Getting Out The Door

At Mass at our neighboring Parish on Easter Sunday morning, I listened to Father Guido recite the Easter Gospel by memory. As he talked (and I pointed out big Bs and little bs in Dr. Seuss' ABCs to Bobby), I reflecting on Jesus' great escape from the Tomb. And my thoughts drifted toward a pain point in our lives right now. Ah ... makes total sense. There's a method to the madness.







What do I mean ...








Well, at home, we're all pretty good at life.

And when we're anywhere else, I'd say the same.

But the middle ground. When moving from home to anywhere else, particularly as we try to get out the door, can feel like the world is falling apart. Or least my small part of it.










For instance, that same Sunday morning pre-Mass, getting out the door was quite the ordeal. There was a fight over Bitty Baby's bottle. Five minutes later, Mary's dress was wet and there was a puddle on the floor. I wiped it up and then tried to put Bobby in his pressed shirt. I couldn't button it, so we moved on to the wrinkled one. I packed my bag and put in the car. Crap. I forgot crayons, then a car for Bobby, then Margaret's diapers. Bobby broke one my Bumblebee candles and glass shattered all over the ground. As I swept up glass, I told Mary to put on her dress shoes. There was an argument over shoe choice, then an argument about what coat to wear. Then came the bartering for a better snack at Church. Margaret was in the wrong infant carrier, but she was sound asleep. So do we dare wake her and transfer? ... or do we just take two cars. Two cars it is. Frazzled and frizzy haired, I got the puffs, I got the camera, I was locking the door, but I forgot to go to the bathroom. And I'm unlocking the door ... you get the point.







And honestly, this was one of our better scenarios. We actually made it to our destination on time. Usually we are running out the door late for something, with someone in tears, someone dirty, someone about ready to lose it, someone with a headache, and poor Margaret just going along for the ride.







Five or ten minutes later, the clouds part and everyone's singing along to the Soundtrack of Moana. Twenty minutes later, we're where we want to be and generally speaking, full of joy.


So goes the reflection and connection. The finale of Lent, the transition from Good Friday to Easter Sunday is a dark time for us Catholics. We pray. Keep quiet. And get pretty hungry. Then the tomb opens and there's hope, hallelujahs, and lots of ham.


Many transitions in life bear a resemblance to the most holy one; they can be challenging, confusing, filled with emotion, and very taxing. Personally, I've been through them. Currently, it's the whole getting out the door bit, an all too regular occurrence in our life that keeps me prayerful and patient.


Last Sunday, with a silent Our Father going through my head, we did it. We made it out the door, to Easter Mass, to Mimi and Opa's Easter Egg Hunt, to Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Andy's feast, to a day full of hallelujah, joy, pastels and seersucker, hidden eggs, chocolate and more chocolate, family, wine, whiskey, and so much promise. Promise that there is always a way outward and upward, if you set your spirit to it.  

To keeping in Easter in my heart every day. And to that time tomorrow morning, when I'm trying to pack the pool bag, get everyone bundled up, and not lose my mind, I will keep this reflection close.


Lo.