Jesus says “Come to me…” but there’s so much noise in my head and heart that I miss that still, small voice. Jesus says “I’ll heal you…” but I’m so busy trying to heal myself with busy-ness and distraction, adding to my “wounds”as the days go by, until finally reality sinks in and I know what I need:
It’s funny…my heart has been so heavy this weekend, I felt such a need to seek Father’s guidance and yet Sunday morning, a bake sale forgotten, I find myself harried and stressed, madly baking brownies and pumpkin bread, ushering the children, rushing the spouse, climbing into the van a frazzled mess. Frustrated. “No confession for me this morning. And the boys will probably be too late to serve.” Yes…Little Miss Rain Cloud…can I rain on your party? We arrive at Church, much later than usual, the boys rush up the sacristy stairs; Mom, Dad and girls rush into the Church. Hubby awaits the little girls who need to make a quick bathroom break (didn’t they attend to that at home?!) while Mom steels herself for the approach to the Confession line, which is usually no less than 8 to 10 deep.
The line is empty and the light on the confessional is on. A few moments later, shrouded in darkness, hushed whispers, tears and prayers…absolution. Words of comfort and peace. All the hurry-worry smoothed away, and the days’ challenges faced with resolve, words of wisdom easing pain and doubt.
It was a grace moment. How many more of these beautiful, providential examples of God’s loving care and generosity do I require before I fully trust? All of those inconveniences, the craziness of that Sunday morning exist as part of His plan…He alone orders all things according to His good pleasure. All my predictions of failure and doom mean nothing, are nothing in the reality of what He can and will do. There’s a certain humbling realization that comes when one realizes that the confessional line is open and there’s one person…one…who needs it more than anyone else at that particular moment…though I’m quite sure there were people before and after me that Sunday, that empty line was a powerful visual for a doubting heart.
While heart and soul struggle under the weight of a private sorrow (don’t all Mothers have them? St. Monica, pray for us!) I feel God’s hand upon me, the blessed weight of a cross no heavier than I can bear and the realization that He will continue to order all things to my salvation and His greater glory…