Fourth Sunday of Advent

On the Fourth Sunday of Advent, we decorated the tree after Mass. While on our road trip to Atlanta, I had given the children big skeins of red and white yarn to finger knit into garland for me, which added a homey and pretty touch to the tree, I thought.

I am going about one of the busiest times of year for a mother--trying to coordinate every single meal, grocery purchase, gift, stocking stuffer, reading of Christmas books, catechism about the holy day, Christmas cards, fun and memorable family outings, and innumerable details--while feeling deeply quiet pondering inside as our community prays for Julienne.

Please add seven-year-old Julienne to your prayers as she is in the hospital in serious condition with parents and grandparents rotating keeping constant vigil by her side. She will remain in hospital over Christmas. Julienne's mother and I have been dear friends since we met in La Leche League (where we both later became leaders) with only our first-born one-year-olds.

Being the motherly mastermind of all these special, family moments is important: family unity is built moment-by-moment, a child's religious faith can be built up or torn down by these moments. Yet these "critically important activities" vanish in a flash and become meaningless when one's child is in the hospital.

As I've bent over gifts, wrapping for hours while my back aches, I've pondered how this can be so important and so meaningless simultaneously. How are all the meals that required hours of planning and cooking, so quickly enjoyed, so soon gone!, similarly important and meaningless? This question hangs heavy over all my works.

I don't know the right answer, but I think it lies in holy detachment. These moments are only important so long as I can maintain a calm, charitable, and cheerful demeanor. When I become a snappish, angry general during all this organization, these beautiful tables, trees, decorations, and photos become vain and empty wastes of time--precious and limited time that God gives each one of us until death comes like a thief in the night, at a time appointed by God for which we do not know the day or the hour.

Jesus said that others would know who his disciples were--who Christians were--because they love (John 13:35). Do my children look at me and see so much love emanating that they know, deep in their bones, that I am a Christian woman? And they enjoy that love so much that they, too, want to be Christians? Jesus did not say that others would know we were Christians because our Christmas trees were particularly well festooned, or our Christmas meal was the most delicious and all the dishes came out at the same time, or our brood of children was wearing coordinated outfits with hair actually brushed for the Christmas Mass photo, or that all the gifts arrived on time and were wrapped beautifully in the shiniest paper.

Please pray for Julienne today and in the coming days and please hold your family tight, choosing love over perfection.