Friday, October 6, 2006

Moonbeams

I love the moon. I'm not someone who pulls out thier high-powered telescope to probe the moon's surface, or read up on the history of every single meteor that's buried deep in it's surface. I just like the moon. It glows. It's big and white-gray. God made it. Ergo, I love the moon.

God keeps waking me up all weeklong around 2-4am. Why? Because when I go to bed, the moon is not visible to me, and so I never see it. Rather, if God didn't wake me up at 2-4 am in the morning for the last few nights, I'd never see the moon. God wakes me up at the exact moment the moon is at perfect eye level to where I'm in my bed. I don't have to turn around. I don't have to lift my head. I don't have to shift out of the bedclothes that I've pulled snug around me. It's too perfect to be chance.

Tuesday, October 3, 2006

I was planning on reading God is Love last night before bed, but I got distracted by the inside fold of the cover. On the outside back of the cover there is this huge color, close-up of Pope Benedict XVI's face and that papal cape he so often wears. I thought that here was a man, along with all the other religious, who loves God just as much as I do, perhaps even moreso than I do at the present time.


James 1: 9-11.
The brother in lowly circumstances should take pride in his high standing,
and the rich one in his lowliness, for he will pas away "like the flower of the field."
For the sun comes up with its scorching heat and dries up the grass, its flower droops, and the beauty of its appeance vanishes. So will the rich person fade away in the midst of his pursuits.
This passage struck me last night, because just a few hours before during dinner with a friend I was worried about what would I do with my material possessions upon entering the convent. This vow of poverty that lingers in the distance sometimes bothers me, because then I figure I shouldn't buy anything now so that I won't have to part with it later. What was the point of buying all those souveniors in Rome this past summer if I can't display them? What is the point of new shoes if I can't use them 'til there's holes in the soles? What on earth am I going to do with all the fabric I bought for future quilts?
Oddly, God wants empty, vain, self-centered me.
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