I lived in community. I was part of the sanctuary. We prayed. We prayed a lot. There were families who entered into the sanctuary as their lives could permit. They home schooled their children. They attended Mass. They shared their lives together over meals and gardening. It was a challenge for them to enter into the Divine Office---to attend Lauds or Vespers, to experience the sacred hours of prayer. There were times I shared in the exhortation of these mothers and fathers. Pray more! Become centered! Bring your children with you and worship together! I felt holy. I knew of my own pride. I was not ignorant of the sneaky spiritual arrogance that overtakes those in full-time ministry. I knew my life of prayer was only as effective as the times I chose to be centered apart from the ritual. Or where I took the ritual and formed it into a vehicle of imagination fueled by hope. Ascending the Mountain. That was my goal.
Oh, God. Forgive me. I am a mother. I am on the other side and desperate to accept the valley. It is Nazareth, not Jerusalem. It is the clay pitcher of water, not the river Jordan. It's is Mary's role. She is my model. She accepted. I yell at my children. I get frustrated when they don't act like little monks. There are moments where I am IN the moment. But why can't my children be in the moment with me? They are in control of which moment I am to enter. And that is a level of yieldedness I have yet to accept.
I had a single friend spend time with me recently. She meditated every day. She moved with calm. She was centered, virtually free of anxiety. I was jealous. I felt inferior. I felt as though she was the nun, and I was the mother watching from the outside, desperate to attend Vespers with her. I want to chant again. I am now on the other side and have yet to figure out my rhythm.
It is such a gift to be able to see from the other side. It doesn't feel good, but it is so good. I am being given the opportunity to finish a work that was started in community. I am being given the chance to see things anew. The mother. Her work is never done. And when does she pray? When does she lift her voice and enter the sanctuary? Maybe thirty years after she's started the race. Maybe someday I will look back. Will I worry about when I prayed? NO. I will hope that I spent enough time with Lion and Bear.
It is enough. God forgive me for judging the mother when I had no eyes to see. Forgive me now for judging myself while I have eyes that see, although dimly. You know Nazareth so well. You know the beauty and the mess. Help me to embrace it all.
