from Denver and the CMC, a prayer litany of "not yet"

As I noted yesterday, I'm in Denver this week attending the Catholic Media Conference. Please join me on my Facebook page and on Twitter!

Enjoy this repost of one of my favorite old posts, my own prayer litany of "not yet"

Not Yet

I remember my therapist grinning at my honest response, “not yet.” Struggling with a difficult situation, I sought help to see my world with new eyes. With the smile of someone who knows a secret that you don’t, he added, “Yet is such a hopeful word, full of possibility.”

I had never thought about that. There’s a vast difference between replying, “no, I won’t do it,” and “no, not yet.” I may not be ready, or not know how to do it—yet. And that’s okay.

I tend to be very hard on myself. I consistently demand things of myself that I would not dream of saying to a friend who is in pain or simply at a loss with how to proceed in her life. So it’s no great surprise that I would also assume that I should know everything, and do everything right.

Take learning to live healthy with a chronic condition. Exercise. Nutrition. Learning about drugs. Knowing how to tell my friends or family what’s going on with me. Getting enough sleep or rest—and knowing when to push myself harder. Why do I expect myself to be an expert? Why can’t I allow myself the ability to say, I am not taking care of that now, not yet.

Sometimes all I have to offer is a litany of “not yet”

Lord, I am looking, but I don’t yet see.

I am listening, but I don’t yet hear.

I remember, but I don’t yet get it.

I am moving, but I don’t yet know where to go.

I am seeking, but I don’t yet know how to find you here.

I want to trust you, but I don’t yet do so.

I desire to surrender to you, but I can’t yet let go.

I need to hope, but I don’t yet have it in me.

I come to you with open hands and a heart that still whispers, not yet.

No. Padre Island, Dec. 2010

Litany for the season of Lent

On the 5^th Sunday of Lent, the closing hymn at our parish was a beautiful 

Litany for the Season of Lent.

Let us pray at this holy season of Lent: 

Lord, have mercy                  

• We have not loved you with our whole heart and mind and strength:
• We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves:
• We have not forgiven others as we have been forgiven:
• We have been deaf to your call to serve, as Christ has served:
• We confess our unfaithfulness, our pride, hypocrisy, and impatience:
• We confess our envy of those more fortunate than ourselves:
• For our intemperate love of worldly goods and comforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work:
• For our negligence in prayer and worship:
• For our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty:
• For our lack of charity toward our neighbors, for prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from us:
• For our waste and pollution of your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us:
• Restore us, Lord, and let your anger depart from us:
• Accomplish in us the work of your creation:
• By the cross and passion of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord:
• And bring us with your saints to the joy of his resurrection:

[Adapted from The Book of Common Prayer]

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Note: I will be fasting from blogging during Holy Week. I'll remind you again, but please know that you can count on my daily prayers for each of you on this holiest of weeks!

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VIDEO: another Lenten favorite: What Wondrous Love is This

Not Yet

I remember my therapist grinning at my honest response, “not yet.” Struggling with a difficult situation, I sought help to see my world with new eyes. With the smile of someone who knows a secret that you don’t, he added, “Yet is such a hopeful word, full of possibility.”

I had never thought about that. There’s a vast difference between replying, “no, I won’t do it,” and “no, not yet.” I may not be ready, or not know how to do it—yet. And that’s okay.

I tend to be very hard on myself. I consistently demand things of myself that I would not dream of saying to a friend who is in pain or simply at a loss with how to proceed in her life. So it’s no great surprise that I would also assume that I should know everything, and do everything right.

Take learning to live healthy with a chronic condition. Exercise. Nutrition. Learning about drugs. Knowing how to tell my friends or family what’s going on with me. Getting enough sleep or rest—and knowing when to push myself harder. Why do I expect myself to be an expert? Why can’t I allow myself the ability to say, I am not taking care of that now, not yet.

Sometimes all I have to offer is a litany of “not yet”

Lord, I am looking, but I don’t yet see.

I am listening, but I don’t yet hear.

I remember, but I don’t yet get it.

I am moving, but I don’t yet know where to go.

I am seeking, but I don’t yet know how to find you here.

I want to trust you, but I don’t yet do so.

I desire to surrender to you, but I can’t yet let go.

I need to hope, but I don’t yet have it in me.

I come to you with open hands and a heart that still whispers, not yet.

No. Padre Island, Dec. 2010