Fires, Valleys and Ministry

Well, I have survived my first year of working in ministry.  I wish I could tell you it was all hearts and rainbows, but no.  It has been tough.  Some of the challenges I expected, but there were others I did not expect.  And the toll the challenges have taken on my own spirituality have been greater than I was prepared to face.  But I got through it, and I learned a lot about myself, God and His infinite mercy.

Working in ministry is like fighting on the front lines.  People are not afraid to tell you exactly what they think- whether that be about the Catholic Church in general, or your own style of teaching, prayer or presentation.  People are not afraid to tell you how you should be spending your time or what you should be doing to nourish your own relationship with God.  It is like I have a bull’s-eye for all comments, criticisms, and suggestions on my forehead.  And although I welcome such interaction, it can be exhausting to say the least.  I miss that I can no longer just blend in the background.  Nope, I always have to be on the front line with a smile on my face.  Although I expected the front line was hard, I didn’t expect the toll it would take on me.  Had I not been surrounded by people who could help me filter out the good from the bad, who could help me figure out the useful criticism from the not so useful, I fear I would not have made it this far. 

Being on the front line has ushered me into a whole new level of humility.  You see, I am a performer.  I am a trained classical musician.  As a musician, I live in a world where I perform and then people tell me how great it is and then my teachers would tell me what I could do better.  I carried these expectations into my career as a Band Director where the world was very similar.  And, when I started in youth ministry, which is a lot like teaching, I subconsciously carried these expectations into the world of ministry.  These expectations do not work in this world.  Ministry is not about the instant gratification the stage naturally gives.  It’s more like gardening.  Instead of performing on a stage, I am the instrument by which the Holy Spirit plants seeds, waters the seeds, fertilizes the seeds, and makes sure they get enough sun.  And unlike the stage, I do not have complete control over the garden.  I don’t know what happens to the seeds from week to week.  I only know what I do with them on Wednesday night and I rarely see the seeds grow and bear fruit.  Both the losses of control and instant gratification made me very uneasy and I had a hard time figuring out why I was struggling.  But then one day I realized the true issue.  When I am on the stage, it is all about me.  When I am in the garden, it isn’t about me at all- it’s about Christ and the seeds. I didn’t realize how much self-worth I had wrapped up in the stage, how much of my identity was defined by the stage.  My brain knew that it wasn’t about me, but my ego didn’t come to realize it until much later in the game.  In order to stay on the front lines, I had to let go of who I thought I was and face who I really am.  And that was quite humbling.  In fact, it still is.

I often think that my relationship with God is like a moth to a flame.  He is a roaring bonfire and I am the tiniest insect drawn to the beautiful light from the depths of the dark forest.  For reasons I can’t explain, I am drawn to God and mesmerized by His presence.  Like many people, my relationship with God is marked by mountain tops and valleys.  On the mountain tops, I don’t care if the fire burns me.  I am happy to lose myself in the fire.  I am happy to let the fire consume me.  But in the valley, I am suddenly aware of the fire’s heat, and I feel like I just need to take a step back and gaze from a distance.  Even though I get cold and long to be close to the fire, I can’t go there.  The fire is too much for me to bear.  The dark forest is quite inviting.

In this humbling first year of ministry, I have spent a lot of time in the valley.  So much so, that I fear I will never find the mountains.  And the guilt I have in the valley is great.  In my humiliating moments, I should be running to God and seeking his comfort.  I should be practicing what I preach.  Instead, I have withdrawn and hidden myself.  I am ashamed of who I really am now that the stage is gone and I wonder if I am worthy enough or even qualified to be a gardener.  But here in the valley, God has shown me his infinite mercy.  Even though I do not desire the fire as I feel I should, he has shown me that the garden is exactly where he wants me to be.

This Sunday in Mass, after my usual litany of apologies for not being near the fire, I saw Jesus standing next to me in the valley.  With his arm around me, we gazed at the fire in the distance.  In all of his radiance, he looked down at my face, smiled and said, “It is normal for you to fear the fire will burn you.  But, you don’t need to fear it.  I have covered you with the living water.  I have made it so that you can be in the fire and experience its splendor.  You are covered with my blood.”  Although I haven’t made it all the way back up to the fire on the mountain, I no longer feel so alone.  The forest isn’t quite so inviting and the journey up the mountain isn’t quite so daunting.  But most of all, the fear of the fire is being replaced with desire as it pulls me into its glorious splendor all over again.  

Lessons from Ga-Ga

At this year’s middle school PHAT camp (meeting People, Hanging out, Adoring God, and Touring the metroplex), we built the most awesome thing ever: a ga-ga pit.  Ga-ga is a game played in an octagon shaped enclosure with a 3 foot wall.  This project was exciting because I was in on it from the beginning.  I saw the kids fall in love with the game on a retreat.  I saw the idea to build a pit at the church born in the imagination of a fellow youth minister.  I witnessed all the planning of the pit construction- from the miraculous donations of materials right down to the angel who showed up at the 11^th hour with the expertise needed to actually build the structure.  I watched the youth dig out grass, haul wood, and hammer nails in 100+ degree weather.  Finally, at the end of the week, the pit was built and the game was on.  How could I not get in on the fun?

I jumped over the wall.  Immediately, I felt a twinge of a familiar pain in my lower back- my back hasn’t been quite right since the birth of my youngest.  Naturally, I ignored it.  I wanted to play.  The pain was just a twinge and I can certainly get over it.  So, I played.  In order to play, one must spend the majority of the game in a crouched over position protecting one’s feet and shins while in constant motion- probably a chiropractor’s worst nightmare.  It was fun although I was easy prey.  The kids relished getting the adults out quickly and, in my case, somewhat easily.  Anyhow, I played a few rounds.  When I stood up and straightened out my back after the final round, I realized how dumb I had been.  I was in serious pain.  I spent the next two days on the sofa or in a hot bath- two days to come to terms with the fact I am no longer a spring chicken.

This summer, I turn 35.  I can’t claim to be in my early thirties and that makes my twenties seem like ages ago.  In addition to my back issues, my eyes seem to be losing their youth (It’s either that or my arms are getting shorter).  And, after trying different kinds of make-up with no success, I am now seriously shopping for that magic cream to erase the lines around my eyes.  But the real stinger was when I realized the high school youth that out-played me at ga-ga were born the year I graduated from high school.  Yes, I am O.L.D.

My two boys are 7 years apart.  I had my oldest when I was 22 and my youngest when I was 29.  As a 22 year old mom, I was certain I was the youngest parent ever.  I felt as if I had no clue what I was doing.  The mommy wars scared me half to death and in an effort to over-accommodate, my poor son was sheltered from everything from T. V. to candy.  When I had my youngest, I was a 29 year-old seasoned parent and educator.  So, my youngest has gotten to play in the dirt, taste everything from chocolate to dog food and been educated thoroughly in the ways of Spongebob and his square pants.  So, I guess age has loosened me up a little but I’m not sure it has made me any wiser or better at parenting.

When I was younger, I thought that when I reached this point in my life, I will have had a few things figured out.  But the truth is, I don’t.  I know that my experiences have brought me maturity, but I still don’t know if what I’m doing with my children is the “right” thing.  Will my older son be wiser or make better decisions because I made so many of his decisions when he was younger?  Will my younger son be more of a risk taker or have more confidence because I let him explore things more independently?  I don’t know, only time will tell. 

In the meantime, I should probably stay out of the ga-ga pit.  A visit to the eye doctor would be wise.  And hopefully, I’ll find that eye cream soon. But, most importantly, I’ll keep hitting my knees and loving these two boys with all my heart.  That is the best thing this not-so-wise-35-year-old Mommy can do- love them and lead them to the source of love itself.

Desires of the Heart

So, let’s about sex (I apologize if that song is now stuck in your head- I couldn’t resist).  So, let’s see, sex is a topic my parents never really approached.  Sure, they explained the biology of it, and they told me not to do it-end of story.  So, I concluded that sex was bad.  The Baptist church where I grew up preached a lot about purity.  It was wrong to have sex outside of marriage, so don’t do it.  Naturally, I concluded that sex makes one impure.  Meanwhile, in health class, we learned about all STDs and how hard it is to remain in high school if you have a baby at 16.  And if you must have sex, then use a condom.  Therefore, I concluded that sex is dirty and leads to trouble.  At the lunch table, I learned that sex was something you did when you really, really loved someone(and I mean REALLY).  However, the girls that did it were immediately labeled as slutty and dirty, probably due to all the wonderful knowledge we gained in health class.    Through the media, I learned that sex was a healthy expression of one’s self and, if you are not having sex, then you are somehow not healthy or normal, especially if you were still a virgin in college.  Naturally, I concluded that the rules for sex change in college.  So, in my 20s, I spend a lot of time sorting out all this conflicting information.  By then, I was married, but I still didn’t understand sex.  I knew it was something more than what I was living out in my marriage, but I could not put my finger on it.  Imagine my delight when I finally stumbled upon John Paul II’s Theology of the Body.  Oh, how I wish I had this information as a teen!  I wish I knew that the family was a reflection of the trinity.  I wish I knew that physical love is actually a shadow of heavenly love.  I wish I knew that sex was about giving, not getting.   I wish I knew because then maybe I would have made better choices and not wasted all that time in my 20s living a life I thought was right but oddly unfulfilling.

And that is why I am teaching a Theology of the Body course to the middle school youth in our parish.   When I first embraced this idea, I thought I was going to give them information about how God sees sex and what sex is in light of God’s love and plan for humanity.  But, I didn’t realize that Theology of the Body has other nuggets of wisdom beyond sex that are REALLY helpful to teens.  One in particular has left me awestruck all over again. 

We are all seeking three things in life: love, happiness and purpose. These innate desires are given to us by God.  Before the fall in the garden, Adam and Eve experienced life with these desires fully and completely fulfilled. They knew their purpose– to love and to be loved. By knowing their purpose and uniting their hearts to each other and God, they experienced perfect happiness and love. After they sinned, these desires remained but were impossible to fulfill. By disobeying God in the garden, they damaged their relationships with nature, with each other, with their souls, and, most importantly, with God. These damaged relationships are the inheritance passed onto humanity in original sin. We desire love, happiness and purpose but struggle to find them. We look to wealth, power and glory to meet these desires only to be left empty and lost. But when we turn to Christ, the one who defeated original sin, we find these desires fulfilled. They are met in the one who denied himself glory, wealth, and power when he won our salvation on the cross in a grand display of true love. 

When youth are in their teen years, they are discovering these innate desires and trying to figure out who they are and how they fit into this world. Unfortunately, we live in a very materialistic, “me” centered and goal-driven society. It is easy for our young people to conclude that wealth, power and glory will satisfy our most innate desires for happiness, purpose and love. Then, they go down a path that leads to an empty, lacking life.  We have to help them open their eyes to the beauty of God’s purpose for humanity.  God made humans for love and to love.  He imprinted that love on our bodies when he made us male and female.  Love is giving one’s self to another(marriage, charity, service etc..).  We need to help these teens figure out how God is asking them to live out their vocation to love.  The contrary message the world sends is loud and full of full false promises.  We need to show them what love is and how it’s our purpose and path to true happiness.

So, how do we get them on the path that leads to true happiness? First, we must constantly point them to God as they seek purpose and identity. They need to know that God loves them.  They are in that stage when they are skeptical of God and especially skeptical of his love.  This message cannot be delivered too many times.  Then, we must show them the love of Christ in how we treat them and others. We can talk until we are blue in the face, but what we model will speak so much louder than our words.  We must allow Christ to love them through us.  We need to show them Christ’s love in how we live our lives.  Finally and most importantly, we must model the true life of happiness, purpose and love by putting our relationships with God and our families above our careers and financial goals. The priorities and values we model will be the priorities and values we pass to our children. 

So, what does all this have to do with sex?  Well, if teens understand love, feel loved by God and their families, and find their purpose in living a life of love, then they are better equipped to understand God’s great plan for humanity.  They will be able to see what their purpose is here, on Earth in the year 2012.  They will be able to wrap their minds around the sacred nature of sex, the beautiful fruit it bears, and its awesome glimpse into the nature of God.  This life is a great adventure where God hopes we will find him.  He has given us many clues along the way.  The beauty of sex is one of them.  Let’s be sure our teens see sex in this light and give them greater hope for finding their heart’s desires of purpose, happiness and love.

Middle school is a great time to start talking to your kids about sex because, trust me, they are already talking about it amongst themselves.  Read up on Theology of the Body.  Arm yourself with some good resources like Theology of the Body for Teens published by Ascension Press.  But, most of all, be sure your kids know you love them.  Say it out loud.  Show them in all the little things you do.  Allow Christ to reach through you to touch their hearts.  A teen that experiences REAL love will be less likely to go searching for love in all the wrong places (Ha! Another song to get stuck in your head). 

Behold the Sacrifice

I close my eyes as I hear the sound of the consecrated host breaking.  The Priest holds up the broken Eucharist and calls us to behold Him.  Behold the one who takes away the sins of the world.  Behold the perfect sacrifice.  Behold the suffering servant.  Behold the mystery.  Behold our Lord. 

As I behold Him, I am swept to the foot of the cross.  Here I am watching pure love die.  Here I am watching my Lord struggle to breathe.  Here I am watching my Lord’s face wince as he pushes and pulls on the nails.  His wounds from the scourging are fresh, open and bleeding.  Blood from the thorns runs into his eyes.  Behold Him.  His pain is great, raw and deeper than I can begin to imagine.  It is more than just the physical pain that plagues him in these moments.  His heart is also breaking. As he hangs there dying, his most loyal are absent.  All that he has taught seems to be for nothing.  All that he has done- healings, walking on water, calming the storm, feeding the thousands- all of it has fallen on deaf ears and hard hearts.  They do not understand who he is.  Behold him.

Oh, Lord, why am I here?  Why are you showing your suffering to me?  My heart breaks to see your pain.  It is hard to understand this place.  It is hard to understand what is going on here.  Oh, Lord, your suffering is too much to behold.  You are my love, you are the meaning to my life, you are the air I breathe.  To behold you here, dying on the cross is excruciating.  To behold you here, suffering through the punishment I deserve is agonizing. 

Blinking back tears, I stand and take my place in line for communion.  For the past month, I have had the same experience at Mass.  I am to the point where I am not sure I even want to come anymore.  I do not want to see Jesus suffer like this.  Why is he showing this to me?  I receive our Lord in the Eucharist with all of this on my mind.  And as I resume my place at the kneeler, His voice rings through my heart, “My child, this is love.  My pain is great.  My suffering is more than a mortal man can bear.  My heart is breaking.  But, my love for you is greater than this pain.  If you don’t know the depths of my pain, then how can you know the depths of my love?”  Oh, my Lord, forgive me.  Give me the strength to behold your sacrifice and make me worthy to receive your love.

I recently had a teen ask me, “If God loves us, than why is there so much pain and suffering in the world?”  This is valid question that I am not going to pretend to know the answer to.  I think it is safe to assume that every human that ever lived has suffered.  Some have suffered more than others.  I don’t think there is a quick, blanket answer that would explain why people suffer.  But, I think it should speak volumes to us that the Lord came to this Earth to suffer.  He not only experienced suffering on the cross, but also in the desert when he was tempted and in the garden when he prayed with the Father before he was arrested.  He wept when he learned of Lazarus’ death.  He dealt with rejection and ridicule throughout his ministry.  And let us not forget his 30 years before his public ministry began.  Growing into manhood is not easy.  Yes, Jesus suffered.  Through his suffering, we see how suffering has purpose.  When we find the purpose to our suffering, then I think we also find hope and the true meaning of love.

To tell you the truth, until recently, I never really understood the concept of suffering.  I accepted the fact that I will suffer.  And I reasoned that the suffering the Lord wills for my life will help me die to my fallen nature so that I may rise with Christ.  But, beyond this broad concept, I really didn’t understand it.  I didn’t get what it meant to “offer up” my suffering. Then recently, I had a migraine a few hours before I was supposed to be on stage in front of 175 kids and adults at youth night.  I was trying to decide what I was going to do.  Should I accept the fact I may not be able to get on stage and come up with plan B?  Or, I should pray for a miracle and ask God to take the migraine away so that I may do his work with ease.  It was in that last idea that I realized my opportunity. The image of Christ dying on the cross flashed in my imagination.  In that moment, I prayed to God thanking him for the opportunity to be obedient despite my suffering.  I would be there on the stage in the midst of the migraine and with a smile on my face. The Lord showed me his love and now, I will show him mine.

Working in ministry is not an easy career path.  I’ve only got one foot on the path and I can see the sacrifices and challenges my family will face.  Since my husband is a teacher, we are already financially challenged.  Choosing to be on this path full time will not bring much financial hope to our horizon.  But I know this is what the Lord is asking me to do.  I used to think that if the Lord wanted me to choose this path, he would make it easy.  He would take away the financial challenges and, therefore, the path would be easy to choose.  But then I realized that the suffering I endure on this path has purpose.  This is my opportunity to choose God despite the suffering.  This is my opportunity to love God in the midst of financial pain and turmoil.  Sure, I could choose the easy path.  But, with this path into ministry, I choose to suffer and to love God in the midst of it- just as he loved me in the midst of his suffering on the cross.

Through the cross, Christ shows us that suffering and sacrifice go hand in hand. And that is why Christ asks us to be his hands and feet in this world of suffering.  He asks us to lessen the load of our neighbor out of love.  He asks us to love our neighbor without expectations.  When we love like he loves, then we can expect to suffer.  And when our neighbors see us suffer for their sake, then they know just how much we love them and, perhaps they come to know just how much Christ loves them. I have always understood this concept.  This concept is central to a life of service in ministry.  But, in the light of my recent prayer experiences, I have come to understand this concept in a new way.  When I suffer for the sake of another, in a small way, I suffer like Christ suffered.  He is sharing with me the depth of his pain.  And with that perspective, I can gain a new understanding of the depth of his amazing, intoxicating love.

"That shall be my life, to scatter flowers--to miss no single opportunity of making some small sacrifice, here by a smiling look, there by a kindly word, always doing the tiniest things right, and doing it for love." --Therese of Lisieux

On Being Judas

Judas is a character we want to distance ourselves from.  He did a terrible thing.  He delivered our Lord into the hands of those who would kill him.  He set the story into motion.  He was the betrayer.  That is how history will remember him.  Surely, I would never do such a thing.  I would never betray my Lord in such a way.  I could never be Judas.  Yes, that seems comfortable.

But, really, what did Judas do?  He made a choice.  He chose his own selfish desires over his Lord.  Maybe he didn't really believe that Jesus was the Son of God.  Or maybe he was trying to make Jesus be someone he wasn't- a political leader who would fight his way to justice and become a great king for Israel.  Or maybe he just really wanted 30 pieces of silver.  We don't know his motivation, but one thing is clear.  He made a choice- he chose his selfish desires over his Lord.  And that choice put the story in motion.  That choice started Jesus' terrible journey to the cross on that night.  We all know that Jesus' sacrifice was God's will but to be the one who set the circumstances in motion is not a good thing.  The consequences of Judas' choice were dire and heart wrenching and when Judas looked at the blood on his hands, he ended his own life.

Whether you choose to believe it or not, we are faced with similar choices in our lives.  We must choose between God and money.  We must choose between God and popularity.  We must choose God's will over our own desires.  And when we fail, we are no better than Judas.  We are doing exactly what he did. We are taking the money in exchange for the life of God.  We are carrying out our own agenda by handing the Lord over to the wolves.  No, we are no better than Judas.  But we have something Judas didn't have.  Perspective. We have the benefit of knowing that the Lord died in order to forgive our sins.  He died so he can give us his life and gather us to himself for eternity.  He died because he knew we were all like Judas but he loved us anyway.  This perspective is a great gift.  Because instead of seeing the blood on our hands, Jesus washes it away.  All we have to do is ask him.  That great love is what Judas didn't understand.

As we embark on the last few days of Holy week, I invite you to reflect on the ways in which you have been Judas.  It is not easy to admit that we have sold out the Lord.  It is not easy to admit that we betrayed the one who gave us everything.  But, when we admit what we have done, and the priest says those words of absolution, we are forgiven.  We are made clean.  We are reconciled with the Lord.  And there is no greater joy than to be in the presence of the Lord with a clean heart.  Don't continue to be Judas and let the sin destroy your soul and rob you of the love of God.  There is still time to make the right choice.

Confessing Who I Really Am

My palms were already sweaty.  I had only been in line for 10 minutes.  All day I had agonized about this moment.  I prayed, searched, reflected and managed to make a meager list.  Surely, I had more sins than these.  What was I leaving out?  The line moved forward.  It is hard to look at the people leaving confession.  Why were they crying?  What was going on in that room?  My mouth was starting to get dry. 

Of all the things I love about the Catholic faith, confession is not one of them.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Theologically, the sacrament is beautiful.  It is amazing.  And I am fully aware that it is commanded of us by our Lord.  However, it is not easy.  It is somewhat messy. And it turns me into a nervous wreck.  In fact, I feared it so much that I stayed away from the sacrament for a number of years.  So, I know how un-confessed sin can eat away at one’s soul.  The brick walls I built between me and the Lord were thick and cold.  But all it took was one confession, and the bricks started to crumble.  I remember that feeling of freedom as the mercy and love of the Lord washed over me in that confessional.

So, why does getting in this line still create such waves of anxiety?  Why does the idea of saying my sins out loud to a priest send me straight for the Xanax?  I know the consequences of staying out of the line.  And I know the wonderful benefits of staying in the line.  But it doesn’t seem to help me choose the line. 

I could blame it on past experience.  I could blame it on the ministers that were happy to see me leave their church all those years ago.  Maybe that is why I don’t want to trust the Priest with who I really am.  But, I feel like I am past that.  I confronted those demons years ago.  I took those burdensome rocks out of my back pack and I have moved on.  I made peace with the fact that if they didn’t do what they did, I wouldn’t have found the Catholic faith.  My past seems to be my excuse rather than the true issue.  Besides, I now work in the Church.  I work alongside the priests, deacons and other ministry staff and I am perfectly comfortable in their presence.

The line inches forward again and I am now just three people away from the door. I look at my list.  It seems silly and laughable.  I don’t know why I am even here.  I am not good at this.  A child could come up with a better list.  I would like to get out of line and get some water, but there are at least 50 people behind me.  I know I wouldn’t get back in line.  

I didn’t grow up in the Catholic faith.  Maybe that is why this is so difficult for me.  I never had to do this in the Baptist church.  In fact, because we believed that your sins were forgiven when you invited Jesus to live in your heart, sin was never really talked about or focused on.  We never examined our lives for sin but rather tried to live the life of a good Christian.  We focused on making the right choices for that morally upstanding, charitable life and we did not focus on the mistakes we made.  Searching for sin in my soul is a foreign concept.  Even after 14 years of being a confirmed Catholic, I am still epically bad at it.  Why can’t I figure this out?

There is now only one person in front of me.  I feel my heart beating faster.  The adrenaline is reaching atomic levels.  Why do I get so worked up?  Why do I let the anxiety capture me is such a way?  What do I fear?

As I stand here thinking about the reason for the fear, an image of a mirror enters my mind.  Yep, that is what I fear.  I fear that mirror.  I don’t want to see who I really am.  I don’t want to see my soul the way Christ sees it.  In this world, I can hide my sins pretty well.  I can be the person others admire and look up to.  I can act the part eloquently.  But the picture I paint of who I am is not reflected in the mirror.  In order to examine my conscience, I have to take a long look at myself in that mirror. 

I am such a fallen human.  I would make the same choice as Eve.  I would throw the first stone at the adulterous woman.  I would be in the crowd calling for Jesus’ crucifixion.  Why do I know this?  Because I possess the same sin as this crowd- pride.  I don’t want to look in that mirror because of pride.  I am too proud to admit what I have done because it reflects who I really am.  Pride is the root of this anxiety.  Pride keeps me from the confessional.

It’s my turn.  I walk into the dimly lit room like a bull in a china shop.  I almost knock over the plant as I trip and pretty much fall into the chair across from the Priest.  He smiles.  He knows I get myself undone over this experience.  It is a little humorous that a confident woman who enjoys speaking to large groups of teens and adults about the love of Christ can get so undone in this small room with and audience of one. I smile back as we both find humor in the irony.  He knows me well, and the shared smile sets me at ease.

Recently, in prayer experience, I had a vision of myself wearing a black, ugly coat.  I looked horrid. The coat was heavy with dirt, ragged and torn.  I really hated the coat and I wanted to take it off.  I tried and I couldn’t figure it out.  I quickly gave up.  I looked up, and I saw Jesus in all of his splendor walking towards me.  He was radiant and beautiful.  As he got closer, I realized I was still wearing the coat.  I tried again to get it off.  I couldn’t do it.  I started to panic as Jesus approached me.  I wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to go.  Jesus was now standing in front of me.  He lifted me chin so that he could look in my eyes.  I was pulling at the coat, trying to get it off.  I apologized that he had to seem me this way.  I told him I couldn’t get it off and that I was sorry I had let my coat get so horrible.  He smiled and to my amazement, he took the coat off of me.  He threw it on the ground.  Then, he took off his white, spotless coat and put it over my shoulders.  I told him that I couldn’t accept it because I was going to get it dirty.  It was much too nice for me to wear.  He looked in my eyes and said, “If you get it dirty, just come back to me, and I’ll make it clean again.  I love you very much and I want you to look your best when I finally present you to my father.”

As I tell Father all about my pride once again, I can feel the coat coming off.  I can see the sins being washed away.  The coat is becoming beautiful as the day Jesus gave it to me.  Jesus puts it back over my shoulders and Father sends me on my way with a clean coat- a clean soul.  All the anxiety is worth this experience.  It is incredibly awesome to show Jesus who I really am and to hear him say, “It’s alright.  I love you anyway.  Keep trying.  I am making you a beautiful gift for my Father.”  Yep, that is much better than Xanax.

The Great Coffee Fast

“Really, Lord?  Don’t you think the children would be safer if I could have coffee?”

This conversation begins each morning around 9am, the time the last little darling arrives at my home for child care.  By this time in the morning, I’ve usually changed eleventy million dirty diapers, read Dinosaur Roar at least 400 times and built, rebuilt and rebuilt the Island of Sodor because it’s just never quite right according to the 5-year-old train engineer.  Yep, by this point in the morning, my get up and go has gotten up and went far, far away to a distant land flowing with coffee and chocolate, and where dinosaurs and trains never existed.  By this time in the morning, my craving for coffee is profound.

For Christmas, my parents got us one of those new fancy coffee machines- the Keurig.  It makes GREAT coffee at the touch of a button.  It’s like magic.  You turn it on, put your k-cup in, put your mug underneath and press the button.  Then the most wonderful aroma fills the room as the hot, steamy, caffeinated liquid fills my cup of joy all the way to the brim.  I LOVE it.  I even find it a little sexy. 

And now we come to my Lenten fast.  Except for the year I gave up facebook for Lent, I usually give up three things: coffee, chocolate and alcohol.  I give up not one, but three things because I am an over achiever.  I have an A-type personality and my perfectionism is border line obsessive-compulsive.  Besides, I am an adult and an adult should be able to give up silly things like chocolate and wine.  Well, each year when I gave up these three things, I failed in an epic manner.  By the end of the first week, you could find me in the fetal position on the bathroom floor surrounded by candy wrappers or desperately hiding in the laundry room at 7 in the morning with my elicit cup of joy, I mean coffee.  “Maybe if my husband doesn’t catch me,” I rationalize, “then I haven’t really failed.”  Ha!  And it’s no wonder I fail, because let’s face it- this sleep deprived mama and wife with two jobs is attempting to give up three of the four major food groups. 

So, this year, I decided not to set myself up for failure.  This year, I decided to seek God’s will for my Lenten fast.  Surely, he would have a better idea than me.  I mean, he is God of the universe, omnipotent and all that fun stuff.  Anyhow, I made this decision while sitting at the kitchen table, and as soon as the thought entered my head to let God tell me what to give up, my eyes fell on the Keurig.  It was as if a ray of sunshine fell on it, giving the heavenly machine a divine glow while angels sang their hallelujah chorus marking the significant moment with awe and wonder.  My heart sank.  “Really?  Really, God?  Are you sure?  Because, I thought that when I prayed to figure out what your will was, I thought for sure you understood I was ABANDONING my ideas, I mean, my will, and therefore I could have coffee, chocolate and alcohol during this Lenten season!  I thought that was the plan!”  And then I heard the voice in my heart say, “but I am only asking for one- not all three.  Let’s focus on just one sacrifice.”

I felt like such a child.  In the back of my head, I thought that maybe God would give me a grown up task.  I read all these Lenten articles about what adults should do for lent in order to grow closer to God.  My ideas of giving up something like chocolate seemed childish.  And yet, I fail at it- EVERY YEAR!  So, here God was bringing me back to square one.  Here is he was showing me exactly what was best for me- 40 days with no coffee.  I wonder if he is absolutely sure that is what’s best for everyone around me. 

It’s been 17 days since I’ve had coffee.  Now, I take that back.  I did have coffee at a friend’s house last Saturday night, but my friend’s Dad, who happens to be a famous Catholic theologian, explained to me that since it was after sun down on Saturday, we weren’t technically in Lent and that I could have coffee.  Since he’s a famous Catholic theologian and I was at his house, I decided to go with it.  Anyhow, it’s been 17 mornings since I’ve had coffee.  And for someone who’s often up late working and then up early with kids, this is a true test of my will power and endurance.  Exhaustion has a whole new meaning.  In these 17 days, I’ve learned about myself and the benefits of fasting. 

The first lesson I’ve learned about is desire.  When we fast in this nature, we physically withhold something our bodies need and that creates a physical desire.  That physical desire mirrors the spiritual desire our souls have for God.  In this secular world, we can easily choose to ignore those spiritual longings- but physical longings are harder to ignore and they can remind us of how much our souls long for God.  My experience with this physical longing was most clearly played out on Ash Wednesday.  Not only did I give up coffee cold turkey, but the only thing I had to eat all day was bread.  I was determined not to eat a real meal until after I received Jesus in the Eucharist.  By the time 7:00 pm rolled around, I had a headache the size of Texas and I was beyond hunger.  When the Priest held up the host for consecration, my mouth was watering.  That was when I realized that this is what my soul experiences at every Mass.  My physical hunger was but a shadow of my spiritual hunger.  When I received Jesus in this physical state, it felt as if every cell in my body was nourished.  God used my body to show me what my soul experiences when I receive Jesus in the Eucharist.  Now, that was awesome.

The second lesson is all about waiting.  When we fast during Lent, we are waiting for the day when we can end the fast.  That is right, I have about 30 more days until I can fire up the Keurig!  Now, I realize that I could fire it up on Sundays, but remember, I’m an over achiever.  Combine that with the perfectionism and catholic guilt, and you have woman who cannot touch the Keurig until Easter morning.  So, I’m learning about waiting.  And I don’t know about you, but I HATE waiting.  I don’t like waiting in lines, sitting in traffic or even being on hold on the telephone.  When I’m waiting, I am thinking about all the other things I could be doing with my time and it drives me bananas. But when we are waiting, we are forced to be still and it’s in those still moments that God can seek us out.  In my professional life, I am in a place that requires me to wait.  I am not sure where I am supposed to go next but there is nothing I can do but wait it out.  I have been frustrated by this IMMENCELY.  I want to know what the future holds, but I can’t.  I must wait.  This fast has taught me that in order to get through the waiting, I must be still and listen for God.  I must seek Him instead of formulating all the possible scenarios of my professional future.  I must anticipate God’s presence in my life as much as I anticipate that steamy cup of caffeinated perfection on Easter morning.

Finally, this particular Lenten fast has taught me that it is important to take one thing at a time.  Instead of tackling the Lenten fast with multiple sacrifices that lead to fasting failure, God wants me to pick one thing and be successful.  This is enlightening because I am the queen of multitasking.  Now, don’t get me wrong, multitasking is essential to motherhood.  If I didn’t have this gift, my children would be running around with dirty underwear and only one good meal in their tummies.  But there are some things in life that deserve our full, undivided attention.  This year, my attention has been divided.  I have had a lot of irons in the fire.  I am realizing that some of these irons need more of my attention and the only way to make that happen is to take some of the irons out of the fire.  I can’t do it all.  I can’t work 12-15 hours a day and still be the mother and wife this family needs.  There doesn’t seem to be enough of me to stretch between the two jobs I love.  At this moment, I know I am right where God wants me.  However, I think He is preparing me for some tough choices in the future.  I must admit that giving my full and undivided attention to giving up coffee has felt a little good.  It is nice to only have one sacrifice to juggle instead of three.

So, what is the best way to go about fasting?  One day at a time.  Every morning I look at the Keurig and let the devil on my shoulder tell me how stupid this fast is.  I let him call me childish.  I let him try to convince me that giving up coffee is more trouble than it’s worth.  But my heart knows it is worth the trouble.  Although I thought I needed a 12 step program in the first week, I have been able to stick to it.  And after just 17 days, I have gained more understanding about fasting and myself than I ever thought I would.  The coffee will return at Easter.  On that day I will raise my beautiful cup of caffeinated perfection in celebration to the God who gave up more than coffee for me.  Maybe as this fast continues to progress, I can gain a little more understanding of that love- a love that drove the God of the universe to die a terrible death to gain the soul of this sinner.