By Katita Luisa
“Go to the desert and you’ll understand”.
So I went there this year.
I dipped my toes in that hot sand
and out of love for Him,
I was soon all in
with each grain rubbing against me,
scratching and removing what I wanted most,
and my dreams
and my will.
I went there.
I stuck my neck out in that unrelenting heat,
feeling the burn on the most delicate of skin,
but out of love for the Son,
realizing He was not merciless
but rather merciful,
exposing and toughening
for the path that would unfold.
I went there.
I reached for my canteen
only to find it empty,
my own preparations,
and was invited
to rely solely on Him,
embracing the unknown,
thirsting for Him alone.
And out of love for me,
we went there.
We grew closer rather than apart.
I found refuge in His Heart.
I even saw flowers bloom in that desert-
because I can take Him at His word.
Lessons taught and learned,
my heart broken only to start to heal,
making room for Truth to sink in,
deeper than the cracks of my sin
and the holes of my doubt.
Yes, my cup overflows,
only because it had to be emptied first.
And as we left and I dusted off the sand from my sandals,
I took His hand and said,
“Out of love for You,
I’d do it all again.”
He looked at me, smiled, and said,
“Now you’re beginning to understand.”
By Windy Day.
In 2016, I went for a walk with a colleague when Hurricane Matthew was striking the United States. We couldn’t help but talk about the weather because it was such big news. He shared that he was in Virginia for Hurricane Bertha and said it was “only a Category 2.” He then described his experience:
“The sky was pitch black; the wind howled nonstop for hours. The eye of the storm passed by at around noon, which I recall vividly because it provided just enough time for us on staff to go out for lunch — we sat outside at a local sandwich place under beautiful, peaceful blue skies and sunshine! Then, no sooner had we returned to the office when the deafening, dark tempest began roaring again. The contrast in so short a time was surreal and impressive.”
We were discussing this on a beautiful Autumn day, knowing full well that in other parts of the world people were recovering from devastation, experiencing devastation, or awaiting devastation. It was a strange feeling. Enjoying the beautiful weather and yet knowing not everyone in the world was experiencing the same thing.
If that can happen with weather I would suspect that it can happen in the spiritual life.
Does it sometimes seem that your experiences and feelings are casting a cloud over everything? It’s easy to deduce that everything is awful when we feel awful ourselves. But our current feelings and experiences aren’t an all-encompassing reality (or they don’t need to be). Have you heard St. Therese’s analogy of the little bird looking at the sun when the cloud passes in front?
“With bold abandonment, he remains gazing at his Divine Sun. Nothing can frighten him, neither wind nor rain; and if dark clouds come to hide the Star of love, the weak little bird will not move away, for he knows that on the other side of the clouds his Sun continues always to shine.”
To me that analogy made sense. But the way I had been reading it made it seem fairly tame. However, if we think about a hurricane completely blocking out the Sun so that midday looks like midnight, that is something very different.
Have you felt this way? I know I have.
Since returning to lay life I have felt to varying levels of desolation and spiritual torment. These are hard to reflect upon, let alone describe, especially when you’re afraid to scandalize others. It feels as though everyone expects you to have your life together because you were a religious. And to make it worse, we often expect that of ourselves.
Instead, I think it’s more realistic to anticipate and expect at least some darkness, if not extreme darkness, at this time. We are vulnerable and the evil one always looks for weakness in our defense (see 14th rule in St. Ignatius’ Rules for Discernment of Spirits*). It is quite likely your relationship with the Lord has been strained or challenged and this gives Satan an “in.”
How can we combat this darkness? Here are a few thoughts:
First, recognize this possibility and, “Be not afraid!” Fear can easily dominate us and cause us to feel powerless. Try to manage your response and any other things that you can control. Remind yourself of the truths of the spiritual life. Once again, Ignatius’ rules may help.
Next, don’t be surprised, offended, disappointed or take it personally. It magnifies things and only makes everything feel worse. This is a great opportunity to find hidden pride. If you are shocked and upset, you most likely had an unrealistic image of yourself (mea culpa!).
Finally, consider praising God in all things and thanking Him for this opportunity. View this truly as an opportunity and not a barrier. How can this be true? A few ideas:
You can learn more about yourself.
You can depend on God more.
You can turn to Him.
You can grow.
These are all good things that God wants for you! And you can always ask Mary to help you. Keep reminding yourself that, as St. Therese affirms, on the other side of the clouds his Sun continues always to shine.
What suggestions do you have? Please share in the comments below!
By Christina M. Sorrentino, re-printed with permission from her blog https://calledtoloveosb.blogspot.com/
One of the greatest blessings of living in a monastery or convent is being able to live with the Blessed Sacrament. When young women would come on a discernment retreat and ask me what my favorite part was of being in religious life, I would always tell them, “Being in the constant presence of the most holy dwelling place”. There were some nights I would go down to the Eucharistic chapel and simply sit quietly alone with Jesus in the darkness with only the sanctuary lamp as my light. I cannot explain the feeling that would come over me as it is indescribable, and it is a feeling that I miss the most after leaving the monastery. I can no longer at night right before bed go downstairs and sit in the stillness before the Blessed Sacrament, and I can say that is my greatest sadness and loss of no longer being in religious life.
As in the words of Fr. Michael E. Gaitley, MIC, I find myself with a sort of “holy envy” in that I wish that I lived in the same house in such closeness to the Eucharist. Religious sisters and nuns are truly blessed in that they actually live in the same house as the Blessed Sacrament, and can visit with Jesus as often as they wish to visit him. I remember after Compline visiting the Eucharistic Chapel on my way back to the Sisters’ residence, and whispering to Jesus, “Good night”.
My heart yearns for the day when I will once again be living in the same house as the Blessed Sacrament. I do not find it a coincidence that not too long after my departure I was given an image of the Divine Mercy, which is such a beautiful image of his grace. I told my father I wanted to hang the image on the wall in my parents’ living room, and I was surprised when he told me that I could do so, and already I knew that Jesus was pouring out his merciful love.
Although the image is not the Blessed Sacrament, it will be a reminder of the merciful love of Jesus for me and for my family. The Divine Mercy Image Enthronement is an invitation to allow Jesus to reign not only in our home, but also in our hearts, and I will remember to trust Jesus and his divine will. This image of great grace brings Christ into our home, and until the day that I can once again live in closeness to the Eucharist I will consider myself blessed that the Image of Divine Mercy will remind me that Jesus is always with me, and to trust him.
By Cara Ruegg.
I breathe the wind
Into swollen lungs
Red eyes blink
And all is gone.
At least for a moment
Standing at the crossroads
Nervous and trembling
Do I even want anything?
There is no silent conviction
There is no conviction at all
There is nothing
My heart is torn
It is broken
It cannot decide
To be loved
In a special way
By a person I can see
And hear and touch
It seems much more real
Even if it’s not
Even if it’s in fact false
A fickle thing
This love of humans
Changes like the wind
God is eternal
His love infinite
And He gives me Himself
He gives me everything
Where is my gratitude?
The ground beneath my feet
The grass cannot be seen
Under this dirt
What do I want?
The world’s vanities
Make me shrink
But so does the cross
Of my Jesus
Covered in blood
And I want to be brave
I want to give Him everything
All of me
Not counting the cost
But I’m a coward
And I stand here
At the crossroads
He seems far away
I once felt His peace
Such a wonderful calm
There is nothing now
I am numb
The little children huddle around me
But do they really care?
In the end, they go home
And I’m not ever there.
My Sisters laugh and joke
But still a barrier I hold
My heart can’t get attached
Not to a human soul
I want a shoulder to cry on
A friend to wipe my tears
I want to be loved by someone
But I am here
Before a silent God
Who I know is before me
But who I cannot see
And cannot hear
And cannot feel
The romance of the cross
Should be enough
It should be all
But the crucifix
On the wall
He beckoned me
And I responded
I said, “Yes,
I’d follow His call”
Now here He is
I’ve crossed the ocean
I’ve left behind my home
I let myself be forgotten
Erased from memories of loved ones
Affections have gone cold
They have changed, gone old
But I am here, frozen
I still care…too much
And they don’t know.
I cannot tell them.
And will I be happy
In the world?
I cannot see over this picket fence
And do not know
If there is any grass there at all.
And can I give up the treasure
Of a baby I can call my own
Tiny hands and soft feet
Eyes that look like my own?
For God. For God. For God.
How dry and tasteless
Shattered in a silent way
I’m just not happy
Waves aren’t crashing
All about me
I cannot even cry.
I want Your will
There are a lot of difficulties when returning from religious life back into secular life. One that I hadn’t really expected, but that has become quite a challenge, is direction. When I was in the convent I thought I had my life figured out. I thought I had found my vocation. I thought I was living where I would spend the rest of my life with the people I would spend that time with. My direction was very clear and I knew I was in the Lord’s will.
And then I left. And I felt like my life was a mess and I had no direction. I fell into the trap of despair. I was sure there was no hope. But day after day the Lord has been faithful. He has been bringing me out of that trap.
By leaving I felt like I was leaving the Father’s will for my life, not at first, but I fell into that trap after being home a little while. I was consumed with trying to figure out a plan. I needed to figure out what my next career move was as well as my vocation. I wanted to figure every little detail out before I made any sort of move in any direction.
The reality, though, is that by leaving I was actually staying in the Father’s will. He called me out of the convent. I was listening to His voice when I decided to leave. And while that left me “directionless” in the eyes of the world, it really didn’t. It took as much courage and discernment to enter religious life as it did to leave. And both decision were made with the Lord.
I was reflecting/praying with the Gospel today and I realized I’ve been going about my return all wrong. Today’s Gospel is a passage we’ve all heard a million times, but the Lord used it today to bring me some new insight. Jesus addresses Thomas after he questions how they will know what direction they are to go after Jesus ascends into Heaven by saying,
“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
You see, I keep complaining about feeling directionless and like my life is a total mess. I want to know the future so I can make a move in some direction. But the Lord revealed to me today that I do know the direction to walk because Jesus is the way.
If I walk in Jesus then everything will fall into place because the goal isn’t to figure out what career I’m supposed to be in or what my vocation is. Don’t get me wrong, those questions are important, but they aren’t the be all and end all of this life. The ultimate goal of this life is to be in communion with the Father in Heaven. And Jesus tells me, and the disciples, in this passage that the way to the Father is Jesus Himself, not a specific career, living situation, or vocation. Our careers and vocations can help us get to Heaven, that is the whole point, but finding them and living them cannot be the ultimate goal. Then we lose sight of our purpose here on Earth which is to get to Heaven.
“Seek first the Kingdom of Heaven and all these things will be given you besides.” -Matthew 6:33
So while it is easy for me to fall into the trap of feeling “directionless”, the reality is that I know the direction I need to walk. I know the way because Jesus is the way.
Re-published with kind permission from Erin’s blog Arise My Daughter and Come.
Stay with us, Lord, as we journey through this day, through this life.
We are wayfarers. The path is unclear, the past confusing, the future uncertain.
Our hearts are downcast, our spirits are sad.
You begin to speak to us as we walk along.
You speak words of truth and consolation.
We do not immediately recognize You given the state we are in.
But little-by-little we notice that our hearts are becoming fuller, our spirits are raised.
In some mysterious way, joy again becomes tangible.
We long for more of Your presence, we beckon You to stay,
so afraid you might leave us desolate once more.
But our fears are unfounded:
not only do You stay for a time–You devise a way to remain with us always.
By making Yourself known in the breaking of the bread,
you pledge to give Yourself to us each day and remain at our side,
filling us with the joy that only you can give.
Our cry “stay with us, Lord!” is an affirmation of our faith in the promise that You will,
and a profession of our own desire to walk this path hand-in-hand with You.