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.

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. =)