Son of God: The Genius of Thomas Merton

I LOVE this man…

Discernment is often daunting. I know, I know, I’ve complained at length about how frustrating the element of unknown is. Furthermore, I often find myself embarrassed at how much I have left to learn about God. Then, in stubborn refusal of Fr. Jim, I think back to how a “normal” discernment should be: undergraduate study in theology, followed by a year as a postulant, then the novitiate. Even these “steps” are pure guesses. In other words, I just don’t know sometimes, and that scares me.

Thomas Merton didn’t know, either. In the first part of the book, he details his early life: in my opinion, it basically amounted to following the whims and desires of his father as he went from France to the United States, ever following artistic inspiration and looking for landscapes to paint. I’m not saying that the first 180 pages of the book are not worth while. Merton seems to show his upbringing as achingly normal in the sense that many children do not encounter God from the very beginning. The few that do are blessed with holy parents. When faced with his father’s death, Merton struggled to reach out to God in his moment of need. He moved on to Cambridge and Columbia and voraciously studied literature while leading a normal college life.

A Prayer in the Blue Chair

God never goes fishing… 🙂

I’ll be the first to admit that my prayer life is not the greatest. It’s quite standardized: the Our Father, followed by my (very common) intentions, ending with a Hail Mary. Now, that might come as a surprise from someone who’s discerning, but here’s another admission: I have a lot to learn about God. Sometimes I feel like I’m not “good enough” to serve Him, but then I’m remembered of Fr. Jim’s, “To compare is to despair.”

Still, I’m frustrated. I’ve been given a great opportunity to learn about God in the coming year. Then why am I still reverting to my old ways? Sometimes I get so frustrated that I feel like I just want to literally rip my heart out and hand it to Him: “HERE! TAKE IT! MAKE IT YOURS!”

But discernment is never that easy. Faith involves patience. I think that’s one of the most important lessons I’ve learned in Florence so far. I find it very hard to stay patient sometimes. I’m almost done organizing the library. What happens after that? What’s my next assignment? As I wrote before, everything shuts down in Italy when the schools close, so life is very slow. But I’m not in Italy to lay around. I want to serve God. I want to say that I made a difference in Florence. That I worked for Him.

Brodown with Jesus!

Have a little fun!

My life is pretty great. I’m super blessed to be working for the best Boss ever in the most beautiful city in the world, I’ve got an amazing support group of friends and family, I get to eat great food, I get to pray and be with God whenever I want, and I’ve basically been told, “You’re free to find God wherever and however you want (within reason).” What’s not to love?

And yet, I sulk a lot. My most recent blog posts have been about how hard the discernment process has been, yesterday I took to Facebook and whined, “DISCERNMENT IS THE HARDEST THING I’VE EVER DONE! GAAAH!!! WAAAH!!!” And it is: as I said before, everything enters into it: emotions, experiences, all of your life is handed to God as He helps you find your place serving His kingdom. A lot of my messages to friends have been. “My life is hard. I love you and miss you. Oh, poor me.” A few days back I spoke with my parents about my past weeks for about two hours on Skype. I yelled, I cried, I pouted, I made typical crazy Daniele noises. I vented. Looking back on the conversation, I’m sure my parents thought to themselves, “Here we go again.” My Papi even yawned at one point (he said it was because of sun exposure, but….yeah…)!

To Plant A Seed

What will YOU sow for God?

Being a farmer is one of the hardest jobs a personal can do. The work is hard and often thankless, as ambiguous weather patterns wreak havoc on the harvest, one’s livelihood. I’m reminded of the image of a farmer as I look back on my experience as a camp counselor at Vicoferaldi, a little house in the hills outside Florence. The camp, serving my brothers’ San Donato in Polverosa parish, consisted of about 50 kids ranging from ages 9 to 17. Notwithstanding that this is a HUGE age span, it’s also a very crucial one. This what most people call the “phase” where kids try and hammer out their own identities, independent of the influence of their parents. I know because I’ve been there, too. I remember saying “No!” to my parents more times than they would like. So really, the fact that many of the kids seemed turned off during prayer opportunities is completely logical. Initially I was mad them, thinking to myself, “Why won’t they listen to Padre Giuliano? These kids need to learn how to behave. The kids in Mini Camp or Day Camp would have never done this.”

In retrospect, many of them would have. Kids will be kids. In looking back on my initial reaction to Vicoferaldi after the fact, I realized that I can’t come into these kinds of experiences with preconceived notions of how things will turn out, because I will ultimately end up disappointed (Thanks, Mom 🙂 ). To compare is to despair (Thanks, Father Jim! 🙂 ).