Do not let your hearts be troubled

Over the past week, the gospel repeated these words over and over. “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” And yet, even as I read them over and over, I realized that my insides were saying to me – “That’s wonderful. But, my heart IS troubled.”

Not troubled in a massive, overwhelming fashion. But, small waves of troubled. It’s always that way when I see my children (adult though they are) having a rough go of it. Not earth-shaking rough, just rocky, uneven ground that challenges them, and me, to be a bit more trusting. The kind of bumps in the road that let us know that we do walk by faith and not by sight.

If I, as a mother, have these troubled feelings when the road is not smooth for my offspring, I can only imagine how Mary must have felt as she watched her son follow his path that led to the cross. It makes me want to shout to God – “make it smooth for them! Let me take these trials for them!” And yet I know that each of us must walk the walk ourselves.

Over the past few days, as my daughter and I have talked through some of the things that are causing her stress, and discussed things that I still would probably hesitate to talk with my own mother about, it does strike me that we are drawing closer to each other. We are sharing. We are becoming a bit more of a community. In many ways, that is how I learn to listen to those words “Do not let your hearts be troubled” and begin to accept them in my heart.

I circle back to that prayer that seems to ground me always:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can
And the Wisdom to know the difference

50 Years

Last night we helped our deacon and his wife celebrate their Golden Wedding Anniversary. We means the parish, the family who came in from around the US and several local priests. From the mass (where the priest almost forgot to do the Renewal of the Vows) on through the reception complete with wedding cakes, it was a wonderful event.

Mind you, when it came to light that this was the Big 50, the couple in question said that they would like a small, simple service and maybe a potluck at the parish hall after. Like that was going to fly! Everyone told them, “Sure, if that’s what you want” and then proceeded to swipe a wedding picture from the house so that it could be scanned and reproduced for fancy programs and favors, and who knows what other skullduggery took place – all in secret.

It’s about Family and relationships and community. It’s about caring for another through surgery and loss of site, good times and bad. It’s the wedding feast at Caana. It’s sharing life in the breaking of the bread. It’s about Jenny’s group that makes sure that folk who have a hospital stay or some other disruption have a meal brought in. It’s about Don’s work with Confirmation classes and RCIA. It’s about a son who would show up with his family from the other side of US to surprise his parents and share in the celebration.

As it turns out, it was probably about the party as well. It seems that when they got married it was a very tiny wedding and reception (maybe 20 people all told). It was about time to have a big wedding reception — and after all of their gifts to our community, it was the least we could do.

Desert

The past couple of days, I’ve been rather in a desert when I think of writing. Oh, I’ve done some technical writing because I have a lot of that to work through, but in the interior landscape, it seems to be a desert.

Which reminds me of a retreat weekend some 8 years ago – it was supposed to be a “Desert Retreat” – but due to a typo it became a “Dessert Retreat.” And as it is with these sorts of things, while the Desert theme was carried through, we had a grand time teasing the person who added the extra “s” and harassed him about not bringing enough desserts.

I remember that retreat quite vividly. We were led through The Cloud of Unknowing. We were presented with Julian of Norwich and “All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” Good concepts to ponder that weekend as it turned out. When I returned home on Sunday morning atthe end of the retreat I found that my house had burned – not quite to the ground, but in a way that might not have been any worse.

All shall be well. Nobody was injured in the fire. Even the cats escaped the house.

All shall be well. I discovered that most of what was lost was “just stuff.” And, the closets were cleaned out without the pain of making a choice.

All shall be well. We survived it.

All shall be well. There are still times now when I am aware that there may still be people to be forgiven — or people who need to understand that they are forgiven. But, it will come to pass, I am sure

All shall be well. Many months later, after we were back in the “new” house, my neighbor across the street brought me a gift: a package of very nice fat-quarters (fabric for quilting). I had lost my entire fabric stash in the fire. We both stood in the street and cried. I’ve not gotten back into quilting in the last 8 years — I think something broke inside me — but the gift touched me so deeply.

All shall be well. All manner of things shall be well.