This is, esentially, part two. My name does not define who I am, nor has my name been related to anyone's expectation of me, except for my own. I was named for my father who named himself for a martyr for Christ. The name (and expectation) I chose for myself was Anne, Mother of Mary. I chose the name for the vocation of motherhood that I was called to even by the age of knowing, by 8th grade. Why did I choose Anne instead of Mary? The idea of raising Mary seemed far less daunting to me than the idea of raising Jesus, is the simple answer. The more complex has to do with calling. Now, all these years later, I wonder if it had to do with being a smaller soul.
Although I will always be a mother, and my boys will always need me to some extent, as I still need my own mother, and the reverse will always be true, too, I have found myself in a transition lately that has caused an examination of self. I've found myself, this past week, realizing that I have forgotten or lost parts of who I am in my efforts to be the best I can be. Finding balance between work, faith and motherhood has caused me to attempt to put these things where they belong. A few things happened this week to remind me that I had the whole thing backwards. For a while now, I've been asking God to be more obvious in his answers to me; to hit me over the head, please. Last week I realized I don't learn that way, so it's not likely that God will do that--He made me to learn the way I learn, and I need to be more patient with myself. Answers come in His time, not mine. I stopped asking that, and kept the question, but tucked it away.
Last week, I attended a training for work. Although I knew the material would be dry, I was looking forward to the class: I love to learn. I found myself zoning out, all but sleeping, far more than I ever have in a class. The class was long, and all I wanted to do was move: stand up, walk, sit on the floor. It didn't take me long to remember I was not made for sitting still, nor was I made for extended focus on only one thing. My mind is its own wanderer, and clarity comes from twisting, turning and backtracking. I felt like my brain was tied to a chair. A friend said, "The active spiritual warrior prays with action." A clue. That night, I told a wise night owl (wiseguy! he'd likely say) that I was working on quieting my mind. The next morning, pouring coffee, I heard my mind say, "Well, I've been told I'm a good listener. But I know I'm not when I'm on the phone; then my mind wanders." Weirdly, this was a major lightbulb moment.
Then the diagnosis of mono and strep throat for one of the boys, some back and forth about how to get work home from school, and a conversation about examples of faith. And two comments that struck a chord that resonated for hours. At the Spiritual Book Club I host at church, a member of the group said that on the drive over, he was praying and thanked God for such a wonderful opportunity to read and discuss. Then later, when I expressed amazement at the questions my children ask me about faith (things I never would have considered at their age), another member of the group said I should see that as proof of my example.
That's when I realized the answer is coming, bit by bit, for me to understand in the way I do best. The first step is for me to find myself again. Not the myself that's easy to find: the worker who will do anything, and has many aptitudes and abilities. I need to get back to the parts of me that I have allowed to become small; the creative part, the jump in part, the mom part, the example part. In my attempts to be a better person, I have forgotten who I am. I've been trying to force stillness on myself in order to make time for my faith, instead of embedding my faith in what I do. In my effort to break down the (self-imposed) barrier between my spiritual life and my secular life, I have been creating new ones. My mindset needs to change slightly to accommodate my growth and my journey--I need to transition from my "life" to my "self" in order to live my faith. I think I once was there, at a time when I didn't feel so pressured to set an example (again, self-imposed). Before our kids were born, I think I lived my faith more. After they were born, I worried that wouldn't be enough. I hope they haven't seen my example as forced, or fake, because it's been real. There's a fullness now that I don't remember feeling before.
The question is not yet answered, and I'm okay with that. The answer, or answers, will come in due time. And until then, I have waiting and praying to do, journeying and guiding, learning, searching and finding. Ecce, here I am.
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