iStock-Olga Kaya
I’d just come home from teaching a night class, exhausted, when I got a text from my brother, the Father. He was in Rome, working. It was very early morning there. I wondered why he was awake.
He told me he hadn’t been sleeping more than four hours a night and he had to deliver an Advent reflection to the priests of the archdiocese on his return. He hadn’t had the time or energy to work on it. “I’m so tired,” he wrote, and I believed him. His fatigue was palpable, even over text.
He’d been planning a talk on spiritual fatherhood, but as I read his texts flying over the ocean and into my living room in Minnesota, I had an idea.
“Why not speak on fatigue?” I replied. I was sure those priests had heard a thousand talks on spiritual fatherhood; why not give them permission to be exhausted? To give that exhaustion to the Lord?
Suddenly, ideas came. It wasn’t long before my brother posted a document and we were fleshing out ideas, adding quotes and notes — me from my living room, he from Rome. I could feel his anxiety dissipating, and how, paradoxically, he suddenly had energy to write about “pastoral weariness,” the theme of what would later be a very well-received reflection. I went to bed sometime later, exhausted — and filled with joy.
From the time I was young, I can remember a kind of tug toward my younger brother, something which told me that one day we would be shoulder-to-shoulder serving the Church. I was sure it was a desire given to me by God.
Oh, but it would take a good long time to come to fruition.
There were years — much earlier — when I thought, surely my desire would be fulfilled now! — only to realize it would be left on the shelf to grow and mature still longer. I confess I was impatient with God, even angry that this desire had been given to me only to remain unsatisfied. In my ignorance and hubris, I thought, how cruel to implant a noble desire and then refuse its fulfillment.
But as I fell asleep that night, I launched my apologies heavenward. My impatience had been staggeringly out of proportion at times. How little I understood that God’s timing was superb, and that I would not be needed until later in life — like now when I had so much to say about fatigue living with MS for a decade, when I knew personally the gifts that come with it, when I had ideas to offer my brother so readily when in his weariness, he needed them.
As I grow older, I see patience is not a virtue practiced with clenched fists and gritted teeth. Rather, patience is a gift I wrap up and give away — a gift wrapped in trust, decorated with ribbons of gratitude and bows of hope. In this case, it was a gift I needed to give to God.
In this holy season of waiting in darkness for the Light of the World, I am reminded to “Be patient … until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near” (Js 5:7-9). So near, and so faithful.
Lord, this Advent, I long to give you more trust and patience as I await your glorious, truly satisfying plans for our flourishing.
Kelly is the award-winning author of nine books, including “Love Like a Saint” and “Jesus Approaches.” She travels speaking and leading retreats throughout the country.
Readers, please note: Kelly is taking a hiatus from writing “Your Heart, His Home” in early 2022. Look for the column to reappear later in the year.
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