A Gift, Unwrapped

Looking through the grille, I see that "God makes all things work together for the good of those who love Him" (Romans 8:28).

Looking at my circumstances last night, I get a tiny glimpse at one of the "hows." 

By the grace of God, I came to prayer - at the computer screen.  I decided that seeing stations of the Cross in pictures would help me focus on Christ instead of on my own little "miseries," so I went to Prie Dieu and clicked on the stations. 

And there it was.  A picture of Our Lord looking right "at me," and on His shoulder was the Cross.

Hurting in my own left shoulder, across the upper back where Jesus would have felt the weight, I thought in a whole new way of His walk to Calvary.  I'd meditated on various aspects of the Passion during my life, but never on the actual carrying of the Cross.  Last night's realization of that kind of pain was, I believe, pure gift.

I saw Him fall, I imagined His acute agony, and suddenly my little ache was nothing.  Compared to His Cross, my discomfort was less than a splinter.  A tiny thorn I could offer Him in thanksgiving and intercession. 

I said I'd let you know how things went, and this was the essence of it.  I received a gift of love from God.  A gift I wouldn't have unwrapped had I chosen not to spend that time in prayer.

God makes ALL things work together for the GOOD of those who love Him.

That is the truth of it.  That is the view through the grille. 


Lorenzo Lotto painting

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Skreeeeeechzztzsh!

The battle continues.  The struggle intensifies.  My battle for a living, disciplined, vital life of prayer goes on, and today there has been a new skirmish. 

I suppose I could envision it as an arrow stuck in my back, right below my neck, for that is where I injured myself today while (of all things) talking on the phone.  It's what I get for trying to multi-task, attempting to use both hands while holding the phone with my shoulder.  Got a call in the midst of doing something... we all know how this goes.... and before long I felt one of those cramps that feels like the muscles are crying "skreeeeeezzzzzitsjsh!!"  Uh oh.  A chink in my armor?

I can still pray, of course; nothing should be able to stop that.   Nothing SHOULD be able to stop that.  But oh, what a struggle.  I'd really like to sit in front of a mindless "happy" movie and hold really still and be, well:  pampered.

There is nothing wrong with decent happy movies, certainly.  Nothing wrong with caring for oneself when injured - in fact, that's good stewardship.  But guess what?  I can sit really still and apply heat and pray at the same time.  The happy movie can come later.

Could it be (the thought occurs to me) that Our Lord Himself would like to "pamper" me?  To draw me close in prayer and soothe me spiritually?  Perhaps even to soothe the screeching muscle as well - who knows...

So I shall go to Him.  Stiff in neck and sore in back and listless in spirit, I go.  If I don't, THAT is when the chink in my armor widens, lets in REAL arrows, wounds my life of prayer.

Stay tuned.  I'll let you know how things go.


Painting: Nicolaes Maes, Christ Blessing the Children (detail) 


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Battling

So.  She sleeps in armor now (I can hear you saying after my last post). 

If I don't, I definitely should.  We all should.  We really must sleep, awaken, work, play, eat, rest, go through all of life in the armor of God.  After all, this life is a battleground, and if we don't believe that, we haven't read enough Scripture or Church teaching or lives of the saints.

I have spent most of today on the battlefield.  I've been battling intensely for my life of prayer.  Paying close attention to this, I've realized it's kind of a revolving door.  I must remain armored in prayer, and the only way to do that is to pray, which strengthens the armor and helps me ward off attacks on my prayer.

And the door swings backward as well.  I give up some prayer-ground, off falls a bit of my armor, I am less likely to pray, I get more easily sidetracked... and 'clank.'  Another piece hits the ground.

Going through a day without prayer is going into battle without weapons.  It is facing the enemy unarmored, unprotected, vulnerable.  It only follows, then, that a main tactic of the enemy is to convince us that we don't need to pray. ('pssst: it doesn't change anything, God knows the world's needs already, you're too busy right now, you need to relax and surf the web, yada yada yada ..').

I spent a lot of time today just paying attention.  If I got sidetracked while in prayer, I noted what distracted me.  My distractions at this time of life are largely of my own making.  I no longer have the responsibilities of a young mommy.  Funny.  I used to imagine that at this stage, I would be floating seamlessly through St. Teresa's "Interior Castle."  It hasn't exactly worked out that way.  Once the arrows of busy-ness lessened, ones of laziness whooshed right in to take their place.

I managed to pray Morning Prayer (by God's grace) as soon as the day began.  It was tough - I mean really tough - not to check e-mail beforehand.  The struggle helped me identify a compulsion:  I can feel a "need" to check e-mail first thing, not intending to answer any of it right then, but still - it takes my mind into all sorts of directions.  Hopefully I will be aware of that lurking compulsion tomorrow... this time in advance.   

I could go through the whole day, but I will spare you.  It was a time of checking armor, a day of noticing what distracted me, and when, and why.  And thanks be to God, it was a day of prayer. 

Prayer is the weapon, the armor, the lifeline, the prize.  It is worth every battle.  May we never give up the fight.

The Armored Pajamas

It happened just as I was preparing to tumble into bed.  Making yet another resolution to begin a more disciplined, ordered prayer life starting right away - like, in the morning - I was hit with a cold shot of Reality. 

I will never begin a disciplined prayer life if I set my sights on doing it "in the morning." 

If I could put words to what I felt, they would be:  "so, what's wrong with right now?"  Why wait?  Whatever am I waiting FOR?   Rather than rattling off a few hit-or-miss night prayers and then waking several hours later to a vague memory of "that resolution I made last night," I can settle in and talk with God for a few minutes right now.  After all, as Right Nows go, this is a perfectly good one.  I'm the only one in the house still up, the rooms around are quiet, and the most important bedtime ritual I can perform is to climb into my armor. 

That habit I was constructing last week:  I think it's about time I start truly wearing it.  But I won't ever do so (I know this about myself) if I keep planning the "clothing ceremony" for tomorrow.  

I hope to share here - between regular prayer times -  how the routine is going.

For now, however, I am going to climb into my armored PJs and give my night to Our Lord. 

"You must put on the armor of God if you are to resist on the evil day; do all that your duty requires, and hold your ground.   Stand fast, with the truth as the belt around your waist, justice as your breastplate, and zeal to propagate the gospel of peace as your footgear.  In all circumstances, hold  faith up before you as your shield, it will help you extinguish the fiery darts of the evil one.  Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the spirit, the word of God."  (Ephesians 6:13-17)

Painting: George William Joy, Joan of arc
 
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The Master of Our Will

'We must never lose sight of the fact that God reigns in us only in proportion that He is the Master of our will.  This requires great generosity on our part.' 

'We must still the heaving of all that could raise a tempest in our heart - disappointments, separations, uncongenial surroundings, seeming injustice, painful remarks, want of consideration, loneliness and a thousand other things... We go through the excruciating pain of what looks to be loss, but in reality we are gaining superabundantly.'

(from Sheltering the Divine Outcast, compiled by A Religious, The Peter Reilly Co, Philadelphia, 1952, pp. 104-105)





Painting:  Laurens vieille normande



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