Category: Personal Reflection

Catholicism, Faith, Hope, Jesus, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Saints, Scripture

The Heart of Jesus – Pt 2

Carrie Sue Barnes

Thirty minutes ago, I decided to do a little writing. My ancient laptop takes several minutes to turn on and load up before I can open the browser, then another few minutes to load the website and move from link to link to reach this page where I can type up this post. So, I pressed the power button and walked away to retrieve my notebook from downstairs. As I reached the living room, I figured I had plenty of time to finish putting away the clean dishes which for some reason I’d only halfway done before my shower. In putting said dishes in their cupboard homes, I noticed how badly the trays in the silverware drawer needed to be washed. So I emptied those trays, made some soapy water in the sink, and washed them up. Next, I thought I really should comb out my hair since it was wrapped in a towel atop my head. My hair combed, I remembered my notebook still stowed in a bag in the living room. Reaching that room yet again, I noticed how hungry I felt as the noon hour approached. I thought I ought to have a snack or I’d end up with a headache as I so often do. Selecting something from the pantry, I headed back upstairs and promptly remembered my notebook again.

Now, here I sit. My dishes put away, silverware trays washed, hair combed, a bag of trail mix sitting beside that finally retrieved notebook, and my brain scrambling to recall the thoughts that prompted me to write in the first place.

Oh, how the fallenness inside me feeds on distraction. How busy the enemy of our souls prefers to keep us. I had a single thought on the goodness of the heart of God, followed by a thought of sharing that truth with you, and that enemy knew exactly what to do. Distract! Detour! Show her all the lesser matters that could have her attention, and convince her they deserve to have it!

No thanks to me and all thanks to the Holy Spirit, I do remember what prompted the urge to write though. It was a compilation of thoughts that have accumulated for three months now. Ever since the church’s celebration of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in late June, I keep returning to these matters. On that mid-summer morning, I sat down to read the scripture passages for Mass and found myself surprised and a little perplexed. I expected straightforward verses on the love of God, or perhaps on the nature of love itself.

God is love. Love is patient. Love is kind. Faith, hope, and love remain, and the greatest of these is love. For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. All of these seemed obvious choices for the day’s readings. Instead I found a theme I did not predict: the Good Shepherd.

The first reading was from Ezekiel 34. While I have long been familiar with and fond of the Gospel passages about Jesus as the Good Shepherd, I tend to forget that His claim on that title was a direct fulfillment of God’s portrayal of Himself in the Old Testament. It is a portrayal of both tenderness and leadership.

I myself will look after and tend my sheep…. I will rescue them from every place where they were scattered when it was cloudy and dark…. I will lead them…. I will bring them back… and pasture them…. I myself will give them rest, says the Lord God. The lost I will seek out, the strayed I will bring back, the injured I will bind up, the sick I will heal, but the sleek and the strong I will destroy, shepherding them rightly (Ezekiel 34:11-16, edited).

This is not a distant, aloof God. This is a dedicated, leading, determined, caring God. And this is the same God who spoke in that day’s gospel passage, inviting the citizens of heaven to rejoice with Him over the repentance and restoration of a single one of His beloved flock (Luke 15:6-7).

The Sacred Heart of Jesus, the seat of His love and mercy, is the heart of a shepherd – of the Good Shepherd.

A couple weeks ago, we celebrated a beloved saint, St. Pio of Pietrelcina, mostly known as Padre Pio. He spoke countless wise words in his lifetime and one of my favorite quotes is a favorite of many: “Pray, hope, and don’t worry. Worry is useless. Our merciful Lord will listen to your prayer.” I imagine that if Padre Pio shared such advice with any of the men and women who sat before him during the up to 10 hours of daily confessions he used to hear, many of them would have asked ” how?” How do we not worry? How is that possible?

When I asked that question myself in prayer, the Spirit whispered immediately, “Because you are cared for by a shepherd with a perfect heart of love.”

A shepherd does not let his sheep wander where harm awaits them. He provides boundaries that do not restrict but rather clarify where they are provided for and safe. When his sheep do stray, he does not write them off and abandon them. He seeks them out. He combats the peril they’ve walked into and restores them to where they belong. The shepherd keeps watch. The sheep do not need to worry. They need only remain in the presence of their shepherd.

Do not worry. The One who watches over you never sleeps. (Psalm 121:3-4) Do not be afraid. The Lord who loves you is your rock, fortress, refuge, and shield. (Psalm 18:2) Cast aside anxiety and undue stress. He leads you to rest and restoration. (Psalm 23:2-3)

Do not worry. You are loved and led by the Good Shepherd.

Catholicism, Faith, Holiness, Jesus, Love, Personal Reflection, Prayer

The Heart of Jesus – Pt 1

Carrie Sue Barnes

By human understanding and language, the heart is the seat of love. It is the place from which comes goodness and virtue. When we speak passionately or honestly, we are speaking from the heart. When we love someone to a particularly high degree, we give them our hearts and it is considered the most valuable gift one can offer another.

Jesus, fully God and fully human, loves us with divine love from his human heart. In the Sacred Heart – our ancient and holy title for the seat of our savior’s love – resides his perpetual care and desire for us, as well as his glorious character. All virtues and fruits of life, all in which we could seek to grow in our own hearts, exist in perfection and fullness in the Lord’s heart. Be it courage, wisdom, generosity, understanding, honesty, strength, or any other trait we might pursue, it flows from the bottomless well of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Great and wondrous, selfless and sacrificial, God’s remarkable love is offered by way of his heart. As a groom offers himself to a bride at the marriage altar, and the bride matches him in return, Jesus holds his heart out to us. He offers his wholehearted devotion, his mercy, his protection – all that makes up his love – by giving us his beautiful heart.

He invites us to match him in the offering. We cannot match Jesus in the perfection and fullness, yet that does not lessen his desire to receive our hearts, our devotion, and our love.

These realities course through my thoughts as I sit before an image of Jesus. It is a mere copy of a lovely old painting; one artist’s imagining of the gentle, solicitous expression of our savior offering his love to us in the symbolic seat of that love. His heart, radiant with light and wrapped in the crown of thorns worn when he died for us, is held out in invitation. Take it, he whispers to my soul. I am yours and you are mine, if you so choose.

The Sacred Heart of Jesus by Pompeo Batoni, 1767
Personal Reflection, The Hidden Legacy, Writing

From Scratch

Carrie Sue Barnes

There’s a longing in my spirit to write. Let me be specific. I long to write consistently, fruitfully, confidently, and readily. Each of these descriptors that applied to my writing life now feels lost. When I think of how it used to be, how easily I could sit down with a pen and a notebook and write, it feels like a devastating defeat to be where I am now. It feels like I am nowhere.

How often what is felt is not the whole truth. Sometimes it is not the truth at all.

Now I find myself seemingly even more fixed in this low spot. The publisher of my novel is closing its doors. The wonderful couple who founded and ran the company are retiring and they are not seeking new ownership or leadership. Simply put, this means The Hidden Legacy will become an out-of-print book. I will use a significant portion of my savings to purchase copies so I can continue to promote and sell it myself. That will be the end of them though. The rights to the original manuscript will revert to me, giving me the opportunity to seek a new publisher or self-publish it.

When I received this news last week, the defeat felt solidified. No matter how full I am of the discouragement that has accumulated over the last five years though, the ache to write never leaves. I carry an enduring certainty that it is a key piece of the person God designed when He created me. The desire to create via the written word, and the joy that sparks into little flames on the rare occasions I do write; these have not left me. The entire situation would be easier by a longshot if I were free of that pull inside me.

It is painful, to be frank. But if the struggle is painful, how much worse it would be to wave the white flag. The resignation, the acceptance of defeat as a writer, is a darkness I refuse to step into. I live with it hovering in my presence and I am in a constant fight to keep my back to it.

With some darknesses, the only way through is through. That was the case with the griefs that took me into these dry years. That is the case with the restoration the Lord is working in me. The temptation is to wait out this darkness and dryness, counting on the ease and inspiration to eventually return. That is the temptation, yes, but it is the opposite of the Lord’s prompting each time I take it to prayer.

I will count on consistency. I will count on discipline and accountability. I will count on trust. I will count on God’s promises to fulfill the desires He has written on our hearts. I will count on Him bearing fruit where I no longer know how to bear it.

Why share this here? Why is this anything other than a personal journal entry? I suppose it’s because I’m tired of meeting every “Are you still writing?” inquiry with a shrug, a false half-smile, and “Yeah, it’s just going slowly.” Oh, the countless times I’ve had that exact exchange! Always with the temptation to instead say, “No, I’ve failed at that. It’s done.” Always with my mind packed full of discouraging words of disappointment in myself. I come away from that exchange every single time feeling like a liar; like I’ve misled the person and eventually they will discover the deception. That is why I’m putting these sentences here instead of in my journal. There is no deception here. No misleading. Only honesty and open admission of the realness of where I am as a writer.

Starting from scratch then, here I am. I refuse to put away the pen. May the Lord bring what He will from it.

Catholicism, Faith, Good Friday, Holiness, Hope, Jesus, Lent, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Scripture

The Good of That Friday

Carrie Sue Barnes

My sins are nailed on the cross with my Jesus.

My mistakes.

My failures.

My shortcomings.

My selfishness.

My self-loathing.

My rejections.

My punishments.

My shame.

They are nailed to the cross in the hands of Jesus and thus I can no longer hold them in mine.

With the repentant criminal beside him, I plead “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom,” and he assures me that he does. He remembers me. He remembers the me known by the Father even before I was formed in my mother’s womb, stripped of the sins that mar that creation. With his arms spread on the bloody cross, he moves my sin and shame away from me, as far as east is from west.

This is the redemption of Christ. This is the good of that incredible, unmerited Friday.

Faith, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Scripture

The Two Faces of Still

Carrie Sue Barnes

I have spent what feels like plenty of time growing my knowledge of the effects of trauma, the stages of healing from it, and the gentle patience required to do so. No matter the amount of understanding though, there are days when it all seems to be taking too long. How can these things of the past still weigh so heavily? How do they still influence my emotions as often as they do? Why am I still discovering what sets off my trauma responses?

Still, still, still.

“It’s taking too long, Lord!” I have cried out on more than one occasion.

In those instances, He patiently reminds me that the time spent healing is still small; still disproportionate to the years spent on the receiving end of the relevant experiences. My therapist’s words repeat in my mind, “It’s still early.”

Still, still, still.

How tremendously often that word arises. It happened again last night. I was caught up in the undesirable realities that linger. I am still not writing with any ease. I am still fearful of connection and relationship. I still can’t fall asleep many nights. I still succumb to overwhelm in the face of trauma-triggering circumstances.

“It’s still taking too long, Lord!”

This morning, God invited me to push back and flip that word around. He nudged me to claim it for better things.

“The Lord will fight for you; and you have only to be still” (Exodus 14:14, RSV).

“Be still, and know that I am God; I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth!” (Psalm 46:10, RSV).

“He awoke and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Peace! Be still!’ And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm” (Mark 4:39, RSV).

“Now therefore, stand still and see this great thing which the Lord will do before your eyes” (1 Samuel 12:16, RSV).

How different “still” can be from one meaning to the next. I wrestle with all that I strive to release and from which I long to be free. God instructs and invites me, even commands me, to be still.

Me. The storms. The discontent, the fighting, and the fear. Be still.

One detail I note from those verses and others is the stillness occurs in the presence of the Lord as well as right in the circumstances requiring His grace. Amongst the waves and in the thick of the waiting, when what lies ahead remains unknown, and in the face of the fight at hand, I can come before Him and be still.

Be still. God is present.

Be still. God fights.

Be still. God calms.

Be still. God restores.

Be still. God reigns.

Photo by Carrie Sue Barnes
Intentionality, Personal Reflection, Writing

Day One – Shake It Off

Carrie Sue Barnes

Today is day one. I’m rededicating myself to daily time spent on the work of writing. I am still trying to break through the writer’s block and bring back that fondly remembered flow when I set my mind to writing. Making it a non-negotiable piece of daily life has been the goal for a long while and the Lord has nudged me in recent weeks to recognize that I’m ready.

In the realm of the obvious, the one thing I know will help the matter is actually sitting down at my desk with my work. I know this just as certainly as I know procrastinating out of fear will not help the matter.

Today ought to be day three but yesterday the avoidance got the best of me. So, day one it is, again. The avoidance gave a strong effort at derailing me today too. In fact, I even played my saxophone for the first time months. Did I really want to play my saxophone? Not especially. There have been other days I wanted to play my saxophone, but today it was all about procrastination. I played for half an hour before I asked myself what the heck I was doing, and put the instrument away. I pulled out my notebook and queued up a Bach playlist exactly as I used to do. As it was long enough since I worked on the novel that I couldn’t jump back in without some rereading, I decided to type and revise the chapters written many months ago. It seemed like the best chance at productivity.

And it was! I typed and edited and rewrote sentences. I added dialogue and tightened up descriptions. A familiar satisfaction settled into my chest. I can still do this! It’s not gone! With each paragraph, my confidence solidified. It became easier to believe in a payoff to the months of patience while I waited for my mind and emotions to regain the capacity for creativity — something of which I have worked at convincing myself for a painfully long time. I am not defeated.

Two hours and one and a half chapters into the happy task, Microsoft Word closed itself down in the middle of supposedly saving my progress. I might as well have heard a maniacal laugh coming from the computer as I stared at the screen in disbelief. With great haste, I reopened the draft. Word launched like it didn’t have a clue what disaster it had just wrought; not a restored file in sight.

Gone. All of it.

I stared a little longer, hovering between the options of tears, anger, or laughter. I chose laughter. Sad, shaking-my-head laughter. Thankfully, I had a spark of clarity that no matter what, I had to redo my work. Being angry or crying over that discouraging reality would not make it less real, and might even make me less likely to get back at it again. It had taken so much to get to this point of writing with any sort of flow or steadiness for more than a few minutes. I couldn’t concede the progress I’d accomplished in those two hours.

I would not concede it.

Instead, I walked away from my desk. I poured a glass of wine, switched over to my favorite confidence inducing playlist, and danced around my kitchen. In between each song, I felt all the feels of disappointment, then shook it off a little more with the next tune. When the shaking off was adequate, I cooked dinner and read a few chapters of a book.

Today was a victory; a bittersweet victory. I’ll take it and celebrate. I’ll also shake it off and move on to day two, which I suspect will feel laughably similar to day one.

Personal Reflection, Writing

Write This Down

Carrie Sue Barnes

I’ve spent over a year consciously choosing gentleness and patience with myself. I’ve poured myself into healing. For a while, it felt like wound care, and still occasionally does. Mostly it feels like rebuilding now. I feel like a puzzle, and I happen to love puzzles. But I feel like a puzzle with entire sections missing. I have the picture. I know what goes there. I know what’s missing. The pieces are scattered and hidden and broken. The analogy breaks down a bit here, because although the pieces can be found, putting them back in looks much more like growing them back rather than a simple click into place. Plus, the pieces will never grow back the same and I must accept that.

These were musings in a conversation with myself. I have many such conversations through the hours, and today the dialogue in my head focused on the multiple years of writer’s block. I sit here thinking once again about this healing process, wondering when the Writing piece will grow back, and inevitably wondering if it can.

What if that piece doesn’t grow back? What if the rest of it takes too much of me and I can’t put that piece back in?

At an obnoxious volume, these questions cut in on my other thoughts. It was immediately followed by a calm voice.

“Write this down.”

So, I am. I came here with both determination and tears. I opened a blank post and started typing because the only way for the writing not to be gone is if I am writing. It took eight minutes just to write the first two sentences, and I’m still displeased with them. There is no flow or rhythm as I type these words. It is nothing like how I know writing to feel. But I’m writing, so I’ll take it.

Because, what if it’s gone? The possibility is relatively new to my mind. Only in recent months have I started to doubt, and think in terms of “if” instead of “when.” I ache to write a story. Knowing why I have writer’s block does not save me from the frustrated sadness of it. I miss the thrill of turning a snippet of an idea into a short tale. I miss meeting new characters and creating adventures for them. I miss the joy. I miss the way my whole self is engaged and enlivened as a story flows onto my paper. Writing now, if any words come at all, feels awkward and unfamiliar.

It’s that calm, quite voice that keeps me going. It’s the only one that can tune out the loud discouragement.

“Write it down.”

The Lord doesn’t give up on me. Never. Maybe I can’t grow back the Writing piece. He can grow it back, though. He can grow it anew.

Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, for ever and ever. Amen.

Ephesians 3:20, RSV