elizabeth, beautiful prose-sister from boy crazy, speaks on repentance and holy motherhood...
Babel rings out like a warning. A one-word omen, a message in my ears to check myself before I wreck myself.
My pride, determination, my drive, my ferocity and passion - they are my tools for raising my boys and raising hell, for building up my empire stone by stone, struggling, sweating, pulling muscles and bruising bones to build my tower to the sky.
When maybe, I'm in the wrong place or on too weak a foundation or work with materials too flimsy that will crumble in the storm. Maybe my tower leads to a trapdoor that will send me tumbling to depths greater than from where I began. Maybe I haven't asked.
I just build and build and build, stone atop stone, sure of myself, steady on my path, clear in my mission until I get to the top and I've lost my voice, lost myself, lost my way. And I see there is no top, only stone atop stone atop stone.
And so I hang my head and abandon my tower, my tools, my treasure and knees in the dirt I pray -- help me listen, teach me how to ask, how to see the path laid out before me so I can stop stacking stones in vain.
My desire to do it myself, my confidence in my own discernment and capabilities will be my downfall.
I forget this is my weakness. I am blind to my trajectory until I hear the whisper, Babel. And then I feel the subtle sway and I gasp --peering down from my precarious perch suddenly aware of the heights and the lightening flashing in the distance.