Dryness

Be patient.

There is something incredibly annoying about that statement. Whether you are an incredibly patient person or not, there is a certain level of frustration with those two words. They do not tell you what is going to happen. They do not reassure you that you are in the right position. They do not change anything.

For a pathologically impatient person such as myself, there is nothing worse than being told that I just have to be patient.

Especially when I think I have some control in the matter.

My building has been without hot water for several days. At first I thought it was part of the “routine maintenace” we were told about, but when no one contacted us and our cold water was working fine, I decided it was time to call in the issue.

I spent five hours of my evening, waiting for people to call me back, calling when they didn’t have an answer, waiting for higher-ups to respond to the emails of the people on the dispatch. Despite my general unrest, I continued trying. After all, there were families in the complex, and I did not know if their buildings were without water too.

Finally, after five hours of going outside of my comfort zone, this is the response I received:

“You are just going to have to suck it up until Monday.”

Despite my best efforts, nothing had changed. If anything, I made matters worse for myself. I thought that I could make things better. I thought that perhaps if I put forth a little bit of extra effort that maybe, just maybe, we could get a plumber out here to explain what was going on instead of waiting for several middle-men to understand the situation.

Nothing changed.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

You would think, Dear Reader, that with my experience in science that I would be used to this feeling by now. Science is slow, and most of my experiments take months to perfect and optimize for publication. I have had multiple hypotheses proven wrong by my experiments, and I have had to change my course of direction in order to follow the science.

But that’s the thing.

I could adapt. I could change. Despite any setback, there is always something a scientist can do. We can always try a new experiment, a new antibody, a new method, a new hypothesis. However, life is not exactly like science. Life throws you a curve ball, and you cannot change the situation you are in.

Like a scientist, we all adapt to our lives. Unlike a scientist, we do not always have something to do.

Sometimes, most times, we just have to be patient.

I think the hardest place to be patient is in prayer.

Much like my long phone call on Saturday, we spend extended periods of time calling out, not sure where our prayers will land. We call, and God answers, but He rarely tells us everything. If anything, He sits in silence as we ramble on and on about whatever it is we want to know. Whether it is time-sensitive or not, God remains silent on the other end. He answered the phone of our heart, but He does not explain the situation.

It’s not because He cannot tell us. It’s not because He doesn’t want to tell us. It’s because we cannot understand the whole situation.

God’s plan is so much more complex than water lines in an apartment complex. His plan is vast, spanning millenia, and it all comes to our salvation. Like a water line that needs repair in order to give us the warm water we need, our lives need repair in order to give us the eternal rest we need.

Sometimes we need to suck it up and wait.

It took all of my mental energy to go through the seemingly endless line of phone calls on Saturday night. Because I was unwilling to accept that there was nothing for me to do, I ended up wasting an evening and exhausting my brain past the point of reason. My poor mother had to deal with my angry attempted rant after I hung up with the head of maintenance.

I felt defeated. However, my mother would not allow me to wallow in my frustration and overstimulated brain.

“You have to adapt,” she said, “This is life.”

I’m a scientist. We adapt. We change our work to fit the results. Even though I didn’t have hot water, I still needed to take a shower. I went white water rafting earlier that day. My body felt cold and disgusting from spending an entire afternoon and evening in damp clothing. My eyes burned from allergens in my lab and in the air. I had to take a shower.

Encouraged by mother’s exceptional patience with my atypical exhaustion, I chose to accept my situation. I climbed up the stairs, stripped off my river-water infused leggings, and took one of the coldest showers of my life.

And you know what?

My hair looked awesome at Mass the next morning.

I’ve hinted at it a little bit, Dear Readers, but I am in a similar situation in my prayer life. The Lord gave me a great series of consolations last year, and through those consolations, I felt a sense of purpose and belonging. For the first time in a long time, I was using my Spiritual Gifts in the way Our Lord intended.

My prayer life was filled with insights and consolations.

But then, one by one, those consolations started to fade away. Given to others or hidden from sight completely, I found myself only hearing the smallest of whispers from my Jesus. My time in prayer started to feel more and more like my phone calls on Saturday night: filled with misinterpretation and confusion.

Things I thought God told me turned out to be completely made up in my own mind.

Jesus said, “ask for whatever you want, and you will receive it.” However, with each desperate plea, I felt myself receiving less and less. It wasn't that God wasn't giving me anything; I just wasn't paying attention.

Many of us experience a period of dryness. I have watched some of my most spiritual friends slip in to sorrow as they desperately try to hear from God like they used to as children and young adults. I have held their hands and sent songs or scripture to them in a feeble attempt to give them a sense of comfort.

Never before have I felt so confused and angry and tired. I finally understood how my friends felt.

I drained myself trying to understand God’s plan.

What do we do when we are in such a state? What do we do when God’s silence is so loud on our hearts that we do not know what to do?

Exactly what I did after I ended my night with maintenance.

Call Mom.

The Blessed Mother is our greatest consolation. Just as our mothers on Earth know what we are going to do before we even do it, Mary knows and understands what her Son is going to do in our lives. She knows our hurt because she has felt it too. She knows our frustration because she has endured it as well. She spent thirty years waiting for the Messiah to begin His ministry. She spent thirty years watching the King of the Universe grow up in poverty.

Following the Resurrection, Mary lived out her life just waiting to embrace her Son again.

She gets it.

I’m still in the desert, but I’m not walking alone anymore. I’m not thirsty anymore.

Because Mary’s will is completely united to Our Lord’s, she will not tell us anything that God won’t. She cannot end the dryness. She cannot end the suffering. However, she can help us gain insight in to what is happening in the current moment. She gives meaning to our little sacrifices, our impatience, our hunger.

Just as my mother on Earth taught me how to adapt to the cold water, the Blessed Mother taught me how to adapt to the suffering.

Mary teaches us to see the immense blessings our lives in the midst of chaos, loss, and confusion. She teaches us how to imitate her grateful heart by, if I may paraphrase, keeping all these things, reflecting on them in our hearts. She shows us that there is always something to be thankful for, something to praise God for, something to love.

Mary reminded me of my family every day, of my science, of my community in Galvin, of my Faith, of all the great things God has given to me, time and time again.

I do not know what God has in store for me, but I know that He loves me. Despite the silence and confusion, I know that my Savior lives on in my heart. Despite the hunger, I know that my Jesus remains in the Blessed Sacrament. Despite the tears, I know that my tears will turn to dancing.

And so I live on in love.

And so I feast on in love.

And so I dance on in love.

God’s plan is so much bigger and so much better than we can ever dream of. All we can do is “be still and know that I am God.” And when the silence seems too much to bear, turn to Our Lady, Our Mother of Sorrows. She will remind you that every Cross leads to the Resurrection. She will teach you how to smile, how to laugh, how to dance, how to live in the face of any persecution, trial, or confusion.

Thank you my Dear Readers for continuing to support this blog. Along with my family and my mentorship opportunities, this blog is what remains of the spiritual consolations I received last year. It is an honor to share Christ’s love with each and every one of you.

May He be forever praised.

Amen.