There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the infinite passion of life.
Ironically, yesterday's Gospel reading was about the hemorrhaging woman I talked about in my post about the statue of Jesus in the Hopkins's administrative building with the inscription: "Come, all you who are weary."
It was a perfect reading for me yesterday because I was feeling fearful all day--unable to locate exactly what was triggering so much anxiety, but feeling panicked all the same. There was such a relief when I got to the part where Jesus turned around, saw her, and said: "Courage, daughter! Your faith has saved you."
In my devotional, "Magnificat," Father Simon Tugwell, O.P. writes:
Faith punctures the self-sufficiency of our world, so that there is room for God to be God. Perfect charity is when that puncture has become all-embracing, so that we are nothing but space for God to be God. All that we find in ourselves is God being all in all. ... And by the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, we too are drawn to be displaced from ourselves, so that we might live "no longer for ourselves but for him," and that God may be at the center of us, "more intimate to us than we are to ourselves."
Somehow I always forget--when I'm in that panic spot--that I'm never truly alone. God is always with me, and especially on the darker days when I doubt the power of goodness and love.