Learning

Letting God Out of the Box…

Driving the length of the New Jersey Turnpike with the many exits, all numbered and some with A, B, or C, E or W tacked on after the number, I take notice of all the different roads that one might choose. I think of all the different paths and possibilities throughout life, not only for me and my husband, but also for our children. As we navigate the challenges, the joys and the sorrows of life, and the busyness of the world in which we live, it seems the best thing my husband and I can do for ourselves and our children, is to help them to know about God and to teach and encourage them to pray; that is, to help them to have a relationship with God. In fact, of all the things my husband and I might give to our son and daughter, or that they might acquire for themselves, prayer and relationship with God is the one thing that no one can ever take away from them.

Looking out the window as we continue to drive along, I think back to a time, when prayer in my life was just a cursory thing and relationship with God was a foreign concept. I recall one day, thinking and feeling that God was so distant…so far removed. Did God even care about the daily happenings of my life? Weren’t they too small for God compared to all other things?

I recall a conversation in which it became clear to me that my ongoing restlessness probably had something to do with where I was placing God in my life. If my life was a baseball diamond, it was as if God was way over in the bullpen, on standby, instead of behind the plate, calling the pitches. I started to think about, and to imagine, what it might be like to have God leading the way. The more I thought about it, the more I started to feel like I wanted God to be at the center of my life. The only problem was that I didn’t know where to begin. Other than attending Sunday Mass, praying before meals, and thanking God for all that I had and praying for other people at bedtime, I wasn’t aware that there were other ways of praying, or even that it was okay for me to pray for myself.

At the suggestion of a good friend, and the encouragement of a Spiritual Director, though, I began by simply spending more time in conversation with God. At first, just talking to God, wherever and whenever, seemed strange to me. So I started by going to daily Mass as often as I could and somewhere in the time leading up to Communion I would express my desire for God to be at the center of my life and for God to guide me and lead me. As time went on, I found myself more at ease and wanting to know more about God and God’s Word. I started to spend more time reading Scripture and praying with Scripture; setting aside time for quiet reflection and asking God to help me to see and hear more clearly. I also started to become more familiar with other parishioners and one day, one of the women at daily Mass asked me if I wanted to go downstairs after Mass for the women’s prayer group. I was unsure, but decided to give it a try, and before long it became a regular weekly activity.

What I did not know then, was that God was answering my prayers. God was placing me with people who, through prayer and sharing, were helping me to witness God and God’s ways in everyday life, making God seem closer than ever. In the years since I first had that conversation about God being in the bullpen, I have developed a relationship with God that is far greater than I could have ever imagined. It is like having the best GPS one could ever have.

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The Gift…

I’ll never forget being told one day, “Well…you know, you were created to be a saint.” I remember thinking to myself, “Huh? Yeah, right.” I must have looked at the person funny while I was thinking that, because he smiled at me and said, “Yes. You were created to be a saint. It’s true! You were created in God’s image, you were created holy and to be with God. We all are.”

My reaction – “Wow!” This person was being serious. I recall feeling somewhat amazed. The more I thought about it though, I felt almost embarrassed, like I had missed this really important piece of information. I felt like it was something that should have been obvious to me, but it wasn’t, because up until that point, I had never heard those words before. Here I was, in my 30’s, and despite years of attending Liturgy (or Mass), week in and week out, neither these words nor anything resembling them had ever been called to my attention or directed to me before that day.

While these words may seem obvious to some, it had never occurred to me and having someone speak these words to me out loud was so profound. It was a moment I will never forget; it definitely changed me, and the way I have seen myself, others, and the world around me. It inspired me to try to be a better person.

Growing up, I attended religious education religiously from kindergarten through high school.  Every Sunday throughout the school year we had Sunday school followed by Liturgy. Once the school year was over, we got to sleep a little later, before leaving the house to get to Liturgy.

One very snowy Sunday morning, I recall our car, with my parents and siblings packed inside, sliding all the way along the VFW Parkway as we made our way to West Roxbury. I was probably only 8 or 9 at the time and the ride was rather scary. We were all very quiet as my father maneuvered the car. When we got there though, I remember there was only my family and the family bringing donuts for the coffee hour. As a child, I was excited that Sunday school was canceled and we got to eat donuts (usually reserved for the adults who had coffee hour while we were in Sunday school) as we waited and people gradually arrived for Liturgy.  I remember other times when it was pouring rain and there were huge puddles on the parkway. We literally attended every week, rain or shine, sleet or snow. As I think back, I find myself marveling. There’s no way that could’ve been convenient for the parents of 6 children!

While I never learned as a child that I was created to be a saint (maybe that was the lesson I missed that snowy day that we sat eating donuts with the Kfoury family), I will never forget the memories of going to church every week with my family and the faces of the families with whom we worshipped. I learned the importance of being family and coming together to celebrate and give thanks to God not only with my family, but also alongside other families. I witnessed and learned about commitment and dedication. I learned how to be faithful. Or rather, my parents, whether they knew it or not, and whether it was convenient or not, by their example, were teaching me how to be faithful.

I feel very blessed to have had that experience growing up and while I may have not liked it at times, or may have fallen away from it or taken it for granted on the way to adulthood, the memories of all those Sundays formed a foundation that has always pointed me back home…back to the center…back to the One without whom I am nothing…back to God.

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Ring A New Song…

A number of years ago, I saw an announcement looking for bell ringers for a hand bell choir that was starting up at my church. I remember being interested, but also being mindful of the fact that despite my love for listening to music, I did not know the slightest thing about reading music.

As I was contemplating whether I should contact the music director, I thought of my younger brother, Douglas, who had passed away a month earlier. August would be approaching soon and he would have been turning 38. He was such a kid at heart and always had a “can do” attitude and a sense of excitement, enthusiasm and optimism about him. Some, even I at times, thought him to be naïve, but in hindsight, I now know that he was anything but naïve. He was living life to the fullest, and what a blessing, especially because in 37 years, one could say that Douglas lived a full life.

As I sat there, bell choir announcement in hand, I could picture his beautiful face with that mischievous grin and sense his gentle, loving soul nudging me to ignore the voice that was saying, “You don’t even know how to read music!” Nudging me to try something totally new; not to sing a new song, but to ring a new song.

That night I sent a message to the music director introducing myself and explaining my interest and that I could not read music at all. I was pleasantly surprised when her response indicated that despite my music reading ability (or inability in this case) I was welcome; she could teach me what I needed to know. With that, I decided to give it a try, and what a blessing it has been.

In the time I have been in the bell choir, not only have I learned to read music with the help of a music director who is probably one of the most patient, encouraging, and optimistic people I know, but I have also become part of a supportive, nurturing, lively and fun group of bell ringers. I could have never imagined what a gift being in the bell choir was going to be when I first started. In fact, I got off to a bumpy start. I felt completely inept in the beginning. It did not come easy to me at all and that was hard for me to accept; I had never really stuck with anything that I was not particularly good at before this experience. Looking back, I feel so grateful for the patience and encouragement of the music director as well as for being part of a group that was, and continues to be, pretty much easy going as we all learned to ring better and work together.

All of that seems so long ago now. When I think about it though, I am so glad that I gave the thing that initially seemed ridiculous to even try, a chance…a ring. Whether at rehearsal or during Mass I find it so uplifting now; it puts a hop in my step and joy in my heart.  Who would have ever thought I would find ringing bells so peaceful and calming, and so life giving? I certainly did not…but my brother did!

Thank you Douglas, for teaching your older sister (I know, barely that much older) a new song. Every time we ring a piece that has a mallet section, I use the mallets as if they are drumsticks and imagine you and me, again, as children, playing the drums together.

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