Archive | July 2012

The Vocation to Faith in Love

“Miranda,” by John William Waterhouse, 1875

“Each of us is loved by God with a limitless, unconditioned and unconditional love that we can never destroy or even diminish. We are loved into existence; cherished in our existence; affirmed absolutely in death and beyond. This love is independent of our merits or demerits. Nothing whatsoever can separate us from this love. For it is the breadth; it is the length; it is the height and it is the depth — there is nowhere beyond it, above or below it. It is All: the limitless ocean that encompasses our tiny, threatened, fragile yet infinitely precious self. This is not merely impersonal, protective benevolence but a love that gives self, that offers inconceivable intimacy and that seeks reciprocity. We can never define or draw a line around what God will do for each one of us. We are exposed to the infinite. Against this truth what does our sense of impotence matter? In genuine faith — which must, of course, be worked for — and in that surrender of self which is faith in act, we begin to discern that, far from our helplessness being a human misfortune, something that ought not to be, it signals a limitless calling and is the other side of a vocation that goes beyond what can be perceived by mind and sense. To accept it is to assent to our vocation, to becoming who we truly are, to being truly human. We are made for union with the divine, nothing less. We are called to share the life of God. Our restlessness, our insatiable longings, our discontent and  experience of helplessness are to be traced to our divine destiny. Commitment in faith to this truth is to destroy existential anxiety. Faith alone can overcome the world and the threat the world imposes. It does not follow that we lose the feeling of anxiety and fear — we would be the poorer for that — but these now play a role that is creative not destructive. Fear can cripple, paralyze, prompt us to shirk and evade life. Faith enables us to live with reality, braving its challenge.”

— From Essence of Prayer, by Ruth Burrows OCD

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The Summer Bookshelf

One of my favorite things about summer is the extra time it affords me to lose myself in books. As a child, I remember whole afternoons spent reading after chores were done. Sometimes I hid away in a makeshift tent of blankets. Other times, I nestled for awhile in the tree in our front yard, just high enough so the random passer-by couldn’t see me from the street. I always felt like I was doing something special and secret and wonderful. Then there were days when my friend and I would pack up some snacks and traipse across the street from her small farm in the wash that ran through town and climb to the top of the low hill to find a place under the trees where we’d spend the afternoon reading comics.

The sheer luxury of this type of relaxed reading is now whittled away by the busy days of parenthood and home schooling, work and life in general. I spend most of the rest of the year reading for work — as an English teacher this is both a privilege and a curse. I DO get to read some of the greatest works every written, but I also HAVE to read those works, whether I’m in the mood for them or not. Those days of total freedom to read wherever and whatever the wind blew my way were truly remarkable and while I can look back with greater appreciation now, in hindsight, I have a sense that I realized the gift of those pockets of time and to revel in that freedom even then.

Child Reading, By Pierre-Auguste Renoir

The reason I can say this is because I see the same awareness in my own son. At 10 & 1/2, he is aware enough to realize the gift of being given hours a day to lose himself in books and to look forward to it with great excitement. He himself has told me often that he didn’t hear me because “I was so engrossed in my book.” He has this knowing, this relationship with books, this sense of passing time without worry or care, somewhere far off. For him, one of the high points of every summer is signing up for the Summer Reading Program at the library. Actually, it’s a high point for both of us since a couple of years ago we discovered that I could sign up for the adult program and it was something the two of us could do together. We are fortunate that our main library here has an excellent Friends of the Library volunteer group which hosts a Festival of Folktales every June to kick off the Reading Program. Skippy has me mark the calendar months ahead and eagerly awaits this afternoon filled with games and music, shows and books. It’s a sign to us both that we’re done with the hard work of the year and have a few weeks to relax the pace and spend extra hours turning pages on the patio or on the beach.

This year has been particularly busy and challenging for me for many reasons. So much so that I could hardly slow my brain and heart down enough to dream about what I might want to read. As Skippy and I wandered the stacks on the Festival day, each taking turns hunting out the titles which were to earn pride of place on our bookshelf, I felt bereft and disconnected and unsettled. Nothing was speaking to me. I shared this uncomfortable and unusual (for me) feeling with Skippy.

Without missing a beat, he said confidently, “Mom, read something fun! Why don’t you read something classic? Read something you’ve read before! Books are made to be read again and again. That’s what the classics are for. Read Frankenstein. It doesn’t matter if you’ve read it before. I’ve read books over again. Read something you WANT to read.”

His words sort of stopped me in my tracks. Was this my son? Where did he acquire such wisdom, and at such a young age? Clearly, the years spent doing exactly what he was now encouraging me to do had had an impact on him. It took seconds for me to reach out then and take Virginia Woolf’s The Voyage Out off the shelf and add it to my bundle. A classic? Yes. Read before? Yes, nearly 15 years ago. Perfect for a summer read? Yes, absolutely.

Woman Reading In A Cashmere Shawl, by John Singer Sargent

Skippy’s advice broke the barrier for me and opened the door to a better mindset, one open to greeting summer and those delectable hours to be shared together lost in books. The Voyage Out wasn’t the only book I chose. It joined a long list of other happy choices: The Beekeeper’s Lament, A Gift From the Sea, poetry from Ranier Marie Rilke, Mere Christianity, Surprised By Joy, and Something More: Excavating Your Authentic Self. I am also looking forward to (finally) finishing Treasure Island with Skippy and starting The Lord of the Rings together. We’re also planning our first excision into audio books with To Kill a Mockingbird. Finally, a friend and I are hoping to read and discuss Woolf’s Orlando together.

I may get to all or only some of these. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is the hours are free to dip in and take my time and luxuriate in turning those pages for yet another summer. That I am able to enjoy this with my son, and that he realizes this gift, makes it all that much sweeter.

And you? What’s on your summer bookshelf?