The One Thing Necessary

If left to me, I will always choose the easy road. Because, well… it’s easier. When I stumble across that fork in life’s pathways, I am usually inclined to head toward rainbows, and French fries, and bubble baths- as opposed to hair shirts, sacrificing the butter on my toast, and hard workouts. But if the endgame is eternal paradise, unfortunately I have to put forth a bit more effort. I need to grow in grace, and nine times out of ten, that can only happen through sacrifice. It’s not that I’m going to do anything to earn it, but as everyone knows, some kind of personal relationship with our Savior is going to be essential.

The snafu arises then when my game plan of easy livin’ meets up with taking on life’s crosses and growing in holiness. I come to an impasse because while I understand the tremendous value of crosses, I still think they’re yucky. The good ones are gonna hurt. As my dear patron St. Teresa of Avila quipped to our Lord: “With how you treat your friends, it’s no wonder you have so few.” So how am I going to ride that luxury bus on the road to Heaven? It surely didn’t seem like I was going to sort that out to my satisfaction. But, for some remarkable reason, Jesus decided to accommodate me when some seventeen years ago He moved us into this particular house in the suburbs.

You see, it just so happens this home I share with my husband and our youngest, teen-age child now, is situated a stone’s throw from St. Andrews Catholic Church. I can see the doors that lead to the chapel and the Blessed Sacrament from my kitchen window. Jesus is practically my next door neighbor.

I’m a cradle Catholic; I’ve always been on board with having Jesus in my life, but it’s always been this “good enough” relationship. I checked the box as each day I “did my duty”: Rosary. Check. Prayers before bed. Check. Mass on Sunday. Check. I could hear that still, small voice from time to time, calling me, calling me to more... But I’m, as I say, basically looking for the cushy way, and there’s only so much effort I was willing to put forth into that relationship. I was good enough wasn’t I? At least compared to everyone else.

We had been living in this house for a number of years when one day the Blessed Mother decided to take matters into her own hands. She must have decided I was not living up to my full potential. Mothers sort of know stuff like that. So, one day, she picked me up and carried me. For whatever reason, I can’t even recall, I decided to walk over and visit the Blessed Sacrament. Ten minutes tops. Good enough.

But soon after those initial random visits, my mother started growing more ill with her terminal cancer. And the relationship with my eldest daughter was strained and becoming more difficult. And my brother and his wife were threatening divorce… The weight was getting too heavy for these weak shoulders to muscle on my own. I was finding that I was spending a little more time in the silent church than just my token ten or fifteen minutes. The day I found out my daughter had moved in with her boyfriend, I marched right over to that chapel and got “right in Jesus’s face”. Literally. I could not even kneel in humble prayer. I pulled my rosary beads from my pocket, paced that marble floor, and wept as I dumped it all on Him.

When I was coming to grips with the unbelievably difficult reality that my mother was dying, I came to Him. I told Him over and over that He was going to have to handle me with kid gloves if He was expecting me to live without my mommy. I sat there. I prayed there. I wept there; right up in His face. Day after day. Month after month.

It’s funny how a relationship can change without your even knowing it. Grace. “A good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing” (Luke 6:38) was poured into my lap, and my mind, and my heart as I started going more and more regularly. Just to be with Him. The Hound of Heaven was drawing me in, little by little, and I found myself kneeling right beside Him and begging, “Give me this that I ask of You. That I might love you.”

Depth of feeling. I may have brushed the surface from time to time at really centering my attention on God and earnestly praying and adoring. But my peon brain was forever sidetracked by insignificant nothings- during Mass or in my “good enough” prayer time, done so I could neatly check off the box. But then Jesus would sort of get boring to me. Been there, done that; and then I was looking to other flashy things that seemed more interesting. I began to see this huge, dramatic change in me as little by little I have been cooperating more with the grace to stay focused and attentive. Jesus is no longer the friend I keep at arm’s length. That still, small voice is growing louder, and I’m finding it harder to resist Him. I am no longer afraid of a harder road…