Friday, April 24, 2015

Chasing Grace


Topic of the week? Sacraments. Webster says that a sacrament is a “visible sign of God’s grace.”  Fair enough, and I am sure that I should be ruminating on the upcoming First Communion in my house, or the beautiful Anointing of the Sick that our pastor offered to a first grader needing a liver transplant and his donor cousin last week. I also totally appreciate the sacrament of Reconciliation, which my second grader was not too happy about recently when he had to come clean on all the cash he spent buying gems on his video game, Clash of Clans. (Thank you, Apple, for knowing that I really didn’t WANT to spend 1, 109 dollars to give my son super-powers in a video game, and graciously refunding my money.)

As sacraments go, I am one hundred percent able to spout off the rites, the sacramentals, and the minister for each sacrament.  Not surprising, really, since I have been standing or sitting in a Catholic school for most of my 43 years. I can even define words like transubstantiation and chrism and eucharist.  

But to me, sacraments go beyond the veil of the church and the priest and little boys with slicked back hair and clip-on ties. Visible signs of God’s grace? I see them every day.

Grace: “seemingly effortless beauty or charm; a disposition to be generous or helpful; divine love and protection bestowed freely on the people.”   Oh my, this world is full of grace-filled moments. Ever see a girl go up to someone sitting alone on the playground and make her smile? Grace. Ever see an elderly man help his walker-using wife into a grocery store? Grace. How about some generally quiet girls standing up to a bully in class? Grace.  Ever see a student who struggles in writing finally write a beautiful metaphor? I have. Grace all around. Or how about a spontaneous hug for a brother who has skinned his knee or my daughter taking out the garbage AND recycling without being asked? There is even grace in my happy little home!

Nature creates grace too. Daffodils, planted by my father, bloom in my back yard. Now my sons pick them for me in grubby–handed bouquets. Grace. Or the streaks of sun reflected through the clouds or lake or trees? Grace. Heck, even my boys dancing in the hail yesterday (really April?) remind me that opening my eyes to see the pebbly white beauty is tasting eternity.

So yes, I am preparing excitedly for my kid’s First Communion, as he has been singing church songs at full volume for weeks. I appreciate the tradition and sacraments of my faith. But living with intention and looking for “effortless beauty and charm” in the people I meet? That is a game I am willing to play in all moments, big and small. And being a minister of grace for others? To help a struggling student or throw the ball to my boy in the yard or buy a tired grocery clerk a candy bar? Those are occasions when I know I am kissing the divine.


Thursday, April 16, 2015

Hiding in Plain Sight


I’m obsessed with spring. Year after year, large piles of snow give way to an awakening earth underneath, and I am still no closer to understanding how it happens. What is the trigger? How do these crocuses know that even under two feet of snow, it is time to rise and shine?  How do trees bud and the birds come North? Must be magic, like my favorite illusionist David Anthony sawing a woman into pieces before my very own eyes. Illusions. Magic. The unfurling of new life from the darkened earth. I just can’t figure any of it out.

My rake and I do know a few things. We need to rid the lawn of the many acorns that the hapless squirrels have thrown around all winter. And eradicating the dead grass will make room for a lush new lawn when the April rains decide to cease.   We even intuit that it is time to clean the beds and spruce them up.

Today was the day to order the tools of the trade for beautifying the beds. Don’t ask what I will do tomorrow when I come home from work and see four yards of mulch and 2.5 tons of river rock in my driveway. (That’s a magic trick for another day.) But a stop at the Rock Pile led to a chance encounter that put a smile on my face.

I saw him near the bananas. No working mother of three can ever leave the house on just one errand, so after ordering the mulch, I headed to the grocery. Halfway through the produce section, I stopped dead. The gentleman with the twinkle in his eyes looked very familiar.

“Excuse me,” I said. (I live big, and have no qualms about making a fool out of myself near the mangoes.) “Is your name Tommy Burns?”

“Yes,” he replied. There was that twinkle again.

“My name is Katie Kraven. Do you happen to remember my dad?”

He was as shocked as I was, and broke into a huge grin.

I have vague memories of this man who I know played a huge role in my father’s life. He helped to paint the house I lived in as a little girl. He is my sister’s godfather. And he was a role model, mentor and friend to my dad for years.

But time has gotten away from us and it’s been a lifetime since I’ve seen him. He hugged me and grabbed my hand. He told a few funny stories about his great-grandkids, their antics, and his removable teeth. He explained that although his kids have moved around the country, he lives in the same house where he’s been for decades. A few moments to catch up, and then he was gone, with his bag of lettuce and one yellow banana.

I love the magic of these freeze-frame moments, these chance encounters that come seemingly out of the blue. I know who he was to my father. And I know the positive impact he had on my dad’s life. But how do you reconcile that between the Vitamin Water and the organic chips? I don’t know all the details, and it is too much history to relive at this point, but I know Tommy’s impact somehow must ring in me still.

Magic, I tell you. How else to explain that the people we need, the reminders that can heal us, are like daffodils popping through the earth or rabbits pulled from black hats? They have all been hiding in plain sight all along. I’m pretty convinced that this is the way with most miracles.  With random grocery moments. With bulbs that blossom into beauty.  With new eyes on old realities, and new hope in the darkest moments.

So many blessing are hiding in plain sight. And it just takes a little raking and a little wonder to uncover them.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Faith in Chocolate


Another Christian holiday is upon us, and I’m again amused by the juxtaposition of faith and tradition. Grandma suggested the other day that the kids were too old for the outside Easter egg hunt she does for them, and she was met with great resistance. I’m waiting for their un-belief in the Easter Bunny schtick as well, but we are still going strong.

I thought Santa would have been on his way out by now, but I haven’t heard a peep of unbelief.  At ages 12, 10.5 and practically 8, these three still believe, wholeheartedly. Caveat: They’re a little lukewarm on the tooth fairy, but then again, the tooth fairy is a total flake around here. And these kids often lose their teeth AFTER they lose their teeth!!—One is still in the crack in the driveway sidewalk. We can see it but not reach it. But, I digress.

I suppose it is possible that my cherubs are just playing us to get more loot, but I think it is deeper than that. Think about it. These three believe wholeheartedly in Jesus rising from the dead after three days in a tomb. Why wouldn’t they believe that a special bunny could hop through the world delivering eggs all night?!

These kids have FAITH with a capital F. When their beloved Pa died, they consoled US. “Mom, why are you crying? He is in HEAVEN!!” Of course they were sad, but their belief in Pa’s eternal life was rock solid. Thank you Catholic School Education! (And I only get a LITTLE miffed when Sean tells me that I am not his favorite mother,…Mary is!)

It’s a good question. Why do I expect them to run out of faith in Santa or the Bunny, but hold ON to their faith in a benevolent, resurrection God. These children of mine are all or nothing.  I think that is a good thing. I know their faith will grow and change and be challenged as they age. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I think I get where they are right now, though. If they believe in a personal Jesus that died for their sins on the cross and paved the way for eternal life, which they do, then why give up their faith in a chocolate wielding bunny?

Don’t get me wrong. I know it’s coming soon: testing their faith, and testing their believe in gift-bearing creatures. I’ve been taking precautions of course. Our bunny always makes a (poorly) rhymed scavenger hunt to lead them to a gift. These kids are no dummies; I typed it this year so they didn’t recognize any handwriting.  And the peanut butter chicks and giant chocolate bunny ears are well hidden from wandering eyes.

Most of all, I appreciate the way they teach ME about faith. They insisted on the Good Friday service yesterday, and want to experience the beauty of the Easter Vigil tonight, even with its length. Along with belief, they like to live their faith too.

So it’s a good thing the bunny learned how to type, and I’d say Grandma better keep hiding the eggs!