Lord, That I May See

I have officially lost sight of my feet.

Turtle asks to hold the crucifix over our bed sometimes. She studies it carefully, little lips pursed. "Boo-boo," she says, pointing to the wound in Jesus' side. She kisses him, then offers Him to me to kiss too. "Knee. Arm." She likes to point out body parts. Then she points to His feet. "Shoe? Sock?" No, I say, Jesus doesn't have shoes and socks. After a moment of consideration, Jesus gets plopped down on the pillow -- "Nite-nite." Yes, I'm sure Jesus went nite-nite. Then she picks Him up, looks at Him and pats the Crucifix. "Shh, shh," she says softly. This is her sound for comforting. She sometimes makes her doll and teddy bear "cry" and then "shhs" them in this same way. I wonder: how does she know that Jesus needs comforting? I look at her in surprise, almost in reverence. Then, suddenly, the moment is over. She moves on, ready for something new. But I'll remember the sweetness of this ...

I have 4 younger sisters. One of them is nine. I'm not talking about her . . . not yet The three others are 22, 20, and 18. They are beautiful girls. They have long, lustrous hair. They wear stylish clothes and pretty jewelry. They own a belt, a hair ornament and a pair of shoes for every outfit. Their makeup is always done, they paint their nails, they smell good. Their hair is highlighted, their teeth whitened and every unwanted hair waxed away. They are slim and tanned and move with grace. I love them. And, in moments of tired and wistful weakness, I envy them. Yes, even when I know all the reasons why I needn't. I can't help it. I am still a girl too. And some days, when my hair isn't washed and my clothes are rumpled, when my face hasn't seen makeup for days, or even weeks, when I haven't had my hair cut in nearly 6 months, when I'm not even sure if I put deodorant on, when I literally can't remember the last time my nails got painted or I bought a...

What I learned today from the blind and shut-in nice old lady that called me: Jesus died on a "torture stake", NOT a cross. God's name is Jehovah, and you should not call Him anything else . Not "God." Not "Lord." I bet she's a Jehovah's witness. So, why are these important things to convince me of again? Honestly. I'm not being sarcastic -- I just don't understand. The second point was especially important and was emphasized about 6 times. Maybe if I pray to "God" it would be like I wasn't talking to the right one? Like dialing the wrong number? Hmm. ( Note: I also learned that Jehovah's witnesses are not at all interested in or convinced by what you might have to say -- IF you could, in fact, get a word in edgewise. AND I am a very poor apologist for my dearest faith. I really must do better next time.)

Earlier this month I attended a meeting for the catechists and assistants of the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd atrium that I have been a part of for a number of years. Among other things, we spoke of "normalization."* This is the term Montessori educators use to describe a process of becoming balanced and peaceful, moving away from the "deviations" that hinder the true self and towards freedom, peace, self-control and community. For Montessori educators this is the single most important part of their work with children. They would say, however, that once a child has become "normalized" this is not the point of arrival, but the point of departure. The true self of the child has been found and now the wonders of the world, their place in it, their relationships with others and with God open up to the child. Another adjective that is used to describe the "normalized" child is the word "peaceful." Those who are not normalized are the ...

Curls always seem to me to embody the sunshine of childhood and a carefree springtime. May her curly hair truly hold a promise of joy and laughter to come.