Christ Beside Me

Crazy hair... It runs in the family ♥

I woke up late Friday morning after staying up to prepare lessons for the coming week.  I meandered slowly into the bathroom to brush my teeth and looked sleepily at my reflection in the mirror.  I chuckled at my wayward hair and thought, "Wow, I look like a mess."  I freshened up my breath with some minty paste and plastic bristles and went back to my room.  As I crossed the threshold from the bathroom to my bedroom which is the hallway, I thought for a moment about my silly hair and my reflection.  "I'm kind of like that on the inside, too," I realized, "A mess."  I sat on my bed to think about it a moment longer and thought about the "cracked pot" story (see below) and it prompted a simple prayer.  "Lord," I began, "I don't want to let my brokenness get in the way.  I want to learn how to let You work through my brokenness - don't let it stop You.  Don't let it stop me, either."  With that, I offered an "Amen" and continued to get ready for the day.

I love being outdoors and so am often looking for an opportunity to walk or ride my bike somewhere.  So, after having gotten myself ready, I decided to walk down to the RiteAid near our convent.  I only needed a few things, but any excuse was good enough.  I left without a coat or sweater, it was so warm, and as I skipped down our steps the woman across the street greeted me with a kind "Good Morning!"  It added an extra piece of goodness to an already beautiful day and I happily prayed a rosary down the street to my destination.

I found only one of the items I was looking for, so I decided to continue my walk and went a block over to Walgreens.  Looking around at a world I don't normally walk through, my eyes landed on an auto shop that was coming up on my right.  Some music was playing and I caught a line of a very familiar song.  "I just want you to know who I am" was all I heard, but in that very brief moment, as I peered into the lot of cars and felt the sun on my face and listened to the music, I was somewhere else.  I was in someone else's childhood, someone else's memories, someone else's reality.  For a split second, I knew that no one else has or ever will experience life like I have, nor will I ever experience life the way someone else has.  It seems so basic, so obvious, but even though I knew that before, I never understood it.  As I waited to cross the intersection, the words from the song came back to me - I just want you to know who I am.  Though they may just be lyrics from a 90's song by the Goo Goo Dolls, at that moment it was part of God's answer to the prayer I had uttered earlier in the day.  By saying, "I want to learn how to let You work through my brokenness," I was basically asking for Him to be my teacher.  "Teach me," I had pleaded, and this was part of His lesson: "Know who I am."

When I got back home my dear mentor - and most frequent comment-giver on this blog (thank you, Sister Seraphine!) - returned from picking up some groceries.  We chatted for a few minutes before I hopped in the car to run a few more errands.  As I left she mentioned it was First Friday and with a smile said, "Stay close to Jesus."  That was the second part of God's lesson.

The next part took place at Mass.  After I ran my errands I drove to a nearby parish where I knew they had an evening weekday Mass.  I arrived a bit early, so I took some time to kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and began another rosary.  I got halfway through when I looked at my watch and saw I only had about five minutes left.  Finding a seat, I took my journal out so I could jot down a few thoughts from the day and then I quieted myself down for Mass.  We began with a song, although there was no official choir, and I found myself somewhat reluctant to chime in.  I enjoy singing, but I have not yet figured out how to use my vocal chords for something other than talking.  However, I noticed that the church was actually loud with song, that almost everyone was singing, perfect or not, so I quickly gave up on my insecurity and gladly joined in an a cappella "Hark!  The Herald Angels Sing".

The priest started his homily with a story: "I was at Wal-Mart shopping one day when this woman passed by me in the aisle.  She was looking at me in a very strange way and I wasn't really sure why.  Finally she said, 'Do I know you from somewhere?  I feel like I've met you before.'  I told her I wasn't sure, so she asked what I did for a living.  'Well, I'm a priest,' I told her.  'Aha!' she said, 'from church.  That's where I've seen you.'  It's funny," he continued, "how people don't recognize us outside of a familiar setting.  I think that's how it can often be with Jesus.  Jesus is present in every situation, but sometimes we only see Him when and where it's obvious, like church.  I think Jesus is more often found in those places and people we are not expecting, places in which it would be a surprise; that's where we need to look for Him."

The priest's homily was the last piece of my lesson for the day.  In conclusion, God's overall message to my plea was this: "In order to receive what it is you're asking for, you must know who I am and you must stay close to my Son by looking for Him where you do not expect to find Him."  Perhaps knowing who God is has to do with entering into the experiences of others and perhaps one of the places in which I can begin to look for His Son is within the brokenness that I have been reluctant to embrace, like our dear friend the cracked pot.

The story of the cracked pot

An elderly woman had two large pots.  Each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck to gather water each day.  One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.  At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.  The poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what the pot perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.  "I am ashamed of myself," it confessed, "because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house and I only bring home half as much as the other pot."

The old woman smiled.  She placed the pole on her neck to begin the walk back home.  In doing so, she replied, "Look at the path as we walk.  Do you see the flowers growing on your side only?  I have always known about your flaw.  I planted flower seeds on your side of the path and each day as we walked back home you watered them.  For two years now I have been able to enjoy seeing the beauty of these flowers during my long walk home.  I need you to be just the way you are."

The Love of the Incarnation

Do you see?

Do you believe?

A little baby,

our God!

Outside

it's cold

and yet He chose

to be among the lowly.

With me?

Like me?

A perfect love,

oh, God!

This world

it's cold

and yet He chose

to be among the lonely.

Son of man?

Born of Mary?

A human being,

and God!

The night

it's cold

and yet He chose

to be among the weary.

In me?

Through me?

A merciful Savior,

my God!

This soul

it's cold

and yet He chose

to make this creature holy.

Ode to Ordinary

Perhaps you know, and perhaps you don't know, but the Catholic Church has just begun a new year.  It is called the Season of Advent.  Advent is one of seven liturgical seasons celebrated by the Catholic Church.  Just like January begins the calendar year, so Advent begins the Church year.  And just like December ends the calendar year, the season known as Ordinary Time is what sums up our Church year.  That means the Church year for 2013 came to a close on Saturday, November 30th, the last day of Ordinary Time.  I am excited for Advent.  Advent prepares us for Christmas as it is meant to be a time of anticipation - we are longing for the birth of Jesus as well as for His second coming.  However, I must admit that I feel a little sad about having to say goodbye to Ordinary Time.

I just came back on Saturday from New Mexico after having celebrated Thanksgiving with my family.  When I had first moved away and started returning home for vacations, I expected everyone to gather together so we could run around and do as many exciting things as possible.  "We can go on a hike," I'd say, and a friend or my sister would say, "Yeah!  And then we can do dinner and a movie in the evening!"  "Maybe we can squeeze in a short road trip, too!" my mom and I would suggest.  But as much as we talked about these things, they almost never happened.  Mostly we would just have simple meals together, play with the dogs outside, go for walks, fall asleep to movies at home... Nothing outside of the ordinary.  I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that until recently.

Thanksgiving has never been one of my favorite holidays.  It seemed like nothing ever happened, like it always moved so slowly.  Plus, I never really enjoyed the turkey.  "No, no," someone would promise, "You'll like it this year," or "You'll like the way this person makes the turkey," but I never did.  So, Thanksgiving, not my favorite.  However, I was really looking forward to it this year since I hadn't been home for Thanksgiving in a while.  I had forgotten about all the unexcitement and the turkey; I just wanted to see my family.  Ideas of great big adventures didn't really creep in, either.  We did the usual: played games, ate, helped take care of my nephew and niece, bought some toiletries, visited the convent, and slept.  When I got back on the train I carried with me a vacation that had been just right.  Not thrilling, not boring, but Ordinary.  It was perfect.  I got to be a part of my family's daily comings and goings, to be immersed in what they live on a regular basis.  I could breathe in their smiles, touch their weariness, walk with their triumphs.  For five gorgeous days their routine was mine.  Somehow, I didn't recognize the beauty of that before.

After several months of Ordinary Time, I am having difficulty letting go.  Holding on to the ordinary has enabled me to welcome the imperfections of life; it has been stability in the struggle, and now it is gone.  But a new season is here, one which can help me appreciate the surprises in life and the patience of waiting for those surprises.  Advent.

Advent
as in "arrival" or "coming"
you demand my attention
tugging
seeking
from every direction

Advent
as in beginning
not end
your purpose, to renew
to seek all people of good will
that Christ may dwell within

Advent
the truth
that is past future present
you cry out
as a woman giving birth
you promise us Emmanuel again

of Bikes and Men

This week I finally started riding my bike to and from school!  To my absolute delight, it has been everything I expected and more.

When I started this past Monday, I smiled just thinking about the work-out I was getting, but then I began to notice the people around me.  When I rode in the car they had been so distant, but now I could see and hear them so clearly.  On Tuesday morning I started paying attention to the rest of the world's activities: mothers loading children into cars, sleepy teenagers waiting for the bus, the impoverished digging through trash cans... I felt like I had been separated from such a struggling yet beautiful world, but I had now been immersed back into it because I was no longer hiding behind a windshield.  While pondering this on my way to school Tuesday morning, I heard a man yell out, "Que Dios le bendiga!" which means, "May God bless you!"  I turned and saw him waving at me from his porch, so I waved back and kept on riding as I returned the greeting.  It made me smile the rest of the way to school and I secretly hoped it wouldn't be the last time we encountered one another.  Thanks be to God, it wasn't!

I saw the man again the following day and the same event unfolded.  The next day another one of the men who had been out on the porch was now standing by the sidewalk.  He greeted me with a great big smile, so I stopped and spoke with the two of them.  As the conversation continued, we discovered that we had met before.  Kyle, the one who had greeted me on Tuesday, was living on the streets a few years ago, so we had crossed paths when I was here in Pomona ministering to the homeless.  Now he and his friend Dan (who was the man standing near the sidewalk on this particular day) live at what I believe is a group home for men who are recovering from an addiction to alcohol.

Almost every morning now, Dan will fling the screen door open as soon as I pass by on my way to school just so he can say hello.  On my way back, of course, he is usually sitting out on the porch or standing near the sidewalk, excited to tell me about his day or offer me some afternoon coffee.  Kyle is not around as much, but when I do see him he usually asks for prayer.  He suffers from gout, but he also told me that his son, who was my same age, was recently murdered and so I have promised to keep the prayers coming.

I had no idea that when I chose to ride my bike I was choosing to enter into a whole new reality.  I have posted a little note on my wall which came from a single bag of tea.  It says, "Your choices will change the world."  I truly believe it, not only for me, but for everyone.  For all of us, each and every one of our choices will change the world.  If not the world across the ocean, then the world which is the neighborhood we live in.  What will your next choice be?  Who will it affect?

A Reading from the Blog of Lamentations

If you are friends with me on Facebook, you may have heard the brief story of my very temporary pet fish.  Well, here is the story at length and in detail:

One of my students brought her goldfish to school on Thursday, August 29th and gave it to another

one of my students.  The student who received the fish then brought it to me saying, "Sister, look what I got today!"  Holding up a Ziploc bag with a fish swimming around inside she asked, "Do you want it?"  I couldn't refuse the little creature (the fish, that is), so I accepted.  I had a vase sitting behind my desk from a bouquet of flowers the Sisters had brought me during my first week of school, so I gave it to her to fill up with water and we plopped the fish inside.  Sister Feliz and I went immediately after school to pick up some fish flakes and when I got home I smiled at my luck upon receiving this little surprise.  "God must've wanted me to have a pet," I thought to myself.

On Friday I transferred the little guy to a large juice container since his water was already pretty dirty.  I watched him swim around and dart about, but as I watched him throughout the day his behavior seemed to be a bit odd.  That evening I browsed through Google to better understand my new pet and discovered that putting a fish straight into tap water is not a good idea.  I resolved to run errands Saturday morning so that I could get all the necessary supplies and give him a better home.  It turned out that Saturday morning was too late.  I woke up to a floating fish.  Needless to say this did not make me happy.  In fact, it put me in terrible mood.

Attempting to go to Mass now before running errands, I reverted back to trusty Google so I could find a late morning Mass in the area.  I found a site that said there was a 12:15p.m. Mass nearby so I got ready and was in the car by 11:40 a.m.  I got out my phone to pull up the site again so I could get directions.  I found the same link, but for some reason it wasn't opening.  I sat in the car attempting to find another Mass, but to no avail.  "Fine," I resolved, "I'll just run errands now and go to Mass in the evening."  By this time my own personal rain cloud had already formed.


I was in need of some pots for my plants as well as some potting soil, so I looked up "plant nurseries" in the area.  I found one about 6 miles away, so I finally put the car in drive and got going.  As I pulled up to my destination I found that I had arrived at the botanical gardens.  I might have stayed to browse a bit if they had been open, but they were closed.  Of course.  The next Google search led me to a wealthy neighborhood where the plant nursery I had hoped to find (again) was closed (again).  Frustrated and fully enjoying the presence of my rain cloud by now, I tried searching one more time.  This time when I arrived at my destination I could let out a sigh of relief.  I had finally found a real, live plant nursery.  And it was open!  I skipped happily around until I began to find that all the fancy pots I admired were made in China.  I finally found a little plastic green pot that said it was made in Canada, but I couldn't find any more.  Annoyed that no one had asked me if I needed help, I trudged up to the front for assistance.  The guy there showed me where I could find some more unexciting plastic green pots and offered to take a bag of potting soil up to the front for me.  As I picked out my pots, my eyes were drawn to some simple terracotta pots.  Read the label... Made in the USA!  I excitedly exchanged the plastic for the terracotta and went up to the front to make my purchase.  I was feeling a little bit better, but decided maybe a trip to PetSmart would help.


It didn't.  All I got to do was look at every pet I couldn't have and think of the many I had left behind.  After about an hour of sulking in PetSmart I went over to Staples for some very necessary classroom supplies.  I found some whiteout - made in China.  Looked for a stapler - made in the Philippines.  Checked out the binder dividers - made in Mexico.  As much as I really could have used all of those things and as much as I could have come up with good excuses to override myself, I wouldn't do it.  I couldn't, especially because I had just told my students about this shopping practice of mine.  In knowing that buying these products was going to perpetuate the poverty of others, there was no way I could allow myself to ignore my conscience.  No whiteout, no stapler, no binder dividers.  I walked away annoyed with Staples and the rest of the world.




Not wanting to further upset myself, I made my way to a thrift store.  While there I found a nice water bottle for a Sister who had lost hers as well as a small flower pot and a fancy watering vase.  Everything totaled $3 and I left feeling satisfied with my shopping items despite the fact that I hadn't actually found what I needed.



I returned home and relaxed with the Sisters a bit before going back out to attend a 7 p.m. Mass down the road.  I was excited not only about the time of the Mass, but also about the fact that it was in Arabic!  I understood nothing of what was spoken during the Mass, but it was absolutely divine to listen to and be a part of.

As Mass ended I just stood in my pew watching everyone reverently file out of the church.  Eventually, people started coming over to me, excited to see me as if we had been friends forever and hadn't seen each other in a long time.  I received warm greetings, handshakes and kisses on the cheek

from people I'd never met before in my life; it was beautiful!  One young girl, about 9 years old, ran over and held something out to me.  "Please accept this from me," she said, and waited until I stopped being confused so I could open my hands and receive what she was holding.  As she placed the item in my hands I noticed it was a bill of some sort.  I figured it was about $5 and smiled at this happy child who was giddy with excitement because she had just given me something.  "Thank you so much," I said, and I gave her a big hug which I could tell she was thrilled to receive.  She darted off as others continued to greet me.

As I turned to finally exit the church myself, I decided to take a peek at the bill since I hadn't recognized the face on it when I glanced at it earlier.  I thought maybe it was a $10 bill, but I soon found out that it was actually a $100 bill!  My heart leapt in thanksgiving to God as I quickly folded the bill back up and put it in my pocket.  As I did so, my fingers touched the rosary which was also in my pocket and I knew exactly what that meant.  Walking to the main entrance, I spotted the girl with her father.  I went up to her with my hand out this time and said, "Please accept this from me."  I placed the rosary in her hands and she immediately clutched it to her chest as she gasped through an instant open-mouthed smile.  "It's very special; it came all the way from Rome," I told her.  She thanked me, still smiling, and I thanked her father for the gift.  "It's just a small gift," he replied.  "Oh no it's not," I said, "I just looked at it."  He only smiled and asked that I pray for them.  I promised to do so and returned home singing praises to God.

I had sulked all day because of my dead fish and because I couldn't find what I needed at the store, but I felt like this $100 was God's way of saying, "Look, your efforts alone are enough.  Don't be so hard on yourself."

An excerpt from the Book of Lamentations 3:20-24

 

"Remembering [my afflictions] over and over

my soul is downcast.

But this I will call to mind;

therefore I will hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is thy faithfulness.

'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul,

'therefore I will hope in him.'"