"To have divine love as its inner form, a woman's life must be a Eucharistic life. Only in daily, confidential relationship with the Lord in the tabernacle can one forget self, become free of all one's own wishes and pretensions, and have a heart open to all the needs and wants of others. Whoever seeks to consult with the Eucharistic God in all her concerns, whoever lets herself be purified by the sanctifying power coming from the sacrifice at the altar, offering herself to the Lord in this sacrifice, whoever receives the Lord in her soul's innermost depth in Holy Communion cannot but be drawn ever more deeply and powerfully into the flow of divine life, incorporated into the Mystical Body of Christ, her heart converted to the likeness of the divine heart."
Edith Stein, "Ethos of Woman's Professions," taken from Essays on Woman, trans. Mary Oben, Ph.D. (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1996), 56.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Friday, July 29, 2005
Once upon a time there lived a small eight-year-old girl who walked into a closet where her beautiful young cat was in the middle of giving birth to equally beautiful kittens. I don't know why this particular memory has been haunting me the past few days, but I can't seem to remove from my mind the image of a small white and orange cat lying on the hard wooden floor of our linen closet, sides heaving, tongue lolling from her mouth in exhaustion as she brought six kittens into the world. Three of them died, three of them lived. I remember running to tell my mother, dragging her back with me to show her, and crying because I wanted so very, very much to help the cat and there didn't seem to be anything we could do. Of course, Mommy had lots more experience in this realm than I had, and she wisely pulled me away and said the best thing we could do for her would be to leave her to herself for a little while. When I returned later that same day, I found the cat contentedly licking the last of her three little ones, while the other two snuggled against her middle, mewing piteously. Although I was already the oldest of five children by this point, and Mom was due with another, this was my first real brush with life and the pain that must be suffered at its beginning.
I've been in a frenzied cleaning mood for the past week or so. I clean and scrub and dust and vaccuum whenever my grandparents aren't around to protest that it's "too much work" or that I'll "hurt myself." (I've heard both arguments). There's a joy in good, hard work that isn't to be found anywhere else. It's a lot like working on the spiritual life. There are painful, difficult moments, and days when you'd rather do anything but put forth any more effort, but it always proves to be absolutely worth every ounce of exertion. God knows what we need, and He's always right, even (and especially) when we don't agree with him.
Grandma went to the grocery store today, and bought fresh fish. She and Grandpa have been very good about having fish on Friday nights, so that I can stick to my Friday obligation. She says that it's good, because they ought to have fish since it's supposed to be so good for them, and this gives them the perfect excuse. She's too good for me
I've been in a frenzied cleaning mood for the past week or so. I clean and scrub and dust and vaccuum whenever my grandparents aren't around to protest that it's "too much work" or that I'll "hurt myself." (I've heard both arguments). There's a joy in good, hard work that isn't to be found anywhere else. It's a lot like working on the spiritual life. There are painful, difficult moments, and days when you'd rather do anything but put forth any more effort, but it always proves to be absolutely worth every ounce of exertion. God knows what we need, and He's always right, even (and especially) when we don't agree with him.
Grandma went to the grocery store today, and bought fresh fish. She and Grandpa have been very good about having fish on Friday nights, so that I can stick to my Friday obligation. She says that it's good, because they ought to have fish since it's supposed to be so good for them, and this gives them the perfect excuse. She's too good for me
Once upon a time there lived a small eight-year-old girl who walked into a closet where her beautiful young cat was in the middle of giving birth to equally beautiful kittens. I don't know why this particular memory has been haunting me the past few days, but I can't seem to remove from my mind the image of a small white and orange cat lying on the hard wooden floor of our linen closet, sides heaving, tongue lolling from her mouth in exhaustion as she brought six kittens into the world. Three of them died, three of them lived. I remember running to tell my mother, dragging her back with me to show her, and crying because I wanted so very, very much to help the cat and there didn't seem to be anything we could do. Of course, Mommy had lots more experience in this realm than I had, and she wisely pulled me away and said the best thing we could do for her would be to leave her to herself for a little while. When I returned later that same day, I found the cat contentedly licking the last of her three little ones, while the other two snuggled against her middle, mewing piteously. Although I was already the oldest of five children by this point, and Mom was due with another, this was my first real brush with life and the pain that must be suffered at its beginning.
I've been in a frenzied cleaning mood for the past week or so. I clean and scrub and dust and vaccuum whenever my grandparents aren't around to protest that it's "too much work" or that I'll "hurt myself." (I've heard both arguments). There's a joy in good, hard work that isn't to be found anywhere else. It's a lot like working on the spiritual life. There are painful, difficult moments, and days when you'd rather do anything but put forth any more effort, but it always proves to be absolutely worth every ounce of exertion. God knows what we need, and He's always right, even (and especially) when we don't agree with him.
Grandma went to the grocery store today, and bought fresh fish. She and Grandpa have been very good about having fish on Friday nights, so that I can stick to my Friday obligation. She says that it's good, because they ought to have fish since it's supposed to be so good for them, and this gives them the perfect excuse. She's too good for me. And she still protests when I clean the house a bit, just to prove how grateful I am! Ah me, ah me. If I'd inherited anything from that woman, I'd have a household of happy siblings. Where'd I learn to be so stingy, that's what I want to know.
I have eleven more days on the job. Then I return to Suffolk. Actually, I'm not really returning there - I'm going for my first time to live there, and then returning to school. And probably (as I just learned) to Campion dorm. Well, God has a plan in everything, even in putting His little one back in the dorm with the tiny windows. At least we're to be in the wing that doesn't have any bedrooms facing the North. That was the worst of it last year... we faced completely away from the sun. It was like living in a cave, or a tomb. But in the other wing we'll have to face either south or west. So we'll get some nice sun in the afternoon.
The fish smells strong! Something tells me it's almost time for dinner. Then I head off for Mass at 7:30 and Adoration at 8:00. I'll pray for you all! (Whoever you may be. That's the most interesting part about keeping a blog- you can never be absolutely certain who's reading it, if anybody reads it at all).
I've been in a frenzied cleaning mood for the past week or so. I clean and scrub and dust and vaccuum whenever my grandparents aren't around to protest that it's "too much work" or that I'll "hurt myself." (I've heard both arguments). There's a joy in good, hard work that isn't to be found anywhere else. It's a lot like working on the spiritual life. There are painful, difficult moments, and days when you'd rather do anything but put forth any more effort, but it always proves to be absolutely worth every ounce of exertion. God knows what we need, and He's always right, even (and especially) when we don't agree with him.
Grandma went to the grocery store today, and bought fresh fish. She and Grandpa have been very good about having fish on Friday nights, so that I can stick to my Friday obligation. She says that it's good, because they ought to have fish since it's supposed to be so good for them, and this gives them the perfect excuse. She's too good for me. And she still protests when I clean the house a bit, just to prove how grateful I am! Ah me, ah me. If I'd inherited anything from that woman, I'd have a household of happy siblings. Where'd I learn to be so stingy, that's what I want to know.
I have eleven more days on the job. Then I return to Suffolk. Actually, I'm not really returning there - I'm going for my first time to live there, and then returning to school. And probably (as I just learned) to Campion dorm. Well, God has a plan in everything, even in putting His little one back in the dorm with the tiny windows. At least we're to be in the wing that doesn't have any bedrooms facing the North. That was the worst of it last year... we faced completely away from the sun. It was like living in a cave, or a tomb. But in the other wing we'll have to face either south or west. So we'll get some nice sun in the afternoon.
The fish smells strong! Something tells me it's almost time for dinner. Then I head off for Mass at 7:30 and Adoration at 8:00. I'll pray for you all! (Whoever you may be. That's the most interesting part about keeping a blog- you can never be absolutely certain who's reading it, if anybody reads it at all).
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