Borrowed words

Yours, mine and ours

Saturday morning I sat at my desk watching the snow melt and attempting to conjure up words worthy of sharing with others. Nothing. I am weary — heart, soul and mind weary. My spirit is overloaded, resulting in a malaise that for me is normally soothed by the spilling of words. Digging them up, pouring them out, rubbing them in, wearing them like a cloak of protection and comfort.

My own words were failing me so I turned to borrowed words.

It is my habit, and perhaps also yours, to collect words written or spoken by others and tuck them away so that I’ll have them at hand when I need them. Here’s a collection of words that have been saving my life lately, in no particular order:

• “You have to be candles, burning between hope and despair, faith and doubt, life and death, all the opposites.” — William Brodrick in the Father Anselm mystery novel The 6th Lamentation

• “The best decade of your life will be your 70s, the second best will be your eighties, and the third will be your sixties.” — Author and Teacher Pete Scazzero

• “You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills all the trees of the field will clap their hands.” — The Prophet Isaiah, chapter 55 verse 12

• “Fours must find their energy without constantly slipping from one extreme to the other, without being up one minute and down the next.”¹ — Source not recorded, but so true for me

• “All writers are potentially great writers. Some are defeated by their inner demons, by the voices that tell them they are not good enough, not clever enough, not talented enough. The greatest battle a writer faces is with themselves.” — Maya Angelou

• “This day, be within and without me, lowly & meek, yet all powerful. Be in the heart of each to whom I speak, in the mouth of each who speaks to me. Christ as a light, Christ as a shield. Christ beside me on my left and my right.” The Christ Canticle (portion)

Countdown to the opening of Chapters Bookshop

I recently shared my plans for opening a wee bookshop in my hometown, LaGrange, Indiana. The effort is progressing nicely. I got the keys to my space a week ago and on Friday beautiful wood shelves built by local Amish craftsmen were installed. Boxes of new books are arriving, along with offers of secondhand books. Fun bookish items have been ordered and I’m beginning to put the word out on social media. A simple website also is forthcoming. Our grand opening is set for Saturday, April 26 — National Independent Bookstore Day. Soon I will be surrounded by words!

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As we step into the 40 days of Lent, I am borrowing some of my own words from an essay about Lent, written eight years ago on my blog.²

When faiths collide: finding myself in Ash Wednesday

(A few years ago, my Protestant church held an Ash Wednesday service. I grew up attending mass on Ash Wednesday in the little Catholic chapel in my hometown. Though I'm no longer a practicing Catholic, memories of the traditions, sacraments and practices of the faith still hold significance for me. Following that first Ash Wednesday service in a Protestant church, I shared these thoughts on the intersection of my current faith practices with traditions ingrained in me.)

The Faith That Formed Me

I stood in line for the symbolic smudge of ashes on the first day of Lent, unprepared for what that touch to my forehead would to do my heart.

In the glow of candlelight, tears spilled unbidden. And there she was again, standing at the altar. Skinny, smiling shyly as she posed in her white communion dress, mousy brown hair peaking from beneath a froth of netting, white anklets scrunched above black patent leather shoes. Ardent in her practice of a faith that formed her, the girl's eyes glowed with the joy of taking her first communion. Her first confession.

Her first receiving of the ashes.

Did she know that five decades later, she'd stand at another altar and her heart would bust wide open, full with the joy of taking back the precious meaning of the ashes?

I turned away from Catholicism as a high school senior, lured by the popular youth group and upbeat music offered by my friends' non-denominational church. I wanted guitars and games, not incense, chiming bells and Latin liturgy. A copy of The Living Bible went with me to college. My Catholic scriptures were left behind on a bedroom shelf.

An outdoor wedding ceremony officiated by the pastor of that non-denominational church set me on a path toward spiritual awakening and growth. Women in the church mentored and encouraged my still-ardent love for Jesus, and I learned to share Him with others. In years to come, pastors from various denominations and other churches contributed to a deepening faith that sustained me through trials -- divorce, loss, cancer.

The security of a faith built on decades spent living out God's Word among His people allowed me to listen when a gentle ripple of longing began to surface. In the beginning, I couldn't put a word to the yearnings that bubbled in a quiet corner of my soul. I love my church. I'm in deep agreement with the doctrine and theology of our evangelical protestant beliefs and practices. But, like a lamp lit by a low-wattage bulb, my rock-solid faith lacked some of the glow that burned across the years from the altar of that little Catholic chapel of my childhood.

Then, I met two faithful women doing a work of revival at a Catholic retreat center, and the yearnings slipped into place. Beauty, symbolism, tradition, corporate prayer, holy seasons. I had shed them like an ill-fitting coat in my youth. Now, I felt the loss of their weight and warmth.

I soaked up the joy of those women doing a work for Jesus, offering to add a work of my own to their revival project. As we talked and planned, I recognized and understood what shined from their eyes when they spoke to me of tradition. Of miracles, healings, sacraments. Of a church history that, in many ways, all Christian faiths share.

It was familiar because it was part of me.

My stepmom passed away shortly after these women completed their project. It was inevitable that my grieving was bound up by their unwavering commitment to The Church. And by my stepmother's. Her collection of Catholic icons, prayer books, rosaries, holy medals and other symbols of faith passed through my hands. They gave weight once again to what I'd known and lived, to the faith that formed me.

You can turn from one good thing and replace it with another. But can you wipe away the imprint that one thing left on your soul? Or might you acknowledge the stirrings and make space for them to be welcomed in the now.

Our evangelical Christian church chose to observe Ash Wednesday for the first time in many years. Dipping back into the dust of a tradition that lay at the foundation of my faith brought me face-to-face with the ardent little Catholic girl who was the Bride of Jesus.

Her eyes still glow.

1. If you have not encountered Enneagram, here’s a succinct explanation from the website The Enneagram Institute. “The Enneagram is a powerful tool that helps us understand our motivations, core beliefs, and unconscious patterns that drive our behavior. We have all 9 Types in us, although one of the Enneagram Types is dominant for each of us. A good place to start with the Enneagram is in learning about all 9 Types and identifying our own dominant Enneagram Type.” If you’re interested, start with this popular book by Ian Crohn

2. Here’s a link to my blog, All the Way Home. It’s been pretty quiet there this past year. I’ve been toying with the idea of picking it up again. We’ll see…..