The gift of life

Donating a kidney to my brother gave me a glimpse into God’s desire to give us life.

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My brother, Rod, and his wife stopped by for a couple of hours this past Friday on their annual trip to New York to watch a Yankees game.  Three and a half years ago I was able to save his life by donating one of my kidneys to him.  I have to be honest–it didn’t even occur to me to offer when he first told me that he was either going to have to have a transplant or go on dialysis.  (He’s diabetic.)  I got off the phone from that conversation, and then it occurred to me that I could possibly give him one of my kidneys.   So I called him back and offered.  He still tears up when it comes up in conversation.
      You have to go through quite a few tests to determine if you can be a donor–all paid for by the recipient’s insurance.  They want to make sure that you are in good health in order to donate.  I remember before each test begging God that they would just say “yes”.   My desire to save my brother’s life was very great.  It was about half way through the testing process that I realized that the Lord was giving me just a small glimpse into His love for us, His desire to give life to us, to give us His own Son at whatever cost–and because He wanted so badly to do so.
      Well, the doctors kept saying yes, and I was able to donate.  The human body is amazing.  When you donate one, the remaining kidney adjusts to take over for the removed kidney.  Most of the time I forget that I only have one kidney, and when I do remember, I just thank God that I was able to donate.  I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
      My brother wrote me a letter right before surgery.    It’s a treasure I will always keep. I would keep it in that zippered part of my Bible, but it doesn’t really fit.  (See “Courage.”)  I pulled it out today to reread.   It starts: “As we embark on our journey tomorrow, I’d like to say a few things about what you’re doing for me.  I might not have said thank you enough for your gift but I feel you know how I love you for saving my life.”  As I said, he still tears up when we talk about it.  Thinking about that–his continued gratitude to me–convicted me in a new way of how much, much more grateful I should be to the Lord for the gift of life He’s given me, at much more of a cost to Himself than I experienced in order to donate a kidney.  It wouldn’t hurt me to tear up about His gift of life more often . . . .  
     And as I said, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.  And so, I’m sure, would God.

Reluctant prophet

Luci Shaw’s poem, “Reluctant Prophet.”

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Continuing in my share-a-poem-with-you-on-Sunday tradition, here’s another one by Luci Shaw:

Reluctant Prophet

Both were dwellers
in deep places
(one in the dark
bowels of ships
and great fish
and wounded pride.
The other–
in the silvery belly
of the seas).

Both heard God saying
“Go!”
but the whale
did as he was told.

God loves ordinary people

“God loves ordinary people. That is why he made so many of us.” (Anthony Esolen)

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This is a follow up to “Is my life of any account?” I’ve read this piece by Anthony Esolen in this month’s Magnificat twice now (and will reread it again, I assure you) and thought I would share part of it with you.  It’s from his comments on Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem, “In Honour of Saint Alphonsus Rodriguez.

    . . . God loves ordinary people.  That is why he made so many of us.  Nor is there any shame in it.  The word suggests order,  the providential design built into our natures as men and women, and into the time and place and created world wherein we dwell.  The Church wisely blesses this order in what we call “ordinary time,” those times of the year when we are not celebrating a great feast such as Christmas or Easter, but cutting the wheat, watering the livestock, mending a fence, baking a loaf of bread, and otherwise merely living with one another with forbearance, a few good fights, some better forgiveness afterwards, and charity above all.  Anyone who does not find the wonder in such a life would probably also not see the beauty of a creek, or the gentle strength of a father’s hand as he rests there, fishing.
     It’s true that we are each of us called to be saints.  But if we suppose that we are all called to be loud and bustling saints, regular Sons (and Daughters!) of Thunder, we do not understand the wonder of the ordinary, and we are probably mistaking vanity for holiness, too.  Gerard Manley Hopkins, priest and poet, made no such mistake.  The man who could see the lush glory of weeds in April, or the shine of good soil after the farmer has tilled it, celebrated also a saint who reached the heights of holiness by being no one important at all.  Saint Alphonsus Rodriguez, a Jesuit, lived at the College of Palma in Majorca for forty years.  His job at that house was simple.  He opened the door to the main hall.  That’s what he did, faithfully and obediently.

Reminds one of Fr. Solanus Casey and Blessed Andre Bessette.  I wonder which one will be opening the door when we get to heaven?

There really is hope for us all. . .

More Figures of the True

Anna’s and Renee’s fairy doors.

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I promised in my post, “Figures of the True”, to post the pictures of Anna’s and Renee’s “fairy doors”–as well as a friend of theirs, Carrie’s.  So here they are.   (L to R: Anna’s, Carrie’s, Renee’s) Anna’s has cloth curtains and a rainbow behind the window.  Carrie’s has changeable wreaths.  Renee has “Welcome” over her door.  It makes me wonder what mysteries lie behind the little doors of their souls. . .

Fairy doors

And nothing shall hurt you (2)

Sometimes we do not feel in the least like treading down scorpions and serpents and all the power of the enemy.

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Here are the rest of Amy Carmichael’s thoughts on Luke 10:19:

     Sometimes we do not feel in the least like treading down scorpions and serpents and all the power of the enemy.  Perhaps we are allowed to feel our nothingness, so that we may in the depths of our heart understand these other words “Without Me you can do nothing” (John 15.5).  I think there was something of this in our Lord Jesus’ mind, when He told the story of one who had nothing to set before his friend–not a crumb–and it was midnight.  [Cf. Luke 11.5-8] When we do not feel victorious and have nothing to give to others, it is in truth “midnight” in our soul, “the dark night of the soul”, old writers called it.
     But we have  God to Whom we can go at any minute, the weakest minute, the darkest minute, “at midnight”.  “Be Thou my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort: Thou hast given commandment to save me; for Thou art my Rock and my Fortress” (Ps 71.3).  And if it be victory over the power of the enemy in our own hearts that we need, He will give us not just crumbs, but loaves–“He will rise and give him as many as he needs” (Luke 11.8).

[For a related link, see “When you feel like you have nothing left to give . . . “]

And nothing shall hurt you (1)

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Today and tomorrow I’d like to share a couple reflections from Amy Carmichael (Edges of His Ways).  (Can you tell that I love her writings?)  They both have to do with this passage: “Behold, I have given you authority to tread upon serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of hte enemy; and nothing shall hurt you” (Luke 10:19)

     Our Lord Jesus said this to the seventy: and yet we know that all downthe ages His servants have been hurt in a thousand ways.  So the words must mean, and we know they do mean, something that goes far deeper than bodily hurt, deeper even than disappointment–that hardest hurt the mind can be asked to bear.
     It must mean that our spirits shall tread on serpents and scorpions, and have power over all the enemy.  Nothing shall be able to sting our spirit, poison it, or paralyse it.  It is one of the magnificent promises of the Bible.  We cannot take it too literally.  There is no need to be overcome, whatever happens. “O my soul, thou hast trodden down strength” (Judges 5.21).

What seems like a failure

What seems like a failure to us may really be something bringing us closer to God’s will for us.

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Sr. Dorcee, beloved4 Comments

Many times, I think, the standard we set for ourselves of what we think God wants us to be or become is not, in reality what He’s really concerned about.  We fret about not measuring up here or there and then get discouraged because of our failure.  A word of wisdom from Caryll Houselander:

I often think that the ideal of our perfection that we set up, and often go through torture to achieve, may not be God’s idea of how He wants us to be at all.  That may be something quite different that we never would have thought of, and what seems like a failure to us may really be something bringing us closer to His will for us.

So . . . try to be a little bit freer to let go of what may not be His expectations for you and just abandon to His love.  He is a good Father–really not that hard to please if we are well-intentioned.  “For the Lord sees not as man sees; man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (1 Sam. 16.7)

Is my life of any account?

Is my life of any account compared with the likes of Mother Teresa?

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Ever have days when you feel that your life is really of no account–I mean, compared with people like Mother Teresa of John Paul II?  You’re “just” at home taking care of three little kids OR you’re “just” working as a clerk in a drug store OR you’re “just ________________. . . you fill in the blank.  Reading this excerpt from the book, Mother Teresa’s Secret Fire, may encourage you.  (The book was written by the co-founder of the Missionaries of Charity priests.)  In God’s eyes, there are no “just”s.

How important can one small, unspectacular life be?  Consider this: the good that each of us can accomplish, even with resources and restricted reach, not even a Mother Teresa could achieve.  . . . No one else on the planet, and no one else in history, possesses the same network of acquaintances and the same combination of talents and gifts as each one of us does–as you do.

So have hope.  God has great confidence in you and in loving those in your life through you.  (And doing it perfectly isn’t really anywhere on his checklist, I assure you.)

Never be afraid of singing too much

An excellent way to put the Enemy to flight is by singing.

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Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

Another thought about those Philistines (from yesterday’s post).  One of the things I do sometimes when I’m under attack is to sing–especially small songs, little ditties I’ve learned over the years like “I will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever” or “I am my Beloved’s and His is mine, His banner over me is love” or “I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice”.   It helps us to forget the Enemy and that is a very effective strategy against him.  As Amy Carmichael says:

The reason why singing is such a splendid shield against the fiery darts of the devil is that it greatly helps us to forget him, and he cannot endure being forgotten.  He likes us to be occupied with him, what he is doing (our temptations), with his victories (our falls), with anything but our glorious Lord.  So sing.  Never be afraid of singing too much.  We are much more likely to sing too little.

But what if you can’t even think of something to sing or your soul is too heavy?  Not to worry.  Your grief, your sorrow, your heaviness can become a song to Him, a sacred lament.  Sing to Him of it.  “Then David and the people who were with him raised their voices and wept, until they had no more strength to weep. (1 Sam. 30:4)  And what if you feel that you can’t even do that?  Take heart. Just turn to your Beloved and ask His Holy Spirit to sing through you, for you are His song, you know.