The Anima Christi is one of my favorite prayers.
Soul of Christ, sanctify me
Body of Christ, save me
Blood of Christ, inebriate me
Water from the side of Christ, wash me
Passion of Christ, strengthen me
O Good Jesus, hear me
Within Your Wounds hide me
Separated from You let me never be
From the evil one protect me
At the hour of my death call me
And close to you bid me
That with your saints I may praise you
Forever and ever, Amen.
At different points in the years since I've learned this prayer, different lines have been particularly close to my heart--a focus on my need for sanctification and cleansing, a desperate plea for Christ to be my strength, etc.
At this particular moment in my life (aka, motherhood), the most poignant line in this prayer for me is "Within Your Wounds hide me." I've always thought this line was beautiful, but more recently I really stopped to think about what I was asking when I prayed it. Asking to be drawn into closer proximity to the Wounds of Christ? To be be ever closer to Christ... on the cross? And therefore closer to the cross--this probably means I have to embrace my crosses more, right? And I was reminded of a quote from Blessed Mother Teresa that my sister shared with me years ago:
"Pain and suffering have come into your life,
but remember pain, sorrow, suffering are but the kiss of Jesus--
a sign thatyou have come so close to Him that He can kiss you."
I remember thinking when I heard that quote... I'm not sure I want that kiss. I should want it, I want to want it, but... (I also remember thinking, as I often do, that Dene' is so much holier than I am!)
Fast-forward to motherhood. Chronic sleep deprivation is a kind of suffering I never even imagined. Constantly being asked to deny myself and take up my toddler--although full of unexpected blessings, it's also full of unexpected suffering. Being pregnant? Surprise! Pain and suffering can be found here, too.
So in meditating on letting Christ hide me within His Wounds, I realized that I really need to try to do a better job of offering up my suffering, instead of just whining about it (although I did garner a considerable amount of sympathy from that post...).
A dear and wise friend once said that the closer we draw to the cross of Christ, the closer we are to one another. Allowing myself to be hidden within His Wounds also keeps me close to others who are suffering. You'd think it would have already occurred to me to offer up the (minor) sufferings of my pregnancy for those who can't conceive or are having difficulty conceiving, especially since there are some very near and dear to my heart who are struggling with this. But it occurs at one particularly grace-filled moment (usually connected with Mass or actually taking time for Morning Prayer) and then quickly escapes my mind in that frustrated, tired, uncomfortable moment when I need it.
But, if you can believe it, I found a new(ish) patron saint just when I needed her!
I've loved St. Rose of Lima ever since my mission trip to Peru with FOCUS during college. I had a vague recollection that she practiced some pretty severe penances during her life, but I was reminded during Mass on her feast day two weeks ago that one of her habitual mortifactions was to deprive herself of sleep and pray and work instead--and when she did sleep, it was on a bed of rocks and broken glass. Yikes. While I'm quite positive that I'm not being called to give up any dramatic amount of the precious sleep I'm still getting (although it would probably certainly do me good to get up 15 minutes earlier for some quiet time before the sleep tyrant agent of my sanctification starts his day), I figure St. Rose could definitely help me bear my involuntary mortifications with a bit more grace.
It was while I was in Lima that I first saw a crucifix on which our Lord's wounds were portrayed as more than just a few trickles of blood at his hands, feet, and side. I was particularly struck by the wounds on His knees. Why those particularly wounds should have made such a strong impression I don't know--and I don't remember if the reason was readily apparent to me then. But now when I think of that image I see it as a call to prayer--and at this point specifically a call to offer up my sufferings more faithfully.
So that's what I've been trying to do these last two weeks (while waiting for the magical combination of time and motivation to finish this post). Don't worry--I'll still be complaining plenty (and Alex is a saint for bearing the brunt of it). But I'm hoping to at least offer up a quick prayer begging to unite my sufferings to Christ's before mentally composing a whiny incoherent blog post at 2am while I am inexplicably and maddenly awake.
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