Beauty from Him

With my Rosary and coat, I slip out the door into the crisp fall night. The fragrance from the oven wafting through the door after me. The stars are out and the frosty dew crunches softy on the grass beneath my feet. I tilt my head to the night sky and a soft smile warms my face. Warm memories of the day soften the chill of the night. The fog is rolling off the pond as I walk slowly around it, my fingers grazing one by one over the beads in my pocket. I gaze up at those stars letting them take me back. I let them wash over me, renew me like the Baptism of Jesus. Conversations, hugs, and dreams pass through my mind like the lights of passing cars drift through the fog-banked pines. I think of the celebration of the Wedding Feast of Cana and wonder at the joy of others for two people who finally found each other. What beauty.

Around the pond, walking slowly, letting the beauty of it all soak into me. Its been so long since I have taken the time to just let beauty take me on a journey. No cell phone, no watch, no distance between me and God. Yes, I’ll have to wake up in the morning, but this is rest. This is peace. If this is a foretaste of the Kingdom Jesus was talking about, its no wonder we die before seeing God’s face. No human could live through that kind of gentle intensity. If one were to wonder if she were beautiful, she need only to look around herself at what God made. Could a perfect being create all of this beauty and give His greatest creations any less?

Tonight my heart is Transfigured like Christ. Tonight God drew a smile upon my heart and it will always be there. He asked me if He took away all this, the memories, the conversations, the love, the beauty of it all, would I still love Him, would I still have joy. I answered, “God, if You are promising me even more than this, I will give it all away.” “Everything?” He pressed softly. Visions of the gifts He has sent me, causing my great joy, floated through my mind. “Yes Lord,” I answered, trying to be strong. “everything. If You are promising to give me all of this and more in the end, I only ask that You give me the grace to remember this night. To remember this joy, this beauty. If all of this is only a shadow, I can hardly wait to see from where it came. Lord, this is all so beautiful, call me Home to Your table. I am so happy here, but when You are ready, I am ready.” 


The stars wink down from the sky. The fog rolls out over the fields. The sound of my footsteps are muffled by the lapping of the water on its banks. A smile fixed on my face, I turn my eyes homeward. One day I will get there. Someday I am going home.

Grandma ~ Thursday, May 19th 2003

I can still smell you Grandma

Sometimes out of the blue

I’m taken back to a place in time

And see your smile and your crinkle eyes

If I listen closely

I can still hear you laughing

I see your whole self radiating the joy you feel

At something others wouldn’t find

If I just sit for a moment,

I can see the whole family around

Laughing, throwing frisbees,

Wrestling footballs to the ground

I remember those raisin cookies

The kind I never liked

But they were some of the best cookies I ever had

Because you made them with me

You couldn’t run and play outside

You’d watch us and wait for our treasures

Sometimes flowers, sometimes snails

Or your not-so-favorite: baby frogs with tails

Whatever you touched inherited your joy

Whoever you spoke to went away with a smile

Sometimes I wish I could see what you did

And learn again for a little while

I wish you were here Grandma

I wish you could see me now

I’d have you meet all my friends

And ask you about those crazy boys

I would braid your hair again

And make your coffee black

Then  we would talk and watch the birds

And smell the fresh-cut grass

I still hear your chair creaking up the hallway

I can still hear how you dealt with your pain

Never blaming God or wimping out

You never were one to pout

You taught me how to suffer

You taught me how to live

You taught me all the things that matter

And I hope I haven’t forgotten

And I never forgot my promise Grandma

I learned to play one violin song

It was only Twinkle Little Star

But I played it with my whole heart

And then I cried with my whole heart

And Grandma

That Thursday when you died

I go back to that day often

With things I wished I’d done

That day I realized “live each moment like your last”

Was not just a feel-good phrase

I often wanted to relive my life up until that time

And tell you how much I loved you

And show you how much you made me

It’s hard to believe its been

Eight years this last Thursday

And thirteen years for Grandpa

Since you left and went to heaven

Tell Grandpa I have dibs on riding

In whatever boat he is making this time

And maybe when I get to heaven

You will be able to show me where the sweet flowers grow

And where you, me, and Grandpa

Can thumb-stamp the first robin of the spring

I miss you both and I love you

Keep praying for me like always

And maybe someday, hopefully

I’ll figure out what you had learned so well

The Field

Over time, there is a language that is developed in everything you encounter in life. You might see it in those around you, an understanding that needs few to no words. When I am upset and find myself longing to sit with God, He has but one phrase: “to The Field”. I don’t know how The Field came to be. It has been many colors, many storms have passed over it, many tears have been shed there, but most importantly, that is where God is, that is where we dance. In this field, when I have been distant from Jesus, when I haven’t been listening or taking the time to know His every thought and move, I find myself looking around it. It is nothing special to look at. The grass is dry, yellow in color, and tall like a pasture that has never been grazed. There is a big tree growing in the left side, a little bridge on the right with a tiny stream trickling under it without water and a gravel path that peters out from the bridge and becomes lost in the knee-high rushes.

Sometimes I have to stand here in this field for a moment before I realize why I am here: to see Jesus. Often times, I don’t realize He has been approaching or is standing in front of me until I have looked everywhere but at Him. It is strange The Field never changes, or at least not in a way that matters. The grass is just grass, the tree just a tree, the bridge, only a bridge, yet they catch my attention and distract me even if just for a moment from Jesus. I wonder if they represent life and all that is good, but still distracting from Jesus Himself.

How I greet Jesus is a matter of how I am with Him. If I have just received the Sacrament of Confession, we dance and dance and dance without time, without a worry or word. I know He loves me and I know He wants me to just be with Him and it is easy to do this. Sometimes when I go to The Field, I can hardly look at Jesus; can hardly stand to have Him look at me, but I can’t bear to leave either. He asks me what is in my hands and like a shameful child I pull them from where I have hid them and slowly open them. I show Him what I have done to myself and my soul. He opens His arms, though I can see I have hurt Him. Sometimes I cannot go to Him until I have forgiven myself. Sometimes, even when I go to Him, I can feel the distance I have created between us. He is love. He is always beckoning me to close my self-inflicted gap, to be as close to Him as I can, but I have to forgive myself and ask for His forgiveness. He is much more merciful than even I am on myself. It is always me who is the last to give in, the last to love more, the last to give my all. I am always the weak link, but if I really think about it, I wouldn’t want to be the strongest link because only He can carry my weight. =)

My Dance

In the beginning it was not so! This blog was going to be called “God Only Gives Good Gifts,” and though I could talk on about how everything God sends out way is a gift, it seemed like I was limiting my perception of God to what He gives yet God offers more than just good gifts: He offers a dance. Dance has no limits; no bounds. It is smooth and flowing though sometimes it is composed of halting, seeming disarray. It requires listening, feeling, and seeing. It is in harmony with music when it is not making its own, and it often takes collaboration on more than one part. Dance is endless, ageless,  and its expressions are countless. My life-dance, my dance with God, is sometimes filled with harmonious music, sometimes disarray and syncopated halts. Sometimes it makes sense to me in the midst of it all, but sometimes it only makes sense in light of the big picture. The pattern is always expressive, but it is ever-changing from  joyful to sorrowful, sensible to senseless, peaceful to chaotic; duet to solo.

Sometimes my life, like dance, can be beautiful when it is a solo, but sometimes a solo tells the saddest, loneliest story. Even when I feel that I have been casted as a soloist, God is still with me. In my solos it is not my strength that fuels my footwork, but His. It is not my feet that keep moving with the music, but His. In those times, He carries me, flows through me, protects me; loves me.  In our duets, He guides me ever so gently so that an observer might think we were actually dancing in tandem: two minds fully aware of the next step, when actually it is I who am standing on God’s feet allowing Him to guide mine.

Our dance is ageless. No matter when Mr. Right or loved one cuts in, how many solos I have to bear through, or how old I get to be, I want God to guide my steps always. I want to step to His beat, feel His rhythm, see His choreography come alive in my life. I want to wrap my arms around His neck and lay my head on His heart. I want to leave all my worries at the edge of the stage knowing they will take their entrance in due time. I want to be guided by my Father through every halt and leap, sway and twist. With God as my guide and inspiration, I want to dance!