Year of Faith... and so it begins

Image from Diocese of Down and Connor, Ireland.
Used with permission from the
Catholic Communication
Office of the Irish Bishops' Conference.
 

We are about to begin the Year of Faith.

For the Bosserts, it will probably be a year of great change. There is a very real possibility that we will be moving before the Year of Faith is over.

Not a move across town.

Not a move to a bigger house.

Not even a move to down-size.

A move away from family and friends and school and parish and everything that we know. A move out of state. A move out of the Midwest.

We don't know anything for certain yet. A fitting beginning for the Year of Faith.

We don't know if we will move. We don't know when we will move. We don't know where (exactly) we will move.

I don't know what I will do. Will I teach? Will I write? Will I speak? Will I go back to school? Will I be a stay-at-home mom?

Will I have too much time on my hands or will it be a lot like my life here. More to do than I can possibly get done - except by the grace of God.

Welcome to the Year of Faith. And so it begins...

I think women are good at this "not knowing" - it's kind of like being open to life. One little plus or minus sign means that everything is about to change.

I can do this faith thing. I don't give myself enough credit. It's all wrapped up in one word. Yes. May it be done unto me according to your word.

Spiritual pregnancy. Women get it intuitively.

I think I will throw myself into this Year of Faith. No holds barred. Yours, oh Lord, without reservation.

Yes, Blessed Mother, I'll do whatever He tells me to do.

Who knows what might happen - everything, anything -  from nothing, to a change of venue, to a change of purpose, to a change of heart.

Faith is exciting. Anything can happen when we decide to abandon everything to Divine Providence.

Welcome to the Year of Faith.

Buckle up.

You are about to give birth to Mystery.

Year of Faith... and so it begins

I need a reminder to trust. . .

Sometimes, I have to be reminded of something I already thought I knew. I wrote an article last year that talked about drawing the world the way we would like it to be - as Harold with his purple crayon - or trusting that God was "drawing" all things well.

It's hard to remember that. . . when close relatives are diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, lymphoma, and ovarian cancer.

Three relatives in only a few months. It's hard to cling to trust and hope and faith. It sort of makes one want to pick up a purple crayon. And yet, this is where faith becomes real. . .

The article below ran in a number of diocesan papers. I reprint it here for my good - and maybe for your good as well.

I need a reminder to trust. . .