Blessed Addiction

by Natalie Plumb

 

 

Just pray.

Love spoke.  At first it whispered, its cursive echoing off the pages.  Trembles of sound tickling the eardrum and giving life to the eyes.  The crescendo of our united voices overcame me.  I let it all go.  Every fear, every strife.  All worry, all hatred.  Go.  Leave only peace.  And as we sang, we prayed. 

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes

I am yours… and you are mine

I get this feeling, this urge deep inside.  It grows and never really goes away and the funny thing is that the more you quench it, the more of an urge it becomes.  A blessed addiction.

You can be doing it without realizing it at all.  But when you do consciously take advantage of that silence in between classes, walking around amidst the essence of roses, the beat of your tappers on pavement in sync with your heart’s own song, you feel something.  An explicable ecstasy.  And this you cannot ignore.

You find yourself running to that silence, that scent, that beat, only to find that familiar place somewhere within.

When you say certain words, your vocal chords tremble.  They intonate what you feel and you hear what you felt.  Your subconscious is sweating.

Emotions pass in this life.  They come and go.  But not this feeling.  It is unique.  It comes from non-earthly being.  So that even in the most desperate of situations, it perseveres.       Waking up in the morning to rays trickling, raining down on my peach-red cheeks and stuffy nose — it perseveres.  I let the light entice my lids and caress my skin.  I breathe in the warmth.  And with that breath, I heave out all worry, all sorrow, all discomfort, all pain.  I give it to God.

God… take it.  Take me. 

I spoke the words that Saint Ignatius of Loyola spoke many a day of his blessed life: 

Take Lord,

Take my liberty,

Take my memory,

Take my understanding and my entire will.

Take whatever I am and have.

You have given it all to me, now I give it all back to you.  Do with it whatever you wish.  Give me only your love and your grace;

With these I am rich enough and desire nothing more.

My heart pounding, my mind racing, my soul fleeing, my being…

yours… and you are mine

Without God I am nothing.  And without me God is God.  No one could make me happier.  Nothing more do I need.                 

~~~~~~~~

I am praying right now as I write this that you will feel what I feel through these words.  That as your eyes wander over these curious shapes of resemblance, you will hear no voice but His.

It is a curious thing, prayer.  It is everywhere, in everything.  You cannot escape it.  You pray as you accept a gift, even more so as you give a gift.  You pray when you smell the lilacs and gaze upon their beauty in awe.  You pray when you leap for joy as the net goes swish and the buzzer sounds and the winning team is switched to yours.  You pray.  I pray.  It is my ecstasy.

The waltz hums, brush, step, step, brush, step, step.  Painting a picture with your toes.  The outline is the technique, the innards your movement, the color your soul—the dance entering your being.  The song its counterpart.  The whole, a prayer.

All is forgotten.

His mercy engulfs me.  And cleanliness tingles.

White as snow.  You are white as snow.

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me to see the beauty in the world through my own eyes

I see that God is working through me and that His love is divine; and I see the beauty of the world through a child’s eyes 

I am yours… and you are forever mine 

To pray without ceasing.  “To love not a perfect person, but to love an imperfect person perfectly” is to love purely, to honor God, and to pray.  Just pray.