Nothing I did or could have done, changed this opportunity. It was simply to be received and enjoyed. It was my joy to share it with another friend who was equally shocked by the decadence extended to us. It was heartening to have someone to share in the gift, to bear witness to this unmerited goodness. The performance is over, but I have been lingering with the sentiment of being the recipient of ‘the gift,’ or not.

Recently, while reading Ignatius’ tools for discernment, I ran up against this theme again: All as gift. This is not to say that everything feels like ‘winning’ front-row seats or otherwise but acknowledging that everything that comes to us does so, having first come through the Word-Made-Flesh. Both a consoling and challenging reminder. This feels laughable to me following two hurricanes, and heavy news, on the cusp of an election of historical significance.

How and where can the Light of the World be seen amid these circling heartbreaks?

It is easy for me to accept my tickets, my medical clearance, or a job opportunity and praise the Giver from whom they came. The experience of receiving generous care, hospitality, goodwill, and justice confirms what we hope and believe to be true about the Creator. We expect these of the One who is all good. How different, how insensitive really, it can feel to entertain the same sentiment about someone who was passed over, who needs to come back for more tests, who just wants a little more time? Could it possibly be that their trials are gifted to them, guiding them to better know and trust the very God who allows these tragedies? Offered, but not optional.

And yet, how can we believe anything different?

I have long clung to the image that when allowed to ask God about the hows and whys of this upside-down experience of living, we will sit together with the tapestry that is my life. And because time will be limitless and unceasing, we can linger together there as God recounts the familiar and forgotten moments of my life with me. First, with the front of the tapestry, the one I recognize as the days I have lived. Next, the Lord will turn over the recognizable pattern I have held as the story of my life, and expose its backside—its underpinnings.

I imagine God will not begin by directing my attention to the even stitches, the cadence that was the day-to-day or status quo. Rather, the hand of God will hold my hand over the seasons that hurt, and trace the knots, the pulls, tears, repairs, and reinforcements that have been added but by grace—moments I never knew that affected me greatly, prayers prayed by me—or on my behalf. Providence’s guiding hand that I hadn’t noticed, gut-wrenching dark times that formed in me something more resilient. And I will run my fingers over these rough edges and lumpy, fraying mounds, and feel for the first time, what God has known all along: That the true tapestry, the masterpiece that’s been woven is reflected in these saving stitches of grace, by the guiding hand that knowingly and lovingly has held it together since the beginning of time.

Although it is not as smooth and appealing to the senses as the ordered, patterned design I may have desired for myself or another, I hope that rather than wishing away the unconventional beauty of the scars and reinforcements, I will come to a place of praise and thanksgiving for the grace that has been unknowingly sustaining me, underpinning my days all along.

On the feast of All Saints, we are poised to give thanks for the lives of holy ones who have gone before us—the patterns that make sense for having seen them in context. Just as important, and perhaps more consoling, is the time and space offered for All Souls, the lesser-known, those whose lives and witness may have been obscure, shorter than expected, ordinary, whose underpinnings have yet to be exposed to the Light and celebrated for the grace emulating therein.

Today I offer thanks for the hard and the holy, the smooth and gnarled, knotted-up grace that is core to how we are loved and sustained by God, even when it hurts.

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St. Joseph the Worker

I wrote the reflection for the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker over on the Blessed Is She Blog this week and it provided some really interesting context for yesterday’s feast—and in light of the events in Paris yesterday, some helpful context. The Feast of St. Joseph the Worker was initiated in 1955 by Pope Pius the XII, to increase devotion to this quiet saint, and as a response the communist-sponsored celebration of workers that take place on the same day.

I had no idea.

Dignity of Work & Rights of Workers

It should be said that the Church has a long history of supporting workers. This is especially evident in the collection of writings commonly referred to as Catholic Social Teaching, which began in 1891 when Pope Leo XIII attempted to define the relationship between the economy and labor. These challenging responsibilities were held up alongside of the dignity of said work during the industrial revolution, when Rerum Nevorum was published. The document is beautifully (and verbosely) written, but boils down to the idea that work is a dignified means of participating in creation, and the economy is to serve the people—not the other way around.

I digress.

Whether you celebrated May day with flower crowns and by delivering baskets to your neighbors; or in solidarity with those demonstrating in the streets of Paris, here are some thoughts on the Feast of St. Joseph the worker and our own call to participate in the work that is ours.

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Around the web

“Look, Mom! That lady is feeding her baby while she drives!” shouted the alarmed voice from the backseat. Confused by this outburst, I looked around to find the woman in question. It didn’t take long for me to put the pieces together. We’d pulled up alongside of a woman who was pumping under a nursing cover, I imagined, as she drove to work. I fist-bumped her, one (former) car-pumper to another. I explained to my daughter that the woman was indeed feeding her baby while she drove, but there was no infant behind the steering wheel (crisis averted).

There is precious little detail provided in Scripture on Joseph’s life on earth beyond his own “yes,” after the visit of the angel, encouraging him to take Mary as his wife (Matt. 1: 20-21). His brief Scriptural appearances speak volumes about the nature of his relationship with God, as well as his relationship with Jesus and Mary.

Joseph is known as the patron of the Universal Church, fathers, a happy death, and social justice. He is nearly always depicted with a lily, symbolizing purity, or a carpenter’s square, representing his vocation as a carpenter… Click here to read more.

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It’s been a long time since I sat down to write. That’s probably telling; a reminder that I need some quiet time, and a reflection of the pace of the day- to-day.

Sound familiar?

For whatever reason, February is jam-packed for us, annually. As a practice, this is not something I try brag about—actually it’s a bit of a phenomenon because we are pretty intentional about not overdoing the schedule business. However, this February has gotten my attention because of its richness, because of its shortness, because of its paradox:

-Ash Wednesday on Valentine’s Day

-Preparing a talk on (spiritual) blindness, while I have (physical) sight.

-Learning about baby sleep rhythms, while my kiddos sleep through the night

-Watching bees buzz in and out amidst the lingering snow on sunny afternoons

-Preparing for baby chickens, while we maintain our suburban address

-Finding myself captivated by the themes that have been hammered into my consciousness recently by news, or episodes (yes, I’m on the This Is Us, bandwagon), that this life is to be crumpled up, worn out and spent, because ‘we do not know the day or the hour.’

-Visible reminders by Burpee seed displays alongside of snow shovels, that death does indeed give way to new life

Shoots

The seasons are changing, and with them, the Liturgical season. Reminder upon reminder that however tightly we cling to what is, things change… and new shoots arise.

I have been sitting with the image of the shoot of Jesse (Is. 11:1)—an image used particularly during Advent readings, as well as some Lenten traditions. They derive from the once-vibrant kingdom of David, which was demolished and afterward referred to as a ‘stump’; a lifeless reminder of what once was. But what we hear during Advent and Lent is the geneology that led to the brave shoot– that what was prophesied will come to fruition, that even what was once unthinkable, will rise up with life.   

Grace

We have had the privilege of celebrating both Confirmation and Baptism with dear family friends in the past couple of weeks. Each celebration has served as a reminder in different ways that we are ultimately intended to be transformed—both in God/prayer and God through the experiences or our lives. As a rule, these transformations rarely take place as we plan, and never seem to leave us in the place from which we begin. It is in these experiences that we receive the graces for this transformation. In other words, this internal tug-of-war is (I suspect) is an indicator of transformation—pulling between what we are comfortable with and what we are being called to become. 

For more reading on paradox, head on over to Blessed Is She, where I am sharing a bit about St. Josephine Bahkita and the international day of prayer and awareness against human trafficking.

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Elizabeth of Hungary was a great many things in her relatively short life–princess, Third Order Franciscan, wife, mother, widow. We celebrate her feast today as a woman of means who felt deep compassion for those who went without:

How can I bear a crown of gold when the Lord bears a crown and thorns and wears it for me!

Today I am sharing about one of my favorite modern-day heroes  in honor of St. Elizabeth, on the Blessed Is She blog. Click here to read more. 

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