There’s a large tree in our back yard. It twists and turns in fantastic ways. As much as I want more sunlight for veggies in the yard, this tree has me captivated. I look at it quite a lot from my kitchen and just yesterday I looked out at it and I swear there is something there that I’ve never seen before – a knot, dead center of the tree that looks like a doorknob and it beckons the “Lucy the Valiant” in me to reach out and see if it just might turn.
Perhaps we could see Mr. Tumnus or have tea with a delightful chap in an over-sized hat or fly away to mermaid coves and Indian teepees or perhaps on day a little sign will appear “Here, there be dragons.”
I have always considered myself a Christian, but I have to admit I’ve always had a rough time with feeling and experience the life of Christ the way others seem to. I’ve never been moved to tears of joy or sorrow contemplating His life though I’ve been moved by His teachings. It’s just not how I’ve experienced my faith and it’s just different, not bad in the same way that I’ve come to accept that I’ll never be canonized (though I think there should be a catch-all for committed, loving mothers who try their best) and I’ll probably never be visited by an angel or other such apparition.
But motherhood is starting to change that for me.
It’s strange that even on my road to Catholicism I’m wary of Mary – growing up Protestant makes me tread lightly on the subject and on any devotion to this woman, but now since becoming a mother it’s thinking of the life of Christ thru her eyes that allows me to feel tangible emotions when trying to reflect on Christs’ life.
I can understand the joy of bringing a baby into this world and being able to forget your troubles and your uncertain surroundings out of the joy that little body brings.
I can understand the worry when you’re out in public and suddenly that little one is out of your sight, just for a moment.
And on the most basic level, on the level of fear and the desire of never having to live through such a moment I can understand the sorrow of watching your only child give his life whether it’s as a young child who has no control over an illness or a grown man choosing to give himself completely for another. I can understand that pain just a little better now.
It’s because I’m a mother now that I can understand why Easter is not to be celebrating as a funeral, but as a celebration because every mother can imagine the worst and every mother who’s lived thru that can only dream of the sheer joy of seeing that loved one again if only for a moment. I can understand the joy so much more now because it is so real to me now.
I understand why we say “Alleluia” so often in Mass today, it is exactly what I would say over and over again if my little one I had lost was returned to me if only for a moment.