Note: For my lovely followers who might read this and worry for me, I wrote before that I will try to be brave enough to enter into my desire, no matter how uncomfortable or scary it may be. I truly believe God finds me there and so as I read the gospel for today (Luke 7:11-17) I allowed myself to become the mother in the story grieving for her lost son. But please know that I do this with the utmost hope and trust in Divine Mercy…at least I tell myself this and offer it as a prayer.
Jesus encounters a widow burying her only son. He is moved with compassion for her. He places his hand on the coffin and raises him up, back to Life.
I sink into that mother’s sorrow. I think of Luke, in a coffin of sorts, of his mind’s own making, but real nonetheless. What mother has not burned with the desire for her sleeping child to awaken to Life–to be filled with the fire of living?
We mothers (wives, sisters, aunts, friends) don’t often speak these desires aloud because they betray our secret–that everything is not okay. They are conversation stoppers, the stuff of pity and shame that we weren’t able to do better, much less be perfect. For me this means I failed at producing a better specimen of human being.
We even sometimes want to hide the realness from our close and dear friends because we don’t want to be a burden or appear weak or less evolved or spiritual or whatever it may be. We want to appear ordered and in control.
But I am here to tell you that everything is not okay. I desire a better life for my son.
I desire that more that anything. I desire for him a curiosity that spills over and conquers fear…a love so compelling that it provides the strength to break the chains that bind him to the “safety” of home…a fullness of life so overwhelming it cannot be contained in the four walls of his room.
I am grateful for small steps and steady growth but I grow impatient with what seems like an eternity as we wait for fullness and health and happiness. This God that takes the form of a lump in my throat waits with me. I know this to be true.
And yet, as I see Jesus approach I ask: Where is my miracle?