I'm Busy

"No, I can't.  I'm too busy."

I'm a bit surprised to hear these words uttered by my three year old nephew.  I don't think he really knows what those words mean.  I asked if he had given a hug to his grandma and he said he was too busy, as he tiredly walked away from me. He has heard this phrase but he doesn't understand how to properly apply it.  My brain thinks briefly of The Princess Bride and the misuse of the word "inconceivable."

Then I think about my conversations with my relatives and I realize that I am very quick to fall back on, "Life is busy."  It is a nice conversation filler but it doesn't really tell one anything.  Which is partially the point--life is filled with many things but I don't want to fully articulate them right now.  Life is either busy or nothing is going on.

Somewhere along the line I began to think of busy as success or as the necessary answer for how my life is going.  Because I can't say I don't know what I'm doing with my life.  I can't admit in casual conversations that I'm at times frustrated with the Lord and myself.  Or that I want to sit in my classroom and cry some days while other days fill me with over-the-moon excitement and joy.

"I'm busy."

Oh the contradiction!  Here we are at the "busy" part of the year that revolves in essence around a quiet manger scene. The God of the Universe enters into our chaos, confusion, and hurt and the world for a moment seems to be still.  We are enraptured by the glint in the newborn's eye, in the soft giggle, in the squirm of chubby arms and legs.

I need to come up with a better response than, "I'm busy."  I'm present.  I have time for you.

Melting My Heart

Those lovely sophomores are at it again, chipping away at the ice around my heart and melting me into a pool of gushing affection for them.  Today was student led prayer.  Do you know what they requested?  I'm not quite certain it is really a prayer, but they tried really hard to make it into one and I gave into their supplication.  Their prayer was being thankful for all of the memories made in this class and then they tried to list their favorites.

If they would have been more serious and not the fun-loving, chatty sophomores that they are, I might have been reduced to tears.  As it was, there was just enough sincerity mingled with humor to keep a smirk on my face and feel my heart ache while not letting my tears flow.  The memories they came up with focused on none of the lessons I taught or really on me in general.  Yet the student appointed leader finished the "prayer" off with thanking his classmates for being in his class and being thankful for me.  My heart nearly burst.

I followed this sentimentality up with, "That was nice---but you still have to take your quiz today!"  I love them and I never want them to leave.  A while ago some of the students joked about failing this class so they would have to take it again next year.  Now I'm thinking, would it be alright if I found a way to fail all of them?

Good for my Heart

My beloved 7th period class is good for my heart.  I was recently talking about them, and I felt my heart overflowing with a sense of gratitude.  Despite my fondness for them, I will never claim that they are perfect.  They are beautiful and they bring out my best side, which probably contributes to the warm reception I receive from them.

I have never had such a clear favorite.  This is one of the first things I will tell people before I gush about my class.  While I am far more comfortable with my classes then in years past, this is the one class where I can let my guard down.  I never feel like I'm defending myself or persuading them of something or fighting them to accept a truth.  We laugh together, have inside jokes, and learn together.  I'm not their best friend, but I am definitely one of their favorite teachers.

There is a freedom that comes with being loved.  I can give them more of who I am really am.  Each day, 7th period, I feel like I teach the best.  Sometimes we get off topic, there is chaos, too much energy--but always there is a familial atmosphere that fills the room.  I don't myself subtly battling the class in defense of the one kid that says things people roll their eyes at or repeatedly asks questions already answered.  When I was sick this week, one girl said she missed me.  Although I'm not extremely close with each student, I feel an understanding with most of them and, if nothing else, the class as a whole.

I am not the only one to appreciate my blessings.  One of the freshman teachers made a remark to me about my beloved class.  Typically nobody else sees the class as a whole but all of the classes each period met in auditorium for preparation for confession this week.  I have never sang the praises of this class to this teacher, so I was overjoyed to hear him applaud my class.  He said it was though each good student was hand-selected for my 7th period class.  As he was saying this, I realized they were.  The good Lord knew that I would need this oasis, this haven from the storm during my school day.  I look forward to them and love the time we spend together.  Professionally, I need to remain fair toward my classes, but I often feel a desire to spoil them, to give in to all of their requests.  Today that teacher stopped by when they were coming into my classroom and declared that heaven came early today.  We smiled and he told them it was an inside joke.

This class is the only reason I am not running forward with utter joy to Christmas break.  Next semester I will have most of these students again, but they will be shuffled around and students from my other class will be mixed in.  I am hopeful that next semester will be wonderful as well, but I know that the beauty of this class will soon end, never to be achieved again.  Life will move on and they will simply be the cherished favorite class of the past, the ones I subconsciously measure each future class against, sighing when they inevitably fall short.

For now, they are my precious gift.  They are blessing to me from the Lord.  Yet it is only the difficulty of my first two years that makes me so deeply relish this class.  If I had them my first year, I would have expected all classes to be like this.  Now I know, battle-weary veteran that I am.  This, is not the norm.  This is, most assuredly, a gift from the Lord, hand-selected for the good of my heart.  Another beautiful display of the Lord knowing what I needed before I even thought to ask for it.  

Your sins aren't that special

"Your sins aren't that special."

The girls giggle, perhaps a little shocked by what I said, simply because it came as a surprise.  They were concerned about going to Confession to a priest they knew.

"He'll know my voice...."
"He'll hear my sins and judge me.  Later, when he sees me, he'll judge me more."  She smiles and I know she is joking.  Partially.

"No, he won't.  He isn't going to remember your sins.  Your sins aren't that special."  I pause for a moment as they giggle.  "You're special, but your sins aren't."

I myself was struck by that phrase, in a way.  How often I live my life as though my sins are special, as though they are my determining factor.  After thousands of years of beautiful, broken humanity, I doubt there is a way one could sin "originally" anymore.  Sin isn't unique, novel, or groundbreaking.

Do you know what is special and unique?  Virtue.  It has a depth, breadth, and richness that cannot be matched by any vice, no matter how shocking or seemingly gratifying it may be.  We think our sins set us apart, for better or worse, and make us into the individuals we are.  We find our flaws to be infinitely more memorable than our strengths or triumphs.  

We are wrong.  It is our virtue and our quest for virtue that truly distinguishes us.  Look at the vast array of saints in the Catholic Church.  The ways they reflect God are manifold but each is different, highlighting a different attribute of the ineffable God.  We see in them incarnational realities of God's love, mercy, forgiveness, patience, and more.  They are unique because of their holiness and their particular way of manifesting it.

Your sins aren't special.  Quit acting like they are and return to your Father.

The Trinity is Laboring in Love

There is something strangely beautiful about crouching on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night as your stomach seeks to, yet again, empty itself into the waiting bucket.  With heaving sides and uncontrollable gagging, the words that came to mind at this moment weren't exactly what I expected.  I had just started a Marian consecration the night before and in the bathroom I thought of one of the suggested resolutions for the day: Consider how all the persons of the Trinity are laboring to give you love.

A few hours later, bent over that bucket again, the words come back to me: the Trinity is laboring in love for me.  Perhaps the oddest thing about this whole situation was that those words didn't seem that odd, even remembered at the painful moment.

It is a blessing for me to experience trials and find myself praying in the midst of them.  Not because it makes me feel super holy, but rather it reassures me that these things I pray are becoming ingrained deeper in me.  They aren't words that I just mouth but words that are tangible, that are lived realities.

Later in the early hours of the morning, I was reminded to pray for those suffering and I offered my pain up for them.  The next day, I spent most of it sleeping or trying to start drinking different types of liquids, despite my innate desire to refuse anything that could lead, once again, to the pains of that morning.

I didn't handle this whole illness like a saint, lest you begin to think that is the purpose of this story.  There were definitely moments I was complaining about my aches and wanted to be pampered even if it wasn't wholly necessary.  It was a comfort, though, to see my faith being tested (slightly--I know the stories of true testing in concentration camps and Roman amphitheaters--this was a minor testing) and it enduring.

May you also realize that the Trinity is laboring in love for you---even when all seems bleak and pain surrounds you.