I came across this prayer today. And for today it fit my life situation well, so I wanted to share it (or at least record it) here.
Thomas Merton’s Prayer
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
-Thomas Merton, “Thoughts in Solitude”
Thomas Merton
Jan. 31, 1915 – Dec. 10, 1968
20th Century American Trappist monk
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Only One Thing To Do
As I feel myself losing patience and the frustration of the wait for these children to arrive to their families mounting. I know there is only one thing to do to find calm..... Pray
Anima Christi, sanctifica me.
Corpus Christi, salva me.
Sanguis Christi, inebria me.
Aqua lateris Christi, lava me.
Passio Christi, conforta me.
O bone Jesu, exaudi me.
Intra tua vulnera absconde me.
Ne permittas me separari a te.
Ab hoste maligno defende me.
In hora mortis meae voca me.
Et iube me venire ad te,
Ut cum Sanctis tuis laudem te.
In saecula saeculorum.
Amen
Anima Christi, sanctifica me.
Corpus Christi, salva me.
Sanguis Christi, inebria me.
Aqua lateris Christi, lava me.
Passio Christi, conforta me.
O bone Jesu, exaudi me.
Intra tua vulnera absconde me.
Ne permittas me separari a te.
Ab hoste maligno defende me.
In hora mortis meae voca me.
Et iube me venire ad te,
Ut cum Sanctis tuis laudem te.
In saecula saeculorum.
Amen
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Rest
I just need a place to vent my exhaustion tonight, if that even makes sense. After a week and a half of working with families trying to get their children out of Haiti, I'm just tired. And at the same time I feel so very selfish for even noticing my own exhaustion. It's not like I'm on the ground in Haiti experiencing the devastation first hand. I'm sitting comfortably in my office, albiet a lot more this past week and a half....just making phone calls and answering emails, trying to figure out what can be done from this end to get these children visas to come to the U.S.
The group of children I'm working with is small. Their adoptions have completed in Haiti. We and their waiting families are going through the proper channels and work IS being done in Port au Prince. It's just taking time.
Today I learned that one man...only one...has been processing orphan visas at the Embassy in PaP. While one could be angry with this reality, blaming the government for not having more personnel there, etc.. I was actually amazed at all this one man was able to do while he worked on his own...not only processing their paperwork, but going out to let the children in, being sure they had food and water as they waited...single handedly. That on top of the fact he must be dealing with his own losses...coworkers perhaps family...just the mere trauma around him. So rather than anger...I am in awe of this unrecognized hero. I hope that in the weeks or months ahead once he has a chance to rest that he is somehow recognized for his work in these first days after the disaster.
Part of my exhaustion comes from the ups and downs in the waiting. One minute we're unsure about the well being of the children, the next I'm on 24 hour call in case I need to jump on a plane to meet them as they enter the U.S. Thankfully the children are all well. And the 24 hour call is off for now. Maybe emotions can level out.
They can level out until I can allow the reality to sink in. In many ways this extra work is my way of not allowing myself to think of the enormity of what has happened, not to feel the effects. Yesterday, I learned that the office of the orphanage we work in collapsed...the staff is all dead. People who I never met, but who shared the same goal and loved and worked for the same children as I am....they are all just gone. And so a part of me pushes on to honor them, their lives and their work...to be sure that what was important to them, that these children find forever families..reaches completion.
While they may not have had dignity in death nor in their burial, may I can somehow help their work to have meaning for this group of children...no matter how small.
Rest in peace dear collegeaues...your work will be done.
The group of children I'm working with is small. Their adoptions have completed in Haiti. We and their waiting families are going through the proper channels and work IS being done in Port au Prince. It's just taking time.
Today I learned that one man...only one...has been processing orphan visas at the Embassy in PaP. While one could be angry with this reality, blaming the government for not having more personnel there, etc.. I was actually amazed at all this one man was able to do while he worked on his own...not only processing their paperwork, but going out to let the children in, being sure they had food and water as they waited...single handedly. That on top of the fact he must be dealing with his own losses...coworkers perhaps family...just the mere trauma around him. So rather than anger...I am in awe of this unrecognized hero. I hope that in the weeks or months ahead once he has a chance to rest that he is somehow recognized for his work in these first days after the disaster.
Part of my exhaustion comes from the ups and downs in the waiting. One minute we're unsure about the well being of the children, the next I'm on 24 hour call in case I need to jump on a plane to meet them as they enter the U.S. Thankfully the children are all well. And the 24 hour call is off for now. Maybe emotions can level out.
They can level out until I can allow the reality to sink in. In many ways this extra work is my way of not allowing myself to think of the enormity of what has happened, not to feel the effects. Yesterday, I learned that the office of the orphanage we work in collapsed...the staff is all dead. People who I never met, but who shared the same goal and loved and worked for the same children as I am....they are all just gone. And so a part of me pushes on to honor them, their lives and their work...to be sure that what was important to them, that these children find forever families..reaches completion.
While they may not have had dignity in death nor in their burial, may I can somehow help their work to have meaning for this group of children...no matter how small.
Rest in peace dear collegeaues...your work will be done.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Finding Grey in the Rainbow
I have my own personal tradition at the beginning of each new year. It involves the simple act of completing a new family calendar. "Some deep tradition!" you say sarcastically. What started as merely a way of getting everyone's birthday and other big days on the new calendar quickly became much more. In the midst of flipping through the past year's calendar to retrieve the dates for the new year's calendar (yes, we're talking old fashioned paper here), I get to simultaneously look forward and backward. Forward to the upcoming year of celebrations and events with their spots already reserved. Backward over a year's worth of celebrations, doctor's appointments, school and kid activities.
It never ceases to amaze me as I look at the little rectangles with their color-coded scribbling, one color per family member, how very much 7 people can manage to literally squeeze into a year! I've often thought we need a larger calendar, but realize this wouldn't create more time in the year.
My tradition was bittersweet this year. I knew it would be. So rather than completing it on New Year's Day, I waited. My grandmother passed away right before Thanksgiving this year. When I came to October, her birthday month, I skipped recording her birthday on the 25th. That simple act was more difficult than I'd imagined it would be each previous year as she grew older. As she approached her 90th year, I would realize each new year's day that it very well could be the last time I recorded her birthday on the calendar. Somehow though, the official act of skipping her day...what would have been her 98th... was cause for allowing the grief to surface.
I realized as I allowed the tears to come just how much I'd been through in the last 2 months. While the colorful rectangles filled with the appointments of life don't portray the events, since mid-October we lost the little girl whom we had thought would be ours through adoption; my grandmother passed away and I had emergency surgery. There's been little time, I realized as the tears flowed, to really process everything that has happened recently. Somehow we continued to make our way through the colors on the calendar rectangles that grew ever more crowded during the holiday season.
While the new year is a time of new beginnings and resolutions, I'm finding myself looking more to the past and trying to process all that has occurred. I am struck in this processing how much easier it is to move forward; to push toward that new beginning rather than allowing myself the time needed to really reflect and feel the effects of the recent past. Yet, some part of me knows that in order to move forward healthfully, I first need to move through this grieving process.
As the calendar again begins to fill from it's plain white pages to a rainbow of appointments, activities, and celebrations, I'm trying my best to pause between the colors to find myself and allow in the grey of grief in order to move forward once again.
It never ceases to amaze me as I look at the little rectangles with their color-coded scribbling, one color per family member, how very much 7 people can manage to literally squeeze into a year! I've often thought we need a larger calendar, but realize this wouldn't create more time in the year.
My tradition was bittersweet this year. I knew it would be. So rather than completing it on New Year's Day, I waited. My grandmother passed away right before Thanksgiving this year. When I came to October, her birthday month, I skipped recording her birthday on the 25th. That simple act was more difficult than I'd imagined it would be each previous year as she grew older. As she approached her 90th year, I would realize each new year's day that it very well could be the last time I recorded her birthday on the calendar. Somehow though, the official act of skipping her day...what would have been her 98th... was cause for allowing the grief to surface.
I realized as I allowed the tears to come just how much I'd been through in the last 2 months. While the colorful rectangles filled with the appointments of life don't portray the events, since mid-October we lost the little girl whom we had thought would be ours through adoption; my grandmother passed away and I had emergency surgery. There's been little time, I realized as the tears flowed, to really process everything that has happened recently. Somehow we continued to make our way through the colors on the calendar rectangles that grew ever more crowded during the holiday season.
While the new year is a time of new beginnings and resolutions, I'm finding myself looking more to the past and trying to process all that has occurred. I am struck in this processing how much easier it is to move forward; to push toward that new beginning rather than allowing myself the time needed to really reflect and feel the effects of the recent past. Yet, some part of me knows that in order to move forward healthfully, I first need to move through this grieving process.
As the calendar again begins to fill from it's plain white pages to a rainbow of appointments, activities, and celebrations, I'm trying my best to pause between the colors to find myself and allow in the grey of grief in order to move forward once again.
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