Sunday, March 25, 2012

On Speaking

I had a thought the other day (and by other day I mean other week, back when it was cold) that I have been meaning to share.

I have been participating in the local 40 Days for Life campaign, with an earlier-morning shift before my classes and work start. Being ostensibly winter in Iowa, there were a few days in which it was in fact a bit chilly. I may be a native (more or less), but that doesn't mean I don't bundle up when there's snow on the ground!

It's amazing how much less
scared of you people are when
you are carrying a child...

So there I was, praying my rosary as I walked back and forth in the "L" that comprises the public sidewalks in front of our local Planned Parenthood, with my scarf and the collar of my middle layer up to keep my neck and face warm. It was actually rather pleasant, as I am half-German and therefore exothermic to a high degree. But the thing was, I couldn't see anything.

As you will have no doubt noticed from my profile picture, I am indeed a four-eyes. As those of less-than-stellar ocular capacity can attest to, condensation is the enemy of a good time when one is wearing glasses. One stray moisture-laden breath, and your cold glasses also just became 95% opaque. Fantastic.

The funny thing is, that doesn't happen when you're not trapping your breath close to your face. My glasses were only fogged over when I was speaking down, worried about warmth. When I raised my head, my glasses cleared, and I could see.

Our own voice, muttering to ourselves, clouds our sight, even if we're saying the right things.

The Word of God, spoken in charity to the world and seeing the people around you is sight.

Muttering to ourselves just builds up our sense of worth. I'm just so right, why can't they see it? Well, maybe they'd see it if it wasn't about you being right, but rather it was about you making the truth plain and manifest to their reasons.

Or maybe the truth they need to see is someone who is joyful about their vigil. Someone who is in awe at the beautiful day, grateful for his freedom and his life, smiling and genuinely joyful in greeting to everyone he passes, whether they smile or frown, wave or shake their head, acknowledge him or avoid eye contact.

Mine is the joyful endurance. Mine is the calm assurance. Mine is the peaceful certainty. Mine is contentment in Him who wins all victories for His beloved.

All it took was for me to stop muttering to myself, and to raise my head in prayer.

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