The Cathedral

I’ve got my earbuds in again tonight, and I’m listening to a Spotify station called “Catholic Hymns/Chants.” I keep this one around because when I’m in the right mood, the deep calls of the organ gorgeously mixed with the angelic voices hits just right. It brings me back to sitting in that hard wooden pew, as the sweet heavy scent of incense wafts over my nine year old head.

Some Sunday mornings I’d kneel on the padded kneelers, fold my hands and look up at the incense swirling above me. It would mix with the dust and the light shooting through the stained glass. In those moments I felt like it was just me, God and the angels. When it was time to receive communion I automatically stood with the rest of the parishoners in the pew. I didn’t understand what it actually meant to receive it yet, but something about it was holy. And quietly comforting.

It felt like I existed on a different plane in those moments. I can still taste the crunchiness of the communion host on my tongue and how it melted exactly 6 seconds after putting it in my mouth. I would, with folded hands, follow the person in front of me as I walked slowly back to the pew.

I didn’t know God too personally back then but I felt His big presence over me in those moments. I felt almost snuggled in a huge hand, although I didn’t know it was His at the time.

Sometimes these Catholic hymns hit me a different way. After I turned eleven some things changed in my life and we didn’t attend that church very often anymore. Several years later I returned in search of answers and comfort, desperately needing some semblance of a fuzzy feeling. I smelled the same incense, walked the same slow walk up to get communion, and kneeled and sat in the same way as before.  I was looking for any kind of salve to pour on my scratched up teenage heart.

I didn’t find it.

It wasn’t till later that I really met God in His fullness, in many tiny moments realizing my standing in the reality of his actual hugeness and grace. Since then it’s been a process of learning even more about Him (and myself), but His salve has never dried up and my heart has been snuggled into his big arms even deeper than I could have imagined as that nine year old in the pew.

I don’t attend a Catholic church anymore, but I truly believe my little heart’s first experience with God was in that pew.

And if you don’t mind, I’d like to tell nine year old me something (I’m ok with it if you want to eavesdrop):

Little one, keep looking up.

Little one, what you are about to experience is not your fault.

Little one, keep learning about that hugeness that is God, but don’t let that hugeness be a barrier between you and Him.  Let Him be your cathedral when you feel lost in the confusing wilderness.

Do Unto Others

I am a selfish person. I know this, and it has become all the more clear in the last five years due to being in charge of a very cute yet ever-present little girl in my life.

After she was born, it literally took less than a couple days to realize my natural inclination towards self focus. Yes, my amazing daughter literally owns my heart and I would step in front of a train for her. There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep her safe and happy. 

Regardless of that, I admit that all I want to do these days (understandably) is to sit and read, maybe with a glass of wine. I want to go on a beach vacation by myself. I want to go on a totally unnecessary shopping spree (ok,so that was also the case before the pandemic, but you get my drift). Mostly I super don't want to be called into her room 458 times a night as she launches stall tactic after stall tactic to avoid going to sleep. I just want to sit on the couch, eat snacks, and watch my grown up shows. Seriously little girl, go. to. sleep.

"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'" -Jesus (Matthew 25:40)

Let me be clear: I don't think there's anything wrong with taking that vacation, getting away from your children for a bit, or even going on a shopping spree. My point is I don't think any of us (even the most loving) want to choose others over ourselves very often. That is something that has to come from a supernatural source. Just look at the two year old that is told to not hit his sister, and immediately after being told, looks straight at mom/dad and does it again unashamed. It's not a mystery why we have to teach small kids how to share, why human trafficking exists, why most women don't feel safe walking alone at night, and why even in the face of tragedy people choose themselves over others... and on and on and on.

We are all selfish. This is a spiritual problem. So why would God ask us to be selfless if it's not how we're wired?! And on top of that, why would He say it's like we're doing these selfless things for Him?

God has fashioned our little apartment into a classroom on this particular subject, especially since March. I'm with my daughter all the time, which a lot of the time I love. We play, cuddle, pretend, do legos, and make each other laugh. However due to the fact school isn't happening and childcare is more complicated, every day I face the battle between boundaries for my self care, and reaching deep down to pray for a little more patience to answer the 785th call from my only child daughter to "watch this" or to deal with yet another meltdown. For most of us there are no good recipes for balance these days-- thanks, COVID.

I'm learning that I need to make choices that will make me more aware and available to her. As an introvert this will always include alone time, so I can fill up emotionally and spiritually in order to pour out to her and others.  I'm a work in progress. But when He sees me choosing her (which often means choosing myself first), I think His heart swells with happiness (ie, "you did it for me") because she is precious to Him. She is part of His family too and how she feels affects His heart.

Everyone's situation and needs are different and we are all presented with situations in which we are asked to put others before ourselves, especially nowadays. But we are all capable, mostly because our capabilities don't depend on us. I'm an empty jar, waiting to be reminded of the strength available to me to pour out on others, but first I have to stop and be quiet to receive it.