Holy Thursday

Some days I fight back the tears for hours on end.  Not most days, but some days.  Something is said, or heard, or seen, or felt ...or thought, and the waves roll in.  And when those days come, when it takes all I can find to stay composed and move through the day, someone who loves me very much appears the instant I need scooping up.  I'm grateful for those times. 
This season of Lent has brought more of those days, loaded my plate with a lot of sadness and uncertainty.  The season started with a really sad thing ...and set the tone for the forty days of repentance and restoration in Christ.  And it has just kept on.
A friend reminded me the other day how often I say that we must be thankful to God, most especially in the hardest moments of our lives, the ones that horrify us, rob us of our very selves, the ones we 'know' we can't handle.  It's helped me to hear that I say that, spread that ...even though I don't 'feel' like saying thank you.  But if we really believe in eternal life with God, then we must also believe in the story of the crucifixion and the great cost of believing and trusting that our chance for Heaven comes from the gift of suffering. Without the crucifixion there is no resurrection.
I've come to believe that though it is good and right to offer our own sacrifices and mortification, God will offer us the best way to participate in the Passion.  He will offer us our own Lent.  And some have longer Lents than others.  I once heard it said at the funeral of a man who suffered, long and hard, the disease of addiction that his life was a long Good Friday.  Some people suffer more than others.  Many have suffered far more than I ever will ...which makes me deeply sad, because my own pain is quite heavy. 
Holy Thursday reminds all of us of the greatest suffering of all.  And where are we, where am I?  Have I scurried away and hidden myself from association with Christ?   Have I been oblivious all along?  Am I willing to stay until the end when all seems despairing?  Or will I show up, only for the accolades when I can be seen and deemed holy?  What price am I willing to pay to be a true follower of Him?  I have to ask those questions over and over ...and sometimes struggle for the answer.  This Lent has been hard.  I've begged for grace to see my way through.
Grace finds us in miraculous ways.  As I struggled to get out of my own way, climb over my own despairing, I was able to hold the hand of a dear old woman.  I am amazingly blessed with the job that I have and the people I get to care for.  My old friend has buried more than one child, and so few words are needed between us, we understand each other, the searing pain that can come from nowhere, anytime.  Her pain surfaced several weeks ago, and while we all grew concerned, she seemed to start slipping into another place.  I know that place, a place I've often longed to go, but my kids and my life keep me away.  It's a place of longing and yearning, where all you want is to delve in the waiting for that reunion ...that physical sense and awareness of your lost child.  Without my other kids and knowing what they deserve, I would have gone there long ago ...just slipped away.  And that's where I could see my friend was going.
We've laughed a lot together, but the laughter had gone.  I'd tell her I wouldn't leave her until I got a smile ...and she would muster the tiniest upward curve of her mouth.  Today I sat next to her on her bed and held her hand. "You've been living Lent," I said to her.  "Is that what you think it is, I'm beginning to wonder?" she answered back.  I reminded her that today we begin our journey to Calvary, we are on the road.  She shook her head "oh, not me, I'm not worthy of that," she said.  I told her none of us are or ever will be worthy of that journey, but we are all invited. That time with her was a great grace, a reminder of how broken hearts, together, can find moments of wholeness, moments of fulfillment.  We smiled together knowing the Resurrection will find us ...one day.
This night, the night of the Last Supper, the night of Jesus praying while his Apostles fell asleep and one betrayed Him, the night when the promise of Heaven's gates being opened began its fulfillment ...this night, we are all invited to join Him, to convert ourselves, our hearts and souls to living only in Him.  We're invited again to reject the glitter, glam and empty promises of this world, and follow the son of a carpenter to His death.  It is a tough road, but worth the climb.
And where is Phoebe in all of this?  In my stillness, I hear her telling God, "She's my mom, she can take this!"  And she turns to me "C'mon Mom, you know you can ...don't be a slacker."  Not the warm and fuzzies, but certainly Phoebe through and through!
Blessings and grace to you during these holiest of days!

St. Joseph

We push on toward the two and a half year mark.  Hard to believe.  And still it's like it is just hours ago that I saw the lifelessness of Phoebe.  In her life, she was the epitome of energy.  Life buzzes around us, both by choice and necessity.  There are things to tend to, challenges and opportunities.  We strive to launch our children into the world, well prepared, solid, faithful, kind ...real, especially real and genuine.  There's a host of characteristics we want our kids to have.  Likely they won't have all of them, but together they might, each one bringing their own strength ...and weakness to culture of our home and family.
We are far enough away from that day when our lives shattered to be forgotten by most, or at least to be only in the shadows, never in the forefront.  That's how it all works, the nature of being human, we forget, diminish the impact if it doesn't immediately affect us.  I do it too! 
So we make our way, with our little entourage of those who remember with us, help carry the loss and tend the wound that will not heal.  In little moments, a slip here and there, a child reveals the pain of missing.  But the world tells them it is behind them, it shouldn't hurt them now ... We see though, we know. We push on.
Yesterday was the feast of St. Joseph, spouse of the Blessed Mother, foster father to Christ.  Several years ago, a dear friend at the time introduced me to him.  I've felt close to him since, and trust in his protection of our family.  I've come to believe St. Joseph gives nothing away, he is not indulgent or impulsive.  He petitions on our behalf for only what we need, and desire only if its what God desires for us too!  Many prayers have been laid before him from this heart, and they've all been answered ...most in ways I hadn't wanted.  For me its all about trusting, entrusting ...and then accepting.  A constant struggle of pulling back and releasing, desiring a certain answer and then ascending towards the response given, the plan laid out.  In my mind and heart, my path is laid out before me, trimmed in pansies and thyme, sweet stones marbled with color and moss.  I haven't found that path yet, mine winds its way through stormy wilderness.  Puddles, roots, divets and droppings demand my attention and caution.
I imagine the journey St. Joseph took from Bethlehem to Egypt, how treacherous it must have been and yet he pushed on ...and on, to safety.
I want St. Joseph to take me and my family to Egypt, help us get there, find safer land where we can rest, breath, not look over our shoulder quite so much ....ease the panic.  My eyes and heart search for the signs of that, and for now there are none I can see. We push on.  And only a very few know the risky steps we take to keep looking forward.  Life gets a bit easier here and there,  a bit heavier and bitter in others.  St. Joseph did all he could to protect his family, knowing the road ahead would not be easy ...knowing in some way that here on earth salvation would be played out with his little family.  He pushed on ....leading by example.  I'll follow as best I can, my intentions tightly clutched to my heart.