Sunday, February 22, 2009

Continuation of a Theme

Sometimes, I find something so beautiful that I have nothing to say about it. So, all that is really important is that, the other day, I was thinking about what motivates people to help one another. Specifically, I was thinking about this responsibility to love as Christ loves. Anyways, I came across this poem, and it's beautiful. And I don't have much more to say.

I hope you love it.

Love,

Sara

"Christ Has No Body" by Teresa of Avila (1515–1582)

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

More Thoughts on Love

If I am honest, I have to admit that I sometimes have a hard time sticking to religious practices. I can be lax about reading my Bible. I probably don't pray as much as I should. I spent most of my life to this point as a non-practicing Christian, so I never really developed those good habits when I was younger. But, really, most of my lack of following religious practices is owing to an inherent laziness. I mean, so long as I'm being honest, I might as well admit to my laziness.

But, oddly enough and despite my laziness, I think about God throughout much of my day. I remember reading somewhere that a relationship with God is something like a young man who is in love for the first time. Though he can't spend every moment with the object of his affection, when he finds a spare moment, his thoughts turn to her. I sort of loved that. I sort of thought it was beautiful.

Lately, in those moments, I've found myself thinking about the enormous love of God. I think of the selflessness of Christ, the unworthiness of us all to receive such love. And yet, well, and yet we do receive that love.

But, what amazes me most is that, in receiving that love of Christ, we are entrusted with the responsibility of showing that love to others. Maybe "responsibility" isn't the right word. "Responsibility" always sounds so forced. I'm responsible for doing all of those mundane tasks that I really don't want to do, like filling out forms for work or jumping through bureaucratic hoops.

It's not that sort of responsibility. To love is an opportunity. We have the opportunity to show Christ's love in a world where love is often hard to come by. Sometimes, I think of the verses from Matthew:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'[...]'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'"

It reminds me of Mother Teresa, speaking of the people she worked with in India. She said that, "Each one of them is Jesus in disguise." And, she once said, "I see God in every human being. When I wash the leper's wounds, I feel I am nursing the Lord Himself. Is it not a beautiful experience?" It's as if, in so many ways throughout our lives, we are given these beautiful opportunities to care for others as we would care for Christ and, in turn, to be the face of Christ to those who so desperately need love. And, if we're really honest, we have to admit that each of us--no matter how smart or rich or beautiful--needs love, longs for it, would do almost anything to have it.

I guess it makes sense that my thoughts of late have revolved around God's love, as I'm realizing that there is no end to it. As I've been writing this, so many things come to my mind, so many ways that I am awed by the enormity of God's infinite love. So many ways that I am grateful that God has given me such a gift as this chance to show love to others. I could say much more, and I probably will on another day. But, right now I will probably go to bed. I may even say a prayer before I fall asleep. A prayer of thanks that God is good, that His love endures forever. Amen.

I love you all so much,

Sara

Sunday, February 15, 2009

A Valentine for You

Valentine's Day is over. It always seems a little sad when those heart-shaped boxes of chocolates are moved to a big pile, shoved off to make room for the next holiday, reduced for quick sale. I know it's not popular to like Valentine's Day. It's commercial. It's fake. It's just plain silly.

But, I do love Valentine's Day. I love seeing people happy. I love that people take a day to be kind to each other. I love that people give each other flowers and that even little kids scrawl their names on little cards for each other. I love that there is one day when we hear the word "love" most everywhere we go.

My mom used to say that I was like my dad. Not given to too much emotion. Not one to cry too much, if at all. And, that's a pretty fair assessment. I don't like to cry. I don't like people to see me cry. I don't like people to ask me how I'm feeling. And when they do, I usually lie. There's a certain expression that I feel my face make whenever I'm about to cry. It's a serious, almost angry face.

I felt that earlier this evening when went to work out. Oddly enough, I'd been thinking about Valentine's Day, about why I like it so much. And I realized that I love Valentine's Day because, as a ridiculous idealist, it's how I want to see people treat each other. I love Valentine's Day because there's something so beautiful about its spirit, even if it's a bit tinged by commercialism.

And, I love it because, though I am an idealist, I've dealt with and seen a lot of very realistic heartache in my life, and there's something about Valentine's Day that gives me hope that we can love each other. Because when I think about some of the things I've seen and lived through, there is so much that I don't know how to fix.

I see her, struggling with the abuse brought on by a relative, the sister who took the bulk of the abuse. Sometimes during dinner she just stares off, and I know that she is somewhere very painful. I see him, killing himself with drugs, self-medicating and trying to overcome the demons in his heart and mind. Trying to find some sort of escape. Never sleeping and never eating. And I see the many students I've taught, young people who deal with unimaginable pain, but hide it so well under such bright, beautiful smiles.

I see all of that. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make any of it better. I don't know how to fix all of the hurts that I see, and I know that there are countless more hurts that I don't see.

So, all of this was going around in my head as I tried to make it through my usual workout. I felt the serious, angry face coming on. I felt something. Was that sweat? Was it a tear? Was it both?

There are times when even those of us who aren't prone to crying end up completely losing it. Perhaps it's my own fault. There was a time when I prayed that I would love others as Christ does, and it seems that those prayers have caught up with me. Love like that can hurt. And, even though there are so many hurts that I can't fix, I will keep trying. Keep loving. Keep making an effort to give love when I can.

Happy belated Valentine's Day, everyone. I love you all.

Oh, and as a Valentine, please enjoy this video. I loved it.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

About Work and a Poem

Right now, Job #2 is pretty slow. Because it's the beginning of the semester, we really don't have too many students coming into the Writing Center, and, when we do, it's usually to ask really quick questions or do short sessions to look over their application essays. Those are a lot of fun because I get to learn about the students and just have a nice time of talking to them about what they want to major in, what they want to do with their lives, all those complicated but exciting conversations.

However, there is a lot of downtime right now, so we use that time to catch up on reading for our training sessions and to familiarize ourselves with the kinds of essays the students will be working on this semester. We're going to be seeing a lot of literature papers pretty soon, so we've been looking through the literature anthology to get acquainted with what the students might be reading.

I'm not going to lie. We often end up just reading poems aloud to one another or thinking about staging some of the plays and then deciding not to. Sometimes we read poems and then argue about them. But, the other day, I read this poem, and we were all just so moved by it. I didn't cry when I read it, but I wanted to. Anyways, I thought I'd share it.

Gwendolyn Brooks

"The Mother"

Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed
children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,
and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?--
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.