Love is

"...does it sound like I'm thinking straight?"
"Yes. But you're thinking too much."

I've been torn up the past few days: angry, terrified, lost in my thoughts. Not lost the way I get in Genesee County, where if I just pulled over and looked at a map instead of calling home I'd be fine--no, I was truly lost. I didn't have any idea where I was, how I got there or where I was going. I needed to do something, to get out of the house and stop thinking.

It's a bad system: I'm home by myself with my Dostoevsky from when I wake up until when Anne and Mom get home from school. I have to get my reading done but I'm bad at reading and I end up thinking instead. I'd lie on the floor crying and praying for an hour at a time. "Jesus! I don't know what you want me to do. I'm trying to do your will but I'm pretty sure I've screwed up horribly. Is this really the path you want me to follow? Stay with me! I feel like I'm running away from you and I don't want to do that." I was trapped in this and I couldn't get out. I couldn't focus on my reading. A grocery store run helped some, but when I got home I fell right back into it. And thus I got behind on my reading.

I'm anxious to grow up, to get out of the house, to be with people, to get a real job, to get an apartment and pay for it myself. Slow down, Mary. You're still in college. Have patience.

This morning I went to mass and helped my mom with eighth grade graduation practice (sort of). She didn't really have anything for me to do, so she sent me to spread mulch around some of her plants by the school.

While I walked from the church to the school, I finally figured out my problem. I'm willing to give my time, my things, my smile, my ears, my arms, my food, my clothes, even sometimes when I really don't want to. I do a lot of things I don't want to do out of service to other people. But I don't give myself.

How do I give myself?

I buzzed into the office and went to my mom's room to get the mulch. I tucked it onto my hip like a baby and stopped in the hallway.

Art. When I make something, I put my whole self into it. The CD rosary on my ceiling, the St. Michael icon I made for Garrett, the Sir Gawain figure I made for Dr. Jackson and gave to Seth because it ended up looking stupid--I threw my whole self into it, I worked hard and tried some things that might not work. And some of them didn't.

I did a dang good job spreading the mulch. (Even saying that, I run the risk of my mom reading this and thinking "no, she buried the coral bells and put the mulch in the wrong place and now I have to go buy more mulch and take up my own time to go put it where I asked her to.")

This reckless abandon is the way my mother cooks and gardens. "I don't really have any idea what I'm doing," she says (constantly!), but she throws spices into the bowl and nearly all my friends who come over tell me she's an amazing cook.

A few weeks ago, I helped her line a skeletal wire tea kettle with moss. In theory, the moss would allow the tea kettle to hold dirt and we could plant flowers inside and hang it from the shepherd's hook. I finally understood what she meant by "I don't really know what I'm doing." She means exactly that: I don't know, but I'm going to try and see what happens. It might not work. But what the heck. There was a twinge of that "we're not really supposed to be doing this" thrill.

That's the vulnerability of love. "I made this for you. I put my whole heart and soul into it, and I hope you like it. I'm a little nervous because you might not like it. But I love you enough that I'm willing to run that risk."

My mom is so good at this! "Do you want to play rack-o?" She risks that we'll say no (and we often do). "Do you want to go to the dollar store with me to get clay?" "Will you dance?" "Clean your room!"

I suspect that the "obligatory yes" is actually worse than a "no." God gave us the freedom to disobey him in order that we might freely choose to obey him. "I'd love to play rack-o with you" is much better than "fine, I'll play rack-o with you."

Yeah, I remember my mom always telling us to be cheerful. I think I finally get it.

I think my mom is good at this at least partly because she gave birth to five kids. I've never given birth before but it seems to me it's a painful process, and the easiest way to go about it is probably to focus on what you're giving to your child. "I'm not doing this for me--I'm doing this for you, and I really, really hope you're happy." Of course the first thing the baby does is cry.

This part's for you, Jeff--that's something women can do that men can't do. "Don't give me any nonsense about having babies and stuff," you told me, and I'm not. It isn't nonsense. Tell me how difficult it is for a man to be a father (physically). The easiest ways to do it are rape, paying a prostitute, and sweet-talking an easy woman. It is possible for a man to be a father (physically) and not care a bit about his kids. (Good fathers don't do this. Mine loves me a lot.)

It is not possible for a woman to be a mother (physically) and not care about her kids. She can try not to care, she can abuse them and abandon them but she can't honestly not care. She's already put her heart and soul into her kids because of the suffering she's gone through for them, so to abandon her kids is to abandon part of herself, and so it tears her up. (This is why abortion hurts women so bad.)

Dr. Krannawitter said that before no-fault divorce, judges would often rule that the couple can divorce, but the dad gets all the kids--and then the couple wouldn't divorce.

There are a lot of things you men can do that we women can't do or aren't as good at, and Jeff, I'm sure you can list them all. But here's one thing that women are better at: reckless abandon.

Mother Teresa said "It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the doing. It is not how much we give, but how much love we put in the giving."

Okay, think of the enthusiastic amateur knitter who makes sweaters for her husband. That is love! But she must also be willing to accept that maybe he doesn't actually like these sweaters. They probably look awful.

So when I hug you, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that hug.

When I run, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that run--find out how far I really can go, how hard I really can push, go until I actually can't anymore. (I've done this twice.)

When I eat, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that eating.

When I sleep, I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that sleeping.

When I say "no, I don't really want to hold your hand right now," I need to throw my whole heart and soul into that "no."

When I climb the tower, I need to put my whole heart and soul into that climb.

Whether I end up in a convent or community or married to Garrett or married to someone else or hit by a bus, I need to love with that reckless abandon.

Tony told me that in a bible study, Catholic speaker Mark Hart said of prayer: "Love the 'yes.' Hate the 'no.' ABSOLUTELY CAN'T STAND the 'wait.'"

As far as long-term vocation, I'm getting a 'wait.'" So let's think of something to do while we're waiting.

While I'm waiting, I'll practice that reckless abandon.

Maybe you should too.