Now is now, or why worry about tomorrow?
Before other human critters stirred in my house, at the bright hour of 5:48 a.m., I dragged the little wooden stool into the hallway, decorated un-ironically with trains, a vestige of when our older kids were into choo-choo everything, to perch and sit and sort the heaps of laundry.
Heaps upon heaps. Dishtowels turned from white to cream to grayish over a decade of this wash, rinse, dry, fold routine. Girls’ uniform socks that truly did look the same to my old eyes, but would profoundly offend each child if I didn’t properly designate their place of rest. Someone’s baseball tee-shirt stuck with someone else’s velcro headband that shouldn’t have gone in the dryer.
Sort.
Fold.
Piles nearly topple.
Check the time.
Gently begin the rousing of each child. Open shades. Turn off night lights. Collect water cups poised to spill on nightstands. Water the plants with them.
And suddenly at 6:19 a.m., today was the day our daughter decided she was ready to get up with her siblings, brush her hair, don her uniform, and drive to school for a full day, as if she had been doing it for the past six months. Only she hadn’t.
+ + +
I clutched the steering wheel and it held me up as I turned the corner away from the school building, having bid a blithe “have a great day!” to f o u r kids, count them again, all four. The toddler and I made our way to morning Mass as usual. But instead of crossing the big intersections and zipping along to make the light, the car slowed and pulled itself to the side of University Avenue.
I cried the cry I had held in for months. My shoulders contracted and contracted and my face was awash in joy and pain. I was the waterfall pouring in the spring rush. I was the dawn rainstorm flooding the banks. I was the pierced heart of a mother.
You’ve held something in, worried that it may never happen, fretted over how it would happen if it did happen, and then blurred all the feelings when it actually happened. We’re constantly called to be present, to live in the present, that the present is the only thing we have, the only gift is now. It’s on hand lettered mugs, canvas bags, wall hangings, tees. It’s the kind of advice we’re quick to dish out to friends in a hard season. It’s also almost impossible to live out ourselves.
Be present.
Be here now.
I can’t pretend to do this very well. It’s a daily struggle, maybe even multiple times a day?, trying to calm my mind from jumping ahead or lingering behind. Yet when our daughter’s battle with long-haul covid seemed to be interminable, months upon months of witnessing her pain, I could only be present to the moment. The next moment she might be better or worse. The next day she might want to take her medicine. The next moment she might take a much needed nap. Or the opposite. There was simply no predicting anything except . . . unpredictability.
What do we learn from being forced to live in the actual present beyond kissing goodbye to meeting a project deadline or planning a coffee date? Aside from deeper apprehension or anxiety? Where’s the invitation to rest and restoration in the churning waters?
Well, I’ve learned there’s never a convenient time to lose my veneer of control. I had planned this six month hiatus after resigning from my job to pray, listen, write, and experience some healing and restoration. Maybe there would have been some sort of lovely breakthrough on my dependence on God done in a really nice way. Something instagrammable, something profound enough to peck out the words for, something easy enough to sleep at night.
WRONG. Instead it’s been nearly five months of complete surrender, and we’ve received lessons in the school of love through suffering, the worst suffering of any of our lives.
Secondly, and this is probably one you’ve already learned, the present has many complex folds that we miss when we’re looking beyond or behind. The present is filled with layers, surprises, goodness in the awful, and more people who love you than you knew.
Decades ago I was really, really into cultural anthropology. I even thought I would major in it! A favorite book explained that the mere fact of observing a community, tribe, or culture changed it. Simply observing, not even engaging or interacting. Your powers of observation on your own present life can change it before your eyes. Your anxiety, your shortness of emotional breaths, your worry about what’s next, they all shift. Be an anthropologist for your own life. Be present and see what happens.
It will be wild, good, bad, or indifferent. But I can assure you that being fully present, soaking in each moment as much as your attention span can handle, will change you. And if you ask to see the present with the eyes of the compassionate, merciful, and loving God? Whoaaaaa. Even more surprises.
And for my daughter? She went to school that day. She might not go tomorrow. She might not go again this week. But she went and even if I got a call in an hour, or sooner, to come pick her up, she wanted to go and she went. Her ups and downs have kept me unwillingly tethered to the present. And what I’m learning in the process! And what I hope your present own is ready to teach you! Let us know how it goes.
Love and sorry my epistle is late. Life was more upside-down than usual during the Triduum.
Nell
Ps. I would really really appreciate if you would pray for Laura and her family. We’ve been in-life friends since our second borns were toddlers. She and her husband Franco are incredible, as are their five boys (and two girls in Heaven). She’s beginning her battle with breast cancer. They need prayers, but also financial support. No amount is too little and no amount is too great. THANK YOU. is another way you can find her!