Weird Love

My brother spent two nights this week making a stuffed-animal spider for his girlfriend because apparently she likes spiders. Friday is a good day for Valentine’s Day. I imagine they have something planned for tonight. This afternoon I listened to the Stations of the Cross, and though I couldn’t physically “attend,” I watched daily Mass online. In one of His revelations to Saint Faustina, Jesus promised that He would give great graces to whoever would reflect on His Passion in the 3:00 hour. All this week, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do for Him today, but honestly, what do you do for the God of the Universe?

I’ve had more seizures than usual this week. It’s more annoying than anything because if it happens around when I go to bed, it completely knocks me out, and then four hours later–so around 4:OO AM–I wake up and can’t get back to sleep for at least a couple of hours. I woke up this morning before the sun, tried in vain for a few minutes to go back to sleep, accepted defeat, and decided to pray the Rosary. Since it was already Friday, I prayed the Sorrowful Mysteries.

My mom and I went to a Mexican place for lunch today, and the sky was cloudless as we drove there and to a bakery to get a cake for later. It seems so simple, but the sky is probably my favorite thing that God has created. Sometimes it seems like He speaks to me in His sky. It must have been a couple summers ago now that I saw, for the first time, a blue diamond in the sky. I was in my driveway, starting out on, or coming back from a “wander,” and a white cloud formation came into my vision. It was shaped exactly like that: a blue diamond. Since then, a beautiful blue sky, with or without clouds, has been dubbed a “Blue Diamond Sky.”

Recently it occurred to me that I’ve occasionally been disappointed if I don’t get my blue diamonds, so I made up a game. Every day, God gives me a sky because until the end of the world, there will be one. Every day, I give that sky a name–blue or no blue–clouds or no clouds, but a blue sky is always a Blue Diamond. Usually, if I can’t think of a unique name for a gray sky, it’s a Glory Sky because blue or gray, the sky still speaks of God’s glory.

The Gospel reading today was from Mark. Jesus healed a man who was deaf and had a speech impediment. Sometimes I have an automatic reaction to these healing stories. He hasn’t healed me–at least not physically. Today I looked at myself and thought, “Lord, you can be glorified in this.” Saint Francis of Assisi is probably best known for once saying, “Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” I was introduced to my Lord by fellow students in College, and no one outright “preached” to me. If a gray sky can speak God’s glory, then so can my wheels or my weird brain.

Interestingly enough, among others, there are several Saint Valentine’s who are considered patrons of epilepsy. Saint Paul is also one of these. In fact, it’s speculated that Saint Paul had epilepsy, and this is what he called the “thorn in his side.” He says, “I asked the Lord to take it away,” but the Lord didn’t. The Lord told him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Jesus accepted weakness. God chose human weakness even to the point of the worst kind of death, and in fact, God the Father rose Him from the dead.

One of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary is the Crowning With Thorns. I confess that Jesus Christ is my King. This is the crown my King wears. I love language, and though my medication prevents me from having really nasty seizures, I do have various symptoms. One of those symptoms is that I lose the ability to use or understand language. If Jesus is the Word of God, it means that for a short time, God was silenced. After that, though, He was glorified; He conquered the grave, and 2,000 years later, little people like me won’t shut up about it. His power is made perfect in weakness. I don’t know what that means for me, but I know that I am weak, I know that He answers my prayers, and I know that He loves me in a way that doesn’t even make sense.

Fluent In Goodness

This past Friday I was up in Maine again with my parents. They were talking to my mom’s cousin (our contractor) about some issues with the house, which ended up all being okay, and about progress in general. While they did that, I went down to the river across the street, and sat on a platform and went through a bunch of my ordinary daily prayers. When I finished most of the structured stuff, I just started talking.

I realized that I talk to God about things I worry about, or things I need, or what have you, but I almost never talk to Him about “normal” stuff. In my last post, I talked about how I hear God’s glory in thunder. Friday in Naples Maine was hot, sunny, and breezy, and I absolutely love that. People were headed down to the lake in their boats while I was sitting on the platform, and they were having a grand time. Eventually an epic squirt gun battle broke out.

The first Creation story in Genesis is written in a poetic, systematic form. The world is constructed in six days, and after each thing God created, He saw that it was good. I looked at the shiny golden rocks at the bottom of the shallow river, the clear blue sky, the emerald shine of the sun in the trees, and it reminded me of the intrinsic goodness of everything. I was also anticipating hanging out with my godfather later that day, which is always a good time. We went to the same little gas station pub we usually go to and descended upon a horrifyingly large pile of chicken wings and french fries. We ate most of it. It seemed to me that there was something intrinsically good about that, too–not just the food, but simply being way too excited about it with my godfather. I saw God’s glory in all of what happened on Friday.

I’ve mentioned before a guy by the name of Bishop Robert Barron. He has a lot of short YouTube videos on a plethora of subjects, and I highly recommend them. In at least one or two of them, he has mentioned a quote by Saint Irenaeus. “The Glory of God is man fully alive.” The obvious question is: what does it mean to be fully alive?

He associates this with freedom. Bishop Barron explains that, to most, freedom is associated with self-expression. In other words, as I tend to render it, it is “freedom to,” while a more Catholic idea of freedom, as I render it, is “freedom from.’ What I mean is, it’s freedom first, from sin, but also, freedom from fear, anxiety, and a myriad of other human annoyances. Religious practice, in a sense, is also “freedom to,” however. Bishop Barron uses the example of learning a language. The more fluent a person is, and the more expansive their vocabulary, the freer they are to use that language. In Catholic terms, this means being free to act and express oneself as a child of God.

God’s nature in itself is goodness and love. He loves his creation, and he loves humans most of all. To love someone means to desire their happiness, and want what is best for them. Since God knows everything, He knows what will make all humans happy. To achieve Heaven essentially means to achieve what will make one most happy. Obviously being free is part of being happy. As counter-intuitive as it sounds, this means practicing a certain set of objective rules, standards, or whatever one likes to call them, to become “fluent” in goodness, because God created humanity according to his own nature.

Suffering, Thunder, And Glory

Yesterday we had a pretty good thunderstorm near our house. I am twenty five, but there is still a five-year-old part of me that gets excited about thunder. My dad and I just finished watching all of what has been released of the series “Vikings.” A line that sticks out to me is when one of the main characters, Rollo, who is a viking warrior who marries a French princess, is explaining to his wife, “When you hear thunder, it’s just thunder, but when I hear thunder, I still hear Thor striking his hammer.”

Something I remembered as I watched the rain come down through my bedroom/office window yesterday was when God reveals himself to the prophet Elijah. 1 Kings 19-11-12 says, in effect, that God did not reveal himself in a great wind, or an earthquake or in a fire, but in a “still small voice.” This seems counter intuitive, but then I reflect on all the times it has seemed that God has spoken to me. As a kid, I was always looking for God in the thunder and lightning that I still love to this day. I don’t usually find him there, though.

I found myself reflecting, too on the idea the vikings had that, if there was thunder, then Thor was striking his hammer. That was just a given. The idea resonates with me. To me, as both a Christian and a fantasy writer, the idea that thunder is just thunder doesn’t quite cut it. When I hear thunder, I hear the sound of God’s glory. I can listen to a thousand worship songs, and don’t get me wrong, I love worship music. In fact, I think my favorite song is, “How Great Thou Art.” Those songs don’t compare to the thrill and joy I get when I hear thunder. I think that’s why the five-year-old in me will never grow up. What I mean is, God doesn’t necessarily speak through the thunder, but he can use it to remind people how awesome he is.

God’s glory is so obvious in his Creation that it’s easy to take it for granted. It’s evident in the sound of thunder, and the downpour falling on the roof. It’s evident in the flash of lighting, and in the dark, mighty clouds. It’s evident, too in the silence after the storm. Beyond that, though it’s evident in even the simplest things–the foods we eat, the things we smell, the colors we see, the softness of a pet’s fur or feathers–all of it.

Imagine how the world would be different if God hadn’t bothered to make color, or given us the ability to see color. Similarly, imagine if the world had been made without sound, or if humans didn’t hear sound for some reason. I acknowledge that some people don’t have the gift of sight, or of hearing. I would like to reflect on that, too.

I have been gifted with language. I have had a good education, and one thing I can confidently say I’m good at is writing, and I’m a moderately good speaker. On the other hand, I suffer from epilepsy. Epilepsy is a weird disorder, and comes in many forms. People experience it in different ways. In my case, I generally lose the ability to use and comprehend language, and in the worst cases, I lose awareness of my surroundings, but don’t exactly black out. Though it has no monetary value, language is something I personally value very highly, and it genuinely terrifies me when I lose the ability to communicate, even momentarily.

As part of my devotions every day, I read something from scripture. Sometimes I’ll just pick something out at random, sometimes I’ll use the daily Mass readings, and sometimes God will give me something to reflect on. Today I felt I needed to spend some time to reflect on the reading from today’s Morning Prayer (from the Liturgy of the Hours). It was from the book of Job. He poses the question, “If we take happiness from God’s hand, must we not take sorrow, too?” To be clear, God doesn’t want people to suffer, and he doesn’t impose suffering on people. He does allow people to suffer, and that’s hard to understand.

My dad has told me that when I’m having a seizure, or what I call “brain fuzz,” even though I don’t know I’m doing it, I sometimes repeat the word, “No” over and over. Something, maybe in my subconscious, is protesting, and I love that. I often know ahead of time when I’m going to have “brain fuzz.” My prayer used to be, “God, take this away.” When it became clear that He wasn’t going to, I changed it to, “Please let this one pass, but if you don’t, just stay with me.” Sometimes I think that, “No” is His way of saying with me that “this is not okay.”

In a way, I can appreciate what my brain fuzz does to me. I can appreciate how scary it is and how alone it makes me feel because I know that Jesus was alone through His Passion. This is very obvious when He says from the cross, “My God, my God, why have You abandoned me?” When I lose the ability even to think words, I am sometimes tempted to feel that I have been abandoned. I believe, however, that that subconscious “No!” is His way of being with me, even if I don’t understand it. This is my choice, and in this way, I choose to view even my epilepsy, and in particular, that, “No!” as a gift.

How does any of that have to do with thunder or glory? Sometimes I reflect on things Jesus said or did, either in Scripture or in revelation to Saints, and though I love Him, He is intimidating. During the storm yesterday, I thought about how I find thunder exciting and comforting at the same time. God doesn’t need to use words to reveal Himself to us. I hear His glory in the thunder because, as the five-year-old part of me might say, He is big, and I am small, He is God, and I am not, and even when my epilepsy takes my language–my treasure–from me, He gives me that rebellious, glorious, “NO!”

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!