Surrender and stretch

Over the weekend, I sang as a guest at a parish in Boston. During the homily, the pastor mentioned that he had been asked by the Cardinal to move to another parish. Clearly, this priest did not want to go, but he explained the move to the congregation as follows:

"I'm a diocesan priest. Obedience is my life."

And then, later,

"Life is surrender."

***
I had coffee with a friend yesterday, who is going through some tough times. Although my friend's situation is different than the priest's, she is having to cope with something -- a big something -- in a way that is not natural or easy for her.

***
I was struck by the similarities between the two situations. Both the priest and my friend are denying themselves and their wants, maybe even their needs. They have very little choice in the matter, and it's clear that it's hard for both of them.

I think this gets to the heart of the concept of "dying to self." Life's changes -- the end of a relationship, a major career change, an unforeseen family situation -- can feel like a part of us is dying, especially when the situation is out of our control.

Maybe that's why I had such an incredibly difficult time after my first child was born. I've described the months after Abby's birth -- while being very joyful and exciting -- as a sort of dying and reemergence as another person. My whole identity changed, and it wasn't easy, fun or pretty. It felt like a little death. Truthfully, a big one.

***
How interesting, the ending of one life and the beginning of another. Maybe that's why people say things like "When God closes a door, he opens a window" -- to reassure themselves that things will work out, that they're not really trapped, that what feels like the end now is just the intermission.

I now realize the painful identity change I endured when becoming a mother was necessary. The love and compassion and attachment and protectiveness and all the other emotions that go along with being a mother, had to be stuffed into my heart, and there was some major stretching that had to happen to fit them all in. It hurt.

***
The priest will end his time at one parish and begin with another. My friend will continue to cope, relying on support from others who have lived through similar situations.

My heart continues to be stretched; by my children, my husband, my students and friends. Someday, maybe it will be big enough to take it all in without aching.