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A Little Sum-Up

From the desire of being loved, deliver me, Jesus.

By far the hardest words for me to pray.

As far as I can tell, not feeling loved has been the source of most of my problems in life. Doesn’t always mean I wasn’t truly loved; just that a lot of my life, I just didn’t feel it, didn’t believe it.

So how can I seriously ask God to take away my desire to be loved?

This is something I’m still not sure I have the answer to, but I have little hints now, I think. I find myself desiring love that I shouldn’t have, love that, in the long run, isn’t really love but just something that serves to fuel my ego. It sounds weird put that way, but I think that’s the only way to describe it. There’s a part of me that just wants to be loved in ways I shouldn’t want, or at least ways I shouldn’t be seeking to accomplish.

Even that word is problematic: “accomplish”. Love isn’t “accomplished”; it’s not just a task or activity that has a definitive end. It’s more like a dance. Because love only happens when the one loved freely returns that love as best they can. What I might picture in my mind as the only way someone can show me they love me isn’t truly the only way I can be loved. It might be the way (or something close to the way) in which I know best or for sure that I’m loved, but I’m not that other person I’m desiring love from. They have their own ways in which they show love; I can’t force them to love me the way I want them to.

In other words, maybe it’s been me all along that hasn’t been loving. Maybe I’ve just been selfish, immature, greedy. Maybe I’m even more broken and twisted inside than I’ve dared to admit.

And for that, I owe everyone who has known me an apology. Because I think the cry in my heart hasn’t been as noble and devastating as what has come out of my lips or my actions; I’m actually pretty crummy in a whole heck of a lot of ways.

But light has shone on that darkness now, and the darkness won’t overcome it.

I think I’m learning humility far greater than the little moments of humiliation I was expecting this Lent; I’m learning that I really am pretty small and dirty and just…I don’t even know if there are words for things as low as me.

And yet, I’m also learning that the Lord has seen this in me all along…and somehow still sees someone worth saving, someone worth loving, and someone worth dying for.

The more I know myself, the more I have to weep at the immense love God must have for me to see me and still want nothing more than to have me with Him forever, even if He has to bleed out on a cross for me.

So to those who have stuck by me and loved me with love that still staggers me, even now, thank you. You are truly vessels of God’s grace, and you seriously deserve so many blessings.

And now I guess I’ll just awkwardly end this here. And it’s OK that I don’t have some sort of impressive final word of wisdom. It’s even OK if no one reads this. It’s all OK, because God loves me, and even if no one else does, I have a soul full of love and grace, and that’s plenty reason to be happy.

Holy Week: A Journal Pt. 6

Good Friday

The sound of tears is only outdone by the shattering of hearts all around. It seems wrong in a way that today should be so beautiful, with a bright, sun-filled sky and flowers beginning to bloom everywhere. Only the leafless trees seem to understand, and even they are putting forth buds.

But they’re right, in another way.

We ought to mourn today. We ought to cry, to grieve, or to sit in silent reflection. Our hearts ought to be broken when we look at the wounds of Christ and hear His prayer for our forgiveness, when we see Mary weep as she kisses the feet of her Son, when we hear the soldier cry out in faith as his heart turns violently in His chest.

And yet, there ought to be just a whisper of a promise echoing still in our hearts, and echo that nature itself seems to speak today.

This is not the end.

It’s a beginning.

Holy Week: A Journal Pt. 5

Holy Thursday

You certainly didn’t hesitate to show me the shadows, Lord.

Which made carrying the candle that almost blew out all the more meaningful.

It was like my hope in You, Lord. And because it was in You, it couldn’t be put out, although the winds of this life have certainly tried. The only time it went out was when it was blown out as I walked into the Chapel. I didn’t need it any more then. The Chapel was filled with candles, and more importantly with Your presence in the Eucharist.

It’s like our lives. If Christ is our hope, nothing in this life can put it out, no matter how low the flame may seem to get, no matter how hard the winds blow. It only goes out when we leave this world, and then we don’t need it any more, because we have Christ Himself in Heaven. Christ never fails us.

But we have the choice to blow out the candle ourselves. To walk away.

It hurts like heck to have the flame purge away the darkness inside. But better that than to get lost forever in the dark.

Holy Week: A Journal Pt. 4

Spy Wednesday

Tenebrae. What a melodious word. Just speaking it is like silk in my mouth. And yet it’s the Latin word for ‘shadows’, those dark things that fall gloomily to the earth as the sun sets.

How fitting.

The Triduum is here at last. The solemnity is almost tangible here…the shadows have fallen, and only one candle remains in this darkness which now falls: a promise. A promise of hope, of resurrection. A promise of redemption and salvation that fought back the darkness for centuries. A promise which was fulfilled, bringing light into the world to stay until the last breath of the last mortal on earth. How I long for that light.

But first, I must pass through the shadows.

I must look at my life and see the places that have become darkened by sin and covered over with cobwebs of excuses. I have to face the fearful monsters under the bed of my consciousness. I have to enter into that moment in the world when everything hung on the edge of its seat, then screamed in agony as the light seemed to be snuffed for good.

Only then can I truly know what a great miracle it is that the light would return, more alive than before, to scatter the tenebrae.

I can only know what a great miracle it is that Christ won the victory when I know how very much of a defeat it seemed to be.

 

Holy Week: A Journal Part 3

Somehow, there doesn’t seem to be much of a lesson today…

I just feel…numb. And tired. Not anticlimactic, really, just…sad in a way that doesn’t bring me to tears but just makes me want to sit and stare at a wall until I start to feel again.

I guess I’m just homesick.

Homesick for Heaven.

I’ve listened to this song so much the past few days, and it kind of puts things well for where I am. I’m clean from Confession, I’m in a good place overall, but it just doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Things aren’t empty, just insufficient. Heaven just sounds great right now.

And it’s crazy to think I wouldn’t be able to get there if You hadn’t died for me.

Thank You.

Holy Week: A Journal Part 2

Monday

Just…Monday? Is that it? Something huge is gonna happen! What’s the big deal?

Patience.

…really? A lesson in patience? That’s what you’re gonna try to pull on me right now?! PATIENCE?!

Perseverance.

Wow. Ok. That’s just–great. I mean, c’mon, nothing? No special commemoration? No big anticipatory thing? Nothing?

Patience. Perseverance.

Well fine then, it’s not like this wasn’t, like the biggest week of Your life or anything…

I wonder…

What was Your Monday was like?

There was time between coming to Jerusalem and the Passover…You already knew exactly what was gonna be coming. It was going to hit Your hard when You got to the Garden of Gethsemane. Was part of it because You had to go on living, go on teaching, go on serving for another few days?

You were literally born to die. For me. For all of us. What was it like to walk among the people You were about to die for, knowing exactly who was going to stay faithful and who was going to abandon You? To walk the streets You had just been paraded down on a donkey, knowing you’d be staggering down the same way with blood, sweat, and a cross on Your back?

What kind of perseverance did that take?

And how often have I let  impatience over something infinitesimally less weighty lead me to sin?

Patience. Perseverance.

Holy Week: A Journal

Palm Sunday

Pay attention. Something huge is about to happen.

It’s already here…the time has crept up so stealthily, it seems. All my hope, all my trust, all my love–it’s all coming to its climax in a week. Easter. Lent makes so much more sense; it’s that bugle cry announcing the Son of David, the voice crying to prepare the way in your life for Christ to enter the Jerusalem of your heart.

Something huge is about to happen.

I didn’t think I’d cry. I’ve been going to Palm Sunday Mass all my life. It was always full of anticipation, but never like this.

It never really hit me that when I say, “Crucify him!’, I’m just doing the same thing I do every time I sin.

No. Worse.

I drive the nails into His hands with my own.

I take the whip to his blameless back, as if it weren’t about to carry the weight of the world.

I thrust the cross in His face and mock Him for embracing it.

And all the while, He prays, “Father, forgive them…forgive him…”

And all I can see are the tears streaming down Mary’s face…and I cry because I’m begging her to forgive me for doing this to her Son…

Pay attention.

I don’t have much to give you this Lent, Lord. Somehow these weeks seem to have flown by without my noticing; the little I’ve done to prepare feels so ridiculously inadequate now. All I have is this cloak and this palm branch.

So I lay them down now, and ask You to let me walk with You to Your cross.

Pay attention. Something huge is about to happen.

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