“Without love, everything is painful, everything is tiring, everything is burdensome. The Cross, taken up hesitantly, is crushing; taken smilingly, by free will, and with love, it will carry you much more than you carry it. Love makes time eternal by giving a divine value to everything.”

—I Believe in Love: A personal retreat based on the teaching of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Fr. Jean D’Elbée

Is it wrong to always want to feel good? How can I possibly be a saint if all I want to do is party? When I used to drink and smoke weed every morning, I was determined to turn every waking moment into a party. That was my plan anyway. I couldn’t imagine facing life otherwise. 

My old AA sponsor used to say of the spiritual program : “alcoholics are lazy, we only do what we want to do—if it wasn’t fun, we wouldn’t do it. So make it fun and you’re doing it right!”

I don’t feel like writing this. It’s not fun. But I’m doing it anyway through, well, fortitude, I guess. Which is a gift of the Holy Spirit. But isn’t it missing something? How very dry indeed! How do I make it fun?

“If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.” (1 Corinthians 13:3)

Love. Embrace the cross—dare I say it: make love to your cross!

Just as I was formulating this question, my two sparkling daughters came into the room for their goodnight blessings. With my third daughter attached to my breast and not wishing to disturb her, it was difficult to do one more thing today: to reach out to their little foreheads, make the habitual sign of the cross amongst their delightful curls, twisting like bunches of grapes; pressing the blessing I’ve spoken over them so many times into their mystic little eyes with the force of my will. I am tired, and the prayer is dry to me, it’s an effort to recite it—but I love them. I whisper the words of their ‘goodnights’ and send them bouncing out the door—the last curtain call to end the day’s performance. 

The thought flashed through my mind in the midst of the effort, the sensual closeness of their cherubic little bodies and angelic looks—of conjugal love. The effort of it, the passion of it, the willingness one finds in the midst of the embrace to press on, even to perform, not inauthentically, but consciously, as a gift of the will. This generous effort that permeates the marriage dance, and continues out into the dance of parenting, tending endlessly to the delicate and demanding fruits of marriage—this is work, and it is love. 

And this is the love of the saints. This is the choice to give and to push and to keep on going, to meet each sensation and pressure and smell and taste—even of bitterness, with a continuous opening and opening and further opening of self. This is giving birth. And the greatest saints are those who give birth to Christ in every moment of life, often in the most invisible, unspoken and private way. 

But is this sustainable? So much effort? Well yes and no. There is a rhythm of activity and rest; of coming toward the object of love and withdrawing; of togetherness and aloneness; of light and dark, of ardor and laxity. I suppose the choice to go on loving, and the ability to find joy in one’s state of life, also depends on finding this rhythm. Just as in the work of laboring to bring forth a baby, the rhythm is key to “coping” with the intensity, even with the pain; reaching the next gracious plateau. 

All life is a series of contractions and relaxations; a long labor leading up to the final delivery of our soul up to God. Then we will have our true rest. And we will be ready for it. 

It’s not a failing to be a “party girl”—a “lush” for the love of God—always looking for a good time. It’s not wrong to look for love and therefore joy in all things, even, and especially, in the duties and monotonies of the state in life that God has appointed for us. It can be our own “little way”—as long as we keep facing them with the generosity of a lover; trusting Him to transform our deep drinks of Reality into Love itself. These are the habits of the most passionate among us; the seekers who are always thirsty for yet another drink of the Wine of The Wedding at Cana; the miraculous draught that Christ gives through His power to transform what is basic and flavorless and necessary only for survival into that which is delicious and salutary and uplifting and—fun. Yes, fun. Jesus’ first public miracle at the beginning of his ministry was at a party. A wedding party! What do you think he is trying to tell us by that gesture?

And of course, he’s saving the best for last. Trust Him.