Thoughts on the drive home

I had some. They were even important enough so that I commented to myself that I wanted to blog about it when I got home.

And now, here I am and can't remember, for the life of me, what deep thoughts I was thinking on the drive home from our confirmation class at Grace.

I am tired.

But it is kind of a good tired. I worked today at my new job today. I am a personal assistant for a woman with a chronic illness. I cook and clean and run errands. Basically it is the same job I do at my own home except I get paid. And like my own home, this is a ministry of sorts. I know that a big pot of bean and squash soup may not sound like ministry, but it is. There is love in that soup.

Oh, now I remember:

I was thinking that sometimes people mistake me for a kind and generous person. And I think that maybe the kindness and generosity is really the light of God blazing away in my heart. All the dark stuff that I sometimes squelch the light with... my fears and resentments, sins and self-centeredness, are all still there. But Church and the Sacraments and scripture and prayer help shift the darkness out of the way so that the light can sometimes shine through.

This week has been all about serving others. And I am tired. But what has been sort of remarkable is that the tiredness isn't accompanied by resentment. Not at all. That is really unlike me, I am sorry to admit. All I can attribute that to is prayer.

Today I started reading the diary of St. Faustina. Can I just tell you? I love the mystics. I love them. I think it is because that is how I relate to God. Not in any kind of cerebral way, but in a completely enraptured, my heart is so full of love it feels like I am going to explode, sort of way. Like how I cry every stinking week in Lectio Divina. I love the mystics because they are so wide open to the Holy Spirit... and that is exactly how I experience God, too, sometimes.

Today I ran into an old friend I knew from a weight loss program years ago. As I was standing there chatting, I realized that I am much heavier than the last time she saw me. I also realized that I felt totally unselfconscious about my appearance or my weight. When she said I looked great, I thanked her, knowing that it was true. I do. Not necessarily physically, but spiritually. I think I look happy. I think I look joyful. Feeling at ease in my own skin has got to be some kind of miracle.

The last few weeks have been so full of God's grace. How could I look anything BUT happy?