A Childlike Faith

Dear Mary Beth,

Sweet girl! You came to this day as you have come to every day of your life, with deep, unwavering, childlike faith and gentle grace. You do not have a story of tribulation to tell; indeed, there isn't even the slightest hint of doubt or searching or rebellion. Instead, you have a love story. As you approached the altar to complete the work begun in Baptism, it was so easy for me to remember your baptism. Behind you today, with her hand on your shoulder, was your beloved Mel.  She sang for you on your baptism day. "Rejoice and be glad! Blessed are you, holy are you. Rejoice and be glad! For yours is the kingdom of God." Blessed you have been. You are one of those rare souls who has been blessed with an extraordinary faith. You don't wrestle; you don't fret. You believe to the core of your being and you live what you believe.

It was Mel who first led you to the Atrium, where you sunk into the environment and seemed to come alive before your Lord every week. Mrs. Bishop nurtured that gift of faith and we all watched as it bloomed brilliantly. As soon as you were too old to be a child in the atrium, you became an assistant, sometimes twice a week, once with Mrs. Bishop and once with Mel. There, in the hush and the joy of children embracing the Good Shepherd, your own childlike faith grew.

 

Make no mistake, it's not a childish faith. You are not the slightest bit immature. Instead, it is a faith reminds me daily of your Confirmation patron, St Therese of the Child Jesus. She has been your companion for so long, hasn't she? Remember how you begged her for a little sister? You were the only girl, stuck between five boys. Tiny little one, you wanted to wish every day for a sister to love. I suggested we pray instead. So began our perpetual novena to St. Therese. And then, there was Kirsten Therese. With sure faith that your prayers would be answered, you begged your sweet saint for a "shower of roses." Mel was with you the day you helped Daddy and I welcome Karoline Rose to the world. And on the night you called the scariest of your whole life, you sat up all night with St. Therese and begged some more. What a gift you are to sweet Sarah Anne!

And there's another thing that has struck me in the days we've spent preparing for Confirmation: with the gift of extraordinary faith, God gave you another gift. He gave you the gift of a rare and enduring friendship. You really do have a best friend for life. I will never forget how you and Bailey giggled with sheer delight when you discovered that independently you'd chosen the same First Communion dresses. What a sweet picture you made that day, lovely little girls with darling curls. Your curls didn't come naturally but you begged me to help you make some for that day so you and Bailey could really match. I've watched you this year as Bailey has suffered. I know how your heart breaks for her and how constantly you hold her in prayer. And I know that Bailey, well enough to be sitting with you, being sealed in the Holy Spirit right alongside you, brought you a special joy.

 

Finally, it is fitting that girl whose heart nearly broke when Patrick chose not to be confirmed when it was "his turn" two years ago and who never lost faith in him and never stopped praying for him should be granted the great privilege and joy of standing right next to him as he was confirmed this year. No one loves Paddy the way you love Paddy and no one could have been happier to share her moment before the bishop with him.

As I kissed your forehead confirmation night, I inhaled the sweet scent of chrism that took me back to a beautiful baby in a white dress and bonnet. A first daughter. The answer to a lifelong prayer. In all my imagining, in every hope and wish and prayer, I could not have begun to grasp the gift that is you.

God bless you!

 
 

Man of God

Dear Patrick,

Did you know that you just kept singing all day, the day you were confirmed? We all know that you are not the most gifted singer, but sing you did. All day long, sheer joy bubbled up from you. Joy. You have found joy in Our Lord.

Two years ago, you told us that you could not honestly profess our faith. You had too many doubts, too many unanswered questions. You had learned too young that the Church is made of imperfect people. Alongside your seeds of faith, seeds of doubt had been sown. We appreciated the courage and honesty you showed in that moment. And we began a long, hard journey with you to find Christ.

There were nights I trembled with fear as I watched the storms rage within you. I prayed. Oh, how I prayed! There was a grain of faith there, I knew. A mustard seed, if you will. You tried to crush it.

We read great books. You talked to brilliant apologists. You remained unconvinced. You faltered. And you fell.  You learned that living in a family of faith means that someone will pick you up and carry you as far as you need, for as long as you need. You saw in your father the face of forgiveness and the example of sacrifice for someone else's sins. You softened and opened yourself just a little bit to the grace of the Lord. You heard the voice of Jesus in the confessional. I will forever be grateful to that good and holy priest. You returned to the Eucharist, tentatively at first.

There were so many, many people praying for you. Among them was a band of brothers in Louisiana and their sweet, faithful Mama. You knew they could be counted on to drop everything and pray through overtime of the State Cup finals. We could almost hear them cheering from so far away when you scored the winning goal. But you also knew that a faithful woman in the deep South joined her prayers with mine and your godmother's and the prayers of so many people who love you for a much, much bigger triumph.

On a warm, late summer afternoon, just as you were beginning to embrace Our Lord, your world was rocked. The baby boy newly born to the merry band of brothers died in his sleep. And that afternoon, as we sat at an outdoor cafe on the way to soccer practice and I tried to make some phone calls, you cradled your baby sister very close and I noticed you were trembling.

We all held our breath. How would tragedy test your faith? How would you reconcile the pain you were witnessing to the gospel?

You, you saw a new saint and claimed him for your own. He is your constant companion. Some of the first prayers Mrs. Mitchell whispered heavenward to her dear little one were prayers for you. We begged his intercession even as we mourned the loss of him.  September 1, 2009 was the day Patrick Foss began to step heavenward with a firm assurance that still astounds everyone around you. 

You began to prepare in earnest for your Confirmation, eager to complete the healing begun in baptism.

You chose Coach Harkes for your sponsor. He is the perfect choice for you. He understands you. He understands your intensity about all things. He understands the formidable challenges that come with your remarkable gifts. And he is a man of God.  He'll be there for you, wherever "there" is. 

Finally, it is so fitting that in the same place where seeds of doubt were scattered years ago, a new priest celebrated Mass. You were humbled by his profound witness of faith. You were inspired by his obvious love for the Eucharist. And, you were renewed in hope and faith in your Church. You left that makeshift altar in a school gym and walked home with the confidence of a man who was very sure of his God. In the Year for Priests, we are so grateful for the holy example of an extraordinary man of God.

Did I cry on the evening when you were confirmed? Oh, yes, dear boy. I definitely did. And no tears ever tasted so sweet.

God bless you, Patrick Gabriel Bryce.

 

Suburban Springtime

Hospitality

"Here is the core of hospitality: May I know you better? Will you come closer, please? No, it will not be easy, but...your life depends on this saving stranger coming to you and stretching your tight little heart." ~Radical Hospitality: Benedict's Way of Love

Dear Lord,

Today, help me to live this kind of hospitality in my own home. Help me to draw my children closer, to recognize that we are a community in this family and that each of us comes with our own quirks and temperaments and gifts and needs.  Let me see that the ones I love, the ones closest to me, are still "saving strangers." Give me a heart that can be stretched. Amen.

Home

Michael will be home for the summer soon. He's going to be working nearby and living here. And then, he has just eight credits and a final season of soccer on campus and he will be home again, newly graduated and living here before he is launched into the world.

Patrick is at home now. But there are opportunities on his horizon that will take him far from home --- and then home again. And then far from home. And then home again.

And of course, it is a well-established fact that my husband leaves home frequently to bless his family and then, he comes home again.

I stand at the dawn of a new season of family life. The season of leaving and coming home again.

What is this place that my family calls "home?"

Is it a soft place to land after working hard in the world?

Is it a place of encouragement and kindness?

Is it warm and familiar and predictable?

Is home an anchor in their hearts and minds and souls, the place of peace they carry with them?

Is it a domestic monastery?

I think I'll think upon these things in the next few days.