I waved goodbye to my husband and our daughter as they made the early drive an hour away to witness the first Traditional Latin Mass offered by a dear friend. I turned back into the house, swallowed, and put my apron on. In the kitchen, I surveyed the second batch of cinnamon rolls left to cool on the counter. The first one with extra frosting had been tucked in the backseat of our van, a little parcel of delight for the priest. A gift I’d planned to give with all of our kids along for the excursion, all of us there to pray and celebrate this beautiful momentous occasion.
The morning sun was barely up. The house was quiet, like a house is when children have been sick deep in the night and and are sleeping in. My heart was quiet, like a heart is when it’s set to surrender.
Once more, mothering on Mother’s Day (yallloooooo every mom ever feels this) meant doing what was necessary not enjoyable.
I plugged the kitchen sink and then filled it with water almost too hot to touch. I peered under the sink for a decent-sized scrub brush. I summarily decided to start in the corner under the window.
I scrubbed the warped and well-worn hardwood floors, the splatter of tomato sauce, the crust of sourdough starter, the spill of yogurt by the toddler. My mid-life knees creaked and cracked. My proof-of-life lines wrinkled in concentration. My messy mom bun barely stayed up. I reached the end of one section, heaved my weight up, and hummed a fav tune as I rinsed the brush.
My heart softly sang along as I scrubbed under the chairs, the dirtiest spot in every house, and I realized my gift for our priest was not the cinnamon rolls, or corralling our whole family to get there on time, it was my disappointment. Just a little gift to release my expectation, my desire, my joy of the anticipation of witnessing his Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, one he had worked so hard to learn and say beautifully. This small tiny cross I could unite with Christ’s own. I finished scrubbing with a faint smile.
+ + +
This little healing, this small thing opened my eyes to my affirmation hoarding. Is this a thing? Can we normalize it as a thing? It should be a thing. I’m a words of affirmation person. Great! Maybe you are too. Alongside this comes the fear of being unnoticed, unpraised, and unspecial. So instead of the deep affirmation of my being noticed, praised, and so special because I exist, I’ve spent many years clinging to the surface of the affirmation pond vs. diving in the depths.
I held onto this desire to be noticed!praised!special rather tightly. Sure, I cloaked it in head nods to be yourself and love yourself! and you don’t need external praise because you’re enough right now as is. The sentiments are cheap hallmark versions of the bigger truths I’m starting to swim with: you are loved excruciatingly and kept into existence in a constant bath of the light of Love and His praises are ready to be lavished if you can have ears to hear. And maybe most poignantly, nothing will look how you expected and therefore everything can mean nada and nada can be everything.
I wasn’t at the Mass. I wasn’t noticed to be a supportive friend! I wasn’t praised to be a good baker! I wasn’t able to convey our family’s full-fledged delight in a special way! I was scrubbing my kitchen floor. And after that, I was fixing lightly buttered toast for a couple of touchy tummies.
Are you holding nothing right now? No praise, no special signifiers of a friendship, no noticing you for the gifts and talents you have (you know you have, but no one else does)? I want you and me to look at our nothing, our empty hands, our moments robbed, our missing out, our bypassing in invitation, promotion, sharing that laugh. I want us to see this incredibly deep pool of intimacy Jesus is inviting us into, beckoning us into. It looks like the moment or heck, the world, has passed us by, never to be redone. It’s actually the opposite. We get a repeat invite to the healing of our hearts roaming around looking for fulfillment outside of Him.
Instead of stocking up on affirmation, comforting ourselves that we ARE _______ (fill in with your word de jour), what if we said, I am little. I am hidden. I am seen only by the Unseen. What if our tiny or huge hurt meant we had our own mini Calvary to climb? He’s on His journey; what if we actually joined Him, believing the yoke was easy and burden light?
I suppose my example of deep sorrow over not getting to do one thing (no one died! no one has terminal cancer! no one lost their home, job, or vision!) is to make a little bit of a fool of myself, but also to show you that any size cross counts. No cross is too small, and conversely, no cross is too large to journey with along His path.
My prayer for you today, this week, is to see emptiness as a place to fill with Him, to see loss as a gain of time and attention for Him, to see disappointment as a little sweet offering up. What healed hearts we could have if we only let Him work on us!
Divine Physician, be gentle and tender with my heart. Stitch it to Your own.
Love and see you Saturday with our last healing musing!
Nell
ps. I finally, and I mean FINALLY, updated my shop with leggings, caps, and the lingering remaining things from the spring collection. Thanks for shopping baby/tot goods, handmade!
Nell, this really hit home. Oh Lord, help me run to you right away instead of trying to fill my emptiness with so many other things.
Thank you for this. Suffering through a BIG hurt right now: 16 year old daughter refusing to come to my house for parenting time, instead staying with Dad who denigrates me to her often, going on 10 weeks now. I’m going to join Him on the climb to Calvary and really try and fill the emptiness in my broken heart with Him 💚