Category: work

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praying and working

my bulletin board

My desk is a jumbled mess. I have stacks, and piles, and groups of folders that probably belong in a filing cabinet but will never make it to a file drawer. If I’m feeling generous, I’ll tack it onto my bulletin board.

Despite this haphazard appearance, there’s a semblance of organization. There’s order in the disorder.

I like it. I’m comfortable with it and any attempt to change is not only short-lived but difficult.

Believe me, I’ve wanted to have labels and colored file folders. Beautiful day planners remain unfilled. Bullet journals overwhelm me. I’m sure there’s an app designed just for me, but I can’t keep up with where I left my phone.

In short, I’m messy when it comes to my workflow even though I get stuff done. I’ve noticed this has bled over into some of my spiritual practices as well.

I used to have a constant discipline in my prayer life.

I got up early and read scripture and did a little journaling. I had certain devotions that I prayed at certain times. There was a time and place for everything, and everything had a place and time.

Now my spiritual life looks like my desk. I suppose everything is still there, but the regimented system is gone. I still read, and write, and pray but it seems a little more fluid these days.

Organized-me wants to correct this mess but there’s order in that chaos, and in this season of my prayer life, I am embracing it.

Ora et Labora

I enjoyed an excellent season of Benedictine order – of praying and working, Ora et Labora – no doubt due to living so close to the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers. I learned the beauty of the Divine Office.

These days, however, I am drawn to mental prayer inspired by St. Teresa of Avila who advocated friendship with Jesus. I find myself talking in prayer while I drive, do the dishes, fold clothes.

Staring at an empty screen when I should be writing.

Eucharistic Adoration.

Committing to a weekly Holy Hour has changed my prayer to a conversation with the Lord. I am endeavoring to live in thanksgiving, which often means small, but I hope, earnest declarations of praise and thanksgiving as my day unfolds.

Perhaps I’ll return to the Divine Office or end up with a combination, but for now, in this new season of prayer, I am finding great joy in these aspirations that come to me as naturally as inhaling and exhaling.

How do you pray?

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work. and more work.

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I didn’t mean for this to be a Labor Day post. I really have been enjoying watching the construction of a pier in our back yard, and I’ve enjoyed speaking to the men building it over the course of several weeks as they’ve moved in and through our property, and as I’ve gotten in their way to go and investigate in this final phase.

In short, I’m impressed with their work ethic. I sit around on my butt typing. It’s a strenuous day if I have to get up twice for coffee because the first (or third) cup got cold.

These guys are working in the sun in 90 degree weather. Woof. Can’t do it. Yet they do. It’s their livelihood.  But it’s something else. Talking with them and cutting up during breaks has been delightful. Today, in particular, they were taking a break by sitting on the end of the pier and looking around. They weren’t talking, just looking…perhaps admiring the view.

I saw in their look a little something of what I feel when I stand on the porch — surveying the water, the waves, the pelicans and other birds that fly by. I enjoy this new world, or at least, this part of the world that is new to me. Each sweep of the horizon is like a prayer — a moment of joy captured by my eyes. The camera lens comes later, but it never captures the prayer.

I could see in these guys pride in a job well done. They enjoy the labor, the sweat and the physicality of moving heavy wood planks, and dodging waves, and ultimately, creating something that complements the landscape. There’s beauty in this different kind of ballet, the kind that swings hammers and balances logs.

Human work proceeds directly from persons created in the image of God and called to prolong the work of creation by subduing the earth, both with and for one another. Hence work is a duty: “If any one will not work, let him not eat.” Work honors the Creator’s gifts and the talents received from him. It can also be redemptive. By enduring the hardship of work in union with Jesus, the carpenter of Nazareth and the one crucified on Calvary, man collaborates in a certain fashion with the Son of God in his redemptive work. He shows himself to be a disciple of Christ by carrying the cross, daily, in the work he is called to accomplish. Work can be a means of sanctification and a way of animating earthly realities with the Spirit of Christ. CCC2427

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mourning change

red penI’m on the cusp of retirement.

After 31 years of teaching, I’m finally graduating to sleeping in and hanging out all day with my hubby.

I’ve spent the last week shredding all evidence of this long career, and I’m not going to lie, it’s a little weird. Why I’ve kept so much paper is probably a holdover from the years before digital storage, but it occurs to me that I’m going to have to do some heavy deleting on my laptop, too. Sigh.

I opened file after file looking for names and I.D. numbers that had to be destroyed, and I had a lingering feeling of loss,  even a little bit of regret. Each batch of papers that went into the shred bin threatened to destroy memories, too. It was like I was erasing a whole generation of students.

But that’s not the case. I have a lifetime of memories — and they pop up every once in a while as stories. Mostly unbelievable vignettes of students who made me laugh, some who made me cry, and others who…astounded me in both positive and negative ways.

I pray I did right by them. That I taught those who needed to learn. That I loved those who needed love. That I corrected those who needed correction.

That I saw in each and every student a child of God entrusted to me for a brief season of influence.

I know I failed often. I’m confident I succeeded most of the time. I know this because they did right by me. I learned from them when I least expected it. I was showered in love when I most needed encouragement. I made mistakes and they showed me mercy.

I’m a better person for hanging in longer than I ever expected, and richer than the lousy pension promised.

 

 

 

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