Thursday Thoughts from St. Therese of Lisieux

From the autobiography of St. Therese of Lisieux:

Since my longing for martyrdom was powerful and unsettling, I turned to the epistles of Saint Paul in the hope of finally finding an answer. By chance the twelfth and thirteenth chapters of the first epistle to the Corinthians caught my attention, and in the first section I read that not everyone can be an apostle, prophet or teacher, that the Church is composed of a variety of members, and that the eye cannot be the hand. Even with such an answer revealed before me, I was not satisfied and did not find peace.

I persevered in the reading and did let not my mind wander until I found this encouraging theme: Set your desires on the greater gifts. And I will now show you the way which surpasses all others. For the Apostle insists that the greater gifts are nothing at all without love and that this same love is surely the best path leading directly to God. At length I had found peace of mind.

When I had looked upon the mystical body of the Church, I recognized myself in none of the members which Saint Paul described, and what is more, I desired to distinguish myself more favorably within the whole body. Love appeared to me to be the hinge for my vocation. Indeed I knew that the Church had a body composed of various members, but in this body the necessary and more noble member was not lacking; I knew that the Church had a heart and that such a heart appeared to be aflame with love. I knew that one love drove the members of the Church to action, that if this love were extinguished, the apostles would have proclaimed the Gospel no longer, the martyrs would have shed their blood no more. I saw and realized that love sets off the bounds of all vocations, that love is everything, that that same love embraces every time and every place. In one word, that love is everlasting.

Then, nearly ecstatic with the supreme joy in my soul, I proclaimed: O Jesus, my love, at last I have found my calling: my call is to love. Certainly I have found my proper place in the Church, and you gave me that very place, my God. In the heart of the Church, my mother, I will be love, and thus I will be all things, as my desire finds its direction.

Lord, our call is to love. Teach us to love -- not immediately, but daily. Increase our love for You. Help us not to take our spouses and children for granted, but to love them more each day. Make us lovers of grandfather and grandmother, father and mother, brother and sister, aunt and uncle, cousin and friend. May we learn to love those we are inclined to avoid. And may we be Your love to all those you place in our path, if only for an instant. Amen.

Thursday Thoughts from Pope Benedict XVI

During my holy hour last night, I came across this passage in my prayer journal. It is from Pope Benedict's address to the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, given on February 10, 2006.

Jesus Christ, who is the fullness of the truth, draws to himself the heart of each person, enlarges it and fills it with joy. Indeed, truth alone can take possession of the mind and make it rejoice to the full. It is this joy that increases the dimensions of the human heart, lifting it from the narrowness of selfishness and rendering it capable of authentic love.

Jesus is the Truth. Truth fills our hearts with joy. Joy increases our ability to love. Beautiful!

Thursday Thoughts from Cardinal Joseph Mindszenty

I originally wanted to name this blog Building Cathedrals, based on one of my favorite quotes:

The most important person on earth is a mother. She cannot claim the honor of having built Notre Dame Cathedral. She need not. She has built something more magnificent than any cathedral -- a dwelling for an immortal soul, the tiny perfection of her baby's body.... The angels have not been blessed with such a grace. They cannot share in God's creative miracle to bring new saints to Heaven. Only a human mother can. Mothers are closer to God the Creator than any other human creature. God joins forces with mothers in performing this act of creation.... What on God's earth is more glorious than this: to be a mother. (Cardinal Joseph Mindszenty)

But that title was already taken by seven young Catholic mothers, friends from Princeton, so I went with my second choice (but I really like it, too).

The quote has always been a source of encouragement for me. It is on a bookmark I use in whatever parenting book I am currently reading, to remind me of why I'm reading it.

Some time after I received this bookmark, the analogy likening raising children to building cathedrals became even more explicit when a friend sent me the following story (apparently the author is unknown):

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30 , please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -- but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going ... she's going ... she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.

I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it.

I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

In the days ahead I would read -- no, devour -- the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

(1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals -- we have no record of their names.

(2) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

(3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

(4) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."

And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

So, to all of you mothers who sometimes feel invisible, take courage! And keep building!

Thursday Thoughts from Maya Angelou

I have a quote from Maya Angelou's autobiography on my fridge. It reads:

If you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love. Don't be surly at home, then go out in the street and start grinning 'Good morning' at total strangers.

It is meant to be a challenge for me.

I think of the times we're snapping at each other around the house, and then visitors come over and everybody puts on a happy face. Or I'm crabby with the kids in the car, and then I walk into the store and am the nicest person in the world to the clerk and other shoppers.

Why is it I can suck it up for others, but not the ones I love the most?

Recently, my husband and I were watching an episode of The Waltons (the best TV show ever made!) on DVD. John Boy was having a bad day and snapped at his mother, who replied, "Are you angry with me, John Boy, or am I just handy?" What a great line! And likely the reason our loved ones are subject to the brunt of our bad moods -- they're just handy, they live with us.

But therein lies the challenge. And the call to holiness.

At our house, my dear husband gets the shortest end of my stick.

He works hard all day and comes home to find ... peace and tranquility? I wish. Maybe someday. We'll keep working on it.

After dealing with small crises all day, I am usually completely worn out by the time the dinner hour arrives (also known as "the witching hour" around here). My ability to communicate effectively has nearly diminished. My patience is gone. All I want is the kids in bed.

This is what my husband walks into most nights. And most nights he steps right into the pandemonium to relieve me. And after working just as hard as I do. All day.

My hubby rarely gets my smile, my best attention, my best energy, my best anything. He gets what's left of me at the end of the day. And sometimes that isn't too pretty, or easy to live with.

And he never complains about it. And he still loves me. And THAT brings me great JOY.

So, sweetie, this smile's for you! I love you!