Sacrifice

Recently I watched A Nun’s Story, a 1950’s Audrey Hepburn movie. I have been chewing on this movie since viewing it, especially on the themes of sacrifice and obedience. For those who have not seen the film, Audrey Hepburn’s character was a smart, intelligent, independent, free-spirited woman who joins the convent, voices her vows, and thus makes what was intended to be a lifelong covenant with the Church. In her process of becoming a nun, she learned about sacrifice and denying herself. Her life dream was to be a nurse in the African bush. She excelled in her studies of tropical medicine. And then she was asked to make a sacrifice – to intentionally fail her medical exam in order to tame her pride. She was unable to make this sacrifice and because of this, her talents were “wasted” and she spent a year working as a nurse in an insane asylum. She is eventually sent to be a nurse in Africa where she continued to wrestle with sacrificing her natural personality and talents in order to remain obedient to the Church. I was left with the question, would I be willing to sacrifice who I am, my personality and natural talents, in order to be obedient to the covenants I have made?

Two days ago, this question became very real and very personal. I saw a lot of myself in Audrey Hepburn’s depiction of the nun. I have always been free-spirited and independent. Even when not intending to be viewed this way, others have been quick to point out I have a rebellious streak in me. I am a good, responsible citizen with a strong work ethic, but I have never felt I fit into a particular mold. I am not a stereotypical image of the feminine. I like dirt on my hands, riding on tractors, and doing manual labor. I feel truly alive when I am backpacking in the woods, cooking over fires that I built, and digging a hole for a toilet. I feel alive riding in the back of a pick-up truck across dirt roads in third world countries. I take pleasure from mixing concrete by hand and building outhouses to help prevent disease. I love landing in a foreign country and embracing the mystery of new foods, new language, new smells, and a different pace of life. This was my life and my identity until 2005.

On May 22, 2005, I entered a lifelong covenant with my husband. Independence was replaced with interdependence – my decisions are no longer about what I want but about what is best for both of us. Sometimes that means sacrificing what I want or think I need. In September 2006, I became pregnant with Saris. I learned first hand that my body was not my own – no glass of wine with a great steak dinner, and always carry a plastic bag to combat the nine months of vomiting. In October 2007, I had an ultrasound because I was again pregnant. It was then that I first saw Jakob AND Maddie just six weeks after they were conceived. Pooping in the woods has been replaced with changing thousands of diapers and trying to convince a two-year-old that pooping in the potty is really the best choice. And the pick-up truck . . . it is now a seven-passenger mini-van complete with three car seats and toddler tunes loaded in the CD-player.

I love being a mother. I love watching Saris, Jake, and Maddie come into their own personalities. I still get excited at each new word spoken, motor skill developed, and as each new spark of their individuality emerges. I love being “mommy”, but I find that I do not fit the mold of stereotypical mother. I did not dream of someday becoming a mother. I preferred building forts and exploring the backyard over playing with dolls. I still hate Barbie. Up until 2004 when I met Bill, I was fairly settled on the idea I would be single forever. I am grateful to Bill and would not trade the life I have now.

Two days ago, I came face to face with the sacrifices that come with being a wife and mother. I got a phone call – “we need you and your unique skill set to got to Haiti for five days.” An old fire quickly rekindled. I pictured myself getting dirty, hugging orphans, and riding along dirt roads. I saw a glimpse of my old life and parts of me that have grown dormant were suddenly alive and feeling very excited. I was going on an adventure. And then as quickly as the fire lit, I remembered I am a wife and mother – I could not make this decision on my own. It was not faced with the support I had hoped for, “You have three babies. You cannot just up and leave for five days.” I grew angry. No one was going to tell me what I can and cannot do. If I were a husband needing to go on a business trip for work, this would not be an issue. While I could justify this as a very important business trip – it was my expertise and unique skills that were needed, others saw it as optional and not necessary. I was reminded again and again, “You are a mother of three small children. How could you just leave them for five days?” I began to mourn and grieve the loss of Heather, free-spirited, independent, and adventurous woman. I faced the sacrifices that accompany motherhood. I am now in the process of trying to fan out the flames and once again squelch these aspects of my personality. But like the nun, this does not come easy.

I think of the Blessed Mother and her humble obedience and faithfulness to the Covenant. I think of Christ, giving himself fully even to death. Something in me truly believes that as I mourn the loss of my independence and natural personality I will only find more life. But if I am honest, this lesson is not pain-free.

The Unspeakable Place

I had a professor in graduate school that we affectionately called, “Yoda.” He was a wise, awkward man who looked and spoke like Yoda. His psychotherapy courses contained readings that required a general knowledge of calculus in order to fully understand. I, of course, dropped out of my high school calculus course to avoid receiving an inevitable failing grade. I would read Bion’s and Bollas’ depiction of object relations psychotherapy and comprehend very little of the content and yet I knew somewhere in the depths of my mind I was grasping something. Frequently I commented in class, “I know this makes sense, and I know a part of me understands it, but I simply cannot find the language to communicate it.” Eight years later, I still do not have the language.

When I think of the soul and its encounters with God the same struggle to find language and words emerges. Rudolf Otto coined encounters with God as Numinous. The Numinous experience is something wholly other and outside human reason. Something holy, something sacred happens and it transcends all language and meaning. My favorite passage of Scripture is in Exodus where Moses has a Numinous experience. He is taken to the mountain top and asks to see God’s face. Yaweh tucked Moses into a crevice and covered his face until the Glory had passed him. The hand lifted off of Moses to reveal the back of Yaweh. Moses descended the mountain radiating light, for he had seen and experienced God directly. But even Moses did not see the LORD face-to-face for surely it would have destroyed him.

I was twenty-two when I had my first Numinous experience. I had led a group of high school students up to the top of Roan Mountain on the border of Tennessee and North Carolina. I had climbed this mountain ridge several times and I knew its terrain well. On this particular June day, a cloud rolled in and covered the mountain top. I could not see my hand in front of my face. The wind howled so loud I could not hear myself talk. A part of me worried about the students I was responsible for, but in a moment all that worry lost. I found myself utterly alone. It what seemed like an eternity, I sat naked before God. I wanted to hide my face, to cover my shame, but in that moment I knew all was exposed and there was no where to run. My soul encountered God in a way that language cannot describe. It exceeded logic and reasoning. It was both terrifying and comforting. I often wonder if this is how Moses felt during his mountain top experience.

I have since returned to that mountain several times and create an altar of stones as a remembrance that this was and is a sacred place. Each time I secretly hope for a Numinous moment but know that I cannot force it to happen.