A Disclaimer: At points, this is a more "Catholic" (ie, I use language specific to Catholicism) post than this writer would normally post, but since this blog is this blogger's personal blog and contains reflections on her personal expression of faith and experience of God, but also since she is a great advocate of ecumenism, she is writing with reference to aspects of Catholicism and also giving a disclaimer. This is post about how I've experienced the love of God in my life, and that happens to be through particular aspects of Catholicism. So, I hope this does not offend but inspire!
You know what? I love writing. I cannot explain to you, even in words, even in words and with the grace of the Holy Spirit, explain to you how much I love writing. It is with a supernatural, Godly love that I love writing. Thank you, God, for calling me to such a vocation.
This afternoon, I've been cleaning up, editing, adding, subtracting, shaping, and praying into the most recent blog post. I'll post a link to this new version of the "My New Favorite Color: Pink" post once it is re-published.
Working this post into a new-ish piece has led me to think more about my dear friend whom the post mentions. She must be praying for me these days, or God wants me to pray for her, or both, because I've been reminded of her in small ways often in the past week and a half, beginning with being asked to edit the "Pink" post. Some examples: I met someone with name last week, and the next day, saw a truck with her last name on it pass me on the road. More small things like these have led me to pray for and think of her and her wonderful family.
I often find that God leads me to write about that subject which He has more teaching for me in. (Can you really end a sentence with a preposition like that? No. It makes me cringe...but it's staying.) So this afternoon, I wrote about: my friend, radical discipleship, martyrdom, living single for the Lord, and how to love the world as Christ does. These are not new things to think about, these things I was thinking and writing about this afternoon. I was mainly doing a lot of remembering this afternoon. And so, I've been silently asking Him as I've been writing and thinking this afternoon, "What are you trying to show me?"
"Go back to your roots. Remember how much I have loved you."
This morning, the responsorial Psalm at Mass was one that I have known since kindergarten. The Communion meditation song was one I have known just as long. Singing them was going back to my roots, and this experience was a simple and sweet gift for today. In singing this Psalm and then the other song, I recalled that I am known by the Lord and that we have a history that is very special to Him. And so, this post is mainly about being rooted in the Lord, what do our roots look like, and I'm going to share a bit about some of my "roots."
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When I was a freshman in high school, my mother had to get to her job early in the morning, which meant that she had to drop me off at school very early in the morning, early enough that there wasn't anyone for me to talk to at the school when she dropped me off. In the fall of my freshman year, sometime near the beginning of the school year, I found myself at school, bored, feeling awkward and lonely, wandering the halls trying to distract myself from these observations.
Then, I hear voices. Where are they coming from? What group of people would be hear so early in the morning? I keep walking the halls, listening and following the voices I hear. Then, I see it: the school chapel, filled with a small crowd of people, lights blazing, and the sacrifice of the Mass being celebrated, just like it is on Sundays, right here, on a weekday, in my very own school.
I can't remember if I walked in that day or sometime within the next few days, but after that day, I knew what I would be doing before school every day that I could until I graduated. I would be at daily Mass. Before that day of following voices, I didn't even know that Mass was celebrated every weekday. I mean, I think I knew it, but I really didn't understand or see those people who actually go to Mass during the week and not just on Sundays.
I did go to daily Mass almost every day during my four years of high school and prayed in the school chapel when I could get to it on my lunch hour. It was such a safe, beautiful, holy place.
Well, daily Mass has become one of those "roots" of my faith. When I first came to college, I felt lost. One of the first things I decided I would do would be to try to go to daily Mass sometimes, so that I would at least be able to encounter God in some familiar, everyday way. There were a lot of uncertainties about this new city, this new schedule and lifestyle, that of a college student, but at least the Mass would be familiar, would be a foundation and compass. And so, throughout college, there were seasons during which I was able to go to daily Mass, thank the Lord.
To this day, when I face confusion, attack, or discouragement, I turn to God in the Mass, and I find in this His resting place, His comfort, and my well-worn place in His presence. Each time I go to Mass, particularly daily Mass, I am aware of my freedom in Him. I think, "I've been here before. I've been here, here in Christ's presence. I can relax." I felt that way this morning, and I was so comforted by the fact that I can still keep going to church, going to Mass and letting God cast out my fears and questions as I have for the past sixteen years.
I just love the Lord so much for giving me a history that has details, specific blessings, memories, and graces with Him. I think the prophets and Psalmists in Scripture feel similarly. They are forever recounting the deeds of the Lord, the history of God's faithfulness to the Israelites, as they turn to praise or seek the Lord in their present circumstance. I said at the beginning of this post that I couldn't find words to express how much I love writing. Same with the Lord--it's hard to express accurately and fully my love for the Lord and nature of God. One way of doing so though is to recount His deeds, concrete times and ways in which He has been at work in my life and others'. I think that oftentimes, when we say to one another, "Hey, remember when..." what we're really saying is "I enjoyed doing that with you" or "I love you." I see this happen with the children I nanny. They often say to me, to one another, or to their parents, "Remember when _____ happened? That was great!" or "Remember when we did _____?" I personally and especially love when they remember how I beat them at Go Ninja Go or made them the sandwich they wanted. :)
In conclusion, perhaps I will exhort you to recount your own "roots" in your relationship with the Lord: what are the strong ones? He's the source, He Himself, not memories, instances of grace, etc. Him and Him alone. But, as I think I've already said, He gives us roots, things to help us stayed connected to Him and to understand His nature and love for us, and so it's good and right to recount the roots and thank Him for them:
"We will not hide [the things that we have heard and known, that our fathers have told us],
but tell to the coming generation
the glorious deeds of the LORD, and his might,
and the wonders that he has done.
-Psalm 78: 4, ESV
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