This is all I have... and I offer it up. I write that a lot. And as I read it, I am faced with how much of a huge hypocrite I am. I have so much to offer to my Lord, and seldom do I offer everything... if anything to Him. (For those unaware or unprepared to read about my feelings on God... turn away now friends.)
I didn't go to Mass all summer. I could tell you I had less than 24 hours off a week and much of it was spent sleeping. I could tell you I spent time worshipping God in other ways. I could tell you I felt his presence in everything I did. Those things are mostly true. But none of them are legitimate reasons or excuses for anything.
I look at my life as it is today, and I want so much more. I want my holiness to be exuded from every oriface of my being. I want people to know that I am red-hot on fire for God. But how can they know something that may not be true? I not only want to say that everything I do, I do for God. I actually want to do everything for God. Oh, and that is lofty. It's a goal that is unattainable at best. And to say that statement... where I am right now... is ludicrous.
I'm a good Christian... I'm a good Catholic. But that's easy. I want to be a good disciple. I want people to know God's greatness through my love. So today I start a journey, and it's bound to be a long one. I'm not sure I will ever finish.
Yet, when I stand before God and have nothing but my life to lay at His feet... when my head is bowed because I am unworthy to even look Him in the eyes... when I call Him Father, and He softly says "Yes, my child,"... I want him to know that my life, laying open and vulnerable at His feet - imperfect, flawed, sinful and damaged as it will be - is all I have to offer. It will be my gift to Him. And He shall know that the good I did, I did for Him... the bad I did, I did despite His best efforts... the love I had, was the love He showed to me... and the tears I cried, I cried because I was sorry for disappoiting Him.
I will lay everything that I am at His feet... because what else can one do?
For anyone reading this (although I thoroughly believe that no one does) I am not a religious zealot (although those who call themselves so aught not be ashamed.) I am a sinner, and it is as though I am seeing myself for the first time.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Getting back in the swing...
I have a lot to say... but I don't have much time. So, I will just post this poem that someone read me today. It's amazing. You should read it... whoever you are. It is written by a woman names Oriah Mountain Dreamer.
The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Today is Wednesday, August 22, 2007. It is 3:50 P.M. It's been about three months, and it seems like an eternity.
Camp was, once again, an eye opening and extraordinary experience. I thank God every day that he allowed that treasure to be placed in my life. And it sounds cheesey and most likely is, but the people who I have met at camp have profoundly affected my life.
I laughed as I read my last post... I don't even remember writing it. It's so absurd. P.S... I didn't find love... nope. Love is for sure not something I am ready for. But I am ready for a little life, and I have no doubt in my mind that this year will be full of it. I'm a junior... sick... I don't even believe it. I feel like I left Falls City a week ago, wondering what college would be like. But here I am.
My classes this semester look amazing. I don't think I've ever been so excited for classes to start. Taking three literature classes sounds daunting, but I have a good vibe about it. The only problem may be trying to juggle class and being and RA. But I know what I have to do to keep sane and happy.
I pray today... I pray a lot... every day. But it's not praying. It's talking to God. And God shall lead me through.
This is a part of Allen Ginsberg's "Sather Gate Illumination" that he wrote at Berkeley in September of 1955. I think it's beautiful...
"My grief at Peter's not loving me was grief at not loving myself.
Huge Karmas of broken minds in beautiful bodies unable to receive love because not knowing the self as lovely ---
Fathers and Teathers!
Seeing in people the visible evidence of inner self thought by their treatment of me: who loves himself loves me who love myself"
Camp was, once again, an eye opening and extraordinary experience. I thank God every day that he allowed that treasure to be placed in my life. And it sounds cheesey and most likely is, but the people who I have met at camp have profoundly affected my life.
I laughed as I read my last post... I don't even remember writing it. It's so absurd. P.S... I didn't find love... nope. Love is for sure not something I am ready for. But I am ready for a little life, and I have no doubt in my mind that this year will be full of it. I'm a junior... sick... I don't even believe it. I feel like I left Falls City a week ago, wondering what college would be like. But here I am.
My classes this semester look amazing. I don't think I've ever been so excited for classes to start. Taking three literature classes sounds daunting, but I have a good vibe about it. The only problem may be trying to juggle class and being and RA. But I know what I have to do to keep sane and happy.
I pray today... I pray a lot... every day. But it's not praying. It's talking to God. And God shall lead me through.
This is a part of Allen Ginsberg's "Sather Gate Illumination" that he wrote at Berkeley in September of 1955. I think it's beautiful...
"My grief at Peter's not loving me was grief at not loving myself.
Huge Karmas of broken minds in beautiful bodies unable to receive love because not knowing the self as lovely ---
Fathers and Teathers!
Seeing in people the visible evidence of inner self thought by their treatment of me: who loves himself loves me who love myself"