a bit of comfort

You know what? He hasn't given up, so neither should you. He knows you from beginning to end and still chose to create. You are here. Don't give up on yourself when you are being fought for daily: the saints pray, your mother intercedes, and your God rains constant mercy upon you. A whole army cares for you and loves you and want to see you united with your Creator. Just fight a little longer. Nothing was so worth the effort.

just saying

aesthetic craftsmanship

"I must write down that I am to be an artist. Not in the sense of aesthetic frippery but in the sense of aesthetic craftsmanship ; otherwise I will feel my loneliness continually -- like this today. The word craftsmanship takes care of the work angle & the word aesthetic the truth angle. Angle. It will be a life struggle with no consummation. When something  is finished, it cannot be possessed. Nothing can be possessed but the struggle. All our lives are consumed in possessing struggle but only when the struggle is cherished & directed to a final consummation outside of this life is it of any value. I want to be the best artist it is possible for me to be, under God.

I do not want to be lonely all my life but people make us lonelier by reminding us of God. Dear God please help me to be an artist, please let it lead to You."

- Flannery O'Connor -

Imitation of Yellow

Imitation of Scott Cairn's "Yellow"

She walks as window shopper up and down

the well-paved sidewalk worn by well-paid

shoes. Bright eyes sparkling behind the painted faces that

pass her by creased by worry, wrinkled with joy

no uniform reaction. Unique souls in

conforming bodies. She walks on brushing

shoulder with well-worked shoulder muscle flexed

strained by shopping bag’s heavy weight – a golden calf.

She walks, simply walks, enjoying the act

of being alive. Observing, looking,

breathing in and looking high above this  life,

this place of corruptible joys and goals and

battles. Lazy beams of sun and gentle breeze

contrast with the frantic hurried pace of

shoppers. She smiles. It is going to be

okay. And on she walks between furrowed brows.

motivation&writing

Often times, I feel absolutely no motivation. Some days it's all I can do to drag my lazy self out of bed and just get on with the day. Even once I'm up and about it's still a struggle. 
...But this how I know I'm supposed to write: even when I don't want to get up and deal with the whole " existence thing" I still have the desire on my heart, push, and love of writing. For somebody like me -- who feels numb a majority of the time -- having any such motivation is a huge gift. So how ungrateful is it of me that when I am given a bit of feeling and motivation I still neglect it. I think "Oh, I won't write anything good enough... I don't wanna rework my short story... or poems...or blog...meh"
He has put the desire on my heart to write. It's that simple. And all of the thoughts of not being good enough are clearly wrong. Why would He call me so strongly to something unless I could somehow do it? Hmmm.
It reminds me of some Beartooth lyrics "Give in you know it's your purpose even if you know you'll never deserve it." Yup. Perfect. My pre-med roommate and I talk about this all of the time -- there is so much work involved in living up to our calls. She often wishes she had an easier one, but she knows this is God's plan for her and so nothing else in this world will satisfy her heart so. As for me, I often think "There's no way that He could want me to do X,Y, and Z... no way." But then why has He put the desire with in me? I could never deserve to write beautiful things, but if He will do it through me, let it be done according to Your will.

Personally,

Personally,

Probably the most irritating thing

Is the inability to laugh.

The weights on either end of lips

Disabling smiles

When all the world gives cause for joy

And peace for awhile.

In those moments of crisp air sipped

Through nose as eyes take in 

Untainted beauty

Mind and bones are racked and shook

For appropriate response

Not found.

When soul admits not what the mind declares

Smothered in thickest fog

But oblivious bird

Chirps cheer ‘cross the sky

And the sunflower screams in brilliant yellow

“Have joy, damn it!” 

Humility

 This is a poem of hope. I wrote it one night as I sat before a nativity scene and was struck by my insane amount of pride. I begged to be simple, I begged to have my pride ripped apart so I could be free. And this is what I wrote:

Castle of straw so proudly built,

Work of rotting hand.

Fort of mortals, sheath of bones,

Built upon the sand.

Bar by bar, each hopefully snatched,

Blindly seen as gold,

Now revealed as cruelest steel

By choice was each one mold.

Numb I sit in self-made cage

Lost in easy pain.

Still I write my hope and life,

Blood scrawled across the page:

Rip me to shreds, I beg, I plead

Scourge this frozen corpse

Tear my heart and make me bleed

Shake me by Your force.

Make me small, a sliver of me

So I may freely slip

‘Twixt these bars that cage me here

Into Your loving grip.

solitude&prayer

"The whole value of solitude depends on one's self; it may be a sanctuary or a prison, a haven of repose or a place of punishment, a heaven or a hell, as we ourselves make it."

- John Lubbock -

 "Prayer reveals to the soul the vanity of earthly goods and pleasures. It fills them with light, strength and consolation; and gives them a foretaste of the calm bliss of our heavenly home."

- St. Rose of Viterbo -

I wandered around campus today and found a nice little spot behind the softball field overlooking the highway and the river. I sat down with back and head resting against the metal fence and let my music and the scenery flood my senses. As I pulled out my iPod to switch songs, I saw that it was 3:00. I pulled out my ear buds, put my iPod away, unwrapped my rosary from around my wrist and prayed a divine mercy chaplet. Solitude and prayer, peace and rest. What a perfect escape.

mini retreat

"JK I'll be there in half an hour"
Great. I was already to the JC (our student center) and didn't want to walk back to my dorm across campus just to immediately turn around and come back so I took a left and went to over the Port area. I was planning on going to my usual spot in front of the nativity scene but for some reason I decided to walk a little farther to the stations of the cross. Following the signs with the arrow pointing down the hill "First Station" I walked down the well-worn wooden steps built into the side of the hill. 

I walked. The warm autumn air picked up leaves to dance before me, around me, behind me -- I was walking away from the place of academic buildings and dorms and in to a place of retreat encircled by leaves of brilliant red and yellow. The fallen leaves left space between the trees for the outside world of roads and zooming cars to break through. It did not detract from the serenity of the place but provided comforting contrast -- a place of simplicity and beauty versus the hectic world of industry. I was in a safe place.

Reaching the first station I stopped and took in the image of our Lord being condemned to death.  I was struck again by the individual-ness and personality of it all. It is so easy for me to think "He died for us" but "He died for me"? Me, Liz Knab, the individual? Me? Really? Dang. 
I spend so much time thinking of how to lead others to Good. How to help them reach Him, what arguments could be made, and how to truly, truly love and care for others. I spend so much time worrying about the problem of conversion and praying for others' conversion that I begin to neglect my own relationship with Him. Staring at the image of Him I thought, "I want You for me." and it took me a second to tell myself that it was okay to think that, that I'm not being selfish. Yes, conversion is brilliant and must be done, but how could I ever do it effectively if I don't know Who I'm leading them to? 
I continued to walk the stations, winding my way back up the hill, and sat down in front of the image of Jesus comforting the women (how fitting, I thought) 

I just sat, soaked up the beauty of it all and relaxed.  It was a place of stillness and I was so incredibly grateful. 

humility.

Why do I so often shun hate a lovely expression of my God because it is shown through another person? Lord, please teach me to be humble.

Tonight, a girl from down my hall was in my room singing a song she just wrote. It was gorgeous. She is gorgeous. But my first reaction was to shut it out because of silly ol' envy. Sitting against my door with arms draped across my knees, I watched her and checked myself. I took a breath and actually listened to the words she sung and let myself appreciate the beauty of it all. Her words moved me to prayer and a realization about something I had been struggling with.
Pride does nothing to further our talents, gifts, or lives -- it only keeps us from enjoying the beauty of the variety of expressions of our amazing God. So just sit back, relax, and enjoy the goodness. 

just a comma

"It reads, "And death shall be no more" comma "death, thou shalt die." Nothing but a breath, a comma, separates life from life everlasting. Very simple, really. With the original punctuation restored, Death is no longer something to act out on a stage with exclamation marks. It is a comma. A pause. In this way, the uncompromising way, one learns something from the poem, wouldn't you say? Life, death, soul, God, past, present. Not insuperable barriers. Not semi-colons. Just a comma."

vulnerability&humility

When I keep getting over-stressed, feeling inadequate or angry at myself for all my many, many screw ups and failures, I have to step back, breathe and take the focus off myself. Instead of "I'm sorry I am so weak and am such a failure." I need to acknowledge the weakness in myself and ask for more of Him. Just as praise should be redirected towards Him for the good I do, so should the focus be on Him to fill my weakness. Perpetually beating myself up for my weakness -- proudly claiming I'll fix it on my own -- and not asking for help, will only lead to continual failure. 
The root of my problems can be similarly dealt with. Instead of asking for the love or attention of others, I should ask for the grace to be truly humble -- to be delivered from the desire of being loved and to be content in who and what He gives me. 
Pride is such a sneaky little thing. I am so easily tricked into thinking that I'm being humble when it is really a blinding flare of pride. Keeping my problems inside to the point of self destruction, trying to do things on my own, low-self esteem and the like so often seem to be done from a place of humility but so often it is masked pride. 
A deep vulnerability, methinks, is necessary for true humility. It is probably one of the hardest things to do in this life but we have been given the most incredible, moving, brilliant example in Our Lord as a tiny child. The King of kings Who became the lowest of the low, loving with reckless abandon and keeping nothing for Himself. 
Most beloved Infant, have mercy on us and teach us true humility.

wildflower

...they neither work nor spin but not even Solomon in all of his splendor was clothed as gloriously one of these.

And are you not of more import than a flower? He is taking care. Be close to Him. 

Any glory gained without Him will be nothing in comparison with what He can work through you.

Lapse

I was looking through my drafts on this blog and I found an old poem I had began and never finished.

The darkest of my days, still light me reaches,

The coldest of my nights, warmth 'round me wraps.

The longest, endless road still I do travel 

And into mindless trudge again do lapse.

But broken! Piercing, penetrating light
Snaps me from my slumbering gait.

This way -- not waste nor worthless --

Is precious: My soul will better make.

Writing this poem I tried to get across my own spiritual journey. Often times I numb out and zone out. When I'm broken and upset, His comfort still reaches me but often eventually I slip down into a spiritual dryness. Christ always snaps me back. His love is fierce, piercing and relentless. This life, no matter how awful it may seem, is such a wonderful journey of purgation, training and sanctification. 

Oceans of Ink;

"Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry/ Oceans of ink;"

This statement would be true enough if all that was meant was strict theological writing -- this alone could dry oceans indefinitely. But it is so much more.  Every joy, every smile, every trial one retells with drops of ink reflects Him. Every time one explores the inner workings of his character, he examines a creature who can't help but reveal his Creator. Every story, poem, line, quote or whatever it may be is the smallest of drops in what is the vast, infinite, unquenchable ocean of who He is and what is revealed through His creation. 

(side note, I used pic monkey.com to edit this photo -- such an easy to use site!)

molly mornings

Molly and I walked through the rain of a chilly October morning. We talked, ate our breakfast and drank our coffee before heading to the Port for a 7:30am holy hour where... we are still. We kneel, sit, adore before Eternal Love surrounded by glistening silver and gold, the best we have to offer. We sit, we kneel, we are in awe before the King of kings as a gentle rain patters on the roof then is suddenly swept up by an impatient wind and thrown against the stone walls and the door. We are enclosed. We are secure. With the ever-changing world whirling around outside, we are still before the never changing One.

not just the subculture

We watched this talk (Beyond Just Beautiful Movies) in my Advanced Comp class this morning and -- goodness -- it is perfect. 

She speaks on the necessity of truly good Catholic art. The quality should be worthy of competition in Hollywood and we need to be charged to fight and present our ideas boldly rather than hide away in the "Catholic room" catering only to our Catholic subculture. 

My words cannot justly summarize this talk and so I'd strongly encourage you to watch it. It's one of those talks that really charges me to keep pushing to write with the highest quality, as effectively and as beautifully that I can. 

sicut cervus

"As the deer longs for running waters so my soul longs for You, my God."

-Psalm 42:2-

alone

My pace quickens as I move down the hall. I walk into the adoration chapel to find it completely empty -- we are alone. A huge smile curves up my lips as I walk to the front and knee down before Him, bow down and breathe I love you so much.

magnificat

I was sitting on a couch, working on a paper when my roommate popped in, granola bar in hand and said between bites:
"Do you want to know something cool I do after I receive the Eucharist?"
"Aw! What?" I replied, amused. My roommate is the most adorable creature to walk the earth.
"I say the Magnificat." She paused to swallow and bounced up and down a little bit as she continued, "Because Mary received Jesus and I just received Jesus. My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior for He has looked with favor on his lowly servant. He just gave Himself to me and I get so happy..."

This simple outpouring of love from her gave me such joy. The unconditional, unafraid sharing of somebody's complete love for Christ or His mother is so beautiful and precious and only ever serves to glorify to Beloved. 

Another example is from a different friend of mine. We were sitting and talking and he said "I sometimes ask Mary to hold me because she is my mother and I am her son. When I see somebody else who is really suffering I ask her to hold that person instead and have me take on the pain." That warmed my heart -- especially coming from a guy. 

Our social nature is really brilliant because it allows us to see the various, beautiful ways God works in His children and draws them to Himself. *sigh* He is glorified so much through our social nature. 
 :)