Clarity

Tuesday I sent my older son to Kindergarten and then took my youngest son to his first day of Preschool.  He was so excited and barely said good bye as he happily ran into his classroom.  I went to the morning prayer service at the church I attend.  First I stopped in the bathroom to shed some tears.  It felt fair, I cried on my older son's first days of school.  Then I went in the giant sanctuary and realized I was quite early.  I walked through the dark echoing space with glimmers of light coming through the tall stained-glass windows as my only guide.  I made my way to the side chapel and flicked some light switches not knowing what they would do.  A light came on and I sat down in a pew.  The light was illuminating a beautiful image of Mary holding baby Jesus.  Mary looking large and beautiful, clearly the star.  In the image she is revered and in the chapel she is the main focus, prominent and honored as she holds her baby.

Having always been Protestant, this image of Mary was not one that was nearly as prominent or revered as others.  So I enjoyed the time of silence I had there to reflect on it.  I very much believe in the power of silent prayer.  The kind of prayer where you don't really know what you are praying for and the main objective is to continually keep your mind from wandering onto thoughts of the day.  I stared at Mary and worked to keep focus.

One year as my Lenten discipline I decided to dedicate myself to thirty minutes of silent prayer per day.  It was a challenge, but one that was well worth it.  At the time I was the pastor of a church and sometimes I would sit down for my thirty minutes with some seemingly impossible situation on my mind.  Something I just could not see the way forward through and lo and behold by the end of thirty minutes I would have clarity.  EVERY TIME.  Probably in the secular world this would be attributed to clearing the mind, deep breathing, etc.  All of those are probably part of it, but I also attribute it to taking the time to hear the Holy Spirit speak.  It was great and so when Lent was over I did it every day for years and years.  Just kidding.  I did what we all do with disciplines that are life-giving and eye-opening ... I promptly dropped it when my commitment was through.  I still pray but it's usually filled with petitions and usually not a full thirty minutes at once.

So I was sitting there in the chapel, staring at Mary, clearing my mind and I had a moment of clarity.  Her willingness to love even when she knew the suffering and loss that was to come is what makes her so honored and admired.  I thought about this in my own life.  I thought about how dropping your kids off at school, letting them gain independence, releasing them from the hug good-bye is a process of letting go.  It is a process of realizing that these people you love so much and hold so dearly will go out into the big scary world and somehow find their way.  We do it knowing that we can't control everything that will come their way.  There will be pain that can't be wiped away with a kiss.  There will be heartbreak that is not undone with a big hug and there will be suffering on both ends because that's what life brings.

If you are like me then you often have found yourself feeling as if you are not enough - not doing enough, not being enough.  As a stay at home mom I often struggle with this feeling as if all of my education and career preparation and potential was just for picking up toys and feeling guilty when my children eat too many sweets.  As a pastor I struggled with the pressures of growing a church, casting a vision, providing pastoral care to everyone, staying well-read, working for justice and all the other expectations of the job.  In hindsight I often forget that and see only the moments of success and joy.  Those amazing moments when lives are changed, the Holy Spirit is witnessed and the work feels meaningful.

After morning prayer I went to a women's book group and shared and listened to stories of beauty and struggle.  One person shared a story of how she came to the realization that her greatest sin had been not accepting that God loves her.  It was powerful.  We talked about people in our lives with "rough edges" who became saints in our journey.  We talked about our own inadequacies and struggles.  It got me thinking back to that image of Mary I spent the morning with.  We were all opening our hearts in a world of struggle and suffering.  We were all choosing to offer love even though it leads to hurt.  We were all Marys in our own way, cradling our cherished memories, our loves, our hopes while the cross stands in view.  Perhaps that is our potential ... our best selves.