For an alleged introvert, December was a lot to take.
My wife and I hosted two open houses amid a severe ice storm. We invited my father-in-law and two friends over for Christmas turkey. We drove four hours one way to attend a family gathering. By taking part in these events, we conveyed blessing to people in ways neither of us had expected—particularly to those who were living without electricity, alone for the holidays, or missing spouses who had passed away.
And yet, in some ways, I had so little to do with it all. My wife initiated the gatherings (or at least our part in them). That left me uneasy: during such a holy season, I hadn’t done good works or learned deep things; I had simply gone along with the plan.
Lo and behold, that was the point.
I always think we’re supposed to set out to do good. We actively explore our calling, pursue what we hear as the Divine Will, and fulfill it. This mindset isn’t restricted to the spiritual arena either. Businesses seek out people who initiate, not those who react. Colleges strive to turn out leaders, not followers. We think we have to make a difference (in the sense of achieving some grand mission) rather than simply do what’s before us.
None of this is bad by any means. Sometimes we are asked to figure out what’s next. But sometimes we’re asked to live out what’s here.
Consider one of our most beloved Advent stories. The Virgin Mary wasn’t actively seeking her vocation when the angel came to her. She was told she would have a baby, and she went along with the plan. History would have been profoundly different if she had done otherwise.
How do you know when to figure out what’s next, and when to live out what’s here? I suspect it starts with paying attention—with being mindful. By clearing our heads of those ever-present distractions, mindfulness gives us a better chance to perceive what God is doing right here, right now, in these circumstances before us. Our daily life in God, particularly in prayer, can help us cultivate that attention.
God had a lot to do this December, and I played a minor role. That, to quote the creation story, was very good indeed. It reminded me of my place in the universe—as one person among many, not as me but as part of a larger we. And it called to mind the simplicity of God’s desire for us: as St. Thérèse of Lisieux once wrote, God “does not demand great actions from us but simply surrender and gratitude.”
