Day 2 | Confessions and Sailboats
As a creature of habit, I made my eggs with peppers and onions and served them with a tortilla and Pace Salsa. I drank coffee and sat at the kitchen table with my books, my notebooks, and my pens.
I am always surprised at all the ways that God goes about to get my attention: scripture, songs, conversations, and random text messages. I said to go get your converse because we are going on an adventure, but I did not really expect people to adventure with me. People read these random thoughts and stories?
One of my first thoughts this morning was about this composition. My mind sifted through my file folder of stories, and I wondered which I would pull out this morning. A couple of good ones were recently added to the cabinet, but those are not the ones I am looking for right now.
I guess we are doing this live. I find myself in the kitchen attempting to be still and push out the laundry list of things to do, including doing my laundry.
I reread a text from a dear friend from California who regularly prays for me. It was beautiful, yet it was not what I wanted to read. Waiting...
I do not want to like waiting. I want to talk all about the journey and fast forward to the end. If I did that, though, I would miss the whole thing... all the fun... Ferris Bueller running around Chicago with his best friends. Ask Lindy and me about when I attempted to ditch school senior year of high school.
It was difficult to pick up the pen to pray. I had already jotted down lots of notes and flipped through my Bible and jotted notes in there, too. Was not that enough? I looked at the other empty page, and I did not want to write this...
Thank you for this time of waiting and walking with You. Thank You for the opportunity to experience You like this. Thank You for the gift of being broken and shattered. May I know You more every day. Draw me closer to Your heart. Amen.
No, no, no... I did not want to pray that at all.
It is kind of like how I used to hate going to confession. Standing in that line, my heart would beat fast, and the minutes would tick by slowly. I did not want the person to come out of the confessional, yet it was so hard standing there next to the pews just waiting.
It was probably pretty obvious how I felt. The fear was probably painted on my face, even though I attempted to hide it by looking at my screen shot of the Act of Contrition. For some reason, I never did memorize it.
The time would not stand still long enough, and after a few minutes the door would open. Someone would exit, and I would avoid eye contact and enter. The priest is always kind, and recently after a long monologue, he said to me, "Frankie, you realize that God loves you, right?"
Now, I go through the usual sentiments of standing next to the wall waiting for my turn, but I leave the confessional almost laughing. I attempt to stay composed, but I think it is too funny. God loves me enough to forgive me no matter what I do? That makes zero sense. I have described confession as "saying sorry to your best friend." I always dread the apology, but right after there is the most beautiful sense of relief. It hits like wall of love... and this is why I laugh. Love.
The verse that jumped off of the page for me this morning was:
For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that he may grant you in accord with the riches of his glory to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in the inner self, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
June 18, 2016 | Howth, Ireland
I find myself yet again by the sea. My first thought as I sit upon some rocks was to question: Is it silly to write letters to a four year almost everyday in my journal? I am not sure what the answer is to my own question, but here I am wearing my polka dot jeans and white high tops scribbling into my notebook yet again.
I was looking down at my notebook, and I almost missed the sailboats— each sail with a different color drifting across the sea. They stay just out of reach yet beckon to me to see more at the shore. I want to be on the sail boat, yet I must wait on the cliffs.
I have this longing to sail, for it is one way to return to you, sweet Sammy. Oh, how I love you so.
They sail further from my view, yet they take my prayers in the wind. The Sun warms my soul, comforting me, giving me rest.
In this time of waiting, how shall I wait? Shall I wait, wishing the seconds away, wishing to fast forward to a time without pain? Shall I wait in thankfulness, thankful for the seconds that draw me closer to Him, thankful for the beauty for the sailboats that I see from the cliffs of Howth?
My first inclination was to respond like Zechariah.
And I have stories for you tomorrow.