A meditation taken from from Sacred Space: The Prayer Book 2008 (Jesuit Communication Centre, Ireland).
“You tell me to ‘carry my cross,’ Lord. You are not telling me to go out looking for the cross, in practices or penances. Rather, I find it under my nose. Every encounter that costs me, that rubs off my ego, is part of your plan for me.
I start with my own body and heart. The aches and limitations of my limbs, my awkwardness and shyness, are part of my cross. I often wish I was different, but this is me, and I will learn to love me as you do. When I can’t think of anything to say in company, or when I think of the wrong things, I’m carrying my cross.
What consoles me is that you like my company. You can put up with my silences. You accept the grumpy mutterings that at times are the closest I come to conversation. I don’t always feel good about myself.
There are moments when, like Groucho Marx, I would not want to belong to any club that was ready to accept me as a member. You don’t merely accept me, but you make me feel I belong, a first-born child in whom you delight.”
Somehow, this involves messiness, imperfection, flaws, trial and error, and generally not-having-it-all-together… And that is ok. I have more grace for myself today than I did yesterday.
March 11, 2008 at 11:28 pm
This is so powerful ~~~ touches my heart deeply. I belong —he loves me — he delights in me ~~ words to wonderful, but true!!
Thanks Suz ~~ thanks!
March 12, 2008 at 8:29 am
Honesty that is an invitation to honesty.
March 12, 2008 at 9:11 am
Thanks Suz.
These are wise words.
March 12, 2008 at 2:05 pm
I have more grace for myself today than I did yesterday…… I like that. It’s something to aspire to. Echoes with my own post today.
March 17, 2008 at 9:41 pm
I am moved deeply by this my daughter’s post . . . . and I don’t know why, but it makes me think of the day when she went along with me to New Jersey, from Brooklyn, probably at age, 4. I do not remember why we were going to New Jersey . . . some errand or appointment, and I just thought, why not take dear Suz. And so we sang as we went . . . Susan sang, and sang and sang. I do not know how long she sang, but she was so happy, so exuberant, so happy and such a delight to her father. What joy we had that day!
March 17, 2008 at 11:35 pm
Dear Dad, I love you so! ~Suz.