While I primarily use
Magnificat magazine to pray the Liturgy of the Hours (or at least something similar), I absolutely love their daily meditations.
A few weeks ago, there was a meditation by the late German Benedictine sister Aemiliana Lohr that really got me thinking. It was rather long, so I'll summarize it for you.
When ancient kings went on a journey, they would often spend days at a time on rough, bumpy roads, which was exceedingly uncomfortable. To deal with this, the king's slaves traveled ahead of him, smoothing out all those bumps and clearing obstructions. In this way, the king had an easy path on which to travel.
The cry of John the Baptist is a simple one: "Prepare the way of the Lord! Make straight His paths!"
And that is exactly what we're to do in this Advent season, Sr. Lohr wrote.
Since reading that, an image has stuck with me that I've been unable to shake. Hills and valleys ... that's the way life is on a daily basis. And, too, so it is with my heart.
I thought I knew a fair bit about God -- who He is, what He wants of me. But to my horror, I've learned recently that the image I had of Him was backward. As much as I write here about His mercy and love, I never really embraced it for myself.
Scripture says that mountains will crumble and valleys rise up to meet Him. I see so many of those in myself. So many wounded places. I love my rough edges, but the King can't pass through as long as the way is blocked, right?
I think I'm finally ready to let God be who He wants to be: not my enemy, but my
Healer.
It's already started, and the strides have been unlike anything I've ever experienced in my walk before. It's amazing what can be accomplished if we just
let Him. Like Mary, saying, "Let it be done."
Maybe by Christmas, there will be a place in me for Him.
