Month: July 2020

The lot marked out for me is my delight. This was a passage from Psalm 16 that was written on a piece of paper given to me in a meeting around the year 1996.

For the past almost twenty-five years, this simple verse of scripture has kept me wondering about the mystery of life, the wonder of choosing one’s stance toward life’s events that can bring both joy and pain.

How can we find delight in situations that have been “marked out for us”?

How can we find our joy in forsaking our own way in order to delight in what we end up with in the seemingly random events that direct the outcome of who we are and what we have in life?

In other words, how can we be happy being the clay, when our frightened grasping selves would be happier, we presume, if we were ourselves were the potter?

The image of the potter and the potter’s wheel appears through scripture, an apt and beautiful expression of God’s faithful, tender, loving action in our lives.

When Jeremiah went down to the potter’s house, what did he see? The ancient potter would scrape the clay from the earth, and throwing it on the ground would trample on it. He would soften the brittle and resistant clay with water and knead it until it softened into a paste. This kneaded clay would be slapped firmly onto the center of his potter’s wheel, which was a flat disk mounted on a rod. By holding the clay as the wheel turned and manipulating it with his fingers and palms, the potter would transform the lump of clay into a vessel, any vessel of his choosing.

We are the clay, not the pot but the clay. In process. Being formed, shaped, reformed,  transformed.

If we are the clay under the expert work of the divine Potter, we can be sure that he intends to do something with us and in us. We are beautiful to him. We have a purpose. We have a meaning in life that brings him joy. We are a part of his great plan.

Life’s sorrows and burdens are the trampling that brings forth the tears that soften the clay. Even the moments of pain are part of the process of becoming.

The clay has no idea what the Potter is trying to create. It yields itself completely to the expert and loving kneading of the One who envisions for it the fullness of life.

After the clay has been pushed and prodded and pulled and shaped on the potter’s wheel, it was baked in a kiln, a special furnace that might easily reach 2700°F. Different types of pots require different types of heat. The divine Potter, like any good potter, doesn’t arbitrarily submit the clay pot to a degree of heat that is beyond the endurance of the vessel. No vessel receives more heat than it needs. The most beautiful clay pots require the greatest heat. The most beautiful souls are often those who have suffered the most and have become kind, gentle, and courageously loving in the process.

The divine Potter never gives up on the clay. He is endlessly inventive and creative.

When I think of how solicitously the divine Potter has bent over me as he transforms my life into the beautiful life he has had in mind for me from all eternity, I can absolutely cry out, “The lot marked out for me is my delight.”

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Mary is so humble, anointing Jesus’ feet. Mary is so contemplative. “We should all be like Mary,” I say to myself as I skim the Gospel at rapid speed while listening to a podcast and putting my son’s toys away for the 1000x time today.  I catch myself judging Martha. Doesn’t she realize Jesus is just sitting there, waiting to spend time with her?

Oh. wait. Reality check. When was the last time I chose “the better part” like Mary?

To-do lists. Deadlines. Self-inflicted doubts. Unmet expectations. Comparisons. These false priorities consume 99/9% of my waking thoughts.

I have always been a do-er. I am not one of those people who can sit around all morning, sipping tea with a good book and avocado toast. (Much to the dismay of my husband, who can do this all day!) I thrive in a go-go-go environment. Give me a triple shot of espresso over ice and 10 errands to run and I am SET.

I even find it a struggle to quiet my mind and just sit with our Lord in Adoration. I have to fight the tendency to talk at God the whole time. In silence, my mind wanders every which way. So I often resign myself to praying memorized prayers.

So then I find myself defending Martha because I see so much of myself in her! Poor Martha. So misunderstood. As the oldest of 4 girls, I can definitely attest to similarly tattling on a sister who is sitting on the couch while I cook dinner. I’m so preoccupied with serving everyone. Meeting very present needs, but often too frazzled for my own good.

In learning more about myself through prayer and self-reflection, I have come to peace with the fact that resting is just something that will never come easy for me. I have to actively seek opportunities to hone the art of resting. Furthermore, I have to fight the lie that Satan has fed me for years that resting = laziness.

Our society today idolizes busy-ness, to the point that, when asked how we are, “busy” becomes a valid response. We are all so “busy” doing nothing worthwhile, that, as a result, we are unable to be present to anyone. We have lost the art of leisure. I am talking about true leisure, not scrolling through Instagram for 2 hours (although, sometimes, that is necessary).

But, the great paradox here is that we cannot have Mary without Martha. We cannot appreciate leisure without also understanding the value of hard work. The all-too-familiar passage from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 reminds us that “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” It is up to us to discern what season we are called to live in, in every moment.

2-day old dishes in the sink? Maybe not the best time to kick my feet up and binge Netflix.

Our Lord in my living room, waiting to converse with me? I better drop that sponge and sprint to His feet.

That is what being a Mary in a Martha world looks like.

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