7 Quick Takes Friday. Write ’em. Post ’em. Link ’em up and read ’em at This Ain’t the Lyceum.
… who is actually taking Friday in the Octave of Christmas off, but I’m here in spite of that.
Merry Christmas! Santa came! Only to get torn limb from limb.
My husband and I were reflecting on how smoothly Thanksgiving-to-Christmas seems to have gone, for the first time in years. Inwardly, I’d been congratulating myself for keeping my pledge (also inward) not to go crazy with getting junk for the kids to unwrap, with cookies to bake, with dishes to concoct, etc. Then hubby pointed out that this was the first fall-to-winter in yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaars when I wasn’t down for 2-3 months with a viral-triggered asthma episode. I’ve had cold after cold, but thankfully they’ve not required heavy doses of Prednisone, nebulized albuterol, and/or antibiotics that may or may not make things worse. Was it the olive leaf extract, the kinder/gentler viruses that made the rounds this season, or just the way God is working things so completely out of my control? I don’t know. I am, however, grateful.
Speaking of Christmas, I have a post up on Catholic Mom today, “Christmas is Not Supposed to Be Like This.”
I originally wrote it for this blog last year for Christmas Eve. It all started because, as hinted at before, Christmas came and I hadn’t been able to mop the floor or bake a single cookie. This is perhaps one of my favorite things I’ve ever blogged, and the feedback I’ve gotten on how it’s helped people put things in perspective… anyway, I hope you like it and that God is pleased by the whole mess. I’m grateful He came down into our mess and still does. I’ll see you at the manger.
Could you please pray for a special intention? It was an intention I prayed for during this year’s St. Andrew Christmas Novena. For last year’s, too, but last year’s answer was a BFN. I’ll have God’s answer to this year’s in a few days.
While we’re at it, could you also pray for the other intention I included in this year’s novena: for the success of the launch of “Working Mother,” my short fiction ebook piece about the Holy Family.
“What if Mary had to get a job outside the home?” Read to imagine one possibility. It’s available for preorder now, if you’d like. It should show up on your Kindle on Holy Family Sunday.
Sigh. Both intentions are related to doing everything possible to contribute to a desired outcome. Over and over again. And then getting disappointed. Over and over again. And it’s not like the desired outcomes are things that couldn’t possibly be within the realm of God’s will. That I could help support my family financially by writing stories that get people to consider our Heavenly Father in a more positive light then they may have done previously? To my feeble human brain, it doesn’t really seem like such a bad combo. And the other thing… well, not sure if I feel comfortable going into all that again, not in public anyway.
Either way, I know that God can do all things, and that no purpose of His can be hindered. I know, too, he hears the cry of the woman who believed that just a touch of His garment can make a difference.
In hindsight, it looks like the 2004 Tsunami may have ended 30 years of armed conflict. Analysis of the Columbine Massacre says of one of the shooters, “If he had lived to adulthood and developed his murderous skills for many more years, there is no telling what he could have done. His death at Columbine may have stopped him from doing something even worse.”
“God, why am I failing at doing good for you on earth?” is about as useful a question to ask as if Mary had said, “Why would You choose to be born in a stable?” God’s sight includes hindsight. As much as we might want to know the “why” behind God’s “No,” it’s. Just. Not. Our. Business. Not right now, anyway. Hindsight, I now see, does not have to be a painful curse. It’s a gift–a gift of seeing, as God sees, outside of the nownownownowNOW!
Through whatever inscrutable pain the now might bring, it will pass away. His Word, however, does not. Cling to it. I know I will need to in the coming days.