Searching for my heart's love

Today, I am sharing with you one of the most significant moments of my pilgrimage to Ireland. This was the Saturday of our trip; our second-to-last day in the Emerald Isle. Our pilgrimage included daily Mass, and the members of the pilgrimage took turns sharing the duties of reader. I read the first day (Sunday)...and was asked to read prior to Saturday's Mass. Nearly every other day, I read the readings ahead of time - so that I'd be ready, just in case. I didn't on this day. If I had, I probably would've said no. :) 

...without further ado, my story:

7/22/17

Today, I read.

I'm not in prison; just reading behind the bars separating the chapel from the Benedictine sisters.

It was a very hard reading, especially given the dream I had the night before I left for Ireland. In a soap-opera-like turn of events, Dan had been discovered as not dead, but I'd believed that he was - and had been in the process of "living my life" - when this announcement was made. So, I went to where he was (this strange hospital/school) - but I couldn't get to him. I could hear him, but I couldn't ever get to where he actually was. It was very upsetting.

Today's reading was from the Feast of Mary Magdalene:

A reading from the Song of Songs 3:1-4b: 

The Bride says:
on my bed at night, I sought him whom my heart loves;
I sought him, but I did not find him.
I will rise then and go about the city;
in the streets and crossings I will seek
Him whom my heart loves.
I sought him but I did not find him.
The watchmen came upon me, as they made their rounds of the city:
"Have you seen him whom my heart loves?"
I had hardly left them
when I found him whom my heart loves.

I feel like I have a choice of two things to write about: the deep sorrow in my soul ... or the fact that only in the heart of Jesus do I have any solace or hope of comfort. Our Mass today was said in a Benedictine Priory dedicated to the Perpetual Adoration of the Sacred of Heart of Jesus (Cobh, Ireland).

The Gospel reading was Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene after his resurrection. "Don't cling to me, for I have yet to return to my Father; but, go - and tell my disciples to go on ahead of me - to wait and to pray till I come to them."

Father said Mary, devastated by the loss of the One who had restored her to wholeness, was probably rejoicing that things would be back as they were. As she embraces Jesus, he seems to know that her heart longs for the way things were - and yet, "Behold, He is making all things new." Always.
(it's not a one-and-done, but a constant converstion to the newness.)

So, he gently tells her. He speaks to her heart - and then sends her out with the gospel - "Behold, you (even you) will be my witnesses to the ends of the earth." Go - tell my brothers what you have seen and heard and touched. Go.

So, Mary does.

She does exactly the opposite of Moses (whom we've been hearing about all week). She doesn't question, "Who am I to go?" Mary Magdalene has been transformed by love - and she knows the One who has made her new. She knows she is loved, and she loves him in return.

She doesn't question, "What will I say? Who will I tell them who sent me?" Jesus tells her exactly waht to say and to whom to go. She knows the One who sent her - and she trusts him because He has loved her in a way no one ever has.

I had a moment last night where I think God came to me... I had this vision brighter than I'd ever seen - my eyes were closed, and these images of green and gold - like sunlight through trees - brighter than anything I'd ever seen, passed before me - and I felt like I was in the presence of holiness.

I just wanted to stay in that place; bask in that presence...but I felt prompted to ask for what I wanted.
But I had no idea what to ask for.
I had no idea what my heart wants most.
I didn't fell like I could ask for it - instead just a "I don't know; what do you want for me?
What will you do for me? Do you want me to hope for the things I have before? for motherhood, for marriage? Will you do that for me?"

...and then it was dark and I felt like I'd lost it - like maybe I don't really know His heart for me.


After Mass, three different people told me that the face that I read this particular reading is a sign. But a sign of what? I don't know.

Have I found the One whom my heart loves?

I feel like I'm a "yabbit" here. Yes...but.

Yes, in an amazing, miraculous way I have found more of Jesus in my heartbreak. I am in love with him more now than I was with Dan here. I have a much stronger, more profound, deep knowledge that I am loved - and I trust his heart more for me now than when Dan lived.

I do. I love Jesus more now than a year ago - and I want to love him more. I want more of him. I am no longer afraid of the Holy Spirit living in me - I want that. I want more of Him. More. More. MORE.

But, I still want to love a person. I want to be married. I want a family. I still want those things. I do.

The hardest part of grief is feeling you straddle two worlds. Two lives.
One that feels broken, desolate, a promise dashed.
One that hopes breathes, that lives, that laughs.

Two hearts.

Like today's words: Don't. Go.

I don't know how to live in two worlds. I don't know what my "don't" is...but my soul clings to Hope. My heart has been buoyed by Hope - and my Hope has a name: Jesus.

A view from the backside of the Priory

Now that it's been over 6 months since I penned these words, I see how the Holy Spirit has continued gently leading me through this process of voicing my heart. I can't speak for all Christians, but for me, I have often felt a need for permission to want what I want. Like, it is somehow holier to be all "whatever God, have your way" - when there are desires he's pressed upon us - when he wants to hear us articulate what is on our hearts.

Of course this doesn't mean that I dictate my will to God and expect him to "Magic 8-ball" my requests; but what I am invited to do is to share my hopes and dreams - and ask the One who has loved me with an everlasting love, who has created me, who knows me to have his way in me...while trusting that what he's laid on my heart is good - and that the One who calls me is faithful - and He will do it.

So, what's all that mean, anyway, Jessica? Gah, you've figured me out, self. You know how I like to couch my thoughts. 

What does it mean? Well, I want to be a mom, and I want to be married. I want to be part of a family; I want a family. I do. Those are still desires of my heart...and I want to trust God to provide for me, believing that He will...in His way and His time. It took me awhile to be brave enough to voice it. 

St. Mary Magdalene, pray for us.

I will rise

Today I'm sharing with you "My Moment" from my pilgrimage to Ireland this past summer. There is a lot on my heart as Dan's birthday approaches tomorrow. The last few days have been plagued by the heaviness of grief...and I have need to "hear" from Dan (but haven't). Reading this reminded me of the hope to which I cling...that hope which is a buoy to my soul.

My moment...at Mass today (7/20/17)

Today was the first time I saw Dan's resemblance in someone else.

Today during the Gospel reading, I looked up at Father David - and I saw Dan. His hairline, his nose, his eyes - his resemblance. Now, I've looked at Father for 4 days so far and not once seen him [Dan]...until today. ...and to have the first person you see resemble Dan be a priest? His "dream" job? ...how do you handle that?

My heart - overcome with grief...all I could see and think was how much I missed him. How much I love him...and I was so, so sad. And I cried. and my nose ran. And then, they came with the offering basket...and my purse completely spilled. And, I was so distracted from my grief that I laughed, and that was Dan.

During the Eucharistic Liturgy, I just felt so sad...all the tears. I remember feeling so sad looking out at the beauty behind the altar, wondering how I could long for heaven when my heart hurt so much here - when this pain feels so much more real...and I just invited the Holy Spirit to come, come.

Then I noticed a cow grazing at the foot of the cross. Honestly, it just made me feel sadder.
After receiving Jesus, as I prayed I looked back out at the cross and the sun was lighting up the field with the cattle, and I heard the song, "I Will Rise."

I will rise on eagle's wings, before my God fall on my knees - and rise...

No more sorrow, no more pain - I will rise. I will rise.

No more sorrow. No more pain.

In that moment, I knew. I knew that God was reassuring me Dan was in a far better place. There is a peace that he has come to know - his faith is now his eyes. He will rise.

Photo credit: Emily Holman

As Mass ended, I headed to the pasture to capture this beautiful scene and to worship.

There's a peace I've come to know though my heart and flesh may fail.

There's an anchor for my soul, I can say, "It is well."

Jesus has overcome, and the grave is overwhelmed. 

Victory is won - He is risen from the dead.

I will rise when He calls my name, 

No more sorrow; no more pain. 

I will rise on eagle's wings, 

Before my God fall on my knees - and rise, I will Rise.

There's a day that's drawing near when this darkness breaks to light; 

and the shadows disappear and my faith shall be my eyes.

And I hear the voice of many angels say, "Worthy is the Lamb!"

And I hear the cry of every longing heart, "Worthy is the Lamb!"

 

 

Ireland: Days 3 and 4

Maybe you've wondered why I haven't been blogging for awhile. Well, we're 4 weeks into the school year, so my brain is a bit on auto-pilot. But, also - I've been hung up on wanting to finish documenting my Ireland trip - but, for some reason I've been hung up on Day 4. Thankfully, the iPhone makes really cool compilation videos of your pictures. Without further ado:

This video is "Day 3" also known as July 18.

Day 4, July 19 -

We drove into the beautiful Ring of Kerry,
we went round, round, round -
and Dan's driving, it was scary.
and it turns, turns, turns
the Ring of Kerry...
the Ring of Kerry. 

 The highlights of that day:

I didn't write anything of consequence that day. I can still see it vividly, but as for feelings - as for words...nothing. But, I feel like it was a turning point day.

I didn't write anything because I was busy living. I was consumed with the present. Soaking up the sun - golden on the coast, light illuminating the grass on the hillsides and bringing forth an incandescence.
the purple.
the wind.
the light.

Not pictured:
the laughter of four friends taxiing in and out of Killarney.
the hilarity that never stopped...
the white Laurence Fishbourne and the "randy" American,
the surprise spotting of Nigel on a night off - and his sudden disappearance,
learning the true lesson of "Mind yourself," when narrowly escaping (getting hit by) a coach

Pilgrimage Day 3: the Dingle Peninsula

Featuring the third day of our pilgrimage (July 18), I'll share my journal musings interspersed with pictures of our trek through Dingle - where we met a dolphin, Fungue (foon-gie), who's single.


We are heading to Dingle today. This part (the traveling) is more settled (than County Clare). The hills are really beautiful - like a patchwork of green - with little hedgerows of bushes dividing small tracts of land. The amount of trees here remind me more of Michigan - just not as tall.








There is something about the Irish spirit that I feel like I am trying to discover...
like their secret to endurance,
their commitment to endure,
to press on,
their fidelity to the land,
to each other,
to family and heritage

Part of me wonders if when our people left the land, if they felt like they lost part of themselves - and that is why we see such cases of depression and addiction in Irish families...this yearning, this fighting spirit with nothing to fight for because they've reached a place of freedom...but have left behind all they knew - a deeper part of themselves than they realized....




I think that what I was hoping for was a feeling that I would recover myself...part of my heart, my self that I have lost - a sense of history, of place, of home.

 

And I think that's why what that bartender said last night about me not being a real Irish woman and drinking a half pint hurt so much. Because I was hoping...expecting, like, people to just love me - to welcome me. And instead it was like, you're not one of us. You don't belong in Ireland. Real Irish stay. Real Irish dig in. Real Irish lean into the pain, and they take the hard road.

It makes me wonder how people feel about those who left.

It's like the Prodigal Son -
both sons are hurting -
one longs for home, the other is bitter toward the one who left - neither forget, both hurt...
both are changed by the leaving -
only Reconciliation can heal.
Only humility of spirit,
owning what you are and what you're not,
turning toward home with a humble, open heart -
hoping for a loving reception by your Father -
to be welcomed home.

Lisa (my roommate) and I took a wild ride on Fungue, the dolphin who is single & read to mingle.

If you use the force, you can see the lightsaber in my hand. That middle island is featured in the upcoming Star Wars movie. 

Our group capturing the view

Father David and Mama Sarah

I am not Ireland.


I'm more...and I'm less...
but in my heart is a longing for freedom and for home,
a spirit terrified of being still too long - or forgotten,
but questions my own strength and courage.


We all are feeling our way through,
fumbling forward,
pressing into the future,
but with eyes looking back,
and a heart yearning for home.

Ireland, Day 2: Cliffs of Moher, Burren, and Limerick

Today, we went north of Limerick, first to the Cliffs of Moher and then on a walk in the Burren. The Cliffs are part of the Burren, a protected Arctic landscape. The views were astounding. The Cliffs are 700 feet high, rising out of the Atlantic Ocean and stretching on for 5 miles. We were absolutely gifted with gorgeous clear weather and a high of 75! Literally - once in a lifetime views!

Irish cows grazing RIGHT NEXT to the path, which was right on the edge of the Cliffs. (They were fenced in)

Cow selfie! (can you tell I work for an Animal Science department? I was SO excited to take a cow selfie)

The gorgeous stone fence along the path.

Irish cows are happy cows. How could you not be with this view - and that delicious lime-rich soil?

As we drove along western Ireland, I was really struck by how much the views reminded me of home (southwest Iowa). Rolling hills, rural landscape, the various shades of green and gold...beautiful.

This area of Ireland, County Clare, is home to traditional Irish music. I made a note in my journal that the little fishing village of Doolen has pubs that ALWAYS play traditional Irish music. That day, we were treated to our first Nigel serenade: a traditional Irish song (in Gaelic) about the county fair. (How appropriate as my family at home were gearing up for the fair!)

[Now an interjection for my deep thought of the day]

Why are the Irish [songs] so melancholy?
Such sadness in their music, but their countenance so jovial?

 They know.

"Suffer in this life, Pamela; so you won't have to suffer in the next!" (Pamela's Irish grandmother) 

They let themselves be pierced by life - but,
have found their God in that sorrow,
and that joy effuses out.
...and when they don't, they find solace in drink and song -
and when they do, they remember through song and drink.
Life is short. Enjoy what you can. Find joy where you can.

The Burren: geographical, geological, biological, agricultural, historical natural wonder. Our guide here, Tony, was phenomenal. He was a true Irishmen - poet, scholar, soulful, humorous, serious. To have spent more time with him exploring the land - and we still would just be scraping the surface. Nigel kept referring to this as a "cursed" landscape, which I thought meant very little could grow here. However, upon doing a little research, I discovered the word is karst. I hope you'll forgive me; with the brogue, it's very easy to see the confusion. :)

The limestone bedrock - no topsoil here.

Look! I found Michigan in Ireland!

Our group enraptured by Tony's tales

A side wall of a stone famine house in the Burren. Can you imagine trying to grow anything on that landscape?

The two side walls of the famine house. Can you picture an entire family living in a house that small?

 It was fascinating to listen to Tony speak of the famine. Many of us (Americans) are somewhat familiar with the story because we have familial ties to Ireland. But, there was so much more at work than just "the potato crop went bad 3 years in a row." These little famine houses held an entire family. They burned peat "logs" to keep warm; smoky, hazy fires - and they kept those fires burning through the night. The ventilation was poor; they were limited to the foods they could grow for themselves; they were charged outrageous rents and had to sell nearly everything they grew to stay on the land; their health was poor; they were poor. ...and yet, the more they were crushed, the more they increased and spread.

[connection from the daily Mass readings of the Israelites in Egypt to our pilgrimage] It is fascinating to me - to think of the effect oppression has on the oppressed group: just in terms of numbers. The Israelites grew more numerous than could be counted while in Egypt. The Irish, while oppressed under British rule, numbered 8 million at the time of the famine.

That night, we were on our own in Limerick city. My new friends: Lisa, Clare and Sarah (the mother-daughter duo from IOWA), Emily & Kevin (and their exchange daughter from Spain) and Glen went out for dinner at a pub on the river. While there, we spotted Milton - a man pulled from the audience during our castle dinner. ...and like I would do, at one point later in the evening, happened to yell, "Milton!" and then we just waved. and laughed awkwardly...and then watched him walk outside to his friends and tell them that he was just spotted by people from last night's dinner.

So it is with Jessica.

Musicians - not Milton. I'm not that creepy.

Remember that adorable little half-pint picture from Day 1?

Well, my new friend Clare kept telling me ALL DAY that a half-pint is actually called a "Lady's Pint." Well, now of course I want to be thought of as a lady, and as culturally appropriate, so later in the evening, I went to the bar to order a "Lady's Pint" of Smithwicks Red.

No sooner had the words come out of my mouth then the bartender said, "That's sexist."

Beg pardon? Still trying to win some adorable points, I said, "No...that's sexy."

"NO, that's sexist - because in Ireland, women drink a real f---in' pint."



*hangs head in shame; places tail between legs*  "oh."

Then Clare told him that he hurt my feelings - and he said, "To be a real Irish woman, you're going to have to get thicker skin."

*knife turns. salt pours into wound.*


Now, for a Limerick:

On a Monday night in Limerick,
I encountered a bartender - a bit of prick.
"It's sexist," they say,
"to order a Lady's Pint." Touche.
To be Irish, my skin must grow thick.