This blog was made possible by a snowstorm. I was supposed to go to Vincennes today to visit a friend, and instead, wound up at home. I told my friend, Caitlin, God was probably asking me to pray all day. Ha. Could I even handle that? It HAS been an hour…
I would love to be God. Immediately. Not have any limits. Do everything perfectly. Help anyone and everyone without letting them down. Never get tired in my work. Have an unending amount of love for people without being disappointed. To actually do what I mean to do…and not the ways I screw up my intentions.
I almost started out this blog post with “I want to be Jesus.” But you know what that means, right? You’re God in a human body. You have the knowledge and power to change the entire world, but are limited by people’s freedom. Yuck. Limits. Having to deal with other people’s limits. And don’t even get me started with dying on the Cross.
I’m in tension ALL THE TIME because of this desire to do GREAT THINGS and this inability to do them. Not only because I am limited by my endless laundry list of sins, but also time constraints, money constraints, not being able to bi-locate, not knowing what to say in certain situations, etc. I’m so limited and I hate it!
In my prayer/reflection/quiet time with God this morning, I remembered this reflection written in January’s Magnificat by Elisabeth Leseur, a married French laywoman who died in 1914 and whose canonization is underway. The fact that she’s married and able to write with such clarity to God is the first blessing to me this morning because I’m having a hard time understanding the married vocation as of recent. (How can a guy NOT be a complete distraction and actually lead you closer to God?...but that’s another day’s writing entirely) But secondly, and most importantly, it’s a beautiful witness to what it means living an infinite desire for life within a limit you can’t change. Our only hope is to give our limits to our Creator, who can fashion us the way He needs us! Enjoy!
“Material concerns, sometimes too heavy for my already burdened body, time wasted, relationships that hold no attraction for me, the effort to be pleasant and smile when all of me longs for recollection and for only close friends—all this constitutes my hidden cross, which does not elicit sympathy or admiration as illness or misfortune does.
To accept equally the impossibility of an active life through good deeds, relationships and regular work, and the impossibility of a wholly contemplative life that my family obligations, the preferences of those around me, and my circumstances prevent. To do all I can for others, to take refuge often in my ‘inner cell’ to pray, to adore, and to unite myself to my beloved God. To make of everything—prayer, suffering, self-denial and action—an interior offering for others and for God’s glory, as well as for those I love.
O my God, ‘give me an adoring soul, an atoning soul, an apostle’s soul,’ and do with me what you want according to my pact with you.”