What was going through the disciples’ heads? First, Jesus tells them that "this isn’t going to end in death." Then, two days later, he says, "Lazarus is dead." Surely that series of events must have shaken their faith in him? At least Thomas remained willing to rally his peers: "Let’s go die with him." It’s the kind of confidence that gets utterly crushed when one falls short. I think Thomas' subsequent doubt was rooted in his own perceived failure to see his resolve through to his own end. But he was ultimately restored, became a faithful leader in the early church, eventually fulfilling his earlier rash promise.
How about Martha? I love Martha; maybe it’s because I think we tend to have a lot in common with her. I know I do. Don’t we compare ourselves to those around us who aren’t measuring up to our standards of behavior, just as she judged her sister for not helping out? Now, here she is, on the one hand saying, "Yes Lord, I know my brother will rise in the resurrection on the last day," and affirming "I believe that you’re the Messiah, the very Son of God." But when it comes to actually trusting Jesus, she says, "Umm . . . but . . . but . . . , if you roll away that stone, it’s going to really STINK!" Aren’t we like that? "Yes, Lord, I believe," we say, but then, when the path before us heads in a direction we don’t want to go, or of which we’re afraid, we hem and haw and look for all the reasons we should choose our own way. "But . . . but . . . ," we stammer. Eventually we'll likely have to face what we're afraid of anyway, and the hurt can get a lot worse if we delay. We may find it easy to trust God to do what we want him to, but not trust him enough to agree to go where he is clearly leading us. We trust in our own judgment rather than God’s, when if we do what we know we ought to do, what God is waiting to empower us to do, our lives would be SO much better. Indeed, we would become the people we dare not hope to be.
I think this passage teaches us about obedience in another important way, too.
Suppose they hadn’t rolled away the stone?
When Christ delivers us from death, we owe it to ourselves to continue to follow his guidance, or we’ll experience further pain and death. Once I know I’ve been delivered, shouldn’t it become easier to obey God in every leading? Too often, it isn't.
In whom do we place our trust, really?
Monday, March 26, 2007
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
From The Seven Levels of Intimacy
I've stayed home sick yesterday and today with my worst cold in several years. Everything has an upside, though: I've rested a LOT, and have been able to read more than usual. Here are some quotes and reflections from Matthew Kelly's book, The Seven Levels of Intimacy:
"Revealing our feelings makes us vulnerable, but we endure risks in order to reap rewards. The reward of making ourselves vulnerable is mental health."
I'm struck by the simple truth of that statement. Trying to keep yourself safe all the time will literally drive you crazy! We need people in our lives with whom we can just be ourselves, can let our guard down to simply feel whatever it is we're feeling and express it appropriately. We cannot have true intimacy without this freedom.
"The genius of intimacy is that when we bring our dark side out into the light in the context of a loving relationship, our darkness loses its power over us. Darkness cannot abide the light of love. It is intimacy that will hold our hand and walk through the dark rooms of our past and present. It is intimacy that has the power to set us free from our faults, fears, and failures."
How true I have found this to be in my own life. Every close relationship I've ever experienced has involved the sharing of something deeply personal and painful, and in every case it has opened the door to intimacy. Unfortunately, that only brings the light of freedom to the degree that we can acknowledge the darkness' past power over us.
Now obviously in both of these ideas there is an underlying assumption. You can't just take someone off the street and decide that the two of you are going to be emotionally intimate. Obviously, to reach these levels of intimacy requires that a relationship has developed between people with similar goals which has allowed them to develop a sense of trust with one another. Not until our partner proves trustworthy in small matters can we entrust them with larger ones.
"There is a saying in Christian circles that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
I believe that most hypocrisy is the result of people being unwilling to face their own failings. If I've never received mercy -- even if it has been offered freely, if I've never wrapped myself in forgiveness and even come to embrace the role my failings have played in making me the person I am today -- then I'm unlikely to be be very accepting of myself. But (I think) it's psychologically impossible for us to live that way, so we project all of our self-judgment on those around us. Instead of striving to be the person we could be, we settle for being better than "them," as if we don't deserve any better than that.
And maybe we don't. Maybe we're all born with an inner awareness of the ugliness of sin, or if you prefer, with an inner hatred of how we hurt others. And it isn't until we have freely received mercy and forgiveness for our own failings that we can begin to accept others in spite of theirs.
"Revealing our feelings makes us vulnerable, but we endure risks in order to reap rewards. The reward of making ourselves vulnerable is mental health."
I'm struck by the simple truth of that statement. Trying to keep yourself safe all the time will literally drive you crazy! We need people in our lives with whom we can just be ourselves, can let our guard down to simply feel whatever it is we're feeling and express it appropriately. We cannot have true intimacy without this freedom.
"The genius of intimacy is that when we bring our dark side out into the light in the context of a loving relationship, our darkness loses its power over us. Darkness cannot abide the light of love. It is intimacy that will hold our hand and walk through the dark rooms of our past and present. It is intimacy that has the power to set us free from our faults, fears, and failures."
How true I have found this to be in my own life. Every close relationship I've ever experienced has involved the sharing of something deeply personal and painful, and in every case it has opened the door to intimacy. Unfortunately, that only brings the light of freedom to the degree that we can acknowledge the darkness' past power over us.
Now obviously in both of these ideas there is an underlying assumption. You can't just take someone off the street and decide that the two of you are going to be emotionally intimate. Obviously, to reach these levels of intimacy requires that a relationship has developed between people with similar goals which has allowed them to develop a sense of trust with one another. Not until our partner proves trustworthy in small matters can we entrust them with larger ones.
"There is a saying in Christian circles that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
I believe that most hypocrisy is the result of people being unwilling to face their own failings. If I've never received mercy -- even if it has been offered freely, if I've never wrapped myself in forgiveness and even come to embrace the role my failings have played in making me the person I am today -- then I'm unlikely to be be very accepting of myself. But (I think) it's psychologically impossible for us to live that way, so we project all of our self-judgment on those around us. Instead of striving to be the person we could be, we settle for being better than "them," as if we don't deserve any better than that.
And maybe we don't. Maybe we're all born with an inner awareness of the ugliness of sin, or if you prefer, with an inner hatred of how we hurt others. And it isn't until we have freely received mercy and forgiveness for our own failings that we can begin to accept others in spite of theirs.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Prayer and fasting
I find it entirely too easy to let my life get away from me. I know it isn't just me that sometimes feels overwhelmed by the pace of life amid the circumstances surrounding me. It takes conscious choice to keep my attention on the things I've decided are really important to me, and those choices sometimes have to be adjusted for the sake of others who are important to me.
Prayer time this Lent has been more consistent than in the past months, but really intense reflection time, the sort that leads to some nugget of value to share here, has sometimes had to take a back seat to family issues.
There's a neat thing going on in our parish (and a couple nearby parishes) this Friday and Saturday. Apparently a bunch of our high school kids have taken on a sense of unity with the world's hungry. In an effort to be more in unity with them, as a way to help them focus on what they might do in response to the problem, they're going to have a lock-in this weekend. They're going to have dinner on Friday, then fast together for 24 hours, drinking only fruit juice, until dinner on Saturday. It gives me hope to see our young people looking beyond themselves in this way. Not everyone can do this, of course; some people have legitimate health reasons not to fast thus. But everyone can fast in some way in their lives, give up for a time something that normally has power over them so as to gain possession of themselves in a new way.
Another neat thing that has happened in response to these kids' decision is that some of the adults in our parish have decided to support them in fasting and prayer. A fast is easy to undertake, but takes commitment to see through when the stomach begins to feel really empty. It can be a self-setup for confirming one's sense of failure, if you're not careful. But the thing is, a fast isn't really about the person fasting, and I believe God is pleased when we make a personal sacrifice in order to think beyond ourselves. It expands our awareness of the world, and begets more selflessness, which is a good thing.
Prayer time this Lent has been more consistent than in the past months, but really intense reflection time, the sort that leads to some nugget of value to share here, has sometimes had to take a back seat to family issues.
There's a neat thing going on in our parish (and a couple nearby parishes) this Friday and Saturday. Apparently a bunch of our high school kids have taken on a sense of unity with the world's hungry. In an effort to be more in unity with them, as a way to help them focus on what they might do in response to the problem, they're going to have a lock-in this weekend. They're going to have dinner on Friday, then fast together for 24 hours, drinking only fruit juice, until dinner on Saturday. It gives me hope to see our young people looking beyond themselves in this way. Not everyone can do this, of course; some people have legitimate health reasons not to fast thus. But everyone can fast in some way in their lives, give up for a time something that normally has power over them so as to gain possession of themselves in a new way.
Another neat thing that has happened in response to these kids' decision is that some of the adults in our parish have decided to support them in fasting and prayer. A fast is easy to undertake, but takes commitment to see through when the stomach begins to feel really empty. It can be a self-setup for confirming one's sense of failure, if you're not careful. But the thing is, a fast isn't really about the person fasting, and I believe God is pleased when we make a personal sacrifice in order to think beyond ourselves. It expands our awareness of the world, and begets more selflessness, which is a good thing.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Feasting and fasting
Last night we participated in what has become a wonderful annual tradition in our parish: the Shrove Tuesday evening prayer and feast, a family-friendly version of Mardi Gras. The children's and adults' choirs sang a few upbeat songs before the service, while families gathered with their kids, and it was an almost raucous atmosphere. I mean, the church was just packed, with everyone pumped for a fun time. Then the evening prayer service started in earnest, with more up-tempo singing and liturgical dance. And while things remained highly celebratory, the mood of the congregation shifted noticeably, as our rejoicing took on a sense of reverential thanks which even all the children seemed to get. The continuous undercurrent of noise that was present during our pre-service music just disappeared as we prayed and sang together.
Our pastor shared briefly on the contrast between the feasting of yesterday and the fast we start together today. He observed that we have just as many things in our life for which we are thankful, for which we have reason to proclaim an alleluia, and which we continue to appreciate during Lent. Still, we choose to shift our attention to ways in which we need to grow. It is a special season of growth and transformation, containing an important element of introspection but without self-centeredness or (especially!) self-loathing. After our joyful prayer together, we went over to the school gym/cafeteria for a snack-fest of nachos, popcorn, Belgian waffles, ice cream sundaes, and assorted other goodies. What a boisterous and joyful event!
All of this had me reflecting this morning on why we fast, and a thought immediately came to mind from a book I'm reading, Matthew Kelly's Seven Levels of Intimacy. At one point, he talks about the childish images that we so often associate with the concept of discipline (not a concept we normally apply to relationships and intimacy), and how we bristle against any intimation of having limits imposed on us. He suggests we instead think of the discipline of an athlete freely choosing to bring out the best in him- or herself. "Discipline," he says, "is a gift we give ourselves." He goes on to describe how our lives and relationships thrive when we gift them with appropriate self-discipline. "Discipline doesn't enslave or stifle us; rather, it sets us free to soar to unimagined heights." Still, discipline isn't the core human experience. Rather, it is the key to making us truly free from enslavement to the inertia and hedonism of modern life. "Freedom is not the ability to do whatever you want." How well this immature approach to freedom fits our faulty notion of discipline! "Freedom is the strength of character to do what is good, true, noble, and right. Freedom is the ability to choose and celebrate the-best-version-of-yourself [one of his central concepts] in every moment. Freedom without discipline is impossible."
Yet, he goes on, freedom is also not the core human experience. Rather, love is the essence of life. But to truly love we must be free, "for to love is to give your self [emphasis his] to someone or something freely, completely, unconditionally, and without reservation . . . Yet to give yourself -- to another person, to an endeavor, or to God -- you must first possess yourself." Self-possession requires freedom, and we are not free without the exercise of discipline.
Thus the season of Lent. Many people have discipline in their lives without a particular season. Still, I find it very helpful in this specific season of each year to journey together with others who are also seeking to become more free, so that we can truly love as we are called to do.
Our pastor shared briefly on the contrast between the feasting of yesterday and the fast we start together today. He observed that we have just as many things in our life for which we are thankful, for which we have reason to proclaim an alleluia, and which we continue to appreciate during Lent. Still, we choose to shift our attention to ways in which we need to grow. It is a special season of growth and transformation, containing an important element of introspection but without self-centeredness or (especially!) self-loathing. After our joyful prayer together, we went over to the school gym/cafeteria for a snack-fest of nachos, popcorn, Belgian waffles, ice cream sundaes, and assorted other goodies. What a boisterous and joyful event!
All of this had me reflecting this morning on why we fast, and a thought immediately came to mind from a book I'm reading, Matthew Kelly's Seven Levels of Intimacy. At one point, he talks about the childish images that we so often associate with the concept of discipline (not a concept we normally apply to relationships and intimacy), and how we bristle against any intimation of having limits imposed on us. He suggests we instead think of the discipline of an athlete freely choosing to bring out the best in him- or herself. "Discipline," he says, "is a gift we give ourselves." He goes on to describe how our lives and relationships thrive when we gift them with appropriate self-discipline. "Discipline doesn't enslave or stifle us; rather, it sets us free to soar to unimagined heights." Still, discipline isn't the core human experience. Rather, it is the key to making us truly free from enslavement to the inertia and hedonism of modern life. "Freedom is not the ability to do whatever you want." How well this immature approach to freedom fits our faulty notion of discipline! "Freedom is the strength of character to do what is good, true, noble, and right. Freedom is the ability to choose and celebrate the-best-version-of-yourself [one of his central concepts] in every moment. Freedom without discipline is impossible."
Yet, he goes on, freedom is also not the core human experience. Rather, love is the essence of life. But to truly love we must be free, "for to love is to give your self [emphasis his] to someone or something freely, completely, unconditionally, and without reservation . . . Yet to give yourself -- to another person, to an endeavor, or to God -- you must first possess yourself." Self-possession requires freedom, and we are not free without the exercise of discipline.
Thus the season of Lent. Many people have discipline in their lives without a particular season. Still, I find it very helpful in this specific season of each year to journey together with others who are also seeking to become more free, so that we can truly love as we are called to do.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine's Day
One of my goals in life is to never let my wife regret that we don't go out for dinner on Valentine's Day. Tonight, Epicurious.com helped me succeed for another year. She wasn't expecting much, knowing we had some not very impressive sirloin tips and new potatoes in the larder for tonight's meal. So when she came upstairs to find peppered steak with a port, zin, and 'shroom sauce, along with balsamic roasted potato wedges and a nice, simple salad, she was pleasantly surprised, and impressed far more than my effort warranted. And dessert -- strawberries in a chocolate caramel sauce with lightly sweetened whipped cream -- well, let's just say it far exceeded expectations.
Thanks, Mrs. Markelonis (my Bachelor Survival teacher in high school, who taught us our way around the kitchen, among other important survival skills)!
Oh, I almost forgot (what I'm sure, from her perspective, was) the best part! It was a snap to clean up as I went along, so I had all the dinner dishes done before dessert, and the dessert dishes not long thereafter. I hope my darling knows how much I love her!
Thanks, Mrs. Markelonis (my Bachelor Survival teacher in high school, who taught us our way around the kitchen, among other important survival skills)!
Oh, I almost forgot (what I'm sure, from her perspective, was) the best part! It was a snap to clean up as I went along, so I had all the dinner dishes done before dessert, and the dessert dishes not long thereafter. I hope my darling knows how much I love her!
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Prayer in the context of relationship
There are many different ways to pray, and many different things to pray for. Is it right to pray for little, everyday things, as well as over more seemingly important matters? After establishing the context of relationships (previous post, below), I feel comfortable beginning to transition in this discussion of prayer, which is really a continuation:
Another paradox about giving self vs. giving things concerns that the way in which we give our self, which after all can be a little hard to put our finger on, exactly, is to give something more tangible: a hug, time, attention, a carefully-considered gift, help to grow, the choice to sacrifice something we want for the sake of the other (that can be a tough one, and here's another:), forgiveness when we've been really hurt, etc. But in a relationship, we can't only give big things, for a couple reasons. As human (flawed) givers, we tend to need to develop a degree of trust before we can give, and small giving helps us be able to trust ourselves for larger giving. But as receivers, we are also have a hard time accepting (in trust) gifts of others that seem, well, too much for the relationship we have with them. So all giving should serve to build up the relationship, and the giving and receiving smaller things paves the way for giving and receiving bigger things, all of which is ultimately really about giving and receiving one another to a degree appropriate for the relationship.
Likewise, in our relationship with God, God isn't primarily interested in giving us things, he primarily wants to give us himself.
So now we begin to see that it isn't merely okay, but a good idea to ask God for small blessings as well as big ones. (These thoughts aren't original; St. Paul was inspired with them long ago!) In either case, it isn't that God doesn't already know our need before we ask. It is that asking God for what we think we need, and trusting God to provide what we really need (maybe I really need to overcome a small adversity more than I need a close-in parking spot, for instance), and then seeing that God's grace was indeed active in my life in that small thing, helps me to trust God in larger ones.
Oh, the reverse is also true. As we give of ourselves to God (i.e. trusting God's revealed opinion rather than the way I wish the world worked, or putting someone else's needs ahead of my own, recognizing that I'm giving to God in them) in small things, we become more capable of trusting God's loving providence when it comes to bigger concerns.
Another relationship-related aspect of this question: what would any relationship we have be like if we could only talk about the big things, and couldn't "bother" the other with the little ones? We may have experienced something like this in our own teenage years, and see it from the other side as our children go through those challenging teenage years. Didn't it almost seem as if every conversation with our parents was about something major? As a kid, for a while it got to where I avoided my mom so as to avoid the next big discussion. As an adult, I won't swear I dreaded those conversations with my daughters as much they did, but I bet it was closer than they'd realize. Isn't it true that dealing with the little things together along the way increases our capacity to deal with larger issues when they arrive? It nurtures our relationship, and gives us the solid foundation we need for the big stuff. And if we don't deal with life's little things together, don't we feel too far from the other to entrust ourselves on the things that are most important to us? Oh, we might still consult on big things, if they're important enough, but really tend to rely only on ourselves and overvalue our own opinion. As it is, don't we feel a little nervous about how the other person might respond?
I suppose that's just that trust issue again from another perspective. Still, just as discussion with our friends and loved ones over the small matters helps nurture our relationships to provide a forum for the larger ones, likewise turning to God over the "little things" nurtures that relationship as well. God, of course, knows and loves us intimately already. Prayer in all things helps us to begin to know God more intimately, as well.
Don't think for a moment this is an ideal I've achieved! God, please draw me nearer . . .
Another paradox about giving self vs. giving things concerns that the way in which we give our self, which after all can be a little hard to put our finger on, exactly, is to give something more tangible: a hug, time, attention, a carefully-considered gift, help to grow, the choice to sacrifice something we want for the sake of the other (that can be a tough one, and here's another:), forgiveness when we've been really hurt, etc. But in a relationship, we can't only give big things, for a couple reasons. As human (flawed) givers, we tend to need to develop a degree of trust before we can give, and small giving helps us be able to trust ourselves for larger giving. But as receivers, we are also have a hard time accepting (in trust) gifts of others that seem, well, too much for the relationship we have with them. So all giving should serve to build up the relationship, and the giving and receiving smaller things paves the way for giving and receiving bigger things, all of which is ultimately really about giving and receiving one another to a degree appropriate for the relationship.
Likewise, in our relationship with God, God isn't primarily interested in giving us things, he primarily wants to give us himself.
So now we begin to see that it isn't merely okay, but a good idea to ask God for small blessings as well as big ones. (These thoughts aren't original; St. Paul was inspired with them long ago!) In either case, it isn't that God doesn't already know our need before we ask. It is that asking God for what we think we need, and trusting God to provide what we really need (maybe I really need to overcome a small adversity more than I need a close-in parking spot, for instance), and then seeing that God's grace was indeed active in my life in that small thing, helps me to trust God in larger ones.
Oh, the reverse is also true. As we give of ourselves to God (i.e. trusting God's revealed opinion rather than the way I wish the world worked, or putting someone else's needs ahead of my own, recognizing that I'm giving to God in them) in small things, we become more capable of trusting God's loving providence when it comes to bigger concerns.
Another relationship-related aspect of this question: what would any relationship we have be like if we could only talk about the big things, and couldn't "bother" the other with the little ones? We may have experienced something like this in our own teenage years, and see it from the other side as our children go through those challenging teenage years. Didn't it almost seem as if every conversation with our parents was about something major? As a kid, for a while it got to where I avoided my mom so as to avoid the next big discussion. As an adult, I won't swear I dreaded those conversations with my daughters as much they did, but I bet it was closer than they'd realize. Isn't it true that dealing with the little things together along the way increases our capacity to deal with larger issues when they arrive? It nurtures our relationship, and gives us the solid foundation we need for the big stuff. And if we don't deal with life's little things together, don't we feel too far from the other to entrust ourselves on the things that are most important to us? Oh, we might still consult on big things, if they're important enough, but really tend to rely only on ourselves and overvalue our own opinion. As it is, don't we feel a little nervous about how the other person might respond?
I suppose that's just that trust issue again from another perspective. Still, just as discussion with our friends and loved ones over the small matters helps nurture our relationships to provide a forum for the larger ones, likewise turning to God over the "little things" nurtures that relationship as well. God, of course, knows and loves us intimately already. Prayer in all things helps us to begin to know God more intimately, as well.
Don't think for a moment this is an ideal I've achieved! God, please draw me nearer . . .
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Relationships (a prelude to some thoughts on prayer)
I was recently writing to someone on the topic of prayer, and I thought it might make good blog material. Like, maybe three or four posts worth. (I guess I can be a bit verbose!). Anyway, here's the first installment:
It's impossible for me to discuss prayer except in the context of my relationship with God, just like I couldn't discuss communication with my wife outside of the context of the rest of our relationship.
Let's bear in mind that our relationship with God is, first and foremost, just that. A relationship usually isn't primarily about giving things to one another, it's about giving ourselves to one another in some way. We don't give ourselves in any two relationships in precisely the same way, but all of them (well, all healthy ones, anyway) provide an opportunity to receive from God in them and give ourselves in return back to God through them.
There are a couple of seemingly paradoxical things about this idea of giving ourselves in any relationship. One is that really giving ourself to another doesn't reduce us, but increases our capacity to love. (So many pertinent ways to go with this one thought!)
- As we give ourself to our spouse, we become more ready to give ourself to him or her in the future
- It is likewise as we and our spouse reach beyond our relationship to jointly give ourselves to others. A particular and wonderful manifestation of this is in giving of ourselves to the new lives we may be blessed to participate in creating
- As we give ourself to our spouse (and our spouse receives us), he or she becomes more able to receive love
- As we and our partner jointly give ourselves to others, those others become more able to receive love. Again, we see this most profoundly in the children we raise. Hopefully, they move from being utter takers, giving us only the joy of knowing we've given to them and the hope of their blank future, to eventually growing into adults who give of themselves in marvelous ways we could never envision
- This receiving and giving of love - and truly we must have received to ever have anything to give - expands our ability to receive and give love
Each of these two basic aspects of giving ourselves in love is a parable of God's love (and like all parables, has its limits; for one thing, God has no need to become more loving).
- As God gives himself (the more PC form of that would be God's self, as God is ultimately either not masculine nor feminine or else fully encompasses all aspects of both genders, but let's not go there; I use a pronoun for the sake of simpler writing and to keep God more accessible to my brain, and use the male one chiefly out of familiarity) to us, and we receive him, we become more capable of receiving love
- When we truly receive God's love, we desire to share it with others, be it our family, our dear friends, or those who have some need that we see are particularly equipped to meet and through which we ultimately give of ourselves to do so
- As we receive God's love into our lives and love God in return, it expands our ability to receive and give love to and from God and others
Now, what happens when, perhaps out of fear or self-judgment of some sort, we are unable to receive or accept love, from God or others? Then we have nothing to give. Our lives become a self-fulfilling prophecy of fear and failure. If I can't receive a blessing from God - directly or through others - either because I'm afraid to trust or because I ultimately don't believe I deserve it, then what I'm really blocking off is my ability to receive the relationship with God or the other person. (We are working our way back toward prayer, honest!)
It's impossible for me to discuss prayer except in the context of my relationship with God, just like I couldn't discuss communication with my wife outside of the context of the rest of our relationship.
Let's bear in mind that our relationship with God is, first and foremost, just that. A relationship usually isn't primarily about giving things to one another, it's about giving ourselves to one another in some way. We don't give ourselves in any two relationships in precisely the same way, but all of them (well, all healthy ones, anyway) provide an opportunity to receive from God in them and give ourselves in return back to God through them.
There are a couple of seemingly paradoxical things about this idea of giving ourselves in any relationship. One is that really giving ourself to another doesn't reduce us, but increases our capacity to love. (So many pertinent ways to go with this one thought!)
- As we give ourself to our spouse, we become more ready to give ourself to him or her in the future
- It is likewise as we and our spouse reach beyond our relationship to jointly give ourselves to others. A particular and wonderful manifestation of this is in giving of ourselves to the new lives we may be blessed to participate in creating
- As we give ourself to our spouse (and our spouse receives us), he or she becomes more able to receive love
- As we and our partner jointly give ourselves to others, those others become more able to receive love. Again, we see this most profoundly in the children we raise. Hopefully, they move from being utter takers, giving us only the joy of knowing we've given to them and the hope of their blank future, to eventually growing into adults who give of themselves in marvelous ways we could never envision
- This receiving and giving of love - and truly we must have received to ever have anything to give - expands our ability to receive and give love
Each of these two basic aspects of giving ourselves in love is a parable of God's love (and like all parables, has its limits; for one thing, God has no need to become more loving).
- As God gives himself (the more PC form of that would be God's self, as God is ultimately either not masculine nor feminine or else fully encompasses all aspects of both genders, but let's not go there; I use a pronoun for the sake of simpler writing and to keep God more accessible to my brain, and use the male one chiefly out of familiarity) to us, and we receive him, we become more capable of receiving love
- When we truly receive God's love, we desire to share it with others, be it our family, our dear friends, or those who have some need that we see are particularly equipped to meet and through which we ultimately give of ourselves to do so
- As we receive God's love into our lives and love God in return, it expands our ability to receive and give love to and from God and others
Now, what happens when, perhaps out of fear or self-judgment of some sort, we are unable to receive or accept love, from God or others? Then we have nothing to give. Our lives become a self-fulfilling prophecy of fear and failure. If I can't receive a blessing from God - directly or through others - either because I'm afraid to trust or because I ultimately don't believe I deserve it, then what I'm really blocking off is my ability to receive the relationship with God or the other person. (We are working our way back toward prayer, honest!)
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