St. Nicholas' Eve

Eight years ago, on this eve of the feast of Saint Nicholas, my life as a pilgrim began to take shape, although it did not begin in earnest until the following autumn.  In a few seemingly-insignificant moments of eager exchange between study partners there arose the seed of an idea that marked my life forever.  In many ways I am still grappling with its effects as the pattern of ripples echoes through each moment.

If I had to sum up that experience in one word it would be this one: Providence.

What I learned through all the weary days of marching along, sustaining myself with the rhythm of repeated rosaries and the certainty that God willed it, was that He would provide.  He always did.  Sometimes He provided people who generously took us into their homes and insisted upon serving us and hearing all about our journey.  Sometimes He provided a place for our tent on a cold and freezing night.  Once He provided someone who rebuked us for not planning ahead better and took us to a women's shelter where we barely slept and learned something of modern poverty.  More than not, we had good weather—amazingly good weather I realize now.

I could go on about various details of what He provided, but the details do not matter, even if they are helpful to illustrate my point.  For the details all point back to the one clear and definite thing that is more certain even than death and taxes: that God will provide.

Each day I know that truth more clearly as I seek to abandon myself more fully to the working of Divine Providence in my life.  In good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, God always provides all that we need.  Deep down I know this truth even when the weight of it all grows too much for my shoulders to bear and I cry out to Him from the depths of my pain: my God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?

He wants us to cry out to Him in our joys as much as in our pains.  He wants to pour Himself out for us, as He does in each moment, for He is Love and the nature of love is to keep giving itself again and again, constantly, until it has nothing left to give.  It is only we who are so small that we cannot receive all that He would give.

Let us open ourselves ever more, fellow pilgrims, to the great sea of love!  Come, let us encourage each other, walking side by side when the path grows dark...