Pinkie-Toe Problems

This is not the post I intended to write today, but something struck me in a new way at Mass this morning, and I wanted to share it.

Sometimes I become so self-focused that I fail to see the joys and sorrows of those around me—even those close to me. I get so wrapped up in my own little sufferings, injuries, and humiliations that I lose perspective and wallow in woe-is-me.

I do not suffer well, even in small ways. Continue reading

He’s Saving Me

SoulApostolateOne of the books I’m reading in my “down time” right now is The Soul of the Apostolate, by Dom Jean-Baptiste Chautard. The book has been bedside reading for popes and saints, and was recommended on Jason and Chrystalina Evert’s Chastity Project website as a critical step second only to prayer for anyone aspiring to active ministry. Fr. Chautard was a 19th- and early 20th- century Cistercian abbot in France, who saw a proliferation of active Catholic ministries around him, led by priests, religious, and lay people. Some prospered; others did not. Some were fruitful, and some weren’t. Some prospered in a worldly sense, but bore little spiritual fruit.

He saw the reason for this as a neglect of the interior life: seemingly good people became so busy doing seemingly good works they no longer had time to spend in intimate relationship with God. They neglected prayer, scripture, the rosary, even communion—forgetting that God is the only source of goodness for the works they are attempting.

That’s a summary of the book, so far at least—I’m only a third of the way through. I share it now because it has led me to a new reflection on these past two months of joblessness. Continue reading

Long Way Down (and The Litany of Patience)

Last week of August. The kids are heading back to school soon. I’m still working the early morning shift at FedEx, sorting packages; still waiting to hear on a couple of jobs that would be a huge step in the right direction (writing for the Church); still trying to write daily. Still praying, growing closer to Jesus and Mary—and yet, still anxious.

Today’s post won’t be much, except to share that I am, every day, trying and struggling to give up my will in favor of His. I’m trying to surrender. It’s like a trust fall into the immeasurable depths of God’s love and mercy: I know He’s there to catch me, but it’s so…far…down.

I haven’t hit bottom—but I’m still waiting to for the catch, too! Continue reading

Daily Bread and Darkness

It’s been awhile since I’ve written here. Last Wednesday I started a part-time job at FedEx  Ground in Rogers, just to bring in some money while I pursue writing work. It is a young man’s game: 3:45 to 7 a.m., Tuesday through Saturday, sorting packages for daily delivery. I rise, stretch in the darkness, dress, eat a light breakfast, drink a little coffee followed by lots of water, and pray on the way into town. I work on a conveyor belt, loading trucks for their daily routes, and my manager and I are perhaps the only people over 30 working on our line. I am stiff and achy, but getting in shape and losing weight.

I am also losing sleep, in part because it’s tough to adjust to going to bed when the sun and the kids are still up, and in part because of the dreams. Continue reading

Healed

But he was pierced for our sins, crushed for our iniquity. He bore the punishment that makes us whole, by his wounds we were healed. — Isaiah 53:5

Almost two weeks ago I shared an image of Jesus I see in my mind, most often in Adoration, in which the scars from His scourging are revealed to me. And as you may have seen, last Thursday I left to make a silent retreat. The weekend was peaceful, profound, and, I believe, fruitful; I will be sharing bits and pieces of it over the next many days, I’m sure.

One particularly impactful reflection began as we prayed the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary, and came to a beautiful conclusion early this morning. As we prayed, I meditated on scourging and crucifixion, and as usual, wondered what must happen to people to harden them enough to inflict such suffering on another human being. I can almost imagine it in the abstract—that people could be cruel enough to flay someone ragged and nail him to a cross to die. But when the scene becomes specific—how could this person put his hand to the whip or the hammer and make that person weep and bleed—I struggle to comprehend the inhumanity.

Could I do it? Never…

And then I thought about those around me, whom I profess to love and then lash with my tongue and pierce with my glance. The suffering I inflict out of comfort and convenience by looking away, tuning out, remaining ignorant and silent and comfortable. Continue reading