From Sacred Space
” You tell me to carry my cross, Lord. You are not telling me to go out looking for the cross, in practices or penances. Rather I find it under my nose. Every encounter that costs me, that rubs off my ego, is part of your plan for me. I start with my own body and heart. The aches and limitations of my limbs, my awkwardness and shyness, are part of my cross. I often wish I was different, but this is me, and I will learn to love me as you do. When I can’t think of anything to say in company, or when I think of the wrong things, I’m carrying my cross.
What consoles me is that you like my company. You can put up with my silences. You accept the grumpy mutterings that at times are the closest I come to conversation. I don’t always feel good about myself. There are moments when, like Groucho Marx, I would not want to belong to any club that was ready to accept me as a member. You not merely accept me, but make me feel I belong, a first-born child in whom you delight.”