It’s Advent, and once again I’m reading Memento Mori: An Advent Companion on the Last Things. Like always, I start strong. Then, instead of reading first thing in the morning, I’m reading the day’s entry just before bed. Eventually, I’m skipping days, promising myself I’ll catch up on my day off. Spoiler Alert: I never do.
But that’s okay. I know that about myself. I’m busier now than I’ve ever been in my life, and I just can’t go, go, go. I need rest. I need downtime, veg time… time with my head on Stuart’s lap, watching TV.
My favorite entry in Memento Mori Advent Companion feels applicable as it deals with St. Therese of Lisieux’s ladder to heaven:
Preach it, Sister! We have such a “pick yourself up by your bootstraps” culture in America. But what happens if you literally try to pull yourself up by tugging on your feet? You fall over!
I want to read every book in the Church library, bake bread every week, answer every email in a timely and cheerful manner, have a spotless house, be the perfect mom, perfect wife, perfect disciple. And if I can’t be perfect- why bother?
On this page in the book, I have scrawled a little note I wrote when I first read the book in Advent 2023:
Jesus’ love for us doesn’t change, so it must always be us that grows in love toward Him.
Jesus radiates His perfect love down from the cross, a light that neither dims nor darkens. But persistance in the face of imperfection is all I can offer in return. I am always stretching toward Him, even as my legs are stuck in the La Brea Tar Pit goo of my imperfect nature.
And this pull between who I want to be and who I am- it can be painful. But some (let’s be honest… most) of this pain is ego. Because Jesus loves me as much today as He did yesterday and will tomorrow. I’m not going to earn His love any more than I can earn salvation.
No, I keep trying to mount the ladder because I love Him. And because I love Him, I am always stretching to grow toward Him. And more importantly, because He loves me, He is always smiling down at me, even in my failures.
