Giving Everything

Today is the 100th anniversary of the Miracle of the Sun in Fatima.

Miracles. They happen everyday if you choose to see them and if you choose to call them that.

This week has been a long one. With projects, running retreats and meetings popping up every time I turned the corner, I was happy to see Friday finally roll around. Somewhere in the middle of all the running around, I was happy for a few moments of quiet.

On Tuesday I ran a day retreat for the 6th graders at the school I work with. Even though it was tiring, I would not have given up working with those 36 saints to be for a day long nap. I was so impressed with how they support one another and how kind and respectful they are. But the highlight of the day was by far the moment when we went into the Chapel for quiet prayer.

Before we went in, I had one boy come up to me and ask, "Can I kneel in front of the Tabernacle to pray?"

I nodded, "Of course you can."

I had explained to the kids beforehand that I wanted them to experience quiet prayer. I was so impressed by their quiet prayer that I was able to pull out my journal myself, and the only noise I heard was the sound of pages in a Bible turning. At one point I looked up. My eyes were drawn to the Tabernacle where the boy who had asked if he could pray in front of Jesus was kneeling with his eyes shut and a Rosary in his hands. But he wasn't alone. While my eyes were down, six friends had joined him in front of the Tabernacle, on their knees, with Rosaries in their hands. My heart jumped, and I just thought, "Praise God. Thank you so much for allowing me to witness this miracle. Thank you for giving me the faith to recognize that this IS a miracle." Seven energetic 11 and 12-year old boys who live in a world that is full of noise and activity made a choice to take time for quiet, to just be with Jesus.

This week wasn't all perfect. I never expected it to be. It had its own set of frustrations and discouragements. There were times when I found myself asking, "Why? Why do I even bother? Why am I so deficient? Does it even matter? Is my voice even heard?"

Sometime before Mass this morning I heard a voice in my heart say, "If you give everything to Jesus, nothing can be taken away from you."

The message was clear. But what did that even mean? Did I even have anything worth giving to the Father who gave me everything in the first place? I didn't earn any of the gifts he has given me. When I look at my hands, I see things I don't want to hand over -- my shame, my regrets, my anger, my frustration, my sin -- because I think Jesus deserves so much better. And I see things that I think I should be able to keep for myself -- my accomplishments, my successes, my triumphs. But then I realize all the great things I've done weren't even my idea. They all came from God, and they belong in His hands, not mine. And my sin - they actually ARE mine, but Jesus wants to take them anyway. This feeling I get from time to time - this inadequacy - God will take it. All those times I've felt robbed of what I've earned - they're not real. Or at least they don't have to be. Sometime today my prayer went from "What about me?" to "Lord, take it all. May my hands be empty at the end of this day not because I am in need but because I have given everything I have to you. This world can try to take what I have, but they will find that their efforts are in vain when they see that my hands have noting in them. And my hope is that they will still see me whole because that is what happens when we empty our hands into the hands of Jesus. He fills our hearts with his love." This thing, this paradox of emptying ourselves so that he can fill us - I don't think it can be anything short of a miracle.