The Early Riser: April 2017

As Christ rose from the dead on Easter Sunday, I was helping Bobby help Spot find his ball. As I turned the page, whispering 'grab it butterfingers' into Bobby's ear, I brushed pretzel crumbs off his new blue blazer, found a place in my purse to put Mary's slobbery lollipop stick, and hoped the sweat pouring down my face wouldn't ruin the one day my hair and make-up looked relatively good.

We were at St. Bede's for Mass. My sister was singing in their ethereal choir. I spied several familiar faces in the crowded pews. My kids were behaving, but I was performing a muted three ring circus to garner the effect. The homily was apparently moving, fitting, the congregation laughing at the punch lines. At one point, my brother reached over me to tell his daughter to listen because the priest was talking about children. If only I had taken his advice. Bobby was driving his cars up and down the 'lanes' of my dress at that time though.

Much of Lent, the most reflective part of the year for us Catholics has a similar quality. That is, every time I set out to pray, I seemed to get interrupted. And God was never as persistent as a friend, family member or co-worker coaxing me to go on and finish what I had started to say. He mostly just let it go, hoping I'd return to the thought soon enough.

There have been so many nights when I began an Our Father or Hail Mary, poised for success, only to find myself asleep half way through.

Life continues to be so busy, and with it more challenging to find concentrated time in the day, or week, or month to just sit with my thoughts, offering them to God. And throughout the past forty days, which have largely gone unrepresented on paper, I felt like I needed to tame the rigors of work and family life more than ever, so I could practice my faith more fastidiously.

Instead, it went something like this:

Our Father who art in heaven ...
Sales are up. Top complaint continues to be dry / overcooked. That image needs to say 'we are in the dinner business' and it's worth your $20. Can we thaw it faster, cook it better, hold it less? Answer text, call him back, reply all, into one meeting and onto the next. Introduce my new guy. Thank you, new guy. We're winning new guy.

Hallowed be thy name ...

"Is that a snake?" Bobby asked when he pooped in the potty for the first time.

Thy kingdom come ...

I heard my Dad talk about his big brother, my Uncle Jim. My eyes started to well and then drip. Mary asked me, 'why are there tears coming out, Mama?' I tried to recount - nope, I don't think I've cried in front of her before. When they played the Notre Dame fight song at the end of the funeral Mass, I couldn't hold it together. Such an icon; such a great man. Gone too soon.

Thy will be done ...

I was in the middle of fighting off my kids' fear of Marquette's mascot, the Eagle. I decided to give them a break, get them some ice cream, and return at the end of the game. My best friend's team had won. Bravo! I gave her an overdue hug - one that I wish I could have given her months ago and felt a pain relaying the news I was carrying.

On Earth as it is in heaven ...
"Eagle in the bubble gonna eat me, Mama?"
"No Bobby, the Eagle is nice."
"I afraid of Eagle, Mama."
"The Eagle went home. You're fine."

Give us this day, our daily bread ...
I said one more goodbye to my VP. I wish I could have had another drink with him at his party, but I had to go home. And I had to figure out a way to move on. He told me to keep in touch. I knew I would, but it still hurt seeing him go.

And forgive us our trespasses ...
"You're welcome," Peter replied.
God, the amount of times I forget to just say thank you to my amazing husband is embarrassing.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

As we forgive those who trespass against us ...
Chemical weapons, Russia, North Korea, the mother of all bombs. Geez Louise.
Meghan.
God bless her.
Bobby came downstairs with his arms full of toy cars, then proceeded to drop them all over the floor. "Geez Louise" he repeated back to me.

As we forgive those who trespass against us ...
Oh my gosh, my dress just split open. In the middle of Easter brunch. In the middle of the Golf Club. In the middle of everyone. I think I might just die of humiliation, right here, in front of the balloon man.

As we forgive those ... crap ... where was I? It's about now that I lose track. I quickly shift out of one prayer and into the next. For all those that are suffering - through war, famine, disease, distress, despair. And I start wondering why me? Why has life left me so blessed? I go from an attempt at pious formality to a simple, but honest, 'thank you.' And a request to let me know how I can use all the stuff God has given me as he would want.

In saying just that, I feel more at peace. Able to move on. And maybe that's the thing about prayer. It can be as messy, confusing, and scatter brained as daily life, but as long it's done genuinely and graciously, it's effective.

So on Easter Sunday, I just said thank you. Over and over again.
For kind, thoughtful parents.