Semper Fidelis

"Don't mix God up with everything," Di told Nan severely. "You make Him too common."

Anne, overhearing this, said, "God is in everything, dear. He is the friend who is always near to give us strength and courage."

Anne of Ingleside

~~~

It's much easier to find God in the extremes. Whether you're exultantly happy or passing through the valley of the shadow, His presence seems so much more real in those times when you need Him most. Sometimes it does feel like He is just for those times, that His presence is like the best dress you put on for a wedding or a funeral; that it is only fit to include the King of Kings in the defining moments of joy and sorrow in your life. 

And sometimes it is easy to forget that the ordinary is extraordinary, that every seemingly mundane task and emotion, every moment that in itself seems pointless, is from God. But it's in the littlest, most common things, that we can truly be faithful to, and grow to know, our Lord.

~~~

These past few days, even weeks, have been blissful. I've been on hiatus from reality, caught up in a world of good books, sunshine, the rosary, grass and oceans. On Thursday I spent nearly an hour lying on the grass just watching the sky (watching God?). While, when put into print, that sounds incredibly lazy (alright, it probably is), I've realised that I need to take this time. Wedged between the chaos of last year and the mayhem that will be this coming one, this is the last summer of my youth. It's oddly disconcerting to think that at this time next year, life will be an entirely different matter than everything I've been accustomed to these past sixteen years. Next year there will be no buffer between me and reality- no warm embrace of home every evening; none of the security that comes from complete dependence. Truth be told, I'm mind-numbingly scared, however I try to deny it. The prospect of having to fend for oneself is daunting. I have trouble enough going up to speak to a sales assistant alone. I refuse to go to the doctor unaccompanied. I'm a social hermit who would truly rather spend her Saturday nights reading Anne of Green Gables (and writing this blog post) than getting her groove on (do people still use that expression?) at the party she's been invited to.  I've lived a sheltered life in the cozy haze of people who love me, with opportunities handed to me on a plate. I've wanted for nothing, been infinitely blessed and still been.... discontented. In spite of everything, I'm restless.

Today I read a quote that hit me right between the eyes:

"Everyone who breathes high and low, educated and ignorant, young and old, man and woman, has a mission, has a work.  We are not sent into this world for nothing; we are not born at random; we are not here, that we may go to bed at night and get up in the morning, toil for our bread, eat and drink, laugh and joke, sin when we have a mind and reform when we are tired of sinning, rear a family and die.  

God sees every one of us; He creates every soul for a purpose.  He needs, He deigns to need every one of us.  He has an end for each of us; we are all equal in His sight and we are placed in our different ranks and stations, not to get what we can out of them for ourselves, but to labor in them for Him.  As Christ has His work, we too have ours; as He rejoiced to do His work, we must rejoice in ours also."  

-St. John Neumann-

It actually stunned me for a moment. You too? There's a truth in that statement that stirs the depths of our heart. It promises hope. Most days I'm far from hopeful in the little things. That darned restlessness of mine keeps slyly whispering 'You should be more than this. You shouldn't be content with littleness- you could be great'- much as the Hogwarts Sorting Hat might. It takes constant reminding, and the inspiration of saints throughout the ages, to hold fast to the now. God sees every one of us and loves us for who we are right now, not who we plan to be once we're old enough to fend for ourselves. He cares for us individually- and He cares about the little things just as much as the greatness. Ecclesiastes 3:1 seems to keep cropping up in my life- "To everything there is a season". Daydreamer that I am, it's my sinful tendency to be jealous of the future. I hope and dream (as every young woman must!) of my own little house filled with sweet children and happy things. I dream of daily mass (when I live next door to the church rather than ten kilometres away), and of little baby hands clasped around rosaries as we pray together at night. Ecclesiastes, and so many others, remind me that this time will come- but it is not yet the season for it. My restless yearning for great things, for perfect things, for the things of dreams, isn't the way to glorify God in the now. Yes, it is good and beautiful to hope, but God doesn't want us to live so much in the future that we forget to cherish the present. 

Those little things- the seemingly mundane, monotonous little crosses each day brings- are the foundation of our lives. It's easy to forget sometimes that life isn't a destination- it's a journey. The little moments are the revelations of God's glory that even booming epiphanies and spectacular miracles cannot rival. The little moments are life. St Therese of Lisieux knew that fact and cherished it. Our Blessed Mother herself was the littlest of all. She understood that only those who know the littleness of themselves can be open to greater realities. She knew that the full wonder of God and His mercies cannot be absorbed all at once. Because every moment in itself is filled with grace, there is no use hoping for a different time or a different place. To do so would be to reject the love of God as it finds you here and now. 

~~~

"Let me stress this point: it is in the simplicity of your ordinary work, in the monotonous details of each day, that you have to find the secret, which is hidden from so many, of something great and new: Love." St Josemaria Escriva 

~~~

Among the beautiful people God has blessed my life with over the past few years is Vivian. Before being introduced to Viv last year (wait, the year before.. I keep forgetting it's 2013), I'd had no encounter whatsoever with Opus Dei. I honestly thought St. Josemaria was a woman (such a pretty name for a man! I wish I had a name like Josemaria!). Even after I began to learn more about Opus Dei and the wonderful tradition of faith within the organization, I was slightly skeptical. Maybe it was the secular cloud of prejudice against Opus Dei; maybe it was just my own unwillingness to embrace new things. I accepted that this way of life worked for these people- but I didn't feel like it applied to me. Which is ridiculous, because the essence of St Josemaria's teaching is that holiness in everyday life is for everyone. It isn't just for old people, as it were- people that know exactly what God is calling them to, and are living it out- it's a calling to holiness for every little soul. 

Sometimes it feels like life isn't really going to begin until the vocation situation is figured out and fulfilled. At sixteen, it really isn't essential that I know yet, but, aforementioned daydreamer and planner that I am, it would be nice to know! Because of the narrow-mindedness of our culture, the very-scary-V-word doesn't come up too often, but when it does - boy, am I confused! From a very early age- in fact, about as far back as I have conscious memories- my heart has been enamoured with motherhood. It feels so unequivocally right. Even my lovely Catholic friends (you know who you are!!) have to laugh at my passionate fascination with children, pregnancy and babies. I often wonder if that deep-rooted desire to raise and nurture God's children is His vocational calling (any thoughts on this matter, please email k8sastar@gmail.com)(kind-of kidding)(or not)(I'm using too many parentheses)(hehe!!!!).

But I digress.

These moments don't seem important. They feel like they don't matter in the grand scheme of things. It feels silly to think that if I died tonight, and the Lord in Heaven said 'What have you done today?', I'd rejoice in the fact that yes, I made my bed, yes, I cared for my rabbits, yes, I denied myself the icecream I wanted. It DOES sound ridiculous, and little, and insignificant. But God cares. That is what blows my mind. Not just that we can glorify Him by doing little things well, but that He actually delights in it!

A beautiful teacher of mine once said, "God looks at you like a mother looks at her toddler. He watches you, smiling and laughing at how sweet and adorable you are as you fumble along, making mistakes. He says to Himself, "Isn't little Kate precious! Look at her skip along the beach!"Because you know what- you're His little princess, a daughter of the King."

The Lord wants us to be faithful in little things, so that He can cherish memories of us being beautiful, delightful, well-behaved, creative children. He doesn't want us to grow up before we have to. He's absolutely fine (or so I hope) with sitting here beside me on a Saturday night writing a blog post. He's real in these times as much as He is in the joy, the heartbreak, the big-booming epiphanies and the valley of the shadow. For the Lord wasn't in the wind, or the earthquake, or the fire.

He isn't just the best dress I can put on when vocation is sorted, when holiness is in reach. He's the flowers I pick, the waves I watch crash in on the beach, the kiss goodnight I give my parents.

He's here. He's now.

AMDG