Let Nothing Disturb Thee

When the roads aren't snowy, I take the back way to work. I like the back way: I'd much rather drive past farm fields and the river than merge in with the semis and 70+ mph crowd. I've seen countless deer, many fat hawks, and twice, a coyote. The back way also takes me past my friends' house, where I honk and wave on most days. Occasionally, though, I stop and have a cup of coffee and a chat before I go home to start cooking supper.

So often, I feel like collapsing on my friend to cry and sob -- not for any distinct reason other than she's a safe place for me. And so often, at work, I feel like I succeed despite who I am, rather than because of it. I'm not cut-throat or ambitious. I'm chatty and high strung. Being a mother is more important to me than any project or deadline.

The back way also passes the local airport. Many times, I will see a small propeller plane taking off or landing, or circling the airport, learning to fly. The other day it struck me how the hawks must watch, smug, as the planes sputter and dip, circle and climb. Man, once again, trying so hard to master an activity foreign to our nature.

I am trying to find comfort in Teresa of Avila -- "Let nothing disturb thee. Let nothing frighten thee. Everything is changing. God alone is changeless. Patience attains the goal. The one who has God lacks nothing. God alone fills all our needs."

Let nothing disturb thee. Let nothing frighten thee.

Tomorrow, I will drive to work -- the same company that I've driven to for 14 years this coming Thursday -- and quite possibly find out that I'm losing my job. At best, I'm being sold to another company and will start over there. At worst, well, I'm trying not to go there.

I find comfort in the familiar -- the hawk on the fence at the airport, the honk of a horn, the three distinct 8-minute segments of my drive.

Everything is changing. God alone is changeless.

The Avila quote is one that a beloved professor and chaplain at my alma mater used all the time -- when we meditated to begin class, when we prayed before meetings, any chance he could, he prayed Avila. I realize now what he was truly doing: imprinting that prayer on all of our hearts, minds, and psyches. I've seen numerous friends from college use that prayer when comforting each other. More than the education and the instruction in how to think rationally; beyond his wisdom and peacefulness, or the articles and books he assigned as reading -- our professor gave us a prayerful mantra, a refrain, a pulse unnoticed until sought.

The back way to work is constantly changing with the seasons. The fields have mud, or neat lines, or crops, or corn stalks, or snow. The level of the river rises and falls. The deer coats darken.

The essence of the back way stays the same -- the route, the landmarks, the fields that stretch back to the woods, the presence of a friend who is always there, willing to listen.

Patience attains the goal.

Like the new pilots with a hawk watching, I've been trying to master an activity foreign to my nature, too. I am trying to trust without worry, pray without ceasing, and be patient.

The one who has God lacks nothing.

In my deepest heart, I do trust that God is taking care of me in ways my heart can never know. Any time my husband and I have ever made a decision or took a chance that we knew would be for the best of our family, God has rewarded that decision, those priorities. My decision to work reduced hours and his decision to move jobs -- both huge cuts in pay, months apart and years ago, now. Changing jobs. Moving houses and schools so that I could be there when my daughters get home from school every day. All decisions made so that we can stay true to our vocation as parents and partners.

God alone fills all our needs.

Why would now be any different?