God came as a child, a sweet-scented, helpless little one on that long ago night. In my striving to be like Him, I too, come as a child, a helpless little one, dependent on others to carry me along, to show me the way, to lift me up to His heart. And I am grateful that others are always willing to do just that, to lift me, hold me close, take me by the hand and lead me to His heart where one day, I will forever remain...
For now, I list my gratitude for those who meet the challenge of caring for the child in me...
On Christmas Eve, sitting with my son Justin at Midnight Mass, I was straining to see my John who was cantoring the Intecessory Prayers. Justin noticed that I struggled to see John, and he whispered, "Mom, would you like me to lift you up on to my shoulders so that you can see?" as he fondly remembered the many times that my husband lifted the little ones to his shoulders so that they could more clearly see the world above their heads.
On the Feast of the Holy Family, my husband and our five children and I were able to attend Mass together and "fill a pew" which is a rare occurence since one of us is almost always involved in the liturgy as an acolyte, choir member, cantor or lector. My daughter reached over and squeezed my hand, her favorite way to share her love.
On Sunday afternoon, we shared a fun and laughter filled family game of "Apples to Apples." We all felt like children as we munched on cookies and vied for the best answers.
It's hard to let go of my teens, to let them out into the world of friends and parties and the unknown. Then, a call from another mother who understands my concerns and offers me reassurance of her presence at a New Year's Eve Party to which my son was invited, brings me peace.
All I could manage this year was to put up a small Christmas tree with my mother's antique ornaments. I never got around to putting up a real tree with all of my children's home-made ornaments, and nobody complained.
When fear and disquiet grips my heart, I have a friend I can count on to listen to all of my worries through an email journal. I have found this to be a wonderful way to "get it all out," like a written temper tantrum, and he listens and never interrupts and I know that no matter how ugly my words may be, he will never judge, but will always pray.
The friends I have found in this blogging community never fail to encourage me with kind emails and comments that remind me that my childlike words, my simple ways are often more than enough to inspire, and I am warmed by your words of love and friendship.
For what are you most grateful? Why not join in a gratitude list with Ann Voskamp's Holy Experience?