This morning I pulled The Long Loneliness off the bookshelf and curled up on the couch without really knowing why.  I'm in the middle of a couple other books and I'm not usually a tandem reading kinda girl.  But this was a morning that called out for Dorothy Day, and who am I to throw the universe out of whack with an act of brazen rebellion?  I complied with the dawn.

Wool blanket over my knees and a baby with the hiccups in my uterus, I skipped two-thirds of the pages and got right to the part I was looking for.  There have been holes in my heart these long months here and I knew I couldn't fill them in a single morning but even just to have the Light touch them for a moment, that would be something.  I read like I was eating, or breathing... pulling the words in, the Spirit in, hungry and wanting.  I sought her companionship like a trusted old friend, and I nodded along as she told me of her love for the Catholic Church and yet of its foreignness too.

{We're not really church people, Dorothy and me.  We've got too much unidentifiable junk under our fingernails.  Is that dirt or is that avocado?  Who even knows?  But she kept showing up anyway, so I know I can do the same.}

She introduced me to Peter Maurin and I sobbed through her words.

"Seeing Christ in others... Greater still, having faith in the Christ in others without being able to see Him.  Blessed is he that believes without seeing."

How I've missed that kind of talk.
Help us,  I begged them.  Help us.

They're long dead and gone but I know they heard because I felt them in the room with me.  Like at the end of Harry Potter, or that one time maybe it happened to you with your grandma?  The veil is so thin, really.


I don't know how to actively love my neighbor here, where the winter wind keeps everyone behind closed doors and as I parent one child who panics to socialize.  I'm lonely- so lonely- yet it's a loneliness that cannot be satiated by the healthy hearts that beat next to me at church, as much as I love them and am thankful for them.  I remain malnourished until I'm with the sick.  

I'm terrified of watching life go by, knowing it wasn't the life I believed in.  But patience in timing has never been my strength and I forget to let the earth's seasons remind me of a greater rhythm.  I need the snow awhile longer.  I need it here to remind me to wait, even if I don't know what I'm waiting for.

Lori Harris is kicking off this beautiful One Thing, Right Now linkup, encouraging readers to share one thing they are doing to love their neighbor in the present.  As you can see, I have no idea what I'm doing.  But writing this post somehow felt like a start.

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Someday, the light will shine like a sun through my skin & they will say, 'what have you done with your life?' & though there are many moments I think I'll remember, in the end, I will be proud to say, I was one of us.

(Brian Andreas, Storypeople)