Make Time for a Walk

This morning I made myself get up early.

I had lots to do, and I was ready to forge into the busy day.

I was dressed and almost ready to go, but then I saw my daughter and carpool buddy, Rose, at the top of the steps, still in the clothes she slept in and looking drowsy. “Are you still planning on leaving early?” she asked.

“No,” I answered. “I can work on the computer here.

By then a familiar black dog was at my feet, and I bent over to let her cover my face with kisses. She’s so sweet and loving first thing in the morning, but she quickly reverts to her feisty self. At that moment, though, she melted my heart, and I gave in. “Come on, Ciara, we’ll go for a walk.” And she happily consented.

I attached her leash, and she tore through the front doorway and down some steps, pulling me behind. But then she slowed down to sniff . . . and sniff . . . as we walked down the block. The morning was beautiful, still dark and cool, with only a hint of light changing the sky from black to a deep, soft violet blue.

My plans had changed a bit. I still faced a lot of work, but now I had a moment to pause, relax and breathe in the fresh air. I had a moment to stop and think about my day and invite God into it for help.

I thought about a phone conversation I had the previous week with a noted spiritual writer, Heather King, who frequently contributes to Magnificat magazine and is planning a visit to Omaha. (That’s a great job perk, by the way, talking to people about faith.)

Right off the bat, King told me she doesn’t have a theology degree. She mostly writes about her personal experiences and finds inspiration in ordinary things – like on the walks she takes.

Others, too, have found inspiration in ventures outside, like the main subject of the conversation we had, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, who saw Christ in all of creation – including little wildflowers and even a jam sandwich – King pointed out.

I rarely go on walks alone. I usually have a dog and one or more kids with me, but that doesn’t prevent me from finding God. In fact, it often helps. They lead me to places I never would have gone or to see things I never would have seen (in both the physical journey and in thought) if had I had been by myself.

Walks provide time for conversations. And the young, being so alert, discover treasures – and lessons – I might have missed.

I suppose Ciara is no longer a puppy, but she still has puppy enthusiasm and energy. As we walk she is attentive to everything: a leaf blowing down the street, a person taking out trash, a distant bark.

I guess you just never know, in everything around us, what God might be trying to say at that very moment.

Yes, life is busy. But every day I should make time for a walk.

Inspired by the Year of Faith, Susan Szalewski began writing weekly columns for us. Although that year is over, we liked them so well that we asked her to keep writing. Thankfully, she said yes. So watch for these on Thursdays and see the Year of Faith Blog here.

Little Ones

"Then the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; The calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them." -- Isaiah 11:6 

If you have read any of my previous posts on the parish blog, you may have noticed that I rely heavily on the wisdom of a 6-year-old.

I have eight other children who inspire my faith daily. But when a small child says something profound -- even when he is unaware of what his words imply -- I'm awestruck. God speaks to us through everyone and everything around us, but in a particular way, He speaks through the littlest ones.

Recently, when our family set up our artificial Christmas tree, the aforementioned 6-year-old, David, had a special role. We got off to a bad start because we forgot to assemble the tree starting at the bottom, so it became increasingly awkward, as we worked our way down, trying to get those large branches into their slots. But David, with his agility and proximity to the ground, came to the rescue.

"It's good to be little," he said proudly.

I knew he meant little in the physical sense. But my first thought was of being small spiritually. And yes, in that sense, it is good to be little.

St. Therese of Lisieux, a doctor of the Church, taught us about being little and childlike, about not relying on our own strength but on God, our Heavenly Father. We get a glimpse of St. Therese's "Little Way" from a passage in her autobiography:

"You know, Mother, that I have always wanted to become a saint.

"Unfortunately when I have compared myself with the saints, I have always found that there is the same difference between the saints and me as there is between a mountain whose summit is lost in the clouds and a humble grain of sand trodden underfoot by passersby. Instead of being discouraged, I told myself: God would not make me wish for something impossible and so, in spite of my littleness, I can aim at being a saint. It is impossible for me to grow bigger, so I put up with myself as I am, with all my countless faults. But I will look for some means of going to Heaven by a little way which is very short and very straight, a little way that is quite new. . . . It is Your arms, Jesus, which are the lift to carry me to Heaven. And so there is no need for me to grow up. In fact, just the opposite: I must stay little and become less and less."

At Christmas we remember that our Lord came to us as a poor baby, in perfect submission to His Father's will. Perhaps it was Jesus' way of showing God's preference toward the small, poor and defenseless. And perhaps it was to give us an example, to show us the simplest way back to the Father.

Inspired by the Year of Faith, Susan Szalewski began writing weekly columns for us. Although that year is over, we liked them so well that we asked her to keep writing. Thankfully, she said yes. So watch for these on Thursdays and see the Year of Faith Blog here.

Weeds and Wildflowers

Sometimes God drops little treasures at our feet.

Sometimes literally.

On Monday morning I took our family's dog, Ciara, for a walk in Elmwood Park, where the ground was still wet from the rainy weekend. I glanced ahead to an open green field and saw something beautiful. The morning sun transformed thousands of raindrops into tiny rainbows through the prisms of the drops. It was as if God had tossed handfuls of glistening jewels before us. It was stunning.

Then I noticed something interesting. The field was mostly patches of low-lying weeds with slender blades of grass poking through. The weeds' wide flat leaves cradled the raindrop gems, but the thin verticle grass blades could not contain the drops. 

Then I recalled something St. Therese of Lisieux wrote in her autobiography "Story of a Soul."

"Jesus deigned to teach me this mystery. He set before me the book of nature; I understood how all the flowers He has created are beautiful, how the splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the Lily do not take away the perfume of the little violet or the delightful simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all flowers wanted to be roses, nature would lose her springtime beauty, and  the fields would no longer be decked out with little wild flowers.

"And so it is in the world of souls, Jesus' garden. He willed to create great souls comparable to Lilies and roses, but He has created smaller ones and these must be content to be daisies or violets destined to give joy to God's glances when He looks down at His feet. Perfection consists in doing His will, in being what He wills us to be."

The weeds I saw contained a lesson similar to that of St. Therese's wild flowers. We of this world would prefer manicured grass over weeds. But on Monday morning God chose the lowly weeds to reflect His glorious sunshine. The grass has its place, but so do the weeds, at least in God's Kingdom. It is exactly in their lowliness that the undesirable, the misfits and sinners can sparkle with God's radiant love and glory.

St. Therese says of these souls:

"It is to their hearts that God deigns to lower Himself. These are the wild flowers whose simplicity attracts Him. When coming down in this way, God manifests His infinite grandeur. Just as the sun shines simultaneously on the tall cedars and on each little flower as though it were alone on the earth, so Our Lord is occupied particularly with each soul as though there were no others like it. And just as in nature all the seasons are arranged in such a way as to make the humblest daisy bloom on a set day, in the same way, everything works out for the good of each soul."

St. Therese, the Little Flower, shed even more light on Monday morning's glistening treasure. Thank You, Lord, for Your greatness in everything little.

Inspired by this Year of Faith we will be posting columns like this from Susan Szalewski about exploring and/or deepening our faith. Watch for it on Thursdays and see the Year of Faith Blog here.