When He Calls My Name

"She said to them, “They have taken my Lord,
and I don’t know where they laid him.”
When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus there,
but did not know it was Jesus.
Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?
Whom are you looking for?”
She thought it was the gardener and said to him,
“Sir, if you carried him away,
tell me where you laid him,
and I will take him.”
Jesus said to her, “Mary!”
She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni,”
which means Teacher."

**Excerpted from Daily Mass Reading for April 6, 2010

I was caught by a particular detail in this reading. Mary Magdalene was the first to see Jesus after he had risen. She was obviously distraught; the loss of Jesus was undoubtedly terrifying for her. After all, it was she who had been caught in adultery and saved from public stoning by Jesus. It was she who had anointed his feet with expensive perfume and wiped them with her hair. It was she of whom he said "she loves much, for she has been forgiven much." She was walking in the redemptive power of Jesus' love, and accompanied him, with his own mother, to Calvary. And now this! His body had been stolen away, robbing her of the chance to again anoint him with the oils and spices that would commit his body to the earth for the last time! In this grief and confusion, comes the question: "Woman, why do you weep?" In desperation, she asks for the body of her Lord, not realizing who it was who had asked. And then he spoke her name. Jesus said, "Mary," and with that one word, her confusion and grief fell away. When Jesus spoke her name, Mary knew him. There was no doubt; there was no questioning. There was only recognition of her Lord.

So often, I am swept away in the confusion of my life. Chaos, to some degree or another, is the norm. I am uncertain what to do or where to go. It seems that I am pulled in so many directions at once, and I can't hear my own thoughts above the clamoring of children and chores. What made Mary different? She was truly listening. She was ready -- longing -- to see Jesus. And when he called her name, her heart was ready to hear. He calls me by name, too! (John 10:3) Make my heart ready, Lord! Give me ears to hear your voice! Wash away my unbelief!

When he calls my name, I want to hear him.

When he calls my name, I want to turn and see him.

When he calls my name, I want to recognize my Lord and my God

For there is peace, strength, and redemption -- when he calls my name.

It's a Good Day to Die

Mind that indulges in worldly pleasures

I am dead to you

Body that distracts from discipline

I am dead to you

Tongue that rattles without the steady breath of wisdom

I am dead to you

Judgement that denies another's dignity

I am dead to you

Selfishness that robs gratitude

I am dead to you

Faithlessness that stifles the freedom of joy

I am dead to you

Pride that scorns humility and service

I am dead to you

Unforgiveness that fetters to pain and bitterness

I am dead to you

Anger that speaks ahead of Love

I am dead to you

I am dead

To what seeks destruction

That I may live, a new creation

Clothed in grace

Renewed in the hope of eternity

Eyes gazing ever at perfect love

His arms outstretched

In perfect sacrifice

Embracing my wretchedness

In perfect redemption

"...count yourselves dead to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus."

--Romans 6:11

Teach Me Love

In the depths of my soul,

In the quiet of my heart,

Teach me Love.

Teach me love that cannot be shaken

Not by frustration

Not by anger

Not by exhaustion

Not by guilt

Not by ingratitude

Teach me love,

That the words on my lips,

That the work of my hands,

That the path of my feet

Will be ever clothed

With grace,

With gentleness,

With wisdom,

With truth

Teach me Love

So fully, so deeply, so purely,

That seed scattered will be reaped in joy,

Bearing Love in due season.

Teach me Love

Boundless and full,

Poured out in abundance

Teach me Love!

**With gratitude, to JL, for taking the step. I'm honored to walk with you!

Waiting....

December 23...we're in the "home stretch," as it were, of Advent. Shopping is being finished, gifts are being wrapped and stashed away, kitchens are working overtime, and it's all a whirl of preparation for the celebration of Christmas. There's no shortage of expectation at our house, either. With five children, a busy church organist-husband, and my protruding middle, the sense of anticipation is extraordinary. What perhaps is lacking is quiet and reflection. Not that it's not understandable, but in this early morning quiet before dawn, I am grateful for a bit of peace and a moment to think before the day runs away with me.

It's easy, in the hubbub, to lose sight of why we're doing all of this. But the expectation is not supposed to be for opening presents, visiting family, meals and sweets, and all swept away on the 26th. It is to reflect and remember that without feast and fanfare, without trees and paper and ribbons, Eternity breached time. Wrapped in the complete dependency of a newborn infant, redemption and hope for a fallen world lay among common farm animals in the arms of a teenager. I find the wonder of that reality not in the shopping, baking, and wrapping that await me this day, but in the aching of my arms to hold my own little one. I've held my other five newborns in their first moments, and been swept away by the immense promise that wakes in their wide eyes as they gaze at me. I've been humbled and overwhelmed by the enormity of what lies there. The anticipation of the months before fades away in the anticipation of what is ahead. And there is the true challenge of Christmas.

In every new Advent, we are called to anticipate and embrace a new Incarnation. We are summoned again to the manger to behold with fresh eyes the simple, humble beauty of a newborn child and be drawn into the vastness of grace that is our salvation. Advent is to waken our longing, so that we can gaze at Christ with wonder, and be reminded to guard and cherish His presence in our lives just as we would a tiny child. My prayer is that January 25 will not find me cold - distanced from the warmth of this Christmas celebration, but still gazing into the eyes of my Redeemer, basking in the wonder of his Love and the gift of His presence in my life, and grateful that He chose to come to us so that we could come to Him.

O holy Child of Bethlehem!
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!

What does it mean?

I was asked a question this afternoon. Someone just figured out that we are expecting another child. While I was surprised that she hadn't known already, I was even more stunned at the way the conversation unfolded. She asked if it was a boy (it is), and looked sympathetic (a response that irritates me, but I'm getting used to). Then came the kicker: "So you are going to keep it?" She looked genuinely concerned for me. Worried, even. It seemed that she wanted me to say "no" so she could be relieved and tell me that she understood, and that 5 boys was certainly enough. I didn't know where to begin. I've heard a lot of ridiculous responses to my pregnancies over the last 12 years, but this one was a first. The fact that anyone would look at me and think that I could terminate a pregnancy at all, especially on the grounds of the baby's gender, is unfathomable. The fact that this little one is less than two weeks from clinical viability only makes the question that much more shocking.

Trying to clear my head and gather a response that didn't include asking if she might be out of her mind, I said "what else would I do? It's a boy! I can't change it now!" She sighed, looking resigned and so sympathetic for my plight (!??!), and repeated "you will keep it." To be fair, there is a significant language barrier in this relationship, and a cultural one, and to a lesser extent, a religious one. But I couldn't help but search my mind and my heart after she had gone, seeking to articulate what began as stunned silence and a whirlwind of thoughts too numerous and rapid to pin down.

What does this child mean? There are some answers that apply to every life begun, and some that only touch the intimate center of our lives as man and wife, and our family as a whole. In every life begun, there is hope. There is possibility. There is purpose. No matter the circumstances of any given conception, life is never an accident. It is always ordained, set forth in the image of God, unique and perfect. Even if we pervert the climate in which that life begins with impropriety, impurity, or violence, it does not pervert the miraculous integrity or worth that is God's fingerprint on humanity. We all come to exist out of nothing because the heart of our Heavenly Father desires us to be. How can we imagine that is it our right, even when it is in our power, to interfere?

What does this child mean to us? My husband and I took sacred vows 13 years ago. We entered into a covenant with one another and with God. In coming together, we pledged ourselves fully to one other and vowed to be open to the natural outcome of celebrating and renewing that covenant. This child, like his five older brothers, comes from our love. He is a precious gift. He is my husband, he is me, and he is uniquely and perfectly himself. It is a miracle and a mystery, and an unspeakable privilege to carry and nurture this life! For my other children as well, this child is a gift. They already love him. They talk to him, reach out to feel his movement, kiss my tummy good-night, and talk about what they will do when he comes. They are eager to see him, to hold him, and to play with him. He is, in their minds, already a part of their family.

Perhaps there is a blessing in the suggestion that I could end the life of the little one who is, as I type this, practicing his dance moves on my ribs. I've stopped and thought about what a blessing it is to be his mother. The woman who posed the question meant no offense, I'm sure. I don't think it occurred to her at all that offense could be taken; it was simply a practical consideration for a family that already has five children, all of them boys. If ever the opportunity presents itself, I will certainly give an answer for the hope that is within me. I will, I pray, be the one with the breathtaking and audacious question. Until that time, I will simply be grateful, anxiously awaiting the day when I will see my little son, cradle him in my arms, present him to his father and his brothers, and kiss his sweet forehead. Because I am his mother.

The Status Quo

The status quo...the way things are. We go to extreme lengths to preserve it, or at least the appearance of it. What I find interesting, though, is that over periods of time, the status quo can shift pretty dramatically. Then we may find ourselves preserving an image that is no longer real because it's what a given person may expect of us. I never would have thought about this had it not been for the magical world of social networking...Facebook.

It's a funny thing about my Facebook friend list: there are people there that represent some very different phases and areas of interest in my life. High school, college, married life; marching band, choir, church; former teachers and former students; knew me when, know me now...it's almost surreal to see these different circles meet and cross in one place. People who knew me as a mixed-up, rebellious, distrustful teenager might be surprised to see a friend's comment about faith or religion. People who knew me as an unapologetic Pentecostal with no plans for married life might be utterly shocked to see me as a married, Catholic mother of six. People from college might be startled to learn that I've set aside all my career plans, and those who only know me from my writing might not recognize me in "real life." It's almost enough to inspire an identity crisis!

As I've reflected over this, one simple reality draws it all together: it's all been steps on a journey. In the course of the journey, there have been some pretty dramatic shifts in my opinions, my philosophies, my priorities.... What is sometimes frustrating is that a dramatic shift in the mind only produces incremental shifts in the behavior. It can take a long time for a seed to really take root and bear fruit. And in the meantime, I maintain the status quo...a predictable pattern for a given relationship.

I suppose it is the way of things. In any given relationship, you at least start with the common ground. And I suppose there are no apologies to be made for growth -- for moving forward in the flow of our lives. Chances are that my high school math teacher will never meet my college music history professor, and my friends from church growing up will never cross paths with my current group of mommy friends. My half sister in Florida won't meet my youth ministers and Sunday school teachers from way back when, and my writing partner from English class won't meet the crazy girl from college. That's the status quo -- the way it is. It will grow and change through the years until it hardly looks the same, but it will be the same. It will be my path, graced by friends and family, teachers and students, knew me whens and know me nows. I will pray to be content with the status quo if it is but an honest picture of the journey, if not the destination.

Refresher Course on Grace

The summer days are waning. The kids are back in school, DH has returned to a “normal” work schedule, as crazy as that is, and I’m settling into life at home with just my littlest boy during the day. This summer, like all others, came with its familiar challenges. Financial matters are trickier in the summer, and life with all of us here brings more bickering, more chores to be done, and fewer willing hands (“but it’s summer vacation, Mom!”). I’ve also found that I am unsettled – there are principles I absolutely desire to live, but they are at odds with my tendency to be distracted and to avoid facing difficult situations. It puts me in mind of a cat chasing its tail – not actually achieving the goal, but creating a bigger mess in the chase.

When I stop to evaluate these times in my life, a common theme always emerges. My prayer life has become less consistent, and the stress I’m feeling comes from believing that I need to fix, juggle, figure out, and manage everything. There’s always the sense that the disorder in our home can only be put right if I can suddenly don my magic "SuperMom" cape and be what I have never managed to be: able to rise early and stay up late, single-minded and ever diligent in keeping peace and order, able to easily step aside to tend to children and visitors, always temperate and modest, always keeping my attitudes in check, always keeping the deadly poison from the “restless evil” in my mouth…. Funny. That magic bullet hasn’t yet struck.

Somewhere in the harried madness of life, there’s a lesson that I have to revisit over and over: His grace is sufficient. It takes courage and strength to face my fear and my weakness and let God be God. It requires a daily choice – daily submission to grace – choosing my bridegroom and the choosing the willing surrender of the bride. I need to take time to reconnect with the truest longings of my heart rather than the loudest clamorings of my world. I need to take a refresher course on grace from the author of grace. And then we’ll do it again tomorrow….