This resonated with me so much. I want to write my own response because I have a large family with multiple disabilities, and I am panicked at my ability to support my children. If it were a matter of my own poverty I would do what I love, but with children who will likely never leave the home I have to think in longer financial terms. To what extent does doing what one loves become irresponsible? I pray and God does not give clear answers.
Hey, Zina - apologies for the delay, but yes -- this occurred to me often while writing this piece and actually, this is exactly my point. More often than not, we do what we love even when we have to do other things to support ourselves or take care of others. We do it precisely in the midst of those circumstances -- when it's not easy or convenient and there are larger, practical demands on our time and energy -- because there's a need in us to do it. I read as a middle schooler because I loved it, not because I sought anything from it. Writing is like that now -- I have no ambition for it to give me anything other than myself. Fr. Jacques Philippe writes beautifully about Jesus' crucifixion: "he was put in chains, condemned, led to Calvary, and crucified. But this was a death freely accepted. In his heart was a deep acceptance of what the Father wanted. Jesus remained supremely free in his death because he made it into an offering of love. By his free and loving consent, the life that was taken became a life given." This is connected to what I was trying to say. Right within the circumstances of our lives -- which are the crosses we have been given -- we can freely choose to give, to make an offering of love. It can feel like something has been taken from us when there are other demands, other crosses -- but THAT is the place where we can make an offering of love with our lives. The way we make that offering can take many forms, of course. There's more to say, but I'll stop here before this becomes another essay. Thank you for bringing this up. :)
"Risk is the price of love, and love is the point of life."
Thank you for sharing this guest post. So many gems to mine in this piece. Excited to find those hiding in "The Locust Years"!
This resonated with me so much. I want to write my own response because I have a large family with multiple disabilities, and I am panicked at my ability to support my children. If it were a matter of my own poverty I would do what I love, but with children who will likely never leave the home I have to think in longer financial terms. To what extent does doing what one loves become irresponsible? I pray and God does not give clear answers.
Hey, Zina - apologies for the delay, but yes -- this occurred to me often while writing this piece and actually, this is exactly my point. More often than not, we do what we love even when we have to do other things to support ourselves or take care of others. We do it precisely in the midst of those circumstances -- when it's not easy or convenient and there are larger, practical demands on our time and energy -- because there's a need in us to do it. I read as a middle schooler because I loved it, not because I sought anything from it. Writing is like that now -- I have no ambition for it to give me anything other than myself. Fr. Jacques Philippe writes beautifully about Jesus' crucifixion: "he was put in chains, condemned, led to Calvary, and crucified. But this was a death freely accepted. In his heart was a deep acceptance of what the Father wanted. Jesus remained supremely free in his death because he made it into an offering of love. By his free and loving consent, the life that was taken became a life given." This is connected to what I was trying to say. Right within the circumstances of our lives -- which are the crosses we have been given -- we can freely choose to give, to make an offering of love. It can feel like something has been taken from us when there are other demands, other crosses -- but THAT is the place where we can make an offering of love with our lives. The way we make that offering can take many forms, of course. There's more to say, but I'll stop here before this becomes another essay. Thank you for bringing this up. :)