Learning to Receive

I like to write. I'm pretty much always writing: poems, journal entries, scraps of things that never make it past my own eyes or linger forever in the land of unfinished territory. Before I came to Cincinnati I was a contributor for two online websites. They paid me per post and it was a nice way to supplement my teacher's income and do something I loved at the same time. It also kept me busy. I thrived on the deadline, spending hours in a coffee shop a few times a month with tunes filling my eardrums, the clicking of my keyboard reminding me that yes, I was accomplishing something worthwhile. Because in my head, if I'm not accomplishing something worthwhile than what am I doing?

Well, when I moved to Cincy I dropped writing for those websites. I dropped a lot of other things too. I used to be the head lector for for the youth and young adult mass at our parish. I trained and scheduled everyone who came through for the last three years. I was a confirmation catechist and youth leader for two different churches my friends worked at. I've lost track of the number of retreats I've served on and could probably give you an extensive review of every retreat site in Southern California. I was on the core team for the diocese and helped plan numerous Theologies on Tap and whatever else they needed assistance with. For the last two years I co-created, budgeted, scheduled, and ran a successful young adult ministry with my best friend. All of this hard work and giving brought me a lot of joy, but it also took its toll. Anyone who has ever served in ministry knows this. I was always "on." There was always someone I had to call back, or please, or listen to. I was tired.

Since being in my new city, I am no longer the person who gives in these ways. At first it was strange. I felt like a part of my identity was missing. I fought an urge to contribute my opinion to everything I saw executed around me. Then, slowly, and suddenly all at once, I sat back. I sat still. I breathed in a sigh of relief, and I just began to receive. I went to mass and listened to the readings without breaking into a sweat when a reader stumbled over all the names in Acts 2:6-11. I attended young adult events without being the person anyone came to when something went off schedule. I joined a Lent group and wasn't the one who planned it. And like a blossom in the springtime, I felt my spirit slowly unfurl.

There's more to this newfound grace of receiving. Because I'm not committed to multiple endeavors I have a lot more time. Time to go to adoration whenever I want (my favorite type of prayer), time to read or write with no agenda, time to just be and do absolutely nothing. And you know what? I don't feel guilty for doing nothing now. The friends that I have made here also constantly amaze me. Their spirits, their humor, their talents, their kindness. I just can't get enough of their presence. My ministry at work to the poor and elderly is so life-giving, and time and time again I receive whatever the Lord wants to tell me through our conversations and visits. I've found that the less busy I am, the more I notice to appreciate. And I appreciate so much. My morning walks to work when the daffodils are blooming, the opportunity to delight over a client who has lived to see another month, friends who will come at the drop of a hat when I need something, make me laugh until I cry, talk with me for hours over something trivial just because we can.

I've been given a great gift this year, and I am not taking it for granted. I recognize it and I thank God for it every day. This chance to be still, to sit back and watch, to learn, to marvel over the beauty and divinity which is in the ordinary, the struggle, and even our own differences; this chance is a welcome change. Hard work is a noble pursuit, ministry will bless you tenfold, but we all need a breather sometimes. This year is my breather, and I cannot tell you how full of new blessings my hands have become now that they're free to hold them.