No one believes me when I say that it took me nearly a year
to learn the words of the customary Catholic grace, but it did. The one I had used for so many years as an
Episcopalian was so deeply ingrained and just similar enough that I stumbled whenever
I was required to pray this new Catholic grace aloud. It seems odd to me now, for try as I might,
now I cannot even bring to mind the words I used to pray. It’s not a matter of concern, of course, just
a measure of how things can change almost without my realizing it.
These last few weeks, and especially these last few
days, I’ve found myself focusing on these Thy gifts.
Those gifts I ask to be blessed are so much more than the
food before me. They always have
been, but lately, thanks to the wise
counsel of friend, I am realizing how much more. Other words of my Anglican past do surface: All things come of Thee, O Lord and of
Thine own have we given Thee. These days
that is more than head knowledge to me. More the walking-around kind of knowledge.
I can’t say grace these days without thinking of the time,
shortly after I found out about my husband’s tumor, that I sat crying in the
office of a priest friend, frightened beyond endurance at the possibilities it
presented. That’s the down side of being
a pathologist; blissful ignorance is simply not possible even when the best and most informed guess is very optimistic. After all, even if the overall odds are excellent, they are just odds. No matter
what the odds are, whatever this turns out to be has a 100% chance of occurring. And of course, everyone in medicine knows
doctors have the worst luck, medically speaking….too many lightning bolts too
close. They spilled over in fear and
tears. Mortality staring me in the
face. Change I cannot control.
When I had collected myself, my friend looked at me with great seriousness and asked
me: Do you understand that this is all
part of the gift?
All part of the gift. I haven’t been able to get that phrase out of
my mind. All part of the gift. The
very fact of permitting someone else’s life to be part of my own means that
ultimately, I must share in the pain as well as the joy. All part of the gift. No connection means no pain at the
possibility of separation. All part of the gift. No awareness of those in need means no
discomfort at not being able to meet that need. All part of the gift. No
cross, no crown No Incarnation, no Redemption. All
part of the gift. No cherry-picking just
the pleasant parts in life.
As I bow my head before I eat my breakfast, I say it all
again, humbled and grateful and wondering what gifts lie in store for me this
day.
Bless us O Lord, and
these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, through Christ our Lord…..
And then the comfortable words of the mass come in my mind as a response:
May we glorify You through Christ our Lord, through Whom You bestow on us all that is good...
And I remember that God only knows how to give good things.
All part of the gift. It just becomes a matter of seeing how.
How long since you read Ramona the Pest? "Sit here for the present". She waited for the gift, bless her heart. It is hard to sit still for the present.
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