Words for Sunday

Source: google.com via Lisa on Pinterest

Sunday Quote

“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.”
- George R. R. Martin

A Journey Made on Holy Ground

A few weeks back I finished another re-read of Robert Benson's "Between the Dreaming and the Coming True".  This memoir of brokenness, mental illness and faith has become one of my favorite reads, and Benson has rapidly become one of a few occupants of my list of author's whose books have always challenged, stirred and inspired me to pursue faith and prayer in new and deeper ways.  I wanted to share the last few paragraphs of this book, since I find them so beautiful:

The journey between the dreaming and the coming true is a journey made on holy ground.  It is a journey made through silence and longing where, if we will listen, we can hear the whisper of the Dreamer echoing deep within us, calling us to become what the Dreamer sees when our names were first whispered: saints who believe in and pay attention for and recognize the Voice; saints who live our lives in joy and confidence and hope rather than judgment and anxiety and desperation; saints whose hours and days and lives are spent carrying people to the Christ, lending each other a hand when one of us has fallen, slipping along the river that brings joy to the heart of God, carrying God's peace and love and presence and life to those we meet along the way.

This is what we have been sent here to do.  And we will.  The Dreamer's dreams will always come true.

(Benson, 144)

Cathedral Building

I'm still slowly working my way through a re-read of one of my all time favorite books "Between the Dreaming and the Coming True" by Robert Benson.  This is perhaps one of the most marked-up books in my collection, simply because so much of what Benson has to say spoke to me deeply the first time I read the book, and continues to speak to the deep places of my heart.  The other night I re-read a passage about cathedral building and knew I had to share it here.

He writes:

We do not talk much about building cathedrals these days.  But we should, I think.

Saint Paul once wrote to his friends in Ephesus that there is "a spiritual dwelling for God" being built among us and that we are all a part of it.  A great temple, Saint Paul called it - a cathedral, I call it - that was dreamed by the Dreamer and is meant for us to build.

Its foundation was laid by the prophets and the apostles, by the early church and the desert fathers and mothers, by the saints who are revered and the saints whose names are unknown to us.  The cathedral that is being built here includes all of them and all of us, all who have gone before and all who will come after.  We, and all that we are - dreams, hopes, gifts, hours, days, work, sweat - are meant to be stones in the cathedral of the Dreamer.

In many ways it does not matter whether we are preachers or poets, stonecutters or schoolteachers, accountants or architects.  Nor does it particularly matter if we are woodworkers or water carriers, missionaries or metalworkers.  What matters is that we dream our dreams and hope our hopes and do our work as though we believe in the Dreamer and the dream for the cathedral that is being built here.  For without us, it will not be built.  (pg. 91-92)

Joy and Pain

"Joy and pain, they are but two arteries of the one heart that pump through all those who don't numb themselves to really living."

~Ann Voskamp~

Not Fashionable to Have Regrets

I've been slowly making my way back through Robert Benson's beautiful book, "Between the Dreaming and the Coming True," and wanted to share a few bits and pieces with you over the next few days.

He writes:

"In our age of individualism and self-reliance, it is not very fashionable to say that one has regrets about the past.  But it is dishonest of us to say that we do not.  If the choice were to be made now between the hell that I lived in for various times in my life - anger, divorce, loneliness, depression, fear of failure - then I am as glad as anyone to be where I am today.  And I am perfectly capable of swimming in the existential stream that says that all of those things were necessary in order for me to be where I am today, a place in which I am very happy.  But I do not for one moment imagine that all of the things that have happened to me, and all of the terrible things I have done to others, were imagined for me by the One who dreamed me up."  (pg. 78-79)

Margaret Atwood on writing

I've never read a Margaret Atwood book.  (I know, I know, what kind of Canadian am I?)  The truth is that I started one or two, and just couldn't get into them, and so I gave up.  But, the other day I came across this quote from her, on writing, and loved it, and wanted to share:

“You most likely need a thesaurus, a rudimentary grammar book, and a grip on reality. This latter means: there’s no free lunch. Writing is work. It’s also gambling. You don’t get a pension plan. Other people can help you a bit, but essentially you’re on your own. Nobody is making you do this: you chose it, so don’t whine.”

- Margaret Atwood

Like Tea Bags

I came across this quote today, and had to share:

"Women are like tea bags; you never know how strong they are until they're put in hot water."
(Eleanor Roosevelt)

The Age of the Personal

Late last night I posted a review of "In Constant Prayer" by Robert Benson.  Over the next few days I have a few bits and pieces from the book to share here, starting with this lengthy quotation which struck me as a rather accurate, humorous and profound assessment of the western obsession with individuality.

"We live in the age of the personal, I think.  At least, I like saying it that way better than I like referring to myself as a member of the Me Generation.

We have personal soundtracks on portable personal sound systems so we can sort of clear out our own personal space whenever we happen to be out there among the human race.

We have personal computers, and we can hire personal shoppers - though I have to confess that I am still personally up to the task of disposing of my personal income myself.  We have personal identification numbers and some of us have personalized license plates.

I heard on the radio an advertisement that says I have a personal banker, though we have never actually met.  And if you met me, you could tell by looking at me that I clearly have a personal style that fits comfortably around my persona.

Once a quarter, I get a personal invitation in the mail to have my car's oil changed and engine belts checked by my personal mechanic, the one who works for the dealership that services my ultimate personal driving machine.  Actually, my car was made in Germany for someone else in 1986; it says so in my mechanic's personal files that he keeps on the personal driving habits of all the persons who have ever owned this car.

I take personal responsibility whenever I should, or at least when I have to, and I am personally convinced that I am on the planet to be my own person.

So it is not really a surprise that my personal prayer to my personal Savior is all too often about one person.

We live in the age of the personal.  And personally, I am tired of it." 

(Robert Benson, In Constant Prayer, pg. 53-54)

What do you think?  Are you tired of the age of the personal?

To Love

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” - C.S. Lewis.

The Silver Chair

I picked up C.S. Lewis' "The Silver Chair" again the other day. As a novel, it's probably my favorite of the Chronicles of Narnia. It's also the one where the child character I most identify with of the six who visit Narnia from England is introduced. It has these fabulous themes of journeying, of light and dark, good and evil, and the whole process of learning how to discern the voice of God amidst the confusing onslaught of a journey.  What follows is one of my all-time favorite passages in literature, just for the profound way it has always moved me.

To give context, Jill and Scrubb (Eustace) have found themselves suddenly in a strange land, and on the edge of a cliff. In the midst of the confusion and excitement at this new place, Jill is showing off at the edge of the cliff, and Eustace falls over the edge in an attempt to pull her back. A lion shows up, and Eustace is carried far away on the breath of the lion, leaving Jill behind, stunned. The lion then turns and disappears, and Jill bursts into tears.


~~~

Crying is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later and the you still have to decide what to do. When Jill stopped, she found she was dreadfully thirsty. She had been lying face downward, and now she sat up. The birds had ceased singing and there was perfect silence except for one small persistent sound which seemed to come a good distance away. She listened carefully and felt almost sure it was the sound of running water.


Jill got up and looked round her very carefully. There was no sign of the Lion; but there were so many trees about that it might easily be quite close without her seeing it. For all she knew, there might be several lions. But her thirst was very bad now, and she plucked up her courage to go and look for that running water. She went on tiptoes, stealing cautiously from tree to tree, and stopping to peer round her at every step.

The wood was so still that it was not difficult to decide where the sound was coming from. It grew clearer every moment and, sooner than she expected, she came to an open glad and saw the stream, bright as glass, running across the turf a stone's throw away from her. But although the sight of the water made her feel ten times thirstier than before, she didn't rush forward and drink. She stood as still as if she had been turned into stone, with her mouth wide open. And she had a very good reason: just on this side of the stream lay the Lion.

It lay with its head raised and its two fore-paws out in front of it, like the lions in Trafalgar Square. She knew at once that it had seen her, for its eyes looked straight into hers for a moment and then turned away - as if it knew her quite well and didn't think much of her.

"If I run away, it'll be after me in a moment," thought Jill. "And if I go on, I shall run straight into its mouth." Anyway, she couldn't have moved if she had tried, and she couldn't take her eyes off it. How long this lasted, she could not be sure; it seemed like hours. And the thirst became so bad that she almost felt she would not mind being eaten by the Lion if only she could be sure of getting a mouthful of water first.

"If you're thirsty, you may drink."

They were the first words she had heard since Scrubb had spoken to her on the edge of the cliff. Fro a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. The the voice said again, "If you are thirsty, com and drink," and of course she remembered what Scrubb had said about animals talking in that other world, and realised that it was the Lion speaking. Anyway, she had seen its lips move this time, and the voice was not like a man's. It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way.

"Are you not thirsty?" said the Lion.

"I'm dying of thirst," said Jill.

"Then drink," said the Lion.

"May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.

The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realised that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.

The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.

"Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.

"I make no promise," said the Lion.

Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.

"Do you eat girls?" she said.

"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.

"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.

"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.

"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."

"There is no other stream," said the Lion.

It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion - no one who had seen his stern face could do that - and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she had ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. You didn't need to drink much of it, for it quenched your thirst at once.

(C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair)

A Familiar Feeling

Dana posted this quote from C.S. Lewis the other day.  In it, Lewis describes a feeling I'm finding rather familiar lately.  The pain of renovation is one I'm experiencing, and I found Lewis' description to be profound.  Being made into a palace is a reminder I can use right now, amidst the painful reconstruction.

Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised.

But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of — throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself. [Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis]

What makes you alive?

I am writing my last final exam today.  The anatomy exam that I've been worrying about, (and trying not to worry about) for the last week or two.  I have been reminding myself that I am doing this because I am moving towards a goal that makes me feel alive.

I came across this quote recently, and loved it.

"Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive.
And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

- Howard Thurman

What makes you feel alive?  Are you doing that?

Our Chief Preoccupation

A quote to chew on today:

"Our wish, our object, our chief preoccupation must be to form Jesus in ourselves, to make his spirit, his devotion, his affections, his desires and his disposition live and reign there. All our religious exercises should be directed to this end. It is the work which God has given us to do unceasingly" (St. John Eudes, The Life and Reign of Jesus in Christian Souls).

Is forming Jesus in myself the chief preoccupation of my days, and of my "religious exercises"?  It is the chief preoccupation of yours?  What stops it from being chief in our lives?

Worth Reading...

I loved this post on Brian's blog, simply for the quote from Bill Hybel's "Holy Discontent".  The quote alone makes me think (though the whole Bill Hybel's megachurch thing kind of makes me cringe) that I might need to pick up this book.

And, I loved this post, full of goodness from Thomas Merton that was on Anne Jackson's blog last week.  Again, so worth reading.

Eating My Words

The experience of writing blog posts on the weekend and scheduling them to appear through the week is turning out to be an illuminating one.

Mostly because I have this tendency to forget what I've scheduled for the day, and, when I go back and check, I'm tending to find myself rather deeply convicted by own words.  That, or needing to just eat them because the conviction is huge.

Today is one of those days.

When I wrote earlier in the week about wrestling with pigs (and scheduled the post to go live this morning), it was a revelation for my heart.  Turns out it was one that's going to take a bit more work.

I spent most of the day wrestling with my own internal pigs.  And getting dirty.

I don't recommend it.

I'm probably still doing it.  And I'm working on that.

Anger and fear and exhaustion among other things easy pigs to engage.

I'm struck over and over again by choices.

By the reality that I get to choose.

And I struggle with that reality of choice.

Choosing to forgive.  Choosing to love.  Choosing to be joyful.

Because I can make those choices, but they seem intangible.  And sometimes I make the choice and it doesn't seem to matter.  Or I make the choice and have to make it again 2 minutes later, and again a minute after that.

And that reality makes me crazy.  Because deep down, even though I'm totally an "embrace the mystery" kind of gal, I really just like some things to black and white.  And these kind of choices and their affects are so grey it makes me crazy.

I don't love, either, the way that making a choice drops the responsibility in my lap. 

Because I know better than anyone how little I should really be responsible for.   How much I'd rather shirk responsibility.

This whole discussion brings to mind a favorite line from Gray's Anatomy.  "I'm an adult, when did that happen, and how do I make it stop?"

And while I pause to laugh at a line from a show that has spoken to deep parts of me over and over, I hear the echo of scripture, too, "...put aside childish things..."

And I wonder how to adapt to this new place of life.  To making choices instead of having someone make them for me.  And I find myself again clinging with that white-knuckled trust that seems to be defining the last few weeks to the reality that God is somehow in this, too.  And that He will be faithful to hold me.

Between the Eyes

Clearly, choosing to love (whether I want to or not) is going to be the theme today.

I kind of knew that, based on the dreams I'd had, and the actions that seem likely and necessary stemming from them, before I ever opened my eyes this morning, but, just in case I needed some convincing, there were several things waiting for me in my email inbox.

Things like this quote from a daily email written by Richard Rohr:

"...love is not a feeling, but a decision, yet a decision that increases our inner freedom each time we do it.  You will know this only after you act on love. Jesus didn't say when you get healed, love; when you grow up, love; when you get it together and have dealt with all your wounds, then love. No, the commandment for all of us is quite simply, “Love!” Once we know it is not a feeling, but a grace empowered decision, we can all do it. And each time it is a growth in freedom—and flow."

And this quote from here that my friend Jenny posted on her blog this morning.  The first thing I read, after opening my eyes and noticing the email that she had a new post:

"You climb from winding sheets into the opening day. Gently, Love asks to occupy the throne of your heart—the very seat of motivation. The request is so familiar that you risk contempt, forgetting how your world grows rich when Love reigns supreme. As if on cue, Fear counters the offer. Spilling worry like filth from a foul pail, this usurper exchanges timidity for hope and urgency for peace. These bitter enemies meet daily to see whom you place upon your seat of motivation. For this seat fashions the essence of every thought and every action. You decide between Love and Fear when choosing who will rest upon your seat of motivation. Tomorrow will be decided early—as you climb from winding sheets."

And then I realized that my own words were bound to convict me, too.   I'd forgotten what post I'd scheduled to go live today.  Clearly God has a sense of humor.  I can just see Him giggling, knowing what would come within this week, as I wrote that post on Monday night.

I really do want to be well.  It's a sentence I say with an ever growing conviction.

It's also a sentence I'm saying this morning with the following add on.  I want to be well.  Even when it means loving by choice, when it's hard, when fear must be battled, knowing that it will likely hurt.

The theme is hitting me between the eyes today.

Love is a choice.  One with a cost.  And one so necessary to make today.

A Quote on Trust

A couple of nights ago in my daily 5, I linked to a few posts on trust.

A dear friend gave me a perpetual calendar a little over a year ago, with a different quote each day from a female saint.  I love the calendar, and it has often been timely in the words of wisdom it has offered.

Today's quote deals with trust, and struck me as I journey right now, with only a very few plans, but very uncertain outcomes.  It reads:

"Dear Lord, I do not ask to see the path.  In darkness, in anguish, and in fear, I will hang on tightly to your hand, and I will close my eyes, so that you know how much trust I place in you, Spouse of my soul." (Blessed Maria Elizabetta Hesselblad)

I Liked This...

From today's "Americancatholic.org" Minute Meditation:

Embrace the Mystery

Learn the mystery of surrender and trust, and then it will be done unto you, through you, with you, in you and very often, in spite of you.

— from Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality

Smile!

A dear friend of mine had the following quote from Mother Teresa as her facebook status yesterday.

"Peace begins with a smile."

Given my penchant for making a daily 5 list of things that brought joy to my life, that made me smile, and seeing how that practice really has shaped the way I experience life and brought peace to my own heart, I loved the quote, and wanted to share it here as well.