Practice Makes Perfect

Yesterday, my husband and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary.  He had to work in Austin, so I drove to meet him.  We spent 24 kid-free hours just being.  We ate, drove around his old stomping grounds, walked around what used to be Lake Travis, ate some more, and enjoyed the pauses in between.  We had grand visions of staying up late, listening to live music, and walking around downtown, but happily pursued Plan B of retiring early after filling our bellies at The County Line.  As we grow old together, we're learning that we're happiest when we don't have anywhere to be.

Our time together was much-needed and overdue.  We've been like two ships passing in the night for longer than anyone would recommend.  No surprise, really with work, little boys, and all of the other things that overtake our calendar.  But, the marriage fleet needs to dock once in a while, to remember why we're working together in the first place, dust off the vision, and re-energize about future voyages.

I think I could live off of this past 24-hours for another couple of weeks (but, please don't tell my husband).  If you've read the Five Love Languages, I'm a "quality timer", so my love tank is Full.  Ahhhhhhh.

On our way back home, I was thinking about love and marriage, and what that looks like when we get to Heaven.  Today's Gospel (Lk 20:27-38) says "those who are deemed worthy to attain to the coming age and to the resurrection of the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage.  They can no longer die, for they are like angels: and they are the children of God because they are ones who will rise."

I don't really like the way this sounds, because it seems like marriage only has temporary value.  Temporary value is well and good, but it seems like it falls dramatically short of what God intended and like we dreamed the idea up for ourselves.  A lifetime of monogamy and child-rearing?  Really?  This afternoon, I sat down with my head full of questions and uncertainty about reality and what's important in it.  I tried to journal, but only wrote one sentence and picked up The Fulfillment of All Desire by Ralph Martin, instead.  On page 57 it reads:

The union with and love of God that begin in this life and grow as the spiritual journey progresses will be gloriously manifested and perfected in heaven.  But so also will the union and love that we have had with one another in this life be gloriously manifested and perfected in heaven.  The Father tells Catherine (of Siena) that the particular relationships we had on earth, insofar as they were in the Lord, will actually increase in depth of intimacy and love in heaven.  Friendships and marriages that were lived in and with Jesus will be "saved" and indeed prove to be a love that is truly "forever".  The time for biological procreation will have come to an end-our bodies now transformed in glory, made ready for an eternity of celebration-but, the love, in Christ, that was built up in true Christian relationships will last forever.  We will not only know and recognize one another in heaven, but know and love each other even more!

That's better. 

So, we're not still "married" in heaven, but the love is still there.  Our spouses and children don't suddenly become strangers.  Thank goodness!  Can you imagine?!  We love them even more, and everyone else besides.  Love is great here, but it is not perfect.  It is perfected in heaven.  It is no wonder I can't understand it.  It is beyond me.  But, that's why I'm here.  And that's probably why you're here, too.  We're here to practice loving.  Because practice makes perfect.

Dear Heavenly Father,  Thank you for my husband of 11 years and for the first day of our 12th year of marriage.  Thank you for time away to remember why we got married in the first place.  Thank you for the blessings of our children and the protection you offer a wife and mother, by the very nature of her life.  Please bless all who are married.  Purify and perfect our love.  Give us the grace to put ourselves second, so that we may imitate Your Son, who asked "What is the most I can do to prove My love?"  Thank You for All.  I Love You.  Amen.

The Funeral of a Stranger

I attended a funeral yesterday of a person I met only once, for about five minutes.  She was a 64-year-old woman who battled cancer for a year and a half.  I  met her about a month ago because she signed up to be a substitute driver for the transportation ministry I coordinate at my Church.  At that time, I made an appeal for drivers at the end of Mass, and she approached me afterward.

She had a very short crop of white hair and walked with a walker.  She said she had cancer, and would especially like to drive anyone else who had cancer.  We spoke briefly about her chemotherapy sessions, and I learned that she was usually alone and read during her treatment.  This was interesting to me, as the only other person I know who has gone through chemotherapy, always had at least one person (and often many) to pass the time with.  My friend, a mother of ten, has a never-ending list of people who love her and who were eager to take a "slot". 

This woman, though, was an only child and never married.  There were 35-40 people at her funeral, most of them co-workers.  If it weren't for the brief account of her life given by her best friend, all I would know about her is what I learned from her; She was willing to serve until the end of her life.  And that is why I was there.  I want to be like her.  I want to be willing to serve long after the world says I am relieved of my duty to do so. 

I never thought I would want to be cremated.  Before yesterday, it always seemed an unnecessary desecration of the body, and it disturbed me to think about my body going through an incinerator.  But, yesterday, upon entering the Church, I was struck by the beauty and profound simplicity of what she was leaving behind.  Her remains were in a simple white box, resembling a small treasure chest, and the only other thing on the 2x2 covered table was a single red rose.  I love it that the only other thing on the table was something simple, and yet exquisitely beautiful.  I really, really wanted to take a picture, lest I forget the impact this visible reality made on me.  However, I hope sharing it with you will etch it in my memory, just the same.   

The absence of her walker leaning against the table reminded me of how encumbered we can become in this life.  All of her earthly possessions were dispersed (and generously given by her).  There was no casket, and no ceremonious carrying of the casket by six strong men.  There was no funeral procession, and no cemetery plot.  There were no extravagant flower arrangements.  There was no crucifix, and no Rosary.  Simply proof of her existence, and something beautiful.  God's handiwork.     

I don't remember where I saw it, or who said it, but "All that is not given away is lost."  The only thing of value from our life, after our life is over, is what we have given to others.  The love we have sown in the lives of those who care enough to come to our funeral is the only thing we can claim, and the only thing that remains after we are gone.   

Dear God of Life and Eternity,

Thank you for the opportunity to meet Nancy, albeit briefly.  Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let Perpetual Light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace.  Thank you for her willingness to serve until the end of her life.  Please give me the grace to imitate her.  Thank you for my husband and children, and all of the joy and love that come with loving and living so intimately.  Please draw near to those who are traveling through this life alone.  Help us to know them when we see them, so that we may bring You to them.  Thank you for funeral Masses and experiences that demand an honest assessment of where we are and where we're going.  Thank you for beauty and love, for they always point to You, their source.  When I die, please let me have retained nothing for myself.  Let the simplicity of my life reflect the truth of Your Life.  Thank you for all that was, is, and is to come.  Amen.          

A Traceable Piece of Trash

My youngest and I were at the park this morning.  He was playing contentedly, so I decided to fill up my empty bread sack with the little bit of trash I saw laying around (I'm incredibly grateful to my husband for his example in this department). I told God that each piece of trash was an offering for souls, and when my bag was nearly full, I found a ziplock baggie with someone's name written on it with black marker.  A traceable piece of trash... 

This got me to thinking that every piece of trash I picked up, has someone's name on it.  It is just written with invisible ink.  Which got me thinking...Every thing we do has our name on it.  Good and Bad.  Little and Big.  Which got me thinking...about Judgment day. 

I imagined a big mountain of all the things (actions, thoughts, and words) from my life with my name on it.  And then I imagined Jesus sorting through the heap; tossing the bad in a pile a little distance from His feet, and gathering the good to Himself.  And I'm standing there watching Him, praying that the Good pile is bigger than the Bad pile, although I'm not really sure that settles anything...  

And that's it - I can't see anything beyond the Divine sorting.  But, that makes sense to me because I'm still adding to both of them, Good and Bad... 

My vanity would love to think of all the good in my life secured with a big flag waving around with my name on it.  But, if the "Bad" flags were flown around for all to see first, I think it would crawl under a rock, never to be seen again.

So, I wonder, on Judgment day, do we see the good or the bad first?  (By the way, don't you hate, "Well, there's good news and bad news..."?!  The bad almost always overshadows the good, and I'm not sure which order you hear them in makes a bit of difference).

Anyway, I think we see the bad first.  Because if you get to go to Heaven, you don't want to show up in a bad mood.  And, I'm pretty sure if I watched the movie of my life, and the first half was awesome and the last half sucked (excuse the expression), I would be in a pretty bad mood.

Have you heard someone say, "All's well that ends well."?  I think that's about right.

At least for today, I'm going to try to remember that everything I do has eternal value, and it is accruing.  I'm either getting closer to Heaven or farther away.  The heaps of Good and Bad are growing, and they are traceable to me. 


Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for the time in the park this morning.  Thank you for that brave little squirrel that was nearly eating out of my son's hand, and for that little ziplock baggie with a name scribbled on it.  Thank you for moments of reflection about Judgment day that don't suck the air out of my lungs.  Your mercy reins over Your justice.  I'm counting on that, and I Thank You.  Please help me build a mountain of Good, that no human eye can perceive.  You know that it must me be so, for it to be purely for love of You.  Otherwise, my vanity shoves in, and takes over.  I love You.  Please make me love You more and more.  Amen.