While caring for my husband, and starting here on the Lake as unofficial housekeeper to another priest is rewarding work, my little ordained soul is anxious to get back to ministry. Not that home-based work isn`t ministry…but I`m missing my old work, parish work and outreach. Except meetings.
Perhaps I need to be content with prayer work for a while. Perhaps I need to heed what St. Paul said in I Corinthians 3:10, and watch others build on the foundations I set with God`s help. And then on the chapter 4, at verse 11: `To this present hour we are hungry and thirsty, we are poorly clothed and bèaten and homeless…` Praise God, we are no longer this, but rewarded with mercy.
I long for the honour of service in the Lord, the honour of serving Him, not for praise, but for the joy of seeing His beloved face. I cannot begin to tell thee of the great joy in my heart when I contemplate our salvation in Him, in His grace in allowing us to know Him. He is the most beautiful of the beautiful, the joy of all joys, the best beloved of all loves. He is willing to take weak vessels such as ourselves and put them into service in His temple, His heavenly home. All He asks is that we keep ourselves pure and clean of blemish, as best we can, by prayer and confession. In this way we are lampstands for His saving light.
Thee is a reflection of His light when thee lives in Him. Let thy light shine now in Heaven, a glorious alleluia to His power and grace.
I have suffered recently from discouragement – I truly lost heart for a while. I believe I have been punished severely, more severely than necessary, not by the Lord, but by some of His earthly representatives. It is not enough that what I did, I did from necessity and in love. I let down the side, was a bad example, told the ugly truth, although it was about me and not another. I did not intend to shame, but the church was ashamed of me. I have offered confession, even public confession if so called to do, and I am willing to make penance, but four years of exile, so far, are not enough. This has broken my heart.
And yet, with Job, even from the grave I can make my song, Alleluia, alleluia. A broken and contrite heart is the sacrifice acceptable to God.