There is something to be said for slowing things down a bit.  I’m always rushing from here to there.  So much to do, so little time.  Big kids off to school, start the laundry, empty the dishwasher, third kid awakens, 5 rounds of Candy Land, check the phone, check facebook, empty the garbage, load the dishwasher, change the laundry, someone needs to potty, make breakfast, fold the laundry, change our clothes, go to the store, hit the library, go to the post office, check email and facebook in the parking lot, head back home, unpack bags, play barbies, make lunch, fold more laundry, get your shoes on, off to preschool, back home, check email and facebook, grab dog for a walk, do some work, 30 minutes to relax, first kid home from school, walk the dog, preschool pickup, third kid home from school, homework, start making dinner, out the door for evening activities, back home, take showers, read books, bedtime for everyone, five minutes later I’m asleep on the couch.  Rest and repeat the next morning.

WHOA!  Wait a minute!  Can’t we slow it down a little?  At what point during the day did I sit back and appreciate life?  Do I even remember any of it?  How many times did I tell my 3 year old to “hold on a sec” or “just a minute” or “let me just do this really quick” or “I’ll be right back, mommy needs to grab something”?  My life has literally gotten out of control.  My son comes home from school and longs to play 15 minutes of hockey with me, but I’m so worn out from all of the running that I don’t have the energy and I tell him I will later.  Well, later comes and we get busy on something else and I never follow through with my promise. 

My time with my kids is finite, not infinite.  I only have them for a few more years until they leave for college and embark on a life of their own; for my oldest, that is 6 years from now, for my middle, 9 years.  I have them for less time than they have already been on this earth and I am missing out.  These years don’t even include those high school years where they pretty much think they already live on their own, but they sleep under your roof.  My time with my kids is precious and I need to treat it as such.  

What would happen if I left the dishes on the counter and danced with my 3 year old?  What would happen if I put a frozen lasagna in the oven instead of a “from scratch” meal so that I could play hockey with my son?  What would happen if I turned off my phone as soon as my kids were home from school and was truly present for them at every moment?  The world would not stop.  People would still post to Facebook (and I wouldn’t be first to “like” the post).  My laundry would still sit in my dryer waiting for me to fold it (I could just put it on the de-wrinkle setting later to fluff it up a bit).  And you know what else?  I would have one happy son, a middle school aged daughter who I connected with, a three year old who has seen her mom dance like a rock star, and a husband who gets a smile and a kiss when he walks in the door from work.  What could be better than that?  Absolutely nothing. 

When you hear the word tenderness, what comes to mind?  Comforting someone, touching someone’s shoulder when they are feeling down, and being gentle is what I think of.  But tenderness actually requires a great deal of strength in certain situations.  

When we encounter someone with a differing opinion than ours or someone who is acting in a way that we don’t agree with, do we always exercise tenderness in our response?  Are we apt to respond quickly and admonish rather than act with tenderness?  Are we quick to judge rather than understand?

As I reflect on the election season,  I realize tenderness is an area in which I sometimes fail.   I did have some wonderful conversations with people “on the other side” of certain issues.  These conversations, I believe, strengthened those bonds and opened my mind to different views.   However, there are others who I now see I did not always exercise tenderness with.  I have beliefs that drive my actions, but so do others.  Even two people that have been raised by the same parents could have two completely different views simply because they encountered different situations and people in their lives.  

As I see it, there are winners in this election, not the candidates, but those people who can look back on conversations they had with family and friends and admit to themselves that they didn’t exercise tenderness and apologize for those situations.  It takes great strength to be tender.  It takes even greater strength to admit you were wrong and seek forgiveness.  We need to heal from this election and this is a great place to start.

The ability to stop oneself before responding takes incredible inner strength.  Mary, the mother of God, is a great example of someone who always responded with tenderness.  When Jesus was a boy, they traveled to Jerusalem for Passover, after the festival was complete, Mary and Joseph left to return home not realizing that Jesus had stayed behind.  After a day of traveling, they looked for him among his family and friends but could not find him.  Now, imagine Mary’s terror.  Where could Jesus be?  How frantic would you be looking for your child in a great sea of people leaving Jerusalem.  They searched for three days.  After three days, they found him in the temple teaching.  Now, imagine Mary’s response in “our language”, “JESUS!  Where have you been?  You had us worried sick!  Why did you not come with us?  We have been looking everywhere for you!”.  Now, Jesus replies (in today’s language) “Mom, didn’t you know where to look?  Of course I would be in my Father’s house!  Dah.”  Now, imagine you are Mary.  Wouldn’t you just want to shake twelve year old Jesus and tell him “don’t you ever do that again!”.  But instead, Mary responded in tenderness saying nothing and “kept all these things in her heart”.  And again, fast forward 20 years as she is watching her son be scourged, beaten, chastised, spit upon, stripped naked and finally nailed to a cross to die.  Watching her son climb the hill to Calvary, what did she do?  She encountered him, wiped his brow and allowed him to continue, holding all of it in her heart.  She knew he must die to save all of us.  That is tenderness.  That is the strength to look beyond self, humbling oneself for the good of others.  Mary, Mother of God, pray for us that we all may exercise tenderness.

Truth be told, I was terrified to come to Gethsemani and spend 5 days in silence.  Yes, it was scary to think I would be disconnected from my family, but the most terrifying part of it was the silence.  When you are silent, it causes you to look inside your own self.  It causes you to look at your own life and reflect on things you may not want to admit to yourself.  I knew God had many things to reveal to me on this trip, and that terrified me.  There was a part of me that wanted those things revealed, and another part that wanted them to remain buried.  By revealing them, you are forced to make a decision, do I continue the way that I am, or do I attempt to change?

No one likes change.  Change is hard.  Change makes you feel uncomfortable.  Change makes you work.  It makes you constantly revisit conversations or interactions you have during your day to check yourself’ and make sure you are striving toward a different and hopefully better you.  It also requires others to help you along the journey.  People whom you trust to keep you on the righteous path.

I have shed many, many tears this week as different things were revealed to me.  It made me realize, I have come a long way, but I still have many mountains to climb.  

I will miss this place of solitude; the simplicity, the comfort, and the silence.  As I sat in the church this morning, I started thinking about how much I would miss these men; men who I have never spoken to and men that I don’t even know their names.  I have developed a deep love and respect for them.  Many of these men are old, frail, and have been here their whole lives.  They pray fervently every day, seven times a day as a group praising God through the liturgy of the hours.  They are praying for us and for this world.  I can’t even fathom the prayers reaching God’s ears from these holy men.  I can’t imagine the world without them in it.  I am having a hard time imagining my new world without seeing them seven times a day to bring me back to Christ.  This place has left an impression on my soul that will not soon diminish.  

I pray God will continue to work in me and continue to bless me.  I pray for these holy men, that their deep love for Christ will bring them joy and lead to a happy death many years from now.  Thank you Jesus for bringing me here.  Thank you to my family and friends who made it happen.  I am beyond blessed and thankful for this time away.

Life at Gethsemani moves slow.  At first, the slowness of it all is daunting and boring.  However, as your senses start to relax and you become more aware of everything around you, the slowness brings peace.  It is a deep sense of peace.

For years, I have thought praise and worship music at church was necessary.  It gets our bodies moving early in the morning.  It makes our blood start pumping and we walk out of church dancing and singing these fast paced exciting tunes.  It puts a little pep in your step.  Since becoming Catholic, I have felt the need even more.  As I watch the faithful in the pews yawning, barely singing, going through the motions, looking at their watches during the homily, many leaving after receiving the Eucharist, and many more leaving before the priest even leaves the sanctuary; it brings to mind some questions.  Where do they need to go?  Is there something burning in the oven?  Did they leave their iron plugged in?  Why can’t they stay for just a moment and thank God for the glorious gift of his only begotten son?

I thought the answer to these questions would be better more lively music or better homilies that sound more like a motivational speech than deciphering the Gospel, or even locking the people in the sanctuary until they understood what they just encountered at Mass (obviously this would be against fire code).  But this week I came to a greater understanding of just what we are encountering as we enter into Mass.  We are encountering a part of our week where we GET to be with Jesus.  We don’t HAVE to be with Jesus, we GET to be with Jesus.  The best part, we GET to receive him in the Eucharist; body, blood, soul and divinity.  Why should we rush this?  Why should we make the sanctuary loud and more about us than about Him?  

The intention of Mass is for you to enter into a deeper relationship with Jesus.  Can you enter into a deep relationship with anyone when you have to rush a conversation?  Can you really give that person all of your attention when you have to rush out?  Can you really understand them if you just tell stories about yourself rather than study their words?  No, you can’t.

Mass here at Gethsemani is slow.  You enter the sanctuary early to sit in silence and prepare to enter into the most intimate relationship of your life.  When Mass begins, the tune of the hymn is simple but sweet to the ear.  It is sung at a slow pace for you to really enjoy and listen to the words while lifting them to His ear in praise.  Even the responses are said slowly.  The first mass I attended felt strange.  I was done saying the response while the monks were still on the first few words.  Had I really listened to what I was saying?  Had I really understood the words that came out of my mouth and what I was responding to?

As I started to slow my responses and really listen to the words and their meaning, I felt a deep sense of love for the liturgy come over me.  When it came time for the Gloria and the Lord’s Prayer, they were sung.  This was like angelic voices being lifted to heaven.  The slow, intentional voices of men who have dedicated their entire lives to living as Christ lived was like the sweetest choir of angels surrounding our Lord in heaven.  

This way of celebrating Mass goes back to the beginning of the church.  Laypersons didn’t have soccer games, work, grocery shopping, or other places to be.  They came to be with God.  There was no where else they wanted to be.  Their attention was on God and the sacrifice that would be performed during Mass.  They couldn’t wait to receive Jesus into their souls.  To drink him into their being.  To take Him, who is now part of their body, with the grace of God through their week until they came to see, hear, taste, touch, and smell the Holy Mass the next Sunday.  It was the beginning of their week, not the end.  It was the highlight of their week, not an obligation.  It was the gift of eternal life they were seeking, not just checking a box.   

Through this deeper understanding of the Mass, I have come to realize, the slower the better.  Take time to be with Jesus.  Take time to understand why you are there.  Take time to listen and respond with joy for what Jesus has done for you, and take time to praise Him after receiving Him.  There is nothing more important in this life than a slow, intentional relationship with our Lord.  

If we are always busy, how can we hear God?  How can we see God in every part of creation?  How can we smell the wonderful aromas that the air can bring?  How can we touch even the tiniest fraction of this earth?  How can we taste the sweetness of this world?

I have gone through life always keeping busy.  Even when I have a chance to sit and relax, I pop right back up and look for something to do.  I have a problem being still.  But God says “Be still and know that I AM God”.  We need stillness in our lives.  We need stillness to heighten our senses and recognize God in everything we encounter.

Today, I took a walk to see statues representing the Garden of Gethsemani that had been donated by a family whose son, an Episcopalian seminarian, was killed saving a young girl from being shot.  This walk took me through the woods on a path that allowed me to experience God’s beauty in nature.  The leaves have started to fall from the trees and were covering the path.  As I walked, I could hear the rustle and crunching of the leaves beneath my feet.  I imagined this place at all times of the year; lush and green in the summer, wild flowers in bloom in the spring, colors of red, orange, and yellow in the fall, and snow and ice covered in the winter.  This path would always be beautiful in its own way.  

As I continued to walk, I could hear the acorns falling from the trees, squirrels quickly racing from tree to tree, chipmunks scurrying to and fro, the few leaves left on the trees rustling in the breeze, and the sound of water slowly lapping the sides of the pond.  

About ¾ of the way up the hike, there was a very primitive hutch that someone built.  It was a rosary cabin.  Many people had stopped there to pray and to offer their prayer intentions for others to read.  Little slips of torn paper with scribbled notes to our Lord outlining people’s needs for prayer; the death of a loved one, memories of 9-11, sickness, failing kidneys, mental illness, estranged loved ones, financial insecurity, cancer, prayers of thanksgiving and more lined the walls of the cabin.  This was a place of refuge for those seeking God.  

Not much farther up the path, I encountered the statues.  It was as if I was entering the garden itself.  First, I encountered the three disciples sleeping.  This large statue of three men lying together asleep was life sized and beautiful.  I touched one of the men on the head.  I imagined it was the apostle Peter and wept as I told him to “wake up!”, did he not know his Lord was going to his death?  Did he not want to spend the last hours he had with his Lord awake?  I imagined my own life and how I walk through many days “asleep” to God’s call.  I am not listening for Him.  My mind is elsewhere, numb to hearing his word because too many other things are blocking my being able to hear him.

Next, I encounter Jesus.  He is on his knees, head lifted to heaven, his hands covering his eyes, crying out to God for mercy.  “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will.”  Even at the point of death, even knowing what he is facing on the cross, he still abides by His Father’s will.  As I look at this man in such agony, I weep once again.  I imagine being able to comfort him and wrap my arms around him to save him from this agony.  Isn’t this what Jesus is doing for us?  He wants to save us.  He wants to wrap his arms around us and bring us home.  No matter what we have said or done in our lives, he only sees perfection.  He agonized in the garden and suffered the most horrible death for us.  As I felt the tears stream down my face, I sat and prayed for all of those who need prayer and asked God to help me always remember this walk with Him that day.

On my way back down the hill, I was overcome by the sweet smell of evergreen.  I stopped, closed my eyes and took many deep breaths of this amazing aroma.  I asked myself, “When is the last time I stopped and took a deep breath?”.  I honestly couldn’t remember.

During my walk, I encountered Jesus.  I encountered him in all five senses.  First, in seeing God’s beautiful creation, second in hearing the wonderful sounds of the leaves, wind, and animals, third in touching the beautiful statues and imagining God’s presence, fourth in smelling the wonderful aromas God has made available through nature, and lastly by tasting the sweetness of what heaven must be like.  

May we all take moments throughout our lives to breathe, open our eyes and see, reach out to touch others, listen for God’s voice, and strive to taste heaven on earth.  

When you help someone, it gives you a sense of worth and a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.  Whether it is providing a meal for a loved one who just had a baby, giving a homeless man a few dollars, watching a friend’s kids so she can get her hair done, visiting a nursing home, taking food to the food pantry, or just helping your child tie their shoes, it makes you feel good to have provided help.  That’s because we are all made in the image and likeness of God.  God is always there to provide help to anyone who seeks it.  We need to help others because God first helped us.

If we love to help and we receive such joy from it, then why are we so quick to turn it down when it is offered to us?  A friend offers to bring you a meal because your husband is out of town and she knows how difficult it can be to get dinner on the table, but you say “No, it’s OK.  I can do it”.  Or, a friend sees you struggling at dance class and offers to watch your kids so you can get the house cleaned or an errand run, but you say “That is so sweet of you, but it’s OK, I can handle it”.  Or, you are crying after church and someone stops you and asks to pray for you, but you say “I’m sorry, I can’t, we have to get to my child’s soccer game”.  At each of these moments, Jesus was reaching out to you and you were saying “No”.  

We are all called to be like Christ.  Why can’t we let people be Christ to us, just like we are Christ when helping others?  We let our pride get in the way.  We don’t want others to see that we might be “failing” at something.  We have created an image of ourselves that others see as amazing and inspiring, all the while drowning in our own pride.  Imagine saying “Yes!” when someone extends help to you.  Imagine the joy that person will feel by providing someone they love the support they need.  Let yourself be helpless, let yourself be vulnerable, let your pride go and let those around you see that you need help and you need it from them.  It helps others to see that everyone needs help in their lives, everyone needs Jesus.  God created us for one another.  When God sent his only son to this earth, he modeled what our lives should be like.  Helping others, but at the same time receiving help from others.  

Yesterday,  I decided to go for a walk in the woods.  I wanted to see the hermitage Thomas Merton built.  It was about a mile hike along a beautifully wooded path painted with yellow, red, and orange leaves.  A beautiful serene chilly walk that wound through trees and past a lake.

When I arrived at the hermitage, it was beautiful, not in a fancy way but with a simple humble beauty.  I walked in and read the beautiful messages on the walls.  Jesus’ birth, death and resurrection were all represented in that room.  There was a book where you could leave a message of prayer and thanksgiving.  Three full books containing God’s praise.  If you ever had a doubt that God exists, after reading these prayers, you won’t.

When I left the hermitage, I decided to take a different path back to the Abbey.  I had a very simple map to help me find my way.  But the more I walked, the more I realized I was getting deeper into the woods and I started feeling lost.  The more I walked, the more nervous I felt.  I started to get cold and tired and I definitely hadn’t brought the gear I needed for a long hike (in fact I was wearing flip flops, having left my shoes at home).

As the fear crept in, I started doubting the direction I was going.  All of a sudden, in the midst of my worry, I heard a very distinct voice say “Walk with me my child”.  I knew God would guide me on this path.  I kept walking through twists and turns, up and down steep slopes and when more fear would creep in, I would tell myself to trust.  

I followed the path and all of a sudden, I was out of the woods.  The sun came out from behind a cloud and it warmed my face.  I realized at that moment I was standing alone;  a mere blip in the wide expanse of hills and valleys.  One of the most beautiful views I have ever encountered was stretched before me.  God led me here so I could see his beautiful creation in a whole new way.  He led me there so I could bask in his glory.  My ½ hour walk turned into a 2 ½ hour hike, but it was all part of God’s plan.   

Isn’t this how life works?  Life is full of twists and turns, steep hills, deep valleys, feeling lost, cold and worried.  By putting our trust in God, even through our struggles, He will walk with us to find beauty at the end of the journey.