Serving With Mustard

I have a tennis ball shaped bruise on the side of my thigh. In grotesque literary fashion, I see the bruise as God’s grace literally leaving its imprint on me.

This was not the first time I have been hit with a ball: earlier in the set, I had been nailed in the stomach. I used to play lacrosse and soccer. I play kickball and SPUD with my family. I’m tough, but it still hurts.

Then there’s the metaphorical ball: the ball and chain effect of our fallen nature, giving us whip-lash as we attempt to control life’s adventures.

I can only imagine how fervently the saints are praying for us to let go and let God. “The world promises you comfort,” says Papa B., “but you were not made for comfort. You were made for greatness.”

Yet, how many people shy away from the prospect of being made for more? How many of us remain stagnant? Does life happen to us, or do we make our own life happen?

Pope Benedict XVI: walking wisdom

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