Thanksgiving Guests (2010)

Thanksgiving dinner was so much fun! This year we decided to have my mom and Bob (my stepfather) up to the little (and I do mean little) house we use on Lake Winnipesaukee. We started with shopping and early preparations on Wednesday. We were busy all day making desserts and meat stuffing and even cooking a practice turkey (the one that gets cut up and frozen because we always seem to end up with two). Thursday we were up bright and early, cooking the turkey for dinner, peeling potatoes and finishing desserts. About an hour before dinner was ready we sent a couple of the boys to the garage to bring in the picnic table which is stored for the winter. I cleaned the top of the table and the benches and covered it with a nice tablecloth. I set both tables with plates, silverware, and linens. Then I started putting the food on the table. Just before the turkey went onto the table I called all the younger kids to crawl under to get to the "wall side". Miss teenager decided to crawl under, too, so she could claim a spot at the regular table where the adults would be sitting. This way she could engage in a more grown up conversation and was less likely to get soda or gravy spilled on her. That's when it happened. Dozens, probably a hundred or more, tiny baby spiders had been nesting under the picnic table and now that they were all warmed up in the cozy little house with the crackling fire, they began to hatch! One of the little girls shouted, "a spider!", then one of the boys shouted, "another one!" As I came to the table to check out the situation, there were suddenly spiders everywhere! Little tiny, baby spiders were crawling around the table, over the forks, and onto the plates. "Save the food!", I yelled. We all scrambled to pull all of the food from the table before the spiders got into any of it. The young children scurried back under the table to freedom and began helping clear the tables and smoosh little spiders with their napkins. Everyone was scrambling; everyone except Miss teenager who had grabbed tight to the nearest little sibling and wasn't letting go! Petrified, she was frozen with fear in the corner, standing on her chair, screaming. The food was saved, the table taken back out to the garage, the dishes cleaned, and Miss teenager freed. We had so much to be thankful for. We sat down at the table, stood by the counter, and retired to the living room with our dinners. We thanked God for His wonderful blessings, and enjoyed our spider free meal. Looking back on Thursday's events, I see the beauty of it all. The table looked wonderful, the children were all calm and peaceful, and the food was perfect. It was a wonderful moment which I thank God for blessing us with.Then the spiders came. Suddenly, there was business and screams and laughter. There were great big smiles and people all scurrying to the aid of one another. This was the life! This was a memory in the making. People see my family and they tell me we're crazy. They give my husband and I all sorts of unsolicited advise about how babies are made and what we're missing out on in life. But the business and the craziness is all part of the loving family which God has blessed us with and which I am thankful for this Thanksgiving weekend! So this weekend, I hope you were given a glimpse at the truth of family love and the beauty of children. I hope, in some way, you had some "baby spider" moments of your own which you will treasure forever! May God bless those baby spiders! (even the dead ones) Happy Thanksgiving to all you wonderful families!

The Misfit Gift: An Oldie but a Goodie

Once upon a time, long, long, ago, I had adopted a crazy tradition from my mother of wrapping all of my Christmas gifts on Christmas Eve. I enjoyed this tradition as I and my poor,enslaved husband would sit in the living room for a couple of hours after the children had gone to sleep and diligently wrap all of our wonderful gifts which we had spent the past month carefully selecting for each child. Then we’d enjoy the delicious cookies and cocoa I had prepared for myself and the kids had left out for Santa. On this particular Christmas Eve, however; we ran into quite a bit of trouble. It really all started a couple of weeks before Christmas with the nightmares. Several days a week, I would wake up in the middle of the night in a horrible sweat and shake Bill to get his attention. “What?!?” he would shout in a panic, thinking something must be terribly wrong with one of the children. “I had the dream again. The one where we forgot Christmas!” I’d cry. His response was always the same. “Go back to sleep, you didn’t forget Christmas.” But the dream was so real. It was Christmas Eve and I had forgotten all about it. It was late, very late, and all of the stores were closed. The children were asleep and we didn’t even have a tree. In a panic, I would run around town, looking for a leftover tree in a darkened tree sale lot. I would always end up finding a scrawny little thing that only Charlie Brown could enjoy. But hey, we needed a tree and this is all that was left. Next I would search all over town for a store that was open. Dracut being a relatively small town; we don’t even have stores, at least not the kind you’d find Christmas presents in. So I would go to Lowell. The only stores in Lowell that were open this late were in the scary sections. Normally I would never travel there after dark, but hey, this is for my kids. I can’t let them think that Santa let them down. So off I’d go to Walgreens in Scaryville, Lowell to purchase the most random and awful gifts I could find, because random and awful is all I could ever find in my dream. So anyway, back to reality. I would sit up in my bed and take a few deep breaths and a sip of water and then lay down and try to fall back to sleep. Finally, it was Christmas Eve, and like I mentioned before, there we were, wrapping our carefully chosen gifts for each of our seven children. Now as I’m sure you’ve heard, or perhaps you’ve even experienced yourself, when there are a lot of children in the house, someone can tend to get forgotten. Well, Christmas time is no different. After wrapping all of the presents, I separated everything into piles so that they could be placed strategically around our very beautiful, very big (because if you remember, we did NOT forget Christmas was coming) tree. I looked proudly at my piles and I counted: Kailah, 7 gifts, Billy 7 gifts, Matthew and Mark 7 gifts each, Daniel 7 gifts, and Amelia 7 gifts. Mission accomplished. Every pile was exactly equal. However, if you know our family, you know that Amelia does not come after Daniel, Christopher does. Christopher! Oh my goodness, I forgot Christopher! It was after midnight, what was I going to do? I searched through the piles to see if I could steal some gifts for Topher from his unknowing siblings. Most of them were either too old for him, or too young, or too girly. I found a couple from Daniel and the twins’ piles and now my piles, my beautiful equal piles (because life is supposed to be equal, isn’t it?) were wrecked. The new count looked something like this: Kailah still 7, Billy still 7, Matthew and Mark 6 gifts each (which no longer coincided in true twin fashion, another pet peeve of mine) Dan 5 gifts, Amelia still 7 gifts, and Topher, poor Topher 4 gifts, purchased for others and stolen for him. This was a good start, but I had to do something. Topher couldn’t get just four gifts, so what was I supposed to do? By now we were pushing 1am on Christmas morning and every store is closed! What was I going to do? Christmas would be ruined by the imbalance of gifts. Poor Topher would be crushed! So, I did what any deranged, psychopathic mother would do in this situation. I called my sister-in-law, Sue, who also happens to be a shop-aholic! I was certain she must have an extra gift lying around her house that I could pass off as intentionally purchased for poor Christopher. And sure enough, not only was she still awake because she’s as nuts as me, she had a gift I could have for Topher. She had purchased it the previous year for Toys For Tots and never got around to delivering it. I didn’t care what it was or who was supposed to receive it. I knew it had been left in the back of her closet, a forgotten Christmas toy like the Charlie in the Box from the land of misfit toys for a reason. This little toy, no matter how terrible a gift it might be was going to save Christmas! Sue, being the kind, sweet woman that she is, rushed it right over to our house. I took one look at the box and knew, this was nothing I ever would have purchased. It was a box of accordion style tubes that connected to little ball-shaped heads and silly hands and feet to make little people. What a dumb toy, I thought, but hey, I was desperate so I wrapped that baby up and stuck a tag on it. To Topher Love Daddy. Hey, I wasn’t going to take credit, or should I say blame for such a ridiculous gift! I know the kids never really looked at the From part of the tag, but I still wasn’t putting my name on it. Under the tree it went, and off to bed we went for three and a half short hours. At 5am our bed was full of jumping, screaming children. Sluggishly we got up from our bed and led the birth-order train down the stairs to the living room. All the children sat in their traditional circle around the tree and we started handing out the presents. One by one, each gift was unwrapped and adored by the children. Then the time came when Daddy handed the crappy, fill-in gift to Topher. He tore the wrapping off like any other gift, not realizing what I knew, that this was a second-hand, forgotten toy from the back of Aunt Sue’s closet! He didn’t care. It was Christmas and this beautiful box had his name on it. When he looked at the gift and showed it to all of his siblings I heard the same ooos and awwws that came with every gift. “Such polite kids” I thought to myself, secretly laughing at how naïve they all were. Finally the presents were all open and Bill and I went into the kitchen to start heating the banana bread and making the coffee. I went back into the living room when I heard some bickering and I found the most unbelievable scene. They were fighting, actually fighting, over that ridiculous toy! It was everyone’s favorite present and all of the kids had put aside their gifts to play with it. How could this be possible? All of my careful planning and all that money I had spent and everyone was fighting over that foolish thing? This was such an injustice. But hey, I laughed at the silliness of the whole situation and returned to helping Bill with Christmas breakfast. Afterall, they didn’t know any better, they’re just kids!

Heroic Friendship

Would you be a friend to Mary Magdalen? Would I? She walks in to church to drop off her child and the other mothers turn their heads. They shun her. They don't necesarially mean to, it's just that they don't know what to say to her, or if they even want to say anything to her at all. She betrayed her husband. She betrayed her children. She betrayed her community. She caused so many to suffer; now, she should suffer for her sin. It's what is just. This scene calls to mind another scene we find in the book of John where we read, "Then the scribes and the pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultry and made her stand in the middle.... 'Now in the law, Moses comanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?'... 'Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.'" John 8:3-7 Christ, in this story, sets a new standard for men. He offers us the oportunity to offer foregiveness. In the old law, there was no room for forgiveness or redemption. The law was firmly set and conversion was not an option. But for Jesus, this situation enables Him to show us the great example of God's merciful love. That's all well and fine for Mary Magdalen, she was a wayward woman with serious issues, afterall. She didn't know God's love or the true faith. But the woman I spoke of above lives in the 21st century. She has the Mass and the sacraments. She knows better. It's interesting to me to hear people speak of others as if their sins are so scarlet red that they can never be forgiven. It amazes me to see how eager we are to accept the conversion of perfect strangers, yet hold out little to no hope for the conversion of our neighbors. Our Catholic church is filled with speakers who tell the most incredible stories of sin and conversion, and we embrace them and hang on every word of their inspiring stories, but when we meet up with one of our Catholic sisters or brothers who are knee-deep in a very similar, painful journey, we turn our backs to them. Somehow, they are not worthy of our love and kindness. Of course we are not to embrace the sinner and tell them not to worry, that God understands. God himself tells us in the corporal works of mercy to "admonish the sinner". Admonish, not shun nor chastize. Their is an important difference. Christ does not call us to be our brother's judge. We may be able to see the sin of our bretheren, but that doesn't give us the entire picture. Often times, we are not privy to what happens after the great offense. We are not in the confessional. We do not experience the penance. We do not feel their pain amd shame. We are not worthy of the intimate details of their healing. So the question that raises up in my heart after hearing this conversation is this: "What kind of friend am I?" Am I a heroic friend? One who could grant forgiveness to even the greatest sinner? Perhaps the sinner does not ask us for our foregiveness. Perhaps they are so ashamed, they can not look us in the eye and beg compassion. Mary Magdalen did not ask Jesus to help her. She did not defend her actions or plead for mercy. She held her head in shame. It was Christ who initiated her conversion. It was He who sent the pharisees and scribes away to reflect on their own sins. It was he who extended forgiveness and offered His heroic friendship. Am I worthy of the title heroic friend? I don't know. I truly hope I am. I know I am a sinner. I know I have judged my bretheren. I know I desperately want to be worthy of being called a heroic friend, because I know that is what Christ calls me to be. But am I?

Timeout with Jesus

I wake up in the morning and discover that my husband has risen early and prepared a fresh batch of waffle mix for breakfast. I feel grateful. The baby wakes up and his diaper is soaked through and the crib is soiled. I feel tired. My ten-year-old offers to change the crib while I clean up the baby. I feel proud. Our 15-year-old twins storm down the stairs. Mark has taken Matthew’s library book again and is spoiling the story by reading ahead aloud. They’re fighting over the book, again. It’s the third day this week they have fought over this book. Frustration is setting in. While I am sorting out the book issue and cleaning up the baby, Daniel has taken over waffle making for his younger siblings. I feel proud again. Daniel is easily distracted and now the waffles are burning. The house is filling with smoke. Anger takes hold. I yell. Kids cry. I cry. As a woman, it is easy to get caught up in the emotional rollercoaster of daily life. How is a mother to deal with the everyday stresses that surround us and threaten to rob us of every joy of motherhood? In the words of St. Padre Pio, we are to “Pray, hope, and don’t worry.” Pray. Hope. Don’t worry. These are some of the most soothing words I have ever heard. A dear friend shared these words from St. Pio with me several years ago and they have resounded in my mind repeatedly ever since. The scene I described above has occurred far too often in my home. Sometimes I weather the storm like a trooper; sometimes I am too weak to stay on my feet. Someone once told me, “If Mama is happy, everyone is happy.” These are words of great wisdom. They’re truthfulness has been proven repeatedly in my own home. But who exactly is in control of this domestic bliss? Who’s responsibility is it to ensure that Mama remains cheerful? It is mine. Domestic peacefulness is the greatest desire of every mother’s heart. This desire can be expressed in many different ways. Usually, a woman’s desire for peace sounds something like this: “I wish the kids would do their chores.” Or “I wish the trash wasn’t always so full.” Or maybe, “I wish the kids would share with each other.” “I wish the se diapers didn’t leak.” You get the idea. You know exactly what I’m talking about because you’re a mother. You’ve expressed these same wishes many times in your own life. Unfortunately, all the wishing in the world is not going to get our houses to clean themselves, our kids to behave perfectly, or the diapers to stop leaking. So what’s a woman to do? We pray. When life begins to overwhelm me, I have to find a quiet spot to spend a moment in silence. I need a timeout with the Lord. When I was young and having difficulty controlling my behavior, my mother would give me a time out. She had these two big, black milk cans that she used to store flour and sugar in, which also doubled as our timeout stools. Whenever we fought, my brother and I would have to sit on the milk cans and face the wall until our tempers cooled and we were willing to apologize. Sometimes, I would pretend to forgive my brother for the evil he had committed against me (because of course, it was always my brother’s fault that we were fighting in the first place), and he would play along in order that we could trick our mother into believing unification had been restored between her children and we would be freed from our cast iron prison stools. As soon as she said the words that released us from our bondage, I would run to my room and play by myself and my brother would go off his way and play by himself, both of us fearing that she would realize she had been duped if we stayed too near to each other and another fight began. What a fool, I thought. Mom knew better though. Her house was peaceful and quiet, the kids were no longer tormenting each other, and she was back to joyfully humming her way through the dishes. Maybe mom wasn’t the fool after all. Often women confuse peace for perfection. We can have a tendency to look at our lives and say, “If these things are in order and these events go as I have planned, then I will have peace.” But God does not promise that if we follow our schedules to a T we will find happiness. No, the joy is in following God’s plans to the best of our ability, and being always humble in the knowledge that we often times fall short of His perfect Will, but that’s okay. Peace is found when we accept that God has a plan for our lives which is infinitely more suited for our salvation than the plans of our own. Accepting God’s will in our lives is the only way to bring true peace to our souls. So how do we stay in tune with God’s will for our lives? The answer can be found on that old, black milk can from my mother’s kitchen. Sometimes, we just need a timeout in our day. Daily timeouts are so important, in fact, that we are asked to schedule them into our day and also allow for intervention timeouts whenever the need arises. We call these timeouts prayer. Every woman needs a place in her home where she can go to spend time with Our Lord. Of course it would be wonderful if we could sneak out to the church every day for a visit with our Eucharistic Lord and sit quietly reflecting before the Tabernacle, but in the business of daily life, often that is just not available to us. A nice room in the house where we can build a prayer room with a comfy chair, some religious pictures or statues, and spiritual books would be lovely, but some of us do not have the extra space. No matter what your circumstances, God will provide for you the time and space that you need to make yourself available to Him for a little one on one each day. For some of us that space is the little nook in the far corner of the master bathroom behind the dummy wall with a pair of noise cancelling headphones on to drown out the banging from the outer door. It may sound silly, but hey, it works. Peace is the Will of God for each of us, although he does not necessarily send us peace of circumstance. Many are called to the stress of the corporate work force, others to the craziness of homeschool days filled with the needs of many children, and others still the business of caring for our extended family or preparing kids for their days at school and running carpools to and from soccer. No matter which path we have been called to, there is business in our lives. I’ve never heard anyone complain that there was too much time available to them for quiet reflection. But with the proper care taken to ensure that we spend some time each day in silent prayer, reflecting on the will of God in our lives that day, we can obtain peace in our souls no matter what the circumstance. In the words of Padre Pio, “Pray, hope, and don’t worry.” God is in control. Take a timeout with Jesus!

“Behold, I am the handmaiden of the Lord”

Sunday morning I woke up at 6am with the baby and made my way downstairs to change yet another leaky diaper. “What is that thing on the floor?” I wondered. It’s a mousetrap. Wait, no, it’s half a mousetrap! And thus it begins. I sit down with my freshly cleaned baby on the couch to nurse, ignoring the mess in hopes to enjoy the one time of the day when I am actually able to feed my baby naturally and out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of something else on the floor. It’s cellophane with orange crumbs. Instantly I am aware of an even greater situation. Something is terribly wrong. I walk slowly into the kitchen with half a hope in my heart, but alas, my suspicions are confirmed. The pumpkin bread I stayed up late preparing for Sunday breakfast is gone. Stolen from my kitchen counter and devoured by dogs! Two loaves of delicious, fresh bread, stolen! I look around at the damage. Trash is spread from one end of the room to the other. Dog poop is piled high, blocking the entrance to the room, and the counter where the bread lay the night before, the only clean spot in the room. I can feel my blood beginning to boil! I dash up the stairs to do what any grown woman would do in this situation, tell Daddy! How is a woman to keep peace in her soul in this situation? So many days begin and end like the scene I woke up to this morning. So many times, my well laid plans for the day are turned upside down by the tumultuous deeds of dogs, kids, or my husband. Sometimes, my mother even comes into play. Don’t get me wrong, I love them all dearly, even my mother, but the simple fact is, they tend to mess up my plans an awful lot. You see, I have an agenda. Each and every day, I wake up with thoughts in my mind about what needs to be done and how the day should play out. Of ten I lay in my bed in the morning while everyone else is still delighting in their dreams, and I plan. Yes, I create in my very own mind a picture of that day, and it is perfect! The only problem with that picture perfect day that I plan out in my mind is that sometimes, no most times, my beautifully mastered plans do not coincide with God’s plans for my day. Now that’s the bummer right there. Did God cause my dogs to destroy my breakfast and wreak havoc in my home this morning? Does it give him joy that I should wake up to this kind of chaos? Of course not. So what is a girl to do? Where does one find peace in the tumultuous occurrences of daily life? This peace can be found only at the foot of the cross. People often see me and hear about my family and ask, “How do you do it?” or simply volunteer that I am much greater than they are for they “could never do it”. But the fact is, I can’t do it either! But with God, all things are possible. My husband and I have been married 17 years and are the proud parents to 18 chickens, two dogs, one bunny, and nearly a dozen natural offspring. Our house is filled from one end to the other with people, toys, and homeschooling paraphanelia. Our security system is that of millions of tiny Legos that would trip up even the stealthiest of burglers in the dark of night and quite often myself in the light of day. This place is crazy to say the least. Ah, yes, I find myself daily at the foot of the cross. The beauty, however, of going daily to this place of mourning and perdition is that I am never alone. There is a woman there, a mother, who never leaves. She remains there, her eyes fixed on her son, and receives from Him, all of humanity as her children. This is where I find my peace. In the ups and downs and daily trials of this earthly life, it is easy to lose our peace and to fall prey to the emotional traps set forth by the devil to trip us up and draw us from the foot of the cross. We must remain steadfast and keep our eyes fixed upon Him. If we do this, His mother, our mother, will reach over and wrap her loving arm around us. She will place her mantle of love over us and we will be sheltered in her tender gaze. This is where we will find our peace. Only by becoming like the mother who so readily accepted the Will of the eternal God, will we ever find true peace. Even when all is well and things seem to fall perfectly into place with our carefully laid plans, there cannot be true peace unless those plans have been taken to the foot of the cross and placed in the hands of His holy mother and offered as a gift to her divine Son. So as I return to the scene of the crime, and ponder upon God’s plan for my day, I am brought back to the foot of that cross, to the side of that beautiful mother, and I have a choice. One choice is to allow the devils taunt to enter my heart and rob me of my peace, or I can roll up my sleeves, get out my supplies, and clean my way to Heaven in the peace of the Lord. And I must remove the mouse remains from my couch!

Desperately Seeking Justice

Last night, my husband and I went with some friends to see a movie called Restless Heart. The movie told the story of the life of St. Augustine. Most Catholics know of St. Augustine as the wayward young man turned bishop by the grace of the Holy Spirit and the ceaseless prayers of his holy mother, St. Monica. When the movie was over and the credits had rolled, my friends and I were left with the same question, “What about Calida?” Calida was the servant given to Augustine when he arrived in Milan to work as an orator for the emperor. Calida was a faithful servant to Augustine who eventually fell in love with him, and he with her. Although she could never marry Augustine because she was a slave, she devoted her life to him and eventually bore a son by him. When the child was barely a few years old, Augustine was asked to marry the daughter of a high official, uniting the two men and their power. Overhearing this conversation, Calida decided to leave Augustine and her child in order to serve the best interest of those whom she loved most. By the end of the movie, Augustine had converted to Catholicism, become the bishop of Hippo, and laid down his life for his home and his faith. Calida, however, had never been mentioned again. My friends and I were left with a pit in our stomachs and an ache in our hearts. “What about Calida?” we wondered. Our motherly hearts cried out for this woman who had sacrificed everything, that justice be hers. It is our natural human reaction to want justice. Just as my friends and I wanted justice for Calida, I have often found so many times in my life that I have been overwhelmed by frustration due to what had appeared to me to be injustice. What is justice, and when is it good? Justice itself is a cardinal virtue and therefore intrinsically good. But there comes a time when our desire for what we see as justice can be anything but good or holy. There comes a time when our insatiable longing for justice can be the very means by which our peace is destroyed. Take a child for instance. If a child is given a piece of candy and one of that child’s siblings comes along and takes that candy, and consumes that candy, the child will go immediately to his mother and cry out for justice to be served. The child wants his sibling to be punished. The child wants retribution. The child’s heart has lost its peace. His peace has been overthrown by the unquenchable thirst for justice. When is the search for justice not in God’s plan? When that search for justice overwhelms the soul and steals away the peace of one’s heart. As a mother, I have struggled throughout the years with the desire to be just. At first, I always wanted to be fair. If my daughter received a lollipop, I would immediately extend my hand to receive a lollipop for my son. If my son was offered a playdate with a friend, I would automatically find a friend for my daughter to spend that time with. I spent much of my days making sure that every opportunity one child received was also offered to the other. This constant quest for fairness at some point overtook my heart and claimed my inner peace as its prisoner. In all of history we see many times when injustice seemed to reign. Jesus Christ, the son of God, was born to a poor family in a stable in the night. As he grew, his family was forced to flee from their home in order to protect him from Herod whose jealousy and greed had set in his heart a desire to find and kill the child. As Jesus began his mission, his teachings were rejected in his own homeland and he was forced to preach in foreign lands. And finally, as Christ was undergoing his final persecution, his friends turned their backs on him, denied him, and hid in fear. Christ however, did not seek revenge, nor justice, against these people. Rather, he prayed for them and forgave them their trespasses against him. In my life, learning to allow God to be in control, permitting him to be the ultimate authority in dispensing justice, has brought me great peace. Knowing that I am not the judge and accepting that God is in charge of passing judgement on us all, has enabled me to grow in love and charity toward others. A great peace takes over ones soul when they come to terms with the fact that they are not the ultimate authority. When we realize and accept that we all must answer to our Lord and God for our lives, there grows a great peace in our souls. Accepting that I am not my brother’s judge has enabled me to release my records of the faults and failings of others and to focus on God’s will for my own life. Peace is a great gift that God wants to give to us all. There is a parable in the Bible that tells us the story of the vineyard owner who goes out to hire daylaborers throughout the day to work in his vineyard. At the end of the day, the owner gives to each of the workers a full day’s wage, beginning with those who began later in the day. Disturbed by the apparant injustice, the workers who had given a full day and been paid the same as the rest, begin to complain to the vineyard owner. But the owner refutes them saying that he gave them what was owed to them, and asks if he does not have the right to do what he chooses with the things that are his. The story of this landowner falls dear to my heart, as I am that laborer who worked the full day in the field. I am the laborer. At least I see myself at times as that laborer who has contributed a full day’s work. Often I have complained to the vineyard owner that what I have received is unfair and unjust. Many times I have wrapped myself in the blanket of self-pity, only to find out that this blanket does not give me comfort. Only when I am able to let go and allow God to be the judge and deliverer of justice do I find true peace in my soul.

If I Could Give You One Gift

I entered the funeral home this afternoon and was struck by the stark emptiness of it all. The baby’s tiny casket sat in the front of a large empty room surrounded by a few bouquets of flowers. Her parents stood to the side. There were a few rows of wooden chairs lined up as if for a service, although the service never happened. There was no cozy furniture or soothing paintings on the walls like other funeral parlors I’ve visited. The whole thing was just empty and cold. My husband and I walked up to the father of the child, a man we’d never met, and he embraced us each and thanked us for coming. Next, we approached our niece. As I held her in my arms for a moment and expressed, to the best of my ability, the sorrow I felt for her in the loss of her child, my heart tore and my tears flowed uncontrollably. I wanted desperately to tell her that things would be okay, that she would get through this. But all I could do is cry. After pulling myself away from my dear niece, I walked over to the little casket. The cover was closed and there were no pictures of their precious child. It was hard to imagine that in this box laid the body of a sweet baby girl who only a month ago kicked wildly in her mother’s womb, a happy, healthy child. How could this be? I approached the casket and went to kneel and offer my prayers for her eternal soul, but there was no kneeler. That’s when it struck me that this family was suffering their loss alone. Peace is something that comes to us as a gift. It is given to us by our divine Lover who knows that without His peace, we simply would not be able to cope with the trials of life. Even in the darkest hours of my life, I have always felt the peace of knowing that God was with me. Any trial I have ever had to endure has always been bearable by reflecting on the cross and knowing that no pain I could ever suffer would take away the love God has for me. In fact, through my sufferings, I am brought closer to Christ and His blessed mother who suffered more than any mother could ever imagine. I wish desperately that my niece could know the love of our Lady and unite her broken heart to the mother of the world who knows every bit of her pain. Unfortunately, my dear niece does not know the peace that comes with the gift of our Catholic Faith. She was never taught the faith of her grandmother, because her own mother and father have never shared that faith with their children. How will she ever be able to cope with the loss of her child; how will she make sense of this tragedy? If I could give you one gift, my dear niece, I would give you the gift of faith. For it is only through faith that we are able to make sense of our suffering. Only through faith can we feel the peace of God in the midst of our desperation.