Called to Silence

I should be happy. It's summer. The kids and I are sleeping in and there's a lot of unscheduled time to do as we please. But the truth is, I am rather a sad tomato. I've been in pain for over a month. Harry has been relentless. Although I pride myself on being able to work through pain, write a bit, put a decent meal on the table, sing, all with the help of modern medicine, I am growing weary. I'm down to the essentials. My main goal is to make the children independent and to teach them to take care of each other. And by necessity, it's happening naturally.

I miss all the things people take for granted. Hopping in the car and going to the beach. Gardening. Playing a game. Cooking. Cleaning. Inviting people over. Making plans. Writing. I've managed to revise a couple of stories over the past month. But I long to do so much more. But I remember that I am a human being, not a human doing. It is enough to just be.

Over and over, I am taught that I am not in control, that I am to desire God alone. We've been diligently practicing the Mozart Missa Brevis in F for Corpus Christi. Every practice is a prayer for me. The music is so beautiful. Finally, finally things are coming together ... but this past week, I've developed a nasty cough and lost my voice. This happened once before, after my mother died. We'd been practicing the Verdi Requiem. But after her death, I developed pneumonia and I could not sing. I sat in the concert hall and sang it in my heart, tears streaming down my cheeks. It was so beautiful to listen to. I was an atheist then but my soul responded to that powerful music and pleaded to God for her soul without words. I suppose, our blessed Lord wants me to be quiet. Quieter than I've ever been. I probably shouldn't even be writing this post. I'm half afraid I'll trip over a cat toy and break my hands. I already had a bad fall early in Feb. right before StoryMasters and hurt my right hand.

I have cried buckets this past month. I cannot even express in words how my soul longs to unite with God. I sing hymns like St. Patricks Breastplate, Jesus My Lord My God My All, Abide with Me, and yet I'm left bereft because I am still here. How long? O Lord.

He needn't be so harsh with me. But would I listen if He didn't hit me over the head with a pan? Would I be as attentive if I didn't lose my voice? Would I be compelled to start a prayer journal if I weren't in this much pain? I don't know. All I know is that I will bless the Lord all the days of my life.  

I thank our dear Lord Jesus for humbling Himself to remain with us in Bread and Wine. Thank God for his holy priests. Enjoy this sequence Lauda Sion Salvatorem.  

  
Strangely enough, for the first time, the liturgical calendar truly makes sense in an organic way. My mother always said we are an Easter people, because our entire faith rests upon the resurrection but what's amazing is how all the other feasts fit as well. Pentecost, Trinity and finally Corpus Christi complete what our Lord instituted at the Last Supper. No matter what beautiful music is sung, at the consecration, there is silence, and then the ringing of the little bells, to signify the holy thing occurring on the Altar.

Wishing you all a happy Feast Day. Be assured of my prayers for you and I beg for your prayers as well.

ETA: Just returned from the beautiful Mass. Heaven on earth. We are so blessed.