fear

A while back, Barb wrote a post about the gift of availability, which put words to many things that have been on my heart in the past few months. I did what I do when something resonates with me: I sent it to a certain friend.

Then, the other day, when I read Elizabeth Duffy’s brilliant piece “Released By Motherhood” at Faith & Family Live, I shared that link too.

The friend I sent it to replied, and her reply merits sharing with you.

Been feeling (or struggling with) similar feelings. Relieved that other(s) feel it too!

Would like to have my job well defined. Have either baby days behind me and full devotion to shaping older children (involvement at school, etc.) or know I have baby days ahead and keep myself in that mode.

And I’m 40 with no clear career path if I’m suddenly needed to earn money. My family is my primary job, yes, but I feel strongly that it should not be my only [job]. However, I don’t write or anything that I could do during my available time.

So struggling with this mini midlife crisis, I’ve decided to be a prayer warrior with service availabilty (I imagine myself as a part time nun). This is my gift to the world. Give up fear of the unknown, embrace God’s will and pray for everyone and anyone when ever I can. Offer services when I’m available.

This decision has certainly lifted my self imposed weight on my shoulders to produce something in my days and ease my guilt when I’m rundown as “just” a mom. And I’ll just have to trust God to help with the money part if needed.

This friend and I have been particularly struck by my sister-in-law’s new status as a single mom. A year ago, her husband died unexpectedly. Her income is…gone. She wasn’t the primary wage earner; in fact, her income (at her part-time job) offset the cost of their children’s Catholic education.

My brother-in-law didn’t have a will. He was only 38, after all. This came as a complete shock, a total surprise, and, really, it has me (and this good friend, too) totally tempted to manage by exception.

Back when I was involved in office life, and especially when I was the one in charge, I was dead set against managing by exception. “Rules and policies should not be made to deal with what-ifs and could-bes,” I’d tell myself and anyone who suggested a new rule or policy.

My husband suddenly dying is the exception, not the rule. It is unlikely, and if I live my life in fear of it happening, then I’m thumbing my nose at God’s goodness. I can’t help but think of yesterday’s Gospel reading, from Matthew 6:24-34. This, especially:

“Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself.
Sufficient for a day is its own evil.”

This Gospel is a little love note from God, a reminder that He loves me far more than I can imagine and that He will take care of me, no matter what happens.

It’s also a reminder that I have to get past myself: past my own fears, past my conviction that what I think is what’s most important. There’s a lot of humility required in embracing life and trusting God.

When I ask myself, How would Mary deal with this difficulty?, the word Yes comes to mind. Mary is such a role model for me: she helps me to shoot for the more perfect path to holiness, as opposed to the way of least resistance that I have a tendency to choose on my own.

Sometimes, I have to say Yes to things that are difficult and hard.

Sometimes, I don’t have a choice.

But I have a choice far more than I don’t. I can choose, as my friend did, to offer my prayer time to others. I can say Yes and minister to others with little acts of kindness and prayer, and, most importantly, give my attention to those people in my house who are my primary vocation.

On a related note, written in the past:

Battling My Worst Fear

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Battling My Worst Fear

I don’t think I appreciated fear or the concept behind the admonishment to “Be not afraid” until this year. This has been a year of watching a person I love go through a trauma that has shaken our entire family. It’s been a year of wondering how I would react in her shoes, of battling “what if,” of changing priorities and internal compasses (ones I didn’t know needed changed).

Have you ever faced your worst fear? I haven’t, not really. I used to think that burying a child must be the worst thing a parent could ever have to cope with. Then I thought it must be the premature loss of a spouse. After this year, I don’t know.

During a long conversation on a dark porch, one of the people I admire more than almost anyone else told me that she has seen the good that has come from one of the hardest challenges she’s ever faced, burying two of her babies. I should have been shocked: it seems so counterintuitive that good can come from that kind of tragedy. But, the thing is, I’ve seen the good too, even if only in the corner of my soul that has become softer and more open to life.

It’s this experience that has her, through the anguish of losing her husband unexpectedly earlier this year, convinced that God loves her, certain that He’s holding her, persuaded that He’s running the show. As she faces what she calls her personal hell, I can’t help but shake my head at her rock solid faith.

She pulls her car to the side of the road to cry. She hides the sharp pangs during family gatherings. She puts on a brave face for her children, her mother, her siblings, her friends. She notices the absence, the empty space, the changes that wouldn’t have been necessary if he were alive. Underneath it all is a grief so deep that I think only Mary really knows it. Only Mother Mary can comfort her, really. With each new pain comes the memory of the old; with the passage of time and the slow healing it brings comes a new wound of guilt over forgetting, over moving on, over living.

On that dark porch, huddled in sweatshirts and talking theology and heaven, I was once more humbled by this woman beside me. Given her suffering, who was I to encourage her? Given her year, who was I to offer her anything other than love? Given her grief, who was I to laugh or correct or do more than pray?

From her example and unwavering faith, I’ve had a firsthand glimpse of the truths of our lives as Catholics. Our lives on earth are not complete or fulfilled, and they never will be. We will suffer mightily. Through it all, though, God loves us. He never stops. He never gives in. He never hesitates.

God loves me.

Facing that worst fear, whatever it is, doesn’t seem so bad when I have a mentor who is going through a personal hell and is sharing the walk with me. Her brave forging forward makes me think of the saints, of Mary, of the great women of the Bible. That worst fear of mine, seems, indeed, to be a bit of a smokescreen, a ploy to scare me away from living as I should, a distraction from the importance of the life of tangible faith.

I don’t need to battle my worst fear. I just need to hold on to His hand and jump into His arms as needed.