself, because I thought I was so ready after the 8 day to enter back into the rhythm of life here at Covecrest; I felt like I was strong enough to serve joyfully, to pray without ceasing, to become a missionary exemplar, a saint-in-the-making, if you will. And I failed. Terribly. That first day back, all I did was complain, I didn’t pray until evening, I found community difficult. Ugh. Square one, all over again. And so the next few days found me spending time in the chapel or on a work project feeling incompetent, incapable—rather worthless, to tell the truth.

But I came to a realization through prayer yesterday: it really has nothing to do with what I do anyway.

Granted, this is not a new realization (I mean, I didn’t even cry for this one...), rather something that is being renewed in me every day I’m here. I’ve come to understand my life, my faith, in terms of how God views me, rather than how I view Him. Everyday life might be hard, but Jesus is constantly reminding me of His love for me. Underneath all my incompetence, my ineptitude, I hear His voice whispering to me, “Beloved, you are worth more.”

I am more than I think myself to be—not by any virtue of my own, but by His gaze, His touch, His deeming me worthy. Jesus loves me like no other. I still can’t really fathom it, understand it, or ever really return it completely. But I think I am beginning to understand what it means to love Jesus through my love of others. I know I fail (quite a bit), but I’m convinced that this is the next “step” on my journey toward holiness: learning how to perfect my love of others, which is really a perfection of my love for God. Pray for me—I’ll need a lot of help.

Too Much

It has been a long time since I’ve blogged.
And there is just so much to write about.

I mean, really, I’m not quite sure where to start. I’m still decompressing a little bit from Mexico, Christmas break, and the 8-day silent retreat I just finished, which all took place in the last month or so. And, as I’m learning is the Covecrest way, we’ve hit the ground running after all that, with 2 groups here this last weekend, a drive down to one of the middle schools on Wednesday, the March for Life in a little over a week, and the youth minister’s retreat right after that.

I think at this point, I will just say that I am really grateful to have had the opportunity of a silent retreat, especially as the first thing we did to start the new year. At Covecrest, we’ve always talked about missionary activity that flows out of missionary prayer, and that was made a very evident reality through our 8 days of prayer on retreat. I am slowly starting to feel myself being formed in the identity of a missionary as someone whose whole life flows out of prayer, which is surprising and oddly empowering.

It’s not easy, but it’s so good.

God moved in mighty ways during the retreat—sometimes as powerfully tender, sometimes as confusing and enigmatic—it was beautiful and inspiring and amazingly transformative. I can hear the difference in how I talk and how I pray, in how I listen to what God is saying to my heart, in what I think about and what my goals for this year are (or continue to be). And I haven’t even begun to unpack and unravel all the things that I said, all the things that Jesus said back, and all the ways that I am now being called out to more. But, I know one thing: I cannot wait.

We were at St. Mary’s school yesterday, to follow up with a group of 8th graders we put on a retreat for a couple months back, and it was great to see how their hearts have been transformed. When we were leaving, one of the teens said to us, “Goodbye, keep doing what you’re doing, keep changing lives!” And it was awesome—it was so good to see him excited about his faith, claiming the change that’s gone on in his own heart. And it was great for him to recognize the work that we do. But at the end of the day, God is the one who changes hearts. And I just pray that our lives—my life—will speak that truth.

I am continually renewed and convicted about the truth of Jesus, the truth of His Gospel, the necessity to become my preaching (thank you, Pope Paul VI), the immediacy of the task at hand—to lead a life of evangelization, so that I point toward the Kingdom (I must decrease so that He may increase...).

The amazing thing is the reality that we’re invited to work in the vineyard—despite how many times we mess it up, how often we get frustrated, how often we make it about us instead of Him, how often we’re just plain wrong, He still wants us to be a part of it. And if that doesn’t humble me, I don’t know what will.

So this blog ended up being about a ton of things (I told you at the beginning, I had a lot to write about), and I’m not entirely sure what exactly I’m trying to say; thank you for journeying with me, for understanding that this is a growing process for me. As always, call me, write me, email me if you want to talk, need a prayer, would rather me blog about something different. I love you all.