It is my firm belief that God has a plan for every person, and that His plan for each of us includes a vocation. For each of us, that vocation is as unique as we are. Discovering what are vocation is, and therefore our place in God's plan, is the key to our happiness in this life. Life is never perfect, and we are all faced with challenges and struggles, but within the context of our vocation we can still thrive and find peace. In my own life, my journey to discover my particular vocation has led me all the way to Rome and back, through years of discernment and prayer. So long as I followed the call of God in my life, I have found deep reward and consolation, even in my trials. Those times when I let my eyes turn from God, I have come so close to losing myself all I could see was darkness.
God has led me along a path that has felt so winding and long, but in the end, was always aiming me towards my final goal of Heaven. He led me to World Youth Day, where I went for essentially a cool trip, and I found Jesus for the first time. While there I met the man (then not even a priest) who would one day become the Superior of the Franciscans in my city. I also met a young priest who first planted the seed that a vocation to the religious would be an incredible way to give my heart to this Jesus I had just met. Later on when a new order of Franciscans started in my city, I was still discerning religious life, so that same young priest recommend me to the Superior, who invited me to join the community. I gave myself wholeheartedly to the task of learning the Franciscan life, and, against my own will and plan, fell in love with a man as I fell even more in love with Jesus. I had been so convinced of my vocation as a sister, I had a hard time seeing the truth in front of me. I was so afraid that this was my great temptation and I was being led away from my true vocation. The more I prayed the more clear it became. I had seen the hand of the devil at work in my life over the years, and this wasn't it. This was pure and from God. The timing wasn't exactly perfect in the eyes of the world (Why couldn't we have met at World Youth Day? We had both been there together with the same group. I even met his brother!), but God knew what he was doing. He knew we had things we needed to learn. He knew that for the life He had planned for us, we would need years of spiritual training, and a taste for the spiritual beauty of trusting in Providence. Our time with the Franciscans has also given us a spiritual support network we have needed so dearly over our years together. While we may not be a Brother and Sister anymore, in our hearts that community will always be our spiritual home and they will always be our family. (And don't tell the good Father, but I find myself hard pressed to forget my promise of obedience to him, haha)
I know our children are still so young, but when I look back and see what a long road it took to find my vocation, it reminds me to teach them to follow God's voice in their heart. I want to teach them that He knows the best, and to always give of themselves without fear. Just like the Gospel from a few weeks ago, He won't give them a scorpion, but bread, the Bread of Life. I would be incredibly proud if one, two or even all of our children find their vocations in religious life and the priesthood. I would be equally proud if they all get married and find Jesus in the heart of another person. I try not to press them, but to encourage them in whatever their heart is leading them to right now. There is nothing sweeter than my biggest boy playing Mass (with his actual chalice and ciborium gifted to him by his Godfather), telling me about how he's going to be a priest when he's "a man". He may not end up a priest, but I hope he always wants to give his heart and life to Jesus. I will never promise him life will be easy, but that Christ will always be with him, and that there is a plan for him.
Showing posts with label religious life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religious life. Show all posts
Thursday, 1 August 2013
Wednesday, 27 February 2013
Pope Benedict & Motherhood
I realize that putting a celibate man's name next to the word motherhood might seem a little dissonant at first, but hear me out. Watching the way Benedict is ending his reign as Pope has left me reflecting on the idea of vocations. At the end of the day, all vocations are the same at their core, they just have different outward expresses and challenges. For all of us, be we married, single, priests, religious, or even the Pope himself, our vocation is the deepest expression of our love for God lived out in the manner God has called us to live that love. Each vocation gives us opportunities for service, but comes with its own challenges. Each vocation requires us to give up some worldly kind of freedom for the sake of deep spiritual and emotional rewards. Each vocation within a specific outward vocation has its own nuances. Some priests are called to be Pastors, some teachers, others Bishops or even Pope, just to name a few. Even in the vocation of marriage there are connected vocations, such as whether we work or stay home, are blessed with children or not, etc. Although our specific vocations may differ, we have so much to learn from each other in how we deal with our challenges and flourish in our joys.
So as I sat, children all around me at a soul crushing 5:45am listening to the Pope share his final words of wisdom, I struggled to hear in his words some hope and guidance. My youngest daughter, who was the reason all the other kids were awake at that unseemly hour, was screeching in her exhausted rage as I leaned forward, feeling urgently the need to be part of this historical moment, but also to absorb as much parting wisdom from our dear Pope as I could. While I may have missed the bulk of what he said (and thank God for the modern age of the internet, I was able to read it later), what I did catch gave me a glimmer of hope in the midst of the child drama.
At times in our vocation, God is going to call us, invite us to cast our nets into the deep, to do something we believe so totally beyond our ability that we shrink in fear. As you may know, Pope Benedict, then Cardinal Ratzinger, was very reluctant to accept his election to the Papacy. He is a quiet man, very private, who was for many years before John Paul II passed away trying to retire, but JPII wouldn't accept his resignation. God had a plan bigger for him that he sought out or expected. In the end, the universal Church is now giving thanks for nearly 8 years of devoted service, not to mention a lifetime of service before that. We give thanks for his always saying "Yes", even when his own inclinations would have lead him to retreat many years before he became our Peter.
So how does this relate to motherhood, or specifically my motherhood? It starts with my initial belief of what my vocation was. I had been for many years sure that God was calling me to the desert, to the quiet devotion of religious life, even a cloistered religious life. I found that life so incredibly attractive, especially when I could pair it with my love of reading and theological studies. But God had a different plan. First He brought me a husband (just in time might I add), a man who respects my love of a simpler life, makes way for me to continue my intellectual pursuits, and supports me entirely in my desire to serve in the Church in whatever capacity I'm able. God took my expectations of how I would use my gifts, and turned them on their ear. Then He gave us a child, then children, then lots of children. I have always loved children, but the idea of my being a mother was laughable to me. I was sure even as a teen that while I had an infinite capacity for love, I am not so great with all the details necessary to keep a tiny baby alive, and then nurture that person into adulthood. But here I am, with my fifth baby on the way. There are still days when I'm overwhelmed and the worry of how I'm going to be who these wonderful little people need me to be. At every step on my journey, I've had moments where I've looked to the Lord and said "Okay, enough Lord! Please, don't ask any more. This is harder than I thought", but at each moment God asked a little more, and gave me what I needed to manage this new challenge.
Watching Pope Benedict give his final catechises to the crowd, now at the end of his worldly vocation, going off to the desert of cloistered life I'd once craved, I saw a man who had given everything to God. He never held himself back, not even when his health and will were failing in the face of demands greater than he believed he could endure. But he survived it all. He has come through at the end, visible proof that while God may take us and challenge us, stretch us, and even bend us when we make ourselves pliable to His will, He will never break us. Our God is so gentle with us, giving us everything we need to find fulfilment and joy in the face of challenges that we think are greater than we can manage. If we fall upon the mercy of God and strive to have a deep relationship of prayer always as our guide and foundation, we will find daily reward in our vocation.
So I add to my heavy list of thanks for our dear Pope for one more day: Thank you, Pope Benedict, for reminding me that even when I'm afraid, I can always trust my life to God, knowing that He will carry me through the challenges. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your faith. Thank you for loving us.
So as I sat, children all around me at a soul crushing 5:45am listening to the Pope share his final words of wisdom, I struggled to hear in his words some hope and guidance. My youngest daughter, who was the reason all the other kids were awake at that unseemly hour, was screeching in her exhausted rage as I leaned forward, feeling urgently the need to be part of this historical moment, but also to absorb as much parting wisdom from our dear Pope as I could. While I may have missed the bulk of what he said (and thank God for the modern age of the internet, I was able to read it later), what I did catch gave me a glimmer of hope in the midst of the child drama.
At times in our vocation, God is going to call us, invite us to cast our nets into the deep, to do something we believe so totally beyond our ability that we shrink in fear. As you may know, Pope Benedict, then Cardinal Ratzinger, was very reluctant to accept his election to the Papacy. He is a quiet man, very private, who was for many years before John Paul II passed away trying to retire, but JPII wouldn't accept his resignation. God had a plan bigger for him that he sought out or expected. In the end, the universal Church is now giving thanks for nearly 8 years of devoted service, not to mention a lifetime of service before that. We give thanks for his always saying "Yes", even when his own inclinations would have lead him to retreat many years before he became our Peter.
So how does this relate to motherhood, or specifically my motherhood? It starts with my initial belief of what my vocation was. I had been for many years sure that God was calling me to the desert, to the quiet devotion of religious life, even a cloistered religious life. I found that life so incredibly attractive, especially when I could pair it with my love of reading and theological studies. But God had a different plan. First He brought me a husband (just in time might I add), a man who respects my love of a simpler life, makes way for me to continue my intellectual pursuits, and supports me entirely in my desire to serve in the Church in whatever capacity I'm able. God took my expectations of how I would use my gifts, and turned them on their ear. Then He gave us a child, then children, then lots of children. I have always loved children, but the idea of my being a mother was laughable to me. I was sure even as a teen that while I had an infinite capacity for love, I am not so great with all the details necessary to keep a tiny baby alive, and then nurture that person into adulthood. But here I am, with my fifth baby on the way. There are still days when I'm overwhelmed and the worry of how I'm going to be who these wonderful little people need me to be. At every step on my journey, I've had moments where I've looked to the Lord and said "Okay, enough Lord! Please, don't ask any more. This is harder than I thought", but at each moment God asked a little more, and gave me what I needed to manage this new challenge.
Watching Pope Benedict give his final catechises to the crowd, now at the end of his worldly vocation, going off to the desert of cloistered life I'd once craved, I saw a man who had given everything to God. He never held himself back, not even when his health and will were failing in the face of demands greater than he believed he could endure. But he survived it all. He has come through at the end, visible proof that while God may take us and challenge us, stretch us, and even bend us when we make ourselves pliable to His will, He will never break us. Our God is so gentle with us, giving us everything we need to find fulfilment and joy in the face of challenges that we think are greater than we can manage. If we fall upon the mercy of God and strive to have a deep relationship of prayer always as our guide and foundation, we will find daily reward in our vocation.
So I add to my heavy list of thanks for our dear Pope for one more day: Thank you, Pope Benedict, for reminding me that even when I'm afraid, I can always trust my life to God, knowing that He will carry me through the challenges. Thank you for your service. Thank you for your faith. Thank you for loving us.
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
St. Valentine and his Day
I know a lot of people who have a beef with the commercialization of Christmas. Every holiday season we're inundated with images of a jolly old chap selling us Coca-Cola, every product imaginable, as well as an array of toys that defies my imagination. To some extent I expect it at Christmas these days. And if the birth of Christ is open game, I shouldn't be surprised by the sickeningly sweet shades of pink and red that are washing over the local stores. Not that they're just starting to spread. Most retail outlets had at least one Valentine's Day aisle while Christmas shopping was still in full force. It feels like a slow-spread disease, the symptoms of which are forced displays of affection, a blindness to any colour not in the family of red or pink, and high blood sugars from excessive chocolate consumption. While I'm sure a lot of folks aren't just making displays of affection for Valentine's Day and are daily making their significant others feel beloved, I wonder why it feels like the message is to absolutely spoil your partner or spouse for the one day, but not to focus on the other 364 days. Even if you are a spontaneous person who spoils your loved ones in unexpected ways and on any day, the expectations behind this singular day are so huge, how can even the most loving person manage to keep up? It seems, according to the media and consumer stores, that I'm supposed to be expecting spa packages, special meals, cards, gifts, special mementos and so much more from my husband. Apparently all that is required of me is that I show up to be loved, maybe get him a card, and watch some hockey. I feel like something's been lost in translation.
St. Valentine must be rolling his eyes up in Heaven. Here a was a man, a priest, who gave his life to God and to God's Church every day of his life up until the moment he was brutally martyred. He was a man of daily charity to those who relied on him to give them the Sacraments. St. Valentine is associated with romantic love because he risked his life to help couples celebrate the Sacrament of Marriage at a time when Christianity was prohibited in the Roman Empire. At any point he could have given up his clandestine works of devotion to his flock, but he continued on until he was arrested and martyred. To me, this seems so much at odds with the current incarnation of his feast day. Here's a man, a beautiful image of sacrificial love, whose feast day is being used for indulgence, selfish expectations, and excess. The couples for whom he risked his life to witness the Sacrament of their Marriage, must be up there in Heaven rolling their eyes too. They had to gather in secret locations away from the eyes of the Roman law to sanctify their union. I'm pretty sure the idea of chocolates and spa treatments seem empty next to the freedom to celebrate their faith in peace. I may be speaking out of turn, but I'm pretty sure these couples would be at Mass on February 14th, giving thanks to God for the priest who gave everything to God and to them.
All of this leads me to reflect that if we're going to set St. Valentine's day apart as a special day, it shouldn't be a day to celebrate saccharine emotional displays. It should be a day to emulate that sacrificial love that St. Valentine lived unto his own death. And like St. Valentine, it shouldn't just be on one day, it should be the act of every day. While I think it's always great to remind people around us that we love them, I think we should go well past just saying it, and prove it year round, by devoting small duties and prayers to ease their path and bring them closer to God. Through the daily administering of his duties, St. Valentine brought Christ to those around him. This St. Valentine's Day, perhaps what we could do for those we loved would be to pray for them, offer Mass, and instead of handing over our money to the stores for the sake of trinkets and foods, give our loved ones the gift of ourselves. Maybe that means sitting down and taking extra time to listen to them, or pray with them, or even letting them go and take a nap when they get home after a long day. All the things that society tells us will express our love will only last a day or two. The flowers will wilt, the chocolates will be eaten, the cards will find their way into the recycling, but the gift of yourself will build up your relationship in a truly lasting way that could snowball and improve your relationship for the rest of your lives together.
St. Valentine must be rolling his eyes up in Heaven. Here a was a man, a priest, who gave his life to God and to God's Church every day of his life up until the moment he was brutally martyred. He was a man of daily charity to those who relied on him to give them the Sacraments. St. Valentine is associated with romantic love because he risked his life to help couples celebrate the Sacrament of Marriage at a time when Christianity was prohibited in the Roman Empire. At any point he could have given up his clandestine works of devotion to his flock, but he continued on until he was arrested and martyred. To me, this seems so much at odds with the current incarnation of his feast day. Here's a man, a beautiful image of sacrificial love, whose feast day is being used for indulgence, selfish expectations, and excess. The couples for whom he risked his life to witness the Sacrament of their Marriage, must be up there in Heaven rolling their eyes too. They had to gather in secret locations away from the eyes of the Roman law to sanctify their union. I'm pretty sure the idea of chocolates and spa treatments seem empty next to the freedom to celebrate their faith in peace. I may be speaking out of turn, but I'm pretty sure these couples would be at Mass on February 14th, giving thanks to God for the priest who gave everything to God and to them.
All of this leads me to reflect that if we're going to set St. Valentine's day apart as a special day, it shouldn't be a day to celebrate saccharine emotional displays. It should be a day to emulate that sacrificial love that St. Valentine lived unto his own death. And like St. Valentine, it shouldn't just be on one day, it should be the act of every day. While I think it's always great to remind people around us that we love them, I think we should go well past just saying it, and prove it year round, by devoting small duties and prayers to ease their path and bring them closer to God. Through the daily administering of his duties, St. Valentine brought Christ to those around him. This St. Valentine's Day, perhaps what we could do for those we loved would be to pray for them, offer Mass, and instead of handing over our money to the stores for the sake of trinkets and foods, give our loved ones the gift of ourselves. Maybe that means sitting down and taking extra time to listen to them, or pray with them, or even letting them go and take a nap when they get home after a long day. All the things that society tells us will express our love will only last a day or two. The flowers will wilt, the chocolates will be eaten, the cards will find their way into the recycling, but the gift of yourself will build up your relationship in a truly lasting way that could snowball and improve your relationship for the rest of your lives together.
Saturday, 12 May 2012
If I Knew Then What I Know Now
Sometimes I find myself reflecting on the person I was before I met my husband and had a zillion kids (okay okay, only 4 so far). I was a girl with great drive and focus (how else could I write a 20 page term paper, 5 take-homes and 2 essays all in one weekend, powered only by orange juice, mac and cheese, and ramen noodles?), with a plan for my own life that, at the time, looked very dazzling. I was well on my way to completing my BA with the intention of doing my MA at the same school and my PhD at a Pontifical University in Rome (dream big or don't bother!). I was going to travel the world, experience new things, teach and be taught. I was going to find fulfilment in a world that was waiting just on the other side of a few more papers and exams. In the back of my mind, I also had a dream of becoming a Nun, and living out all my dreams wearing some sort of fabulous habit, veil and all. Joining a religious order would fulfil my deep religious yearnings and desire to serve others, while giving me a chance to serve my own ideal as educated world traveller.
Looking back, I doubt that if I had been given a glimpse of my life today, I would have said yes, and dived in head first. I'm relatively sure that I would have outright said no! When the opportunity to be part of a new religious community in my own city arose, I said YES before I even had a chance to consider what it was I was doing. I already had a sense of what that life would look like and what my challenges would be. If my 20 something (well, early 20 something) self had any sense of the daily challenges of my current life, I have a feeling I would have been overcome with intense fear and run the opposite direction. Possibly screaming. Back then, I had no idea what I was truly capable of. I had in my heart the desire to be a mother, but along with that I had the deep sense that I wasn't chosen for that life because I wasn't equipped for it. I simply was made to be a nun, solitary and stoic. (And seriously, I really do know that that's not a qualification for a "good" nun. My Sisters from the Franciscans are the most loving, giving women I've ever met. Stoic is not a word I'd even think to apply to those gorgeous ladies!)
When I pictured myself as a mother, it was with a feeling that I had no patience, no knowledge of babies, and that I physically could not endure labour. Being a mother to me also meant being married. And you see, I was not the marrying type, unless you count marrying Jesus. I couldn't picture myself a suitable wife to anyone, with all my solitary habits and eccentricities, my inability to be emotionally intimate with even my closest friends. The women I was nearly 10 years ago would not have been able to answer the call to the life I live now. She would have been scared, and perhaps rightly so.
The truth is that that girl is still there, part of me every day, but I'm also so much more. I'm glad that God didn't give me any real insight into what my life would be. I didn't one day wake up a wife and mother, and certainly not a mother of one preschooler, two rowdy toddlers, and one very sweet but demanding baby. God built me up, little by little. He showed me my talents, and gave me new ones. He gave me a friend, taught me how to share my struggles and emotional baggage with him, then made him my husband. He gave me one child, let me adjust, then another, then another, then another. At each stage, God waited until I was ready, then gave me a little more. Oftentimes it felt like each new pregnancy would be too much, but then I would find myself surprised as I came out of the fog of new babyness that I was not just surviving, but joyful (most days). If we reach out for God's hand, He won't let us sink, even if we feel like we're drowning some days.
I'm glad that I never had a sense of what my life would look like today. God didn't give me a chance to scare myself out of it. I can't imagine my life any other way, nor do I want to. When I gave my life up to God, He took that life and has made more out of it than I ever could have imagined.
Looking back, I doubt that if I had been given a glimpse of my life today, I would have said yes, and dived in head first. I'm relatively sure that I would have outright said no! When the opportunity to be part of a new religious community in my own city arose, I said YES before I even had a chance to consider what it was I was doing. I already had a sense of what that life would look like and what my challenges would be. If my 20 something (well, early 20 something) self had any sense of the daily challenges of my current life, I have a feeling I would have been overcome with intense fear and run the opposite direction. Possibly screaming. Back then, I had no idea what I was truly capable of. I had in my heart the desire to be a mother, but along with that I had the deep sense that I wasn't chosen for that life because I wasn't equipped for it. I simply was made to be a nun, solitary and stoic. (And seriously, I really do know that that's not a qualification for a "good" nun. My Sisters from the Franciscans are the most loving, giving women I've ever met. Stoic is not a word I'd even think to apply to those gorgeous ladies!)
When I pictured myself as a mother, it was with a feeling that I had no patience, no knowledge of babies, and that I physically could not endure labour. Being a mother to me also meant being married. And you see, I was not the marrying type, unless you count marrying Jesus. I couldn't picture myself a suitable wife to anyone, with all my solitary habits and eccentricities, my inability to be emotionally intimate with even my closest friends. The women I was nearly 10 years ago would not have been able to answer the call to the life I live now. She would have been scared, and perhaps rightly so.
The truth is that that girl is still there, part of me every day, but I'm also so much more. I'm glad that God didn't give me any real insight into what my life would be. I didn't one day wake up a wife and mother, and certainly not a mother of one preschooler, two rowdy toddlers, and one very sweet but demanding baby. God built me up, little by little. He showed me my talents, and gave me new ones. He gave me a friend, taught me how to share my struggles and emotional baggage with him, then made him my husband. He gave me one child, let me adjust, then another, then another, then another. At each stage, God waited until I was ready, then gave me a little more. Oftentimes it felt like each new pregnancy would be too much, but then I would find myself surprised as I came out of the fog of new babyness that I was not just surviving, but joyful (most days). If we reach out for God's hand, He won't let us sink, even if we feel like we're drowning some days.
I'm glad that I never had a sense of what my life would look like today. God didn't give me a chance to scare myself out of it. I can't imagine my life any other way, nor do I want to. When I gave my life up to God, He took that life and has made more out of it than I ever could have imagined.
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