Baptism, Mercy, and Grace

Today is Jacob’s baptismal day. In some ways, it’s hard to believe that we’re two years out from this.

 

 

On the other hand, when I think about how much Jacob can do and say, how aware he is of his world, and how involved he is in daily Mass and prayer time, it’s a comfort to me that life with faith is all he knows. I hope he will rely joyfully on this foundation when it comes time for him to choose faith for himself.

 

We attended another baptism this weekend at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The sacrament was celebrated in the chapel at the back of the church by a priest who reminded me of the police commissioner of New York City. Physical resemblances aside, he was a joyful man, and the little lady being baptized was peaceful, obliging, and all-out beautiful in her long white gown.

 

Because I now cry at just about anything bordering on sentimental (I got teary at a Folgers commercial today), I found myself choked up as the ceremony began. I wasn’t thinking about Henry, though we have begun to consider plans for his baptism early next year, nor was I thinking about Jacob. Rather, I was thinking about a reflection on departed souls I heard earlier this month. Our little Ethan was on my mind, front and center.

 

In November, Catholics are asked to focus their prayer on the souls of the dead. My own baptismal day was earlier this month, November 2, the feast of all souls. The feast is a time to remember and pray for those who have died, especially those in Purgatory, who are not yet totally cleansed and ready to be in the presence of God.

 
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This year, the priest offered a different reflection on the feast than I expected, one that offers an important thought even to those who don’t believe in Purgatory. The focus of the feast, he said, should not be on hopes that if we say the right prayers the right number of times, offer enough Masses, etc. we can speed along the process for departed souls. It’s not that simple.

 

Instead, we should focus on God’s mercy, on the fact that He wants every one of us to be with Him. I read a separate reflection recently that said that time in Purgatory would be a happy time. At that point, there’s nothing more to get between the soul and God. Everything is full-steam ahead toward Heaven.

 

As I understand it, the Catholic Church does not claim certainty as to what happens to those babies who die before they can be baptized, including those who died before they were born. What the Church does teach is great hope in God’s tremendous mercy.

 

That mercy is what I had in mind at the baptism this weekend. God wants His love to shine on and live in every single one of His creations—from the unborn to little ones receiving their first sacraments to adults who struggle with the same sins over and over again.

 

I know the way I love Jacob is only a fraction of the way God loves all His children. Still, every time I look at our little man, I am amazed at how great and generous love can be.

 

Happy baptismal day, Jacob! May God’s love and mercy shine on you all your days.

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Out of My Control–In a Good Way

If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that I don’t have control. We lost Ethan in January, still and probably forever without explanation; we almost moved to London three times, then stayed put; we were blessed with another pregnancy—and now that baby will likely be born early; and we experienced a couple of other kinds of loss and scares through our friends. It has been a trying year, one of many tears and much heartbreak.

 

At the same time, it has been one of joy: weddings, anniversaries, babies, my finishing my novel and starting to take next steps with it, Jacob, Jacob, Jacob. These things, too, even those that would seem to be within my power, are beyond it. I don’t know how I finished a novel. I don’t know how I managed to knit so much. I don’t know how I managed to have a more successful year business-wise than I anticipated.

 

The joys, as much as the sorrows, have been at the hand of God. I did my part—though not always well—to strive for His will. I hope some of what I’ve offered has pleased Him, but I’m sure there have been many times when I have missed the mark. My success is not the measure, I’ve learned. His mercy is. (I’m fairly certain Mother Theresa has said this better, but I can’t place the quote.)

 

The thing that has surprised me most this year has to do, reader friends, with you. You not only read about my grief after losing Ethan, but you cried with me, you thought about me, you prayed for my family and me. I have always believed in prayer, but never as tangibly as I did in the first few months of this year. I truly believe that your prayers kept my faith and hope alive when I simply didn’t have the strength to do it. I believe that God acted through each of you who made even the tiniest effort to send compassion my way. I will always be grateful. Your response continues to inspire me to give more of myself to others. What in the world do I have to lose?

 

But it doesn’t end there; that’s not the part that really wows me. You went a step further. From my brothers-in-law who wrote to me to tell me that my posts helped them feel like they knew Ethan to friends who had lost their babies telling me their stories to still others who passed along this URL to friends and counseling clients confronting similar losses, you made my writing more than an escape. You made it fruitful. You made it hopeful. You turned the death I was suffering into life again.

 
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My heart breaks every time a friend comes to me and says, “I gave someone your blog; she’s going through the same thing.” Miscarriage is a tough, tough thing to experience, something I had to go through to begin to understand.

 

At the same time, that kind of conversation makes my heart soar. God has taken this pain and made it something to grow on. I was pleased the first time this happened, thinking I had done something useful. Now it’s happened at least half a dozen times, and I am keenly aware that the power here is not mine.

 

You, my readers, remind me time and again that I’m not alone, that my grief is valid and there’s no expiration date on it. Like John who continues to pray for healing in our family rosary, you let me be the harder part of who I am and you continue to love me.

 

It’s not over yet, but 2012 has been a monumental year, to say the least. I think I am more myself, more who God needs me to be now than I was at the start. I am grateful for that. I am grateful for you.

 

This year, my readership has grown in quantity, but I couldn’t ask for it to grow in quality. Thank you for making this little blog what it is.

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Dear Jacob XXI

Dear Jacob,

 

In other people’s words, very soon, you’re going to be a big brother. In my mind, you are a big brother, both to Ethan and to Henry. Still, there is a big change afoot. Sometimes I worry about how you’ll handle the shift in attention. Then I remember that you are the most relaxed, chillest person I know. You are the epitome of the phrase “roll with the punches.”

When we switched you to a toddler bed a few weeks ago, I worried about how you’d handle it. For two weeks, we let you go through your whole routine in the bed, then switched you to your crib when you asked, right before we left. I couldn’t figure out how to convince you to stay in your bed; you always asked for the crib. One day I told you you were going to take your nap in your big boy bed. When we talked about it, you fussed. But once it was time to do it, you got in and slept for half an hour longer than you usually do! I should have known that your verbal protests usually aren’t a measure of what you intend to do. Any other big change we’ve experienced—moving, for example—you barely noticed happened. Now I know to expect that you’ll be just fine in a transition. My worries are ungrounded and unnecessary.

 

I don’t know if you totally understand how life’s going to change once Henry’s born. Then again, neither do I. You have learned to say sweet things about your little brother, though. You give my belly hugs and will kiss my belly button (to make sure it gets directly through to Henry). You say that you’re going to share your toys with Henry. A few weeks back, we were talking about Henry and you said, “Wait. Henry.” I asked if you were waiting to play with Henry, and you said yes. You are being very patient about it.

 

We recently learned that Henry will be born before Christmas! The news has certainly shifted my attitude, and I think that’s making things a little easier on you. Sunday morning over breakfast I asked if you would like to have a little brother for Christmas. Your eyes lit up and you said, “Yes!” I just about melted in my chair. I can’t wait for you to meet him, for him to meet you.

 

I don’t know that I will do everything right in your interest once Henry’s born. I’m certain I won’t! But know that I am going to try, and I hope you will forgive me where I mess up. Henry is a blessing to each of us, just as you are blessing to each of us.

 

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With all my love,
Mom

 

P.S. This is irrelevant, but a funny exchange we had the other day that I don’t want to forget. You’d just gotten up from a nap, during which I had made muffins. When I showed them to you, so said they were cookies. I corrected you, and told you they were muffins. As we were eating, we had this conversation:

 

Me: Jacob, is that banana or pumpkin?

You *look at me, confused*: Muffin.

Me: Right, but it’s a banana muffin.

You: Oh, I see.

 

I love when you speak like an old man!

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