Witness

Years ago, when I was a 'young' mother and all my children were small, I happened upon a group of other 'young' mothers.  Each, on our own, burned with a desire to learn more about our faith, to understand what it meant, really and truly meant to be Catholic.  In a world, and in parishes where anyone really could believe and do what they wanted, regardless of what our faith taught us, something tugged at each heart.  Grace was planted there in those busy hearts and minds and called us to come and understand what it meant to live a life in the heart of Jesus, under Our Lady's mantle.  In each of us was planted the seed that children are blessings from God, gifts to be given and received with openness and generosity.  Crazy thinkin' according to the rules of the world. And some of us were blessed with piles of kids and others were blessed with fewer! We all met, in a little building, huddled together.  And we all learned and confirmed what we knew called to us ...to not only accept, but to truly live (as best we could, with all sorts of mistakes and failings) our faith out in world hostile to what we believed.  And so we had babies a plenty, and we reared and raised them ...still are in fact!
That was nearly twenty years ago when I was in my early thirties!  Back then, we found the constant care of young ones daunting, demanding and tiring.  Every two weeks, on Mondays we piled our kids in our cars and met in this little building called 'The Shell," to learn our faith, learn from each other and learn from mothers a bit ahead of us.  Under the care of a 'Mrs. Claus' type woman, our children were safely tucked away with cookies and silly play time. Our kids shared stories and sippy cups.  We'd sneak out to nurse a crying child, change a diaper or stop one from biting everyone else.
This was my basic training in the faith.  Raised and educated as a Catholic from the late sixties to the early eighties, I learned the watered down version (pardon my irreverence) of Catholic life.  So truly, it wasn't until I was older with my kids that I began to learn the treasures of our faith along with the unique richness so often ignored today.  And it is an absolute grace given, nothing gained or granted because of anything I've earned.  It is simply a gift.
And the gift of faith came with a great gift of friendship.  I met all these wonderful women, still part of my life today.  Aside from two friends, steadfast since high school, these are the women who share my story.  Some of them I speak to nearly every day, and some maybe only once or twice a year.  And sure some are more intimately tied to my day to day life, but all are part of the fabric ...part of the vine of my life that has not withered and died.
Once a year, I'm pretty sure I'll catch a few of them at an annual Christmas caroling evening, started with a quiet meditation about the holy family and what this season is truly all about.  And in between there are cookies ...lots and lots of cookies.  We have done this for many years now, and it is a staple, a respite in the season.  Everything that I truly want in life, is present.  The focus is the birth of Christ, and I can sit for a few quiet moments praying and talking to Him.  My family is here (not all of us all the time ...but most!) ...even Phoebe is here, because she was such a part of this night.  Deep friendship is here ... and of course, cookies!
As I write this, Christmas has come and gone, a blur.    But I treasure this night, that stays with me long after it's passed.
For years, we exchanged phrases as we dashed to monitor kids, save the punch from being toppled or the cookies being licked only to be put back on the tray.  Their were babies in need of nourishment, crazy toddlers likely to climb Christmas trees or dismantle the manger.  Diapers had to be changed, children were up past bedtime ...we worked this evening or years.  But we KNEW, it was special, we KNEW our kids would remember and treasure this night.  And they do!
But now, so many years later, other mothers chase their children.  Settled in to the routine, our kids find their friends, some they only see this one night.  And we find peace.  It's as if we are free, and we play hooky from the caroling, find a cozy spot ...and we laugh ...with nothing to laugh at ...no words, just the years behind us, the stories of lives twisting and turning unpredictably with joy and tragedy, grace and sorrow, gain and loss, celebration and grief ...we share those stories, because we wove them together.  Our story.
Not everyone is here, but enough of us to remember each woman called to this little haven.  So often, in the world we are the fools ...but here we know we are the wealthy, because we chose God as our core.
The music flows over us from the other room, children find us, aghast at our abandonment of the songs.
We are weary travelers, and we have weathered many storms ...it's our turn to 'just be' with each other.
Phoebe's name isn't mentioned this night ...not needed to be.  She is here, so much a part of all of us.
Christmas comes and passes so quickly.  It's hard to capture the season.  But blinks of comfort moments happen.  Just enough to burn a memory.
When a child dies, for a long time, its hard to imagine anything you did right for them or with them.  All the negative moments surge in and take hold. Guilt and doubt root themselves in the core of every cell.   It takes time for good memories to edge out the not so good.  It takes time ...so much time.
These women witness back to me and remind me of goodness shared with all my kids ...with Phoebe.
That's a priceless gift ...a treasure worth savoring and saving.
Christmas is tucked away, but the comfort of that night lingers.