Tag: self-control

I have a suggestion for God

I’m not trying to tell God how to do his job, but I do have a few pointers.  

Let me back up. Yesterday, I spent a full 20 hours without even touching my phone. This magnificent feat of self control came about because I lost my phone.  

It’s a long story, and it involves a tragically stupid string of bad choices on my part, but where it ended was me ripping open a bag of wet dirt and bits of broken glass, and not finding my phone in there, and then hoisting that up and ripping open a second bag of wet dirt and bits of broken glass that was under the first one, and there, buried in the dirt, was my phone. It still turned on, and I was glad to have it back. Mostly.  

I do need my phone. I really do. But I need it for far less than I actually use it, and it was a nice 20 hours without it. I didn’t read a single headline about the president. I didn’t get in any fights with strangers over things I don’t know much about. I didn’t scroll miserably past hundreds of ads for things I couldn’t afford. I didn’t watch any videos of morbidly obese people getting yelled at or of hoarders weeping over their dirty junk. And it was easy to say my prayers, because I didn’t have my phone making the case that it, and not God, deserved my attention first. 

Without my phone, I sat outside in the morning sun and slowly drank my coffee. I listened to the birds and tried to figure out who they were without the aid of an app. I went down to the stream and collected some pretty bits of porcelain that had washed up and lodged in the banks. I fed the ducks and collected their eggs; I washed my hands; I prepped dinner in peace. And then I went back outside and made one last-ditch effort to find my phone. And then I found it.  

This is a long way of telling you that I know very well, and have known all along, that I use my phone too much. I know what it’s doing to me (making me dumb and mean and boring and sad) and to my life (making it hard to get anything done). But it’s also doing enough good things, and desirable things, and habit-forming things, that it’s super, super hard to put it down.  

So yesterday, God yoinked it right out of my pocket and buried it in trash where it belongs, and then he left me to draw my own conclusions.  

This is a good start! But I think He could take this approach further, because I have a lot of other bad habits I could use some help getting ahead of. I think he may not realize how dumb I am and how devoted to ruining my life. He gives me too much credit, and believes I have free will, and that it would be more valuable for me to decide to build virtue, rather than being forced into it like a rabid raccoon into a cage.

I’m not telling God how to do His job. But I do have a few pointers.  . . . Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly. 

Image: Adam and Eve by Jacob Jordaens via Wikipedia Commons

Duty and salvation

When my oldest kid was about four, she happened to wake up around midnight to go to the bathroom. She stumbled through the living room, where my husband and I were sitting.

On this particular night – which was not a typical night! – we happened to be watching Daffy Duck cartoons and eating candy. She didn’t say a word, but just nodded to herself and kept walking. She was clearly thinking, “I KNEW it!”

It was, as I say, not a typical night. A typical night would be more likely to find us filling out insurance paperwork, trying to get stains out of someone’s favourite overalls, or simply trying to muster up the strength to get up, brush our teeth, struggle our way under the covers, and get a few hours of sleep before the baby woke up for her first feeding, so we could catch another few hours of sleep before it was time to get up and do it all over again, take care of everybody and everything all over again.

But what she saw was burned into her brain, and she thought she had found the real secret of adulthood: As soon as the kids’ bedroom door closes, you can do WHATEVER YOU WANT.

She wasn’t really wrong. Adults CAN do whatever they want. The catch is, if they DECIDE to do whatever they want, they’ll almost certainly ruin their lives and the lives of everyone around them, and go to hell when they die. It’s kind of a big catch.

What I tell my kids is that, when you’re a child, people make you do things you don’t want to do. But when you’re an adult, you have to make yourself do the things you don’t want to do. You have to be the unwilling worker and the strict taskmaster, both!

It occurs to me that we, even as adults, often fall into thinking of God as the strict taskmaster: the one who descends from on high, telling us what we can and cannot do. Every time we feel the urge to do WHATEVER WE WANT — uh oh, here comes God, saying “no, no, no.” Get up, take care of the thing, don’t do the thing you want to do, do the thing you don’t want to do instead. Then, tomorrow, do it all over again, even though you’re tired.

Following the ten commandments can feel very much like this, some days, or some years. And then we go to confession and admit, “I didn’t do the thing you told me to do. I failed.” And God forgives us, which is nice.

I’ve been teaching my faith formation class, over and over again, that Jesus is the Good Shepherd and we are the sheep. We are the silly ones who need to be saved, and He is the saviour. We are the wandering ones, and He is the one who finds us. We are the ones who fall into the hole, and He is the one who pulls us out again.

So I was making up my lesson plans and I realised that, with all this talk about sheep, I had not yet introduced the kids to the idea that Jesus is the paschal lamb. And boy, the strangeness of it hit me right between the eyes. God is not only the shepherd, but also the lamb.

I know you know this. You’re a Catholic, so you’ve heard it all before. But have you ever thought about how strange it is?

Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly.