In the Waiting Room

I am at home with my family for the summer waiting to enter the Daughters of St. Paul in September. It's a strange feeling, waiting. But at the same time, I am not really waiting. I am living my life with the notion that there is something dim on the horizon that is going to shake things up.

Honestly, I have this talent for not thinking of big things that are coming in the future. It is something that I have always been able to do and I cannot explain why or even take credit for it. It is as if I commit my future self to something that my current self cannot quite fathom and then when it comes I struggle a bit with the shock and then just accept it. I wish I could bottle this strange ability and sell it.

If someone wanted to blame my decision on entering religious life on someone or something other than God, I think it would be this talent. Every daring and brave thing that I have done in my life is really because when I commit to doing it, I am actually committing another self (my future self) who I don't really identify with enough to realize that it is actually me.

But as my entry date draws near I am having occasional realizations that the future self I imagined as "Sister Theresa" will very soon be my actual self and that is a strange feeling.

I was hoping I could become more perfect before these two selves met in time. I have been trying to smooth out my rough edges as much as possible so that my future self is not too shocked when she meets me. I don't want her to draw back in disgust. And I have been able to work on some things. Or actually, to be more truthful, I have been able to let God work on some things in me without getting in the way (too much).

But as that day draws near I am getting more comfortable with the fact that I am not perfect, I am not going to be a perfect religious and I am all too close to the Theresa I have always been.

I find comfort in the fact that God chose me. He reached out His hand and beckoned me to this life and after much whining, kicking and spitting, I finally grasped His finger and followed. The way before me is foggy. Most times I cannot even see His hand as I am holding it. But I know it is there, and so I walk on.

I am waiting to meet my future self in September and then many more future selves with the hope that in each meeting I will find my imagined future self closer to the person who God imagines and knows me to be.