It is Finished

Professors, into thy hands I commit my final papers. 

What I have written, I have written. 

Let the MTS be granted to me according to thy word.

NOW what?

Academic Panic

I am ending my academic career in the same way I began it:   in complete panic.

The first class I took as a part of this program meant the first academic papers I'd written in....well, too many years.  Although I'd had education in between my undergrad years and then, that education consisted of more hands-on or multiple-choice types of tests, versus writing papers, and so, I found I had to stretch my brain a bit and it was quite painful!

Quite literally, there were times that first semester that had me in tears of panic, thinking, "I can't do this anymore!"

The panic calmed, more or less, over the last few years, and now I am staring down my very last deadline, terrified I'll be unable to meet it.

I confess that I'm not even sure I've done my final paper for Pastoral Theology correctly. Given the topic and the short length of the paper, it's an exercise in being concise and utilizing key words and phrases to convey my point. I have a "system" in place, but is it what the professor is looking for? Am I making my point? Am I doing this correctly or have I overly-generalized and at risk of turning in a final paper that will be a greater embarrassment to my grad program than it even is to me?

I'm taking this afternoon off work so that I can come home, plop down at my desk, stare at my paper and probably regress to year one. I need to get this paper turned in TONIGHT.

The final fork awaits....can someone please deliver several boxes of kleenexes to my door so that I may utilize them this afternoon?

Thanks.

Troll Roast

I just received this comment on this old post from 2005:

Dirk has left a new comment on your post "Those who fight monsters":

Die in a car fire!!! I love it!

This so retarded! Christians are so retarded! Religion is "ubber" retarded!


Trolls, please take note:

If you have any shred of dignity left in you whatsoever and choose to flame me, please make sure that you don't step in burning turds as you flee in cowardice.

The individal above who apparently mistook my comment field for a litterbox and dropped the above specimen may still be at large and in need of a burn unit as I doubt he lacked the intellectual and probably, spinal, ability to avoid going up in his own flames.

Further, if you ARE going to drop a flaming specimen of your own refuse, I would also recommend having a vocabulary consisting of at least a few more words than the number of fingers on both hands.

Please, Troll, for the love of God, if you're going to insult my intelligence and that of all Christians, make certain you have first removed your cranium from your anal orifice so that you do not end up even more greatly insulting yourself.

P.S. Dirk, you should be advised that the word "Uber" has only 1 "b" in it. I don't expect you get get the umlaut, but four letter words are generally fairly easy to spell, and the improper and unnecessary use of "scare quotes" in your specimen indicate you need to return to grammar school in order to learn the proper use of punctuation and spelling. 


Ah, I love the smell of roasting Trolls on a Wednesday afternoon!

Answered Prayer?

This morning I opened up the Office of Readings and immediately my eyes fell upon my favorite antiphon:  "Surrender to God and he will do everything for you."

Recalling my decision from yesterday to do just that I chucked a little. As much as I love that prayer and want desperately to live up to it, I have to admit that, deep down, I don't really trust in that prayer...and therefore I don't really trust God.  I walk up to him with the weight of the world on my shoulders, hand it all over to Him, and as He takes it from me I keep my hands on it. I won't let go. "Just in case".  Because if I let go of it, and it gets dropped and shatters....what will happen to me?

And so I continue to hold on.

I've been, and continue to be, very very concerned about what's going to happen in the next few months. I have time I don't want to waste, but in all honesty, although I am still discerning, I am a bit more focused about what exactly I want to discern, even if only to rule it out definitively. I don't have any intention to "community shop", but I still have to guard against the temptation to do so in the name of "not wasting time."

I have been praying a great deal about what I am being called to do, not just with my life in general, but with my upcoming summer.

Today, I may have received an answer.

In a meeting with my supervisor, she closed the door and told me she had a proposal for me to think about. During the summer I am down to 10 hours per week; that's the contract, and it's brutal.  However, she had gone to our Business Administrator, recognizing that there is a need in the summer for SOMEONE to have more hours, because the youth minister is running ragged with everything she is doing with very little support.

So, the proposal is this:  instead of only 10 hours per week for 6 weeks, they can offer me 25 hours per week, in the interest of assisting the youth minister with her summer events and all the prep that goes into them, and also to further developing the programs we have going on during the school year.

My supervisor knows I'm discerning, and said that they could perhaps structure the hours in a particular way that will allow me the time off I need while still meeting their summer goals.

25 hours won't be enough to save me from bankruptcy, but it might stave it off a little, and, who knows?  Perhaps I'll find a way to make a little money through freelance writing or some other thing.

I told her I would pray about it, but I have only until Friday to make a decision.  I am seriously considering this offer and will probably answer in the affirmative. Often God's will is right in front of us, and perhaps there's more but we have to take Him up on one part before He reveals the rest of His plan.  This may be one of those cases.

Other Plans....

In looking ahead at life without school, I am considering many possibilities in ways to spend my time. I can work on my book, finally, and maybe finish it, then get it to publication.  A friend of mine started to take up writing icons, something I've wanted to do for a few years now, and if I can amass the money for the lessons, I may seek to study under the same person my friend went to.  Or maybe just take an art class, finally, and begin to develop the few skills I have to see if they go any further than a few cheap charcoal drawings.

I have a stack of books I've been wanting to read, and finally, I'll have time to do so! I'll have more time to spend with my dog, and maybe I'll foster another one. God knows the need!

So, although I admit I am facing the near future with a great deal of trepidation, I am looking forward in the light of hope, of knowing there IS  future, and that alone is a gift.

Although vocational discernment is at  the forefront, never far from my thoughts, never apart from my prayers, I am still called to live the life I have been given, and within that, recognize the incredible glory of God in even the simplest of desires.

I really hope, though, that in all of this, both the simple and the profound, I might finally find real trust in God, and finally, when it's time, take whatever leap He is asking me to take, knowing He will never let me fall.

Dear God, give me the grace to trust you.
Amen.

Passion

I've made a decision....of sorts.


Today I received a response back to my most recent letter to the Passionists in St. Louis, which I sent under obedience to my spiritual director's orders. Sister is inviting me to visit them, in spite of what I revealed as a very peppered history and a hopeless amount of debt and obstacles.  My age, apparently, is not an issue; she reads in my letters sincerity, and in fact has not told the community about me as I am, in her words, "so far in the future".  By that she means that I won't be entering by May or August or October.  Yes, I'm an "if" but I am far in the future.


I gather from what she says that they are experiencing an unusually high number of inquiries and visits this year, and this is wonderful to "hear".  Please keep the St. Louis Passionists in your most heartfelt prayers!  I don't know if I will visit, or whether if I do, their particular community is for me, but this increase for them is a sign of the workings of the Holy Spirit, the life of the Church, and may He call MANY to this charism to offer their lives in union with the Passion of Our Lord!


So...you may be wondering, what is the "decision" I have made?


I may be speaking prematurely, but the one thing I know is that in order to progress in any way, I need to make a decision.  In looking at my life and circumstances through the lens of reason, I know when I can and can't visit religious communities. The great irony in working for the Church is that it is not easy to take more than a day or so away, for quite literally, my presence is required in nearly everything we do. There are times where it can be filled with volunteers or taken over briefly by a co-worker (at least in this parish),. but the reality is that I am not free to enter into discernment during the academic year. Of course, my own graduate studies has had something to do with this over the last three years, too.  Next school year will be a little different, but what is not being given to my own education is, really, going to translate into even MORE work and activities and crazy hours at the parish. That is the nature of working for the Church:  you give EVERYTHING whether you have it or not. 


That is the nature of God, deep calling into deep.


So, now, again,  I am facing another summer, a great gift of TIME, but also again, without the benefit of income.


Last year, about "now" when I met with my spiritual director and expressed my panic of oncoming financial disaster, he told me, "God is asking you to trust Him."  


He was right then, and I think, even more so now.  This year, though, the situation even more precarious:  It's not just the mortgage and credit for car repairs/maintenance & other random necessities I'm trying to pay, but now, both my undergrad loans (which have been subsidized in deferment while in school), and my UNsubsidized graduate loans, are all coming due. In fact, my grad loans have been due for the last few years, but have been in deferment in their unsubsidized state. Ergo: I owe more than my education actually costs.  


All I can see in front of me is disaster. And, having been in the job market even when it was good, even back when I was making decent money, well, I've NEVER had a job that will pay what I owe right now on a monthly basis.


And I have NEVER intended to be in a position to not pay my bills. I have always intended to pay them and have always worked hard to make sure I'm holding up my end. Thus far, I have excellent credit and I even keep an interior rolodex of money owed to people who helped me along the way, whether intended or not. I want to pay even that undocumented debt...and I WILL. Come hell and high water both at the same time, I was raised right, and I. Will. Pay. My. Debts. ESPECIALLY the personal ones.


Period. 


It doesn't make any logical sense, therefore, to state right now that I am giving this summer, again, to God.  


But I declare it so; this summer belongs to God. My Vocation is more important than anything else, because my salvation is dependent upon my Fiat to God in every circumstance. It is not that I effect my eternity, but a matter of operatio sequitor essse:  grace builds upon nature. 


A year ago I noted that we all work so hard for money, when really, all we really desire, all we really need, is actual TIME.  How many professionals have TIME to spend? Vacations are limited, overtime is premium pay, and in America, we tend to be obsessed with our jobs and what we put into them. 


I don't care anymore about Corporate America. I care to pay what I owe, but more than anything, I want to give to God what I owe HIM, and that is...time.  It is nearly impossible to find TIME for anything, but here it is, in my lap. I don't want to waste it. Live is not about making money, but about who we are in relation to God.


The other night, I was reminded that my life is not my own; I am called to lay it down, as are we all. 


Life to the Author of Life


Saturday evening, the vigil of  Mother's Day, after Mass I purchased three roses. One for one of my volunteers (who left before I could give it to her), one for my Mother whom I am not going to see for several weeks, and one to give the Blessed Mother.


I was almost in tears when I realized I'd purchased the rose too late for my volunteer, who has been so helpful to me this year, and really, ever since I began in my position.  Such a small token of respect, and I couldn't even give it to her! I considered leaving it for her, but realized by morning it would be wilted. I considered asking the people selling the roses (parishioners) to perhaps give it to her the next day, but realized in their busy-ness, it might be forgotten.


I wanted to give a rose to my mother, but as I wouldn't see her as usual for Mother's Day, I suddenly understood I had an option, one Mom would appreciate, one I would as well. After all....she raised me!


When I left work with the three roses, I drove to my home parish and went to the statues of the Immaculate Heart of Mary and Sacred Heart of Jesus. They aren't in the Adoration chapel, but in the main sanctuary of my parish, and I KNEW this was where I should make my offering. I laid the roses at the feet of the Immaculate Heart:  one in the name of my volunteer, one in my Mother's name, one...from me. Each was a different color, each, a different purpose. 


Two of those roses were in thanksgiving for lives lived according to God's plan.  One was in hope of a life yet to be fulfilled, but thanksgiving for the chance.


As I looked at those roses, I thought to myself, "I have just given God something HE created. How lame."


Then I understood a deeper lesson.  A lesson that brought home again the fact that we are not our own. We do not even possess ourselves. We "do what we do not want to do" in a constant battle against our passions, and therein is our own Passion; the Passion only revealed in light of the Cross.


I knew that it was one thing to hand a rose to Our Lord through His Mother, but it was merely symbolic of what I need to do: to lay down my own life. 


Roses die and enter the dumpster.

Souls grow and are united with the eternal life of God Himself. 


When I gave my rose this year, I did it as a symbol of my intention, my lived hope to not just lay down my life, but to enter into eternal holiness.  Not just in a symbol, but in reality.


I don't care if I have to live in a van down by the river:  my heart and soul belong to Jesus, and if that is true, so does my debt. Whatever happens....so be it.Jesus, I trust in thee. No matter what comes..I trust in Thee. Even if I have to live in a van down by the river.

The Few, the Ragged, the Humble: The Remnants

You can still find them there.

The remnants of times gone by.

They kneel in their pews, their heads covered, their gnarled fingers imperceptibly crawling along their beads as they stare either downward towards those archaic prayers, or, rather, focus on a particular point before them.  You can walk in front of them, you can drop kneelers or even hit a pew with a sledgehammer, and they will not move, will not acknowledge your ministrations of random noisemaking, even if you carry it out directly in front of them.  They don't move. They are more stalwart than the most steady Marine at guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the British Guards at Buckingham Palace, or the Swiss Guards protecting the Vatican.

Hollywood loves to portray the Catholic Church in this way; sometimes they do so just to pull in the stereotypes, complete with a priest hanging out in a box; a priest who clearly has nothing better to do and spends his life pathetically awaiting the penitents who never come, unless, of course, those who do bring with them a ragtag bunch of cameramen hoping to imitate the success of  Hitchcock's "I Confess".

If clinging to the old artful stereotypes doesn't work, Hollywood has their own version of aggiornamiento, involving the same setting, but casting a sense of perpetual evil in the place of holiness, in vilifying the saint instead of canonizing the human, whether he be clergy or the little old Italian babushka hiding a deep secret of her true identity.

Still, "Hollywood" fails with radical dismality, for they lack both the faith and the art to understand the reality of the Catholic Church and even more directly, the prayers of the living "relics" who make up the powerhouse that defies popular categorization.

What happens most often in our age, through the media, is an ancient portrayal of Catholicism, a portrayal involving all that was beautiful, all that involves our patrimony. In reality, if one were to view such an image and walk into an average Catholic Church of our time, most likely they would be not just disappointed, but outright scandalized.

There is nothing in the vast majority of Catholic church buildings that transcends. Most Protestants visit Catholic parishes and think to themselves, never verbalizing their criticism for fear of offense towards their Catholic bretheren, "Why the HELL did you do THAT to your church?"

They come expecting beauty, and they get Podunk City Hall in BF Egypt.

People are so underwhelmed by the lack of transcendence that they fail to notice the humble figures at prayer in spite of spartan, or in some cases, outright offensive surroundings.

The Praying Babushka

Admit it.  We all love the idea, if only that, of entering a Catholic church, noting the symbols of our faith, and really, don't we take comfort from the woman or man praying at the shrines, or, maybe, just kneeling in a random pew having private recourse to God in His own House?

Isn't that comforting?  Doesn't that image draw you in, and invite you to lay your own burdens at the foot of the Cross?  Doesn't that  very presence of a praying person make us wonder, deeply, if maybe they might pray for us, too?

Popular culture would have us believe the Church is dying, but for years and years now, the vanguard of Popular Culture has revealed images of Catholicism recognizable to souls throughout the centuries:  the priest in the box, the praying babushka. The images encompass the darkness of sin and the simple holiness of the humble, unknown saint.

We don't see Hollywood film the "Church" so many of us have attended since birth, though, because no self-respecting film director finds "art" in modern Catholic parishes. There is nothing to set us apart these days from our Protestant counterparts. Most Catholic parishes haven't the art, the architecture, or the faith to draw the attention of Hollywood anymore. We're so lacking in beauty these days that we might as well be a neutral version of Andy Warhol's monochromatic series in  beige.

It wasn't always so, and, in fact...it isn't so.

The Church is a visible, living structure. She is the Bride of Christ, a Holy Nation, the Mystical Body of our Savior.  She is One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic.

Aggiornamiento

One can walk into many parishes in my diocese and find the backbone of the Church, the small, unnoticed, stereotyped and ridiculed souls at prayer. Sometimes their heads are covered with demure scarves. Sometimes with various forms of lace. Sometimes with hats. Usually with no headcovering at all, for such is not a dominant custom in our age. Yet they come, people of faith, they kneel, and they pray. They come at all hours of the day and night, for Mass and to remain or to come back for the silence and prayer afforded by the deep sanctuary of the chapel seeking solace and making intercession in the presence of Christ Himself.

There is comfort in the flickering light of the Sanctuary candles, there is confidence gained through the blaze that lights up the votives to the Saints who are constant in prayer in their state of beatitude.  There is humility to be found in both the brightest and darkest of chapels, and in all places, the faithful are laying down their lives from their very roots.

They are the remnants, they are the seed, and they are the new growth.

Some laugh at the Catholic Church, and say she is dying.

They of little faith will be astonished witnesses to the Resurrection, in our very own age. They will recall the purgation, they will remember their own ridicule, and in the end, they will fall to their knees and find that the perceived remnant was really only the catalyst, the moss that clung to the rock to make life possible for others.

They say that the Church is a remnant of a time gone by, when in reality, the world is only gossamer, but the Church is eternal.

+JMJ+

On the Importance of the Distinction Between Apostolate and Ministry

This is a paper I turned in last month for Pastoral theology. Our professor, a very good Thomist, gave us all a certain creative freedom in our response, and as I've written a couple Summa-inspired parodies, I thought perhaps I could use the skill in a more serious academic way as well. I just got the paper back with a very high grade and kudos from the professor (what a relief!). 


So, now, at least certain that for once I have written something without heresy, I present to you food for thought, and encourage you all to help restrict the term "ministry" to the proper venue.  Without further ado:
****

Question: On the importance of the distinction between the terms “ministry” and “apostolate”


Objection 1: It would seem that the term “apostolate” would apply to the successors of the apostles and the term “ministry” has a more universal application and understanding.
Objection 2: One who engages in ministry should be termed “minister”.
Objection 3: It seems the distinction is unnecessary because many who minister are in an apostolate and vice versa. To wit; it is unnecessary because the terms are not mutually exclusive nor are they necessarily mutually inclusive.


On the Contrary, it is important to draw the distinction in terms, for, as many theologians have noted, a lack of distinction in terms has led to larger consequences as it applies to doctrines taught by the Church with regard to ministry. In 1994 John Paul II stated, “It must be admitted that the language becomes doubtful, confused and hence not helpful for expression the doctrine of the faith whenever the difference ‘of essence and not merely of degree’ between the baptismal priesthood and the ordained priesthood is in any way obscured." (LG, 10) He also stated in the same document, “We cannot increase the communion and unity of the church by ‘clericalizing’ the lay faithful or by ‘laicizing’ priests.” (1)


I answer that although the definitions of the two terms, “Apostolate” and “Ministry” have not been formally defined to complete satisfaction, in a review of several official Church documents it becomes clear that the words do have specific applications. We can note especially that the Vatican II documents (see especially Apostolicam Actuositatem, Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity) exclusively used the term “Apostolate” to apply to the work of the laity in carrying out the mission of the Church in the world. The word “minister” and “ministry”, in fact, has both historically and, as emphasized in Vatican II only applied to those who have received Holy Orders.


Reply to Objection 1: It would seem that the term “Apostolate” has a wider application. “Every activity of the Mystical Body with this in view goes by the name of “apostolate”; the Church exercises it through all its members, though in various ways.” (2)   However, throughout history, the term “ministry” has been restricted to apply only to the activities that flow from Holy Orders in the sacred actions of word and sacrament. Vatican II, as well was very specific in its use of “ministry” as applicable to the work of the Ordained Ministers, and the term “Apostolate” to the work of the laity, especially as it applies in the world. Apostilicam Actuositatem emphasized especially the right and duty of the Catholic faithful to carry out apostolic activity in the Church’s work of sanctifying the world. “From the fact of their union with Christ the head flows the laymen’s right and duty to be apostles. Inserted as they are in the Mystical Body of Christ by baptism and strengthened by the power of the Holy Spirit in Confirmation, it is by the Lord himself that they are assigned to the apostolate.” (3) It would seem, therefore, that the term “Ministry” applies properly to the Ministerial Priesthood which is granted specifically through Holy Orders, and the term “Apostolate” applies to the Lay Faithful which is granted and nourished by Baptism and Confirmation.


Reply to Objection 2: The use of the term “minister” has been reserved for the ministerial priesthood; that is, those who have received the Sacrament of Holy Orders and have taken on the character of the priesthood of Jesus Christ. The work of the priest, that is, his ministry, flows from that sacramental character to minister to the people of God in exercising the offices of Priest, Prophet, and King. The 1983 Code of Canon Law extended the privilege of admitting some of the laity to participate in certain liturgical or catechetical offices. This work of the laity in those offices, however, flows not from Holy Orders itself, but out of their own foundation in Baptism and Confirmation, and granted only through the commission of a Priest or a Bishop. Those of the laity who participate in the work of the Priest in the work that does not absolutely require Clergy, such as in liturgical positions (Cantor, Lector, Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion) have an extraordinary character; it is a privilege, not a right and it has limited scope.

In Christifideles laici, John Paul II discussed the fact that although the 1983 Code of Canon Law allowed for lay persons to exercise certain ministries normally belonging to clergy, “…the exercise of such tasks does not make the lay faithful pastors: in fact a person is not a minister simply in performing a task, but through sacramental ordination. Only the Sacrament of Orders gives the ordained minister a particular participation in the office of Christ…” (4)

It would be totally inappropriate for one who serves as a Lector, for example to refer to himself as a “Minister”. It is proper in that case, however, for him to understand that he participates in ministry. Likewise, the teaching office of the Church which flows through Holy Orders may be carried out, through commission, by the laity. In this case, it would be proper for the lay people who do the work of catechesis, that is, handing on the Faith, to recognize that their work is a ministry which is a participation in the ministry of the Priesthood. However, a catechist is not a minister; but rather, enjoys a participation in the ministry.


Reply to Objection 3: Certainly it can be observed that the Clergy participates also in Apostolate, and in some cases, the Lay Faithful are granted the privilege of participating in the Ministry of the Priesthood. However, this does not make the terms mutually exclusive or inclusive, which is why the distinction in terms is clearly necessary. Christifideles laici revealed that in the Synod Assembly, there was a critical judgment voiced regarding a too-indiscriminate use of the word “ministry”. This over-use caused “…the confusion and equating of the common priesthood and the ministerial priesthood, the lack of observance of ecclesiastical laws and norms…the tendency towards a ‘clericalization’ of the lay faithful and risk of creating…an ecclesial structure of parallel service to that founded on the Sacrament of Holy Orders.” (5)    As stated above, in the replies to the first and second objections, the use of terms in Objection 3 are founded upon a lack of definition of terms and thus a misunderstanding of the character belonging to each term and inherent mission indicated by it. To properly distinguish “ministry” and “apostolate” is truly revelatory of the mission of the Church and the complimentary roles and charisms that belong to both clergy and laity from within their specific areas of responsibility. The Church cannot exist without the Lay Apostolate; nor can the Lay Apostolate exist without the Ministry of the Priesthood.

----------------
ENDNOTES:
1. Address of John Paul II, April 22, 1994
2. Apostolicam Actuositatem, 2
3. ibid, 3
4. Christifideles laici, 23
5. ibid.

Once and for Always

Readers local to me are probably all very well aware of Sgt. Joseph Bergeron's death in the line of duty last Saturday, and of his funeral and burial today. I haven't said anything about it here on the blog, but just as everyone else, it has left me horrified. Although I was not able to attend the funeral, KARE11 live streamed it so I was able to catch parts from my desk at work, and many times had to blink back not just tears, but sobs.

No, I didn't know him, but I do know grief, and like his daughters, I, too, lost my father, although not through such violence. I sorrow for and with Sgt. Bergeron's family, if from afar, and as an ex-officer, I sorrow with Police Officers everywhere, especially those in Maplewood.  

I'm going to re-post a tribute I wrote many years ago, but first I need to provide a little explanation.

My cousin George, who died a year ago, was a cop for several years. He taught me how to shoot, he helped me make connections and as his wife told me at his own funeral, I was "always really special to him", but he was clearly always very special to me, too.  I'm sure my leaving Law Enforcement was a bit of a mystery to him, but he never asked, understanding that I really didn't want to talk about it very much.  I had called him after I resigned, and he said something to me I questioned at the time, given that my career was so short. But he understood something I couldn't grasp at the time:  the Job changes you.

When my cousin learned that I had no plans to pursue another law enforcement position, he simply said to me, "Once a cop...always a cop."  Over my protests, he went on to explain what he meant. He told me that I didn't see the world in the same way any more, I wasn't going to react to things like other people do, and I was going to find in many ways that even though I had left the Job, it wasn't going to leave me.

I found that he was right. The first cop to be murdered by a suspect was Tim Bowe, a State Trooper who was ambushed when he responded to a domestic violence call. Even though I hadn't been a cop for months by then, his death really rattled me. So has every cop's death since then.  Although the "once a cop always a cop" syndrome has hit me in many other ways over the years, I wrote the following essay/tribute while trying to grasp the reality of what had happened, out of my own brief experience and "inside" understanding of law enforcement.

Please understand that the following tribute is fictionalized; some of the experiences were mine, but I was writing from the perspective of "Everycop". The first paragraphs are my experience of training and why I got into law enforcement, but the rest is a generalized mix.
**

Don't Call My Name

I decided a long time ago to become a police officer. My family was shocked and most of them decided that I was insane. They spoke to me as if I were an irrational child, and everyone, EVERYONE, asked me "WHY!?"  I neither defended nor explained my choice. The simple reason was this: there was no rational or logical reason in the world for my desire to become a police officer. I knew the risks I'd be taking and I understood my family's concern.

So I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I went through the training where they made us run miles and hold the push-up position for what seemed like hours while we listened to our instructor give us his life story. They made us take our turns at leading calisthenics and if we didn't give it our all, they made us do extra. They stuck us in the "gas chamber" and gave us tear gas, CS gas, and pepper spray just to be sure we got our "money's worth" of education. They twisted our joints and shot at us, and throughout the training, they impressed upon us that no matter what happened, no matter how serious the injury, how intense the fear, or how close the panic, we were always to be in control of ourselves and the situation. They taught us the mentality necessary for survival on the streets. And they told us story after story of heroes fallen in the line of duty. They taught us to learn from their mistakes as well as our own and how to not make the same mistake twice. We may never get a second chance.

Throughout it all, I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

When I was finally hired, I raised my right hand to give my oath to God, my Country, my State, City and Department, to uphold the Constitution of the United States, enforce the laws, to Serve and to Protect. In a room full of collegues, family, and superiors, I gave my oath and silently prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I wore my brand-new uniform with pride, pinned on my badge, strapped on my vest, and holstered my loaded gun for the first time. As I did so, the full weight of my responsibility settled upon my soul. I experienced for the first time the taste of the knowledge that accompanies fear; sometimes "serving and protecting" means taking a life or risking my own...so I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I rode in a squad car, patrolled the strets, stopped offenders, served warrants, subpoenas, and took reports. I turned in documents upon which I had written, "status/inactive", knowing that someone's home, life, and rights were somehow violated, but I was unable to provide the solution they needed me to offer. I realized that although I was young and inexperienced, I was suddenly "Authority", and I supposedly had "the answer" the people I served were seeking. I comforted the grieving, warned the disorderly, and stopped the assault. I restored safety, referred people to other agencies for problems I couldn't fix, and I tracked down runaways and returned them to their parents, caring or otherwise. I held the hands of children trapped in twisted metal and I helped to save the life of someone's family member. Each and every day I saw both the best and the worst of human nature.

However, I always knew that I was not immune to the tragedies that strike unprovoked, so I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I learned early that because I wore a uniform and a badge, I was no longer my own person. My life was not mine; it belonged to the public and my reputation was relegated to the same. I became the target of hatred, unforgiving glares, and pointing fingers. Likewise I was seen as an expert in the law and the solution to life gone somehow awry. And I felt incredibly inept.

So I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I attended the funeral of a fellow officer who had fallen in the line of duty. I gave my condolences to his family and friends and I shared in their grief. As I paid my respects and said my goodbyes to the officer in the casket, I realized that his death was not personal. He was killed because he wore a uniform and a badge. He died for what he represented, not for who he really was. I knew that it could just as easily be any one of the thousands of officers who do the same job lying in that casket. I also knew that no matter who it was, the death would not be any easier to accept. And as the tears came to my eyes I understood the full impact of the identity I shared with this individual. And I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

When I flipped on the lights, switched on the siren and screamed through crowded intersections en route to a call of a "man with a gun," and as I risked my life to reach an unknown situation, I knew that I couldn't spend my career, and thus my life, fearing that my name would be called. So I put my life into the hands of the Lord and I did the job that no one else would.

I stood by the closed door, drawing my weapon as, from the other side, came the unmistakable sound of a live round striking the empty chamber of an unidentified gun. I didn't need to see the frightened eyes of the victim to know that I was living someone else's desperate prayer. I knew why I was there.

"God, you already called my name."

** (originally written winter of 1997, published to my blog April 16, 2007) **

Thank you, Sgt. Bergeron, for answering the call.

May you rest in peace

Réquiem ætérnam dona ei Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat (Requiéscant) in pace.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he and all the Holy Souls rest in peace.

Amen.

Frailty

I came across a great blog tonight, Firegirl Follies.

So far I've been impressed by what I've read. The author clearly has found her career calling, and is fueled by a heart of compassion for people in need, especially those our society at large might prefer to forget.

I was especially touched by her post on her elderly patients, and only wish I could have such a gentle disposition!

An excerpt:

Another common favorite, "Leave me ALONE!" well, you called us to come help you, "well don't touch me!" ok, do you need to go to the hospital? "NO!" ok, why did you call 911 then? "because I needed help!" ok, well let us help you then, "LEAVE ME ALONE!"


I have to giggle in the most professional of ways, but I can't help myself, bless them. I can't remember how many homes I've been to, that the walls are covered in photos of children and grandchildren. Or the veteran, whom has scores of military photos and medals across the wall. I love to hold their fraile and bony hands, some of them not knowing where or who they are, to just give them a sense of comfort. More often than not, their hands are freezing, from poor circulation. As upset as they are, and as rude as they can be, I always think of their loved ones, and the history they carry with them. I try to always remember I'll be in their place someday, and hope someone will treat me kindly and with dignity. In a lot of cases, it's hard for them to feel of importance anymore.

Please go read the rest. It's well worth your time. Maybe some of you have parents or family who are suffering from age and long-term illnesses.You worry about whether those who care for your loved ones, well...really do care.

Yes, they do.

I am reminded of the work I once did in my various health-care positions. First adolescent, then, later in life, in an adult facility.

I wrote of this in her combox, but I'm going to re-tell the tale here, too.

We had a particular gentleman who loved to go for walks, and given what this facility was, he was free to do so.

One night, I received a phone call from a local Perkins. The girl on the line identified herself as a waitress and explained that one of our residents had given her our number. The resident was lost, he had told them, so they sat him down, got him some coffee, and said they'd call us. Could we send a cab or someone to pick him up?

Oh, yes, absolutely.

I asked to speak with him so she put him on the line. He identified himself and with a humble chuckle told me, "Well...I've gotten lost again!"  *chuckle*

I laughed with him, told him it was fine, I was glad he was safe, he said that all the staff at the restaurant were very kind and he was fine until a cab could arrived. He wouldn't go anywhere else and was glad to rest for a moment.

I spoke again with the server, thanked her for her help and she expressed relief that she COULD help. I got the sense that perhaps she was familiar with the elderly and that helping him was perhaps the highlight of her evening.The coffee for him, she said, was on the house.

Shortly after this, the cab arrived to drop him off and he came in, smiling sheepishly, thanking me for my help. I welcomed him home and he went up to his floor to let his staff know he'd arrived safely and, well...to go to bed.

This man, this very lost and confused man....was a decorated hero. He dedicated his life to our country in military service, had seen combat, had saved lives.

I didn't know that until after this incident. When I learned it I considered his frail form, his sometimes-unsure smile, and his always-polite and respectful way of addressing others.

I don't think that I've EVER met such a humble soul in my life. When I think of the word "humility", he comes to the forefront of my mind. This dear gentleman, this dear, fierce, brave hero who fought so hard for our country and lost so much, taught me more in his "frailty" than he could probably ever have taught me at the pinnacle of his strength.
*

Driven

I've written of this before, and it's something I often ponder as I continue to hang out in this unconsecrated limbo that is my life. Finally I am beginning to see things differently. There are no new and surprising revelations, just connections being made between those things, helping me to understand myself and God in a way that brings greater clarity.

When I was young, I remember sitting with my Dad at the grill on Sunday afternoons, "helping" him to barbecue chicken, chatting away with him. Even as I was a "Daddy's Girl", Dad was totally devoted to me, too, and it was clear that he reveled in my childish company. He was the epitome of paternal pride.

I can remember him telling me that, as an American, I could do "whatever I wanted" with my life. I could even be PRESIDENT (the highest honor he could imagine) even!  I giggled and said I wanted to be an Olympian, and he agreed that this, too, was well within reach, and asked me what sport I was going to dominate when I got older. I wanted to be famous, I wanted to light up Broadway...all of this, in Dad's eyes, was not just practical, but possible..and maybe even EXPECTED, just because I willed it.  If I "willed" it...so did he.

As a child, I loved these conversations, and I remember Mom being part of some of them, too. At times she just rolled her eyes (as I do now at the memory), and I'll never be one to discredit the importance of a father's encouragement in all things, big and small.  Dad encouraged my brother and I onto great things, and I can still hear him saying in his own form of rejection of our moments of self-pity, "God doesn't make junk!"

It should come as no surprise that, when I met with extreme adversity in High School as my very dysfunctional family life, that I should look to the future and focus on that. That's where I found my hope. That's where I found my being. That's where I found my freedom. I knew that no matter what was happening at that moment in time, I had a future and it was up to me to form it. No one was going to save me; I had to save myself. I had to become successful through my own effort, and as Dad said...I could do and be ANYTHING I wanted.

So there it was; that's at least part of the story (the part I'm willing to share) as to how I went to college and did everything I could (within legal and ethical means) to meet my own definition of myself.

That's the key, isn't it?

Many of us have grown up under this subtle pelagian gnosticism; that we create ourselves, that we make ourselves. How many of us have been influenced by the seemingly-innocent phrase, "Life is what you make it"? Paired closely with that piece of fool's gold is the popular quote and it's own corollaries, "We create our own destiny."  

REALLY?

Certainly we all have choices to make, but can anyone spot the fundamental flaw in such a statement and philosophy? Can anyone see what makes it incompatible with Christianity?

Both are lies.

Both seem truthful up front, but look at them through the glory of the Cross.

Life ISN'T what we "make it".  Such a statement gives subtle acquiescence to the idea that we create ourselves...and if we create ourselves, what need have we of a Creator, who wills our good?  Within whom, then do we "live and move and have our being"? (Acts 17:28)   If we "make" our own lives, why do we have any recourse at all to our loving God, or do we deny His omnipotence?  If we "create our own destiny", isn't prayer a total waste of time? If that pelagian statement of self-creation is true, it is an utter denial of God's love and His own sacrifice for our salvation.

Now, I'm not denying that these statements can be informed and applied with a Christian perspective. However, without clear Christian discipline and definition in proper context, without knowing Christ and the objective Truth of our creation by our Creator who suffered and died for us, well, it's pretty obvious where such a thought process will lead. Given how often we see such pithy and insubstantial phrases, it's pretty obvious, also, why so many teens, and adults, for that matter, are looking to the world for meaning instead of God.

I speak from experience.

I was raised to be a good Catholic, but against the backdrop of the "Create thyself!" culture, I was lost.

No one ever really taught me to ask God what HE wanted for me, what HE had brought me into existence to be. No one ever introduced me to the idea that my life actually belonged to God, if only I would use my free will to allow Him to direct my path. Once I got to college, even if someone HAD brought that idea to bear, I was beyond the ability to listen; I was too busy "creating" my future. I was driven. My goal was my god and I had no need of any other. I was going to become what I wanted to be; damned be who I really was.

What a disaster.

Although I grew up "very Catholic", there wasn't any kind of real encouragement to consider religious life as an option. Mom spoke joyfully of the nuns who taught her as she was growing up, but spoke also of their severity and discipline.  She spoke of the "Latin Mass" with great respect and even nostalgia, but I don't recall her ever once revealing that she had once thought she was called to religious life (a fact I learned only a few years ago) and I don't recall ever hearing encouragement from her or Dad to ask, "What does GOD want?  What is HE calling you to be?"

Instead, Dad gave me (with sincerity and with good intentions) the party line about creating my own future, and Mom used example alone, leaving the Vocations-talk to the parish, and never telling me her own story. In fact, whenever I discussed my future and what I wanted, she shot most of it down to the best of her ability, finding only two "acceptable options" for me:  music or teaching. Or teaching music. I know she spoke out of fear that I would run away and join the rodeo when I had the chance, but never once did she suggest that I truly consider religious life.

Then again, I was so hateful and rebellious towards her as a teenager, that perhaps she was certain I would verbally sever her head from her body if she were to suggest such an idea of donning a habit and veil and praying all day instead of cheetah-tackling villains.  So yes, it's my fault, too.

But still...it never even came up on the peripheral. Not in my family. The only time I heard the word "Vocation" was once per year at Mass, and the only time it was on my radar screen was when I thought Sr. Zaccheaus would bring it up because I sang and played flute at Mass and that probably made me a "target."

I FEARED this idea. I RAN from it. I REJECTED it outright. Such an idea conflicted with my personal philosophy of "creating myself" and "envisioning my own destiny."

As everyone knows, it's families that make up the foundation of society, and from that foundation sprouts both good parents and good priests/religious.

It took a huge smackdown to force me to look to God, and this happened even as my first career goal was reached, and my draw to Him grew in intensity with every subsequent failure.  Jesus had to knock every obstacle aside until I could finally, of myself, ask, "What do YOU want?"

It has taken years, it has taken, quite literally, blood, sweat, and tears.

Ultimately, God had to corral me into a place where I could not run from Him any more. I couldn't go backwards, I couldn't go forwards; all I could do was look up, fall to my knees, and 

pray for direction.

I've often lamented, here, and even more often, more deeply in my spiritual life, how I've lost my focus, I've lost my goal and I am not attracted to ANYTHING anymore. I don't want to get married. I don't want children (blasphemy!), I don't want another career....and I don't even want religious life.  And...I don't want to be alone. I don't want to live this perpetual single life.

I have gone from being intensely career-driven to being...what?

Nothing.

The ONLY thing I know to do right now, from the foundation of my nothingness, is to look to God, and from here, on my knees, maybe face-down in the mud that is my life, ask Him what HE wants for me. Not just the what, but the when.

For years now I have wondered why I am not so "driven" anymore. I have been trying to find my true ambition in life, what I really want. In all this drama, I've come to understand that although I've tried to define myself according to cultural and personal terms, all fall short. I can't define myself. I've already tried that, many times over.

It is God who defines me. It is the Cross. It is the Resurrection. It is the final end towards which I am drawn that reveals who I was brought from eternity to become.

Now, it is not that I am not "driven".  Rather, it is that I am "driven" towards a different goal, and that goal cannot be defined in worldly terms. I am looking to become who I truly am, and this is what drives me now. The difficulty in this path is that it does not rely on my own self-creation, but refers to the reality that I am a created being, I am an adopted daughter of God, and no matter what I do, I cannot create my destiny. I can either reject it or I can cooperate with it, and it is in seeking cooperation, it is in willfully losing my own prideful self-definition that I might finally find God's.

Yes, I am still driven to success...but not according to terms the world would recognize: All I desire is this:  that, in Him, I live and move and have my being. I desire nothing  more, and nothing less.

They Pray for Us...Let Us Pray for Them!

H/T to  Fr. Paul Johnson.

Pray for priests!

Gravitational Pull: Straddling Two Worlds

So often, I feel like I'm trying to straddle two worlds.  

There is so much I love about my life, and those same things I love I also sometimes hate.

Then there are those things that I find are most important to me. For example:  I love guys!

I don't mean in the flirtatious over-sexed significance of the "When-Harry-Met-Sally-Is-My-Bible" crowd, but naturally, without any weird pheremonal currents.  I honestly enjoy the company and friendship of men and, dare I admit it...I often prefer their company to that of women.

There. I said it: I like to hang out with guys.

Mind you, the guys I like to hang out with are respectful, know their boundaries, are maybe married, or priests, or, well...not someone likely to hit on me. (And if they did I wouldn't hang out with them any more.)  Single guys are just fine, too, but I don't look at single men as an opportunity to flirt. I put them on the same level as the others, simply enjoy their company and find that I can often better relate to them (guys in general) better than I can other women.

(As an aside: even though I do not believe I am called to marriage I am open to it and I would NEVER consider courting a man with whom I could not be good friends.)

That's not to say I don't love to hang out with my girlfriends. There is NOTHING like a good "Girl's Night"!  But of course, the girls I like to hang out with are less into fashion and more into fun things like movies, dinner, humor....and nothing froofy.

I don't like "crafts" or "projects" or knitting or sewing, and demure games of cards tend to bore me to tears. Unless, of course, I'm playing Blackjack with my guyfriends and one of them keeps up a hilarious dealer-prattle that keeps us all in stitches and leads to the scandalous-sounding name of our favorite college game, "Asshole".  (Sorry, but that's the name of it and I have very fond memories of  holding that particular Title in two countries!)

You see? We're back to guys.

As I ponder my Vocation, I wonder about this.  Fr. Loyola, in speaking about Theology of the Body on Relevant Radio, once commented that if one goes to any given event, one finds the men standing around the grill talking sports, and the women in the kitchen chatting about, well...woman things.

*yawn*

I'm sorry. I've had about all I can take of discussing potty training, home school curriculum, dress sizes, celebrities, and hair salons. In fact, I have NOTHING to say about ANY of that, nor can I relate to it.  After all, I'm already potty-trained, at work I often deal with home-schoolers and discuss curriculum as it relates to my job, I hate talking about clothing sizes because shopping is the bane of my existence, and I only darken the door of a hair salon once per year, if that.  What's more, the only people I respect less than politicians are "Celebrities". God save us from Celebrities and their devotees, especially if the devotees are mindless politicians!

To be fair, though, my married female friends actually are very good about saving those "marriage and family"  conversations for when I'm not around, they're not into celebs, are too busy with real life to worry about fashion and, well, have better hair than mine but probably have other friends who are hair artists and do their hair while talking about potty training.

So you see, it all works out.

My single female friends, though...oy...come to think of it, I don't have a lot of them anymore. Those who are, are discerning Vocations to religious life, and they like crafts and cards and all sorts of things that make me go cross-eyed.  (Wait...that's a genetic condition I've had since birth.)  But you know what I mean.

It's such a struggle.

On one hand, I love what I have experienced of the religious life. I love the hours of prayer, I love the silence, the solitude, and the everyday work that keeps the "household" running. Although my first experience felt almost "industrial" to me in those big ol' kitchens, I'm sure over time it would feel more like a family event. After all, I'm from a very small family and we could have cooked on a hotplate.

Hmm....I think we did a couple times.

On the other hand, I think about the restrictions; my entire life would be with...other women. ONLY other women. Women who probably never had an interest in shooting, hand-to-hand-combat, Blackjack, Tequila shots, games called "Asshole", hanging out with guys at the grill talking about the Kentucky Derby instead of hanging with the ladies in the kitchen wearing checkered tableclothes as aprons, can't tell the difference between a leafspring and a modified McPhearson, ground effects from a spinner kit....etc.

Yes, yes, I know there are a myriad of personalities and experiences. I just wonder how the tomboys manage to become "one of the girls" and go from backyard campfires with the guys to knitting rosaries and crocheting veils while discussing the latest demure topic in the convent.

Believe me...my own bawdy humor does not go over well in the convent, even my most innocent of bawdiness.

In all seriousness, though, how can a woman who thinks "Fight Club" is a great movie, and jams to the opening tune of "Gone in 60 Seconds" enter into the utter and complete estrogen of the monastery?

This question, this ENTIRE POST, in fact, is rhetorical. Please don't try to answer it.

I assure you...you don't have the answers, and I haven't stated anything here that needs "fixing".  Rather, I'm just offering, in complete honesty, a portion of the discernment process. And it's something a LOT of discerning women don't want to talk about. I'm sure to some, what I've said seems outright scandalous.  To others, what I've said is EXACTLY what they're experiencing, too.

In the end, discernment isn't about our preferences; every Vocation requires a sacrifice. I don't feel called to marriage and seemed to be outright "released" from it a couple years ago at a friend's wedding. Perhaps part of my sacrifice is my relationship with men (chaste!), my backyard barbecues, talking shop with them about things most women can't discuss and don't want to (like guns and hunting and car theft...oh my!).

God calls whom He calls, He knows our true happiness, and as Psalm 139 reminds us, He "discerns our purpose from afar."  

But knowing all these things, recognizing them as part of my discernment, doesn't change that sense of being a part of two worlds, sensing a draw to one world, while still holding onto the one I'm in.

The Latest Buzz...

Today I finally sent my response to the Passionists in St. Louis.

Yeah, I know I'd said I'm closing the door, but in talking it over with my Spiritual Director during Lent, he was pretty clear in that he wanted me to respond and take them up on their invitation.

The one thing I know about God:  He takes obedience very seriously. And the one thing I learned from St. Francis de Sales and St. Catherine of Siena:  obedience to the Spiritual Director is obedience to God Himself (unless one is being asked to commit a mortal sin), and the virtue of obedience is the key that opens Heaven.

So I have finally completed the letter and today, sent it out, accepting their invitation...should God will that it be so.

I know that as I get closer and closer to resolution, this sense of being torn apart is going to get more and more intense. I will have to make a decision, but until I can resolve a few things, a decision cannot be made.  If I were to decide right now, at this moment, I would say "NO!", and that decision would be purely emotional. Why?  Because discernment is hard and I'm sick to death of it and want nothing more than for it to be over. Instead, I'm looking deeper, knowing that the Truth has not yet been mined, and it won't be so without application of reason. Reason requires research and in this case, personal experience.

It is a classic case of Faith and Reason.

Oy...I'm Dominican, aren't I?

*sigh*

Stop laughing!

Finding God Through the Storm

11 Then the LORD said, "Go outside and stand on the mountain before the LORD; the LORD will be passing by." A strong and heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the LORD--but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake--but the LORD was not in the earthquake. 12 After the earthquake there was fire--but the LORD was not in the fire. After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound.

~ 1 Kings 19:11-12

Do you know what vocational discernment is like? It's like being lost on an abandoned mountain in the desert in the middle of a severe thunderstorm.

Several years ago on a business trip to Arizona, a friend of mine and I finally had the chance to climb Camelback Mountain. We labored our way to the top, hoping to get some decent photographs of the sunset, but, alas, it was a cloudy afternoon, becoming more so as the sun set. Just as we reached the top, the wind picked up and there was a crack of thunder. People began to head down all sides of the mountain on both official and unofficial "trails."  My friend and I took pictures of each other very quickly, and then headed over the side as thunder rumbled again, this time bringing lightning and big fat raindrops.

We realized immediately we were off the trail, found our way back in the waning light before the sun dropped below the horizon leaving us scrambling down the huge boulders in the torrential downpour. The trail was not well marked, and the locals had special shoes (read: proper desert-oriented hiking boots) as well as the sure-footedness of native Arizonans. We were the only people on the mountain, it seemed, and we didn't even know where we were going. There was a couple behind us impatiently scrambling behind our slow progress, and they made nary a remark as my friend and I lumbered off the trail in the darkness of the storm-drenched night.

I remember sliding with a sense of alarm as I realized we were headed for the edge of a cliff. My friend, with more control, climbed lower but when my slide halted at a boulder, I remained where I was.  We both wanted the same thing: to go "home". To get back to the base of the mountain, to join our friends at the hotel and go out for dinner. To survive.  So he focused on going DOWN. I knew people lived on the mountain so wondered if maybe he was right. But....the mountain was deceptive. Were there houses there, or would we become even more lost when we knew we were already off the trail?

One thing I knew: when you are lost, it's not wise to go "exploring". That's probably especially true in places where there are jagged rocks, big cliffs, and scary creatures like tarantulas and rattlesnakes.

I kept looking up, KNOWING the trail was above us. I cringed every time lightning struck the mountain; I used to be terrified of storms. This was nearly my worst nightmare. Going UP wasn't actually something I wanted to do. Still, I knew, somehow, through that little inner voice, that we needed to go back UP to find our way down. We had to fight the idea of descent; to descend when we were lost was death. We had to return to what we knew was true, and then figure out where to go next.

We also knew we needed to stick together.

Finally my friend and I agreed to the basic principles of wilderness survival and scrambled to the point where we had departed the road to salvation (literal!).  I looked around...there there it was:  the cactus standing in start relief on the ridge. I'd noticed it on the way up, for we'd taken a break around that point on the way up. It was a natural marker, a distinct point, and once I saw it, I knew where to go next. I remembered where the trail turned and where it led.

Joyfully I pointed it out to my friend, and we slowly and carefully made our way out of the storm and off the mountain. Tired, a bit scratched up, more than a little scared but...home.

Sometimes God gives us living metaphors

I have often pondered the cactus that so caught my attention as we'd ascended that day, and the seeming coincidence that it was at that very point at which we'd gotten lost when the storm hit and full darkness fell.

It wasn't a coincidence, though. God can't be taken by surprise. He knew we'd get lost so He gave us a marker to help us find our place again. Even though everyone else fled and abandoned us there in the desert, God remained.

For this reason, as terrifying as that ordeal was that night, it is one of my favorite memories. It has become a metaphor for the interior life, and maybe more specifically, my vocational discernment.

God knows us well, and although we may be surprised by our failures and our unplanned or unexpected "detours", He is not. Just as He pointed out a marker to me on that day, so He does for us in our spiritual lives.

One of the ways He has spoken to me over the years, consistently, is through  Psalm 139. Over and over again, I seem to open to this Psalm when I am lost and confused, when I am buffeted about by the winds and the storm and the earthquakes and the fires.  When all around me is in chaos, I can find the whisper of God's voice right there, pointing me to salvation just like the cactus on the ridge.

Sometimes I ponder God's ways, and when I remember being lost on the mountain that night, I think that perhaps our being lost wasn't a mistake, but an event directly intended by God to be a living parable. Sometimes we can't find Him because we don't know where to look, and it is only in wandering off the path that we can look up and see Him directing us down the path to salvation....and perhaps, to our Vocation.

Psalm 139: 1-18, 23-24 

O Lord, you search me and you know me,

you know my resting and my rising,

you discern my purpose from afar.

You mark when I walk or lie down,

all my ways lie open to you.

Before ever a word is on my tongue

you know it, O Lord, through and through.

Behind and before you besiege me,

your hand ever laid upon me.

Too wonderful for me, this knowledge,

too high, beyond my reach.

O where can I go from your spirit,

or where can I flee from your face?

If I climb the heavens, you are there.

If I lie in the grave, you are there.

If I take the wings of the dawn

and dwell at the sea's furthest end,

even there your hand would lead me,

your right hand would hold me fast. 

If I say, "Let the darkness hide me

and the light around me be night,"

even darkness is not dark for you

and the night is as clear as the day.

For it was you who created my being,

knit me together in my mother's womb.

I thank you for the wonder of my being,

for the wonders of all your creation.

Already you knew my soul,

my body held no secret from you

when I was being fashioned in secret

and molded in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw all my actions,

they were all of them written in your book'

every one of my days was decreed

before one of them came into being.

To me, how mysterious your thoughts,

the sum of them not to be numbered!

If I count them, they are more than the sand;

to finish, I must be eternal, like you.

O search me, God, and know my heart.

O test me and know my thoughts.

See that I follow not the wrong path

and lead me in the path of life eternal.

Amen