Soulful Muse

“I’ll have a host, a tiny sip of wine and several pieces graces please.”

You wonder where it comes from during trying times but it did arrive, just in the nick of time.  Reflecting upon it later, you consider whether it might have been God’s grace.  What a great help to help us explain the good deeds done by us sinful people.

And it’s not only a noun but a proper noun.  It’s also an adjective and even more it’s a verb and an adverb.  What a flexible word, this grace stuff.  “Grace Kelly graced us with her effortless grace and graceful presence as she gracefully walked into the room.”  (Wow.  There’s grace all over the place today!  It’s walking.  No, it’s on the table.  No, it’s over there.)  It is rich in worth, effortless in its attempts and limitless in its quantity.

Alas, the Catholic Church needs to rein in this wild grace stuff and present it as a commodity.  There are actually two form of grace, according to the one, true Church.  Sanctifying and actual.  Most Catholics can name those two graces, even on their deathbeds.  What they may not know is that sanctifying grace is that which is derived by the sacraments.  When you participate in a sacrament you receive this elusive, rewarding, beautiful proper noun, noun and verb.  Actual grace appears to appear when you need it the most.  We cannot determine graces travel time to us but we know that it is within us within nick’s time.

Just when you were about to say something questionable, grace zooms in from some unknown place.  (I have yet to receive grace’s reward during those occasions.)  Another sibling has past away and you discover a peace that even amazes and baffles you.  A serious discussion erodes and you feel you’ve said your peace and quietly listen.  A story is told to you for the third time and your newly found grace enables you to listen again knowing there will be a fourth time.  A serious diagnosis strips you of yourself but slowly but surely that noun/verb creeps into every part of your being.  A smile replaces a frown.  The handshake is forgotten and a hub is provided.  “If there’s anything I can do for you,” comes out of your mouth when there is nothing you can do.

Grace.  It’s a beautiful name.  It’s even a better verb when it travels by light speed to become within us a noun.  Our lives are graced.  We can be grace to each other.  Mary was full of it, so why can’t we be?  There is grace, in plentiful supply, thanks be to God.

That’s what our moms said when it was getting down and dirty (and fun) with fellow siblings or neighborhood friends.  It was only a few steps for her but travel time was important to us.  It’s as though she said, “If I need to move from here to there, then I’ll do it.” That threatening statement normally stopped childish skirmishes.

It stopped because we weren’t quite sure what the “there” meant once she arrived there; a scolding, a time out or a spanking.  (Spanking in our house was a dried painted wooden stirrer easily accessible on the left ledge next to the kitchen sink.  I should have retrieved it after they both died.)  (By the way, “time out” was not invented in my youth, spanking was the default method.  What attorney can I call now?!)

How many times has God said that sentence to us?  How many times did He try to communicate with us through his prophets until He needed to send the “big gun,” “my son, they’ll listen to my son,” says our confident Creator.

God’s Son came among us and what did he do while he was “there?”  (He moved from where he was to where we are.)  He did all three: he scolded us for doing what we always do only without thinking or knowledge; he spanked us continually because we still don’t get his simple message of love and forgiveness; and he gave us a time out, the Eucharist.

We get a time out from time to time to time ourselves out.  Because there is no time in this time out, unless you’re Catholic and it’s two verses of the Opening Song and 30 minutes for weekday and 50 minutes on Sunday.  But there is no time in the timeless time out that Jesus gave us.  There is only us, gathered together and wondering why God took so long to complete His threat, “Don’t make me come over there!”

The Call

The Catholic Church makes a big deal out of being “called” for religious life.  If you’re not called, then you’re stuck saying , “paper or plastic,” the rest of the your life.

“Call” comes in many forms.  Creation calls us to life and that call continues today.  A “Call.”  Kinda of an old fashioned word.  Rotary or touch?  Mail or email?  Facebook or Twitter.  And, called to what?  A different way of life?  Or is it transforming the life that you now live.  (My vote is on the latter.)

Religious people need to preface their vocational talk with the “The Call.”  A good “Call” story to be told around the supper table is very helpful if you wish to succeed in religious life.  If you weren’t called, then why are you here?”  Or, how do you answer a telephone call that hasn’t rung?

I never received this “Call.”  If the line was busy then perhaps God tried the next guy on the list.

Parenting

I have yet to meet a parent who embraces having a child as a “Call.”  The “Call” is often cold and quick.  This small thing in front of you needs your attention, like, right now.  And that releasing sigh before falling asleep, forget about it.  The “Call” has been summoned and a response needs to be given.

Parenting.  Underrated along with numerous advice – and all with no solutions or remedies; this growing being in your humble home just continues needing attention (and food) and seems to learn at a rapid rate.

Learn.  What I really mean is absorb.  These tiny creatures are zapping into themselves every syllable that is uttered.  They will house these new-found words and hold them and repeat them back to you because you told them to them.  Rascals, they are.

Toilet, feeding, more feeding, lots of sleeping, more toileting, answering the “Why?” question 14 times a day, homework (more homework than you ever produced) until they begin needing transportation and the journey continues forward.

“Call.”  The apostles of Jesus left their fishing jobs, which they probably didn’t like in the first place (since he didn’t ask all the fishermen to join him), they will doubt everything that you say (sound familiar, oh parent out there?), not understand a thing that you’re saying (“Don’t use such big words, mommy!”), not talk to you for months (“She just doesn’t understand me”), fumble along with you through towns and villages (“How many more miles, daddy?”), and when a final, loving time arrives they will disown you (one of them the first pope, by the way) (“I’m working through my parental issues in this support group”), and at your crucifixion they are not even  present (“Oh, mom, the work is unbelievable and the flights are all full”).  After the resurrection they will recognize you (only after multiple introductions, “It’s me, your dad!”).

Finally, after you’ve left this glorious world, they will say, “Wow, that’s my mom up there.  I’m proud of her.”

Proud and scared, parents enter the world of the “Call” and respond to that “Call” through their children.