September 16, 2012
Oh, to have a spirit like that of Mother Theresa! I have been reading her biography, Come be my light lately, mulling over the intensity of her life . . . of her love. I long to have such a faith, and such a life. I long to be able to admit openly one’s own darkness of the soul, and to carry right on with selfless service in the midst of it. To wonder, as she writes, “what J will take from me for them since He has already taken all for the sisters. I am ready to accept whatever He gives and to take whatever He takes with a big smile.”
I have nothing of the sort. I have finger-tapping, jittery impatience when it comes to what seems right to me: the work I need to get done, the place I need to be . . . the person I need to be, ironically enough. I long to be saintly in my service, and yet I am infuriatingly impatient in that desire!
So tonight I wanted to be where it seemed right to be. How could it be wrong to want to be singing me heart out in praise? But, once again, the place in which I live makes that a not-to-be longing. I am home. Glad to be finished with a tiring work day, but wishing to be somewhere I am not.
If I had the soul of a Mother Theresa, I would be grateful for the fullness of the day.
I would be content in the little 3-year-olds I had to contort into “criss cross applesauce” positions because they did not speak a lick of English and just smiled broadly and nodded when I attempted any sort of instruction.
I would be thankful for the 7-year olds who got to see themselves today–the completed video of their International Dot Day performance–and who were so clearly ecstatic at the sight of their own singing selves.
I would be glad that I got to dance with a roomful of beautiful women, joining together in a place of refuge from the hardships of life as we know it . . .
So maybe, just maybe, I am glad: the truth is that I relished the escape of that hour, appreciating it intensely for the “dance therapy” that it was for the restless state of my soul. And I couldn’t help but notice that same kite I saw a week ago when, in the same position as today, I was wanting to be somewhere I was not.
That kite is still there, still hanging on. And, Lord willing, so am I.