Humble Me

Today I spent the afternoon with Future Priest. First, we had some interesting conversation over lunch. Afterwards, I dragged him shopping with me, poor guy. He was civil, though. As we walked from store to store, I told him that the statue of the Virgin Mary that he gave me for my birthday has lost her hands. Sister can be destructive when she's angry with me, and in one fatal swoop, she massacred everything that was on top of my bedroom dresser. Jesus, Buddha, Mary... the whole lot of them. Jesus and Buddha emerged unscathed, but Mary lost her hands. While I was shopping in one store, he excused himself to run an errand. When he came back, we finished up and left.

He coerced me into stopping by his church on the way home. I reluctantly agreed. It was nice, though. We genuflected, we prayed, we lit candles. I loved the statues and stained-glass windows, as usual. It was nice, although I didn't feel the way I did the other time in the smaller chapel. *Shrugs shoulders* I can't account for these feelings, they pop in and out without my consent. Future Priest is convinced that I'll become a Catholic eventually. Just before he left, he gave me another Mary, which was what he left the store for earlier.

After that, I stopped by to visit my Dad. I was only there for about half an hour but for some reason I nearly broke down in his room. I thought about it while I was driving home. A while ago, a friend of mine described me as smart and strong in her blog. Cynic remarked to me, "Smart? Definitely. Strong? Not so much." I asked him what he meant and he said, "How many times did I have to get you through one of your crises?"

I was a little affronted when he said that, but now I think he may have been right. I can admit that. I'm a weak person. This situation has forced me to recognize this in myself. I wonder if some people are stronger than others by nature, or if there's something else to it. Perhaps someone else in my situation would fare better than I am. I don't really know.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, one of my favorite poets of all time, wrote something incredible in her poem "Interim" (the one I quoted in a previous post): "Ah, I am worn out - I am wearied out - It is too much - I am but flesh and blood."

Future Priest and I talked about prayer. I am trying to stop asking for things all the time, but it's very difficult. I tried to do that in the church. "Please help Dad to get better. Please please please." Wait, that's asking for something. Alright, how about this? "Help me to know You better." Oy, that's asking for something too. "Help me to do Your will"? And then I gave up. I suppose I could just tell Him things but all I want to tell Him is that I need help. Maybe that's selfish, or maybe that's what weak people do. But who am I supposed to tell, if not Him?