Impatience

"You are an impatient choleric!" She said firmly, but lovingly to me.  Only a melancholic temperament could utter such a harsh truth.  This friend reminded me of the small consolations I have received along the way, and she assured me that were I to be given that glorious image of my Phoebe I so desire, I would question that too.  She's right.  There is nothing that will satisfy me now ...nothing except to hold my dear child in my arms and watch her floppy bun sway with her very breath.  But that is not meant to be.  Thank God for friends, dear, dear friends who love me enough to say things I don't want to hear ...never mind believe.  By nature, I am rather impatient.  I am a doer, I will forge ahead, my life will go on and many good things will happen.  Us choleric temperaments are like trains ...at top speed we accomplish great things.  Up at the crack of dawn, we'll pull together a party, read an entire book, send off e-mails, pay the bills, do the laundry ...all before a child wakes.  But we leave a wake, far too often.  Trees fallen, fences plowed through ...we need to be reigned in.  We accomplish a lot, give a lot ...but we expect a lot in return.  And usually we expect the return to look very similar to our giving.  But that is not how others work.  It is especially not how God works.  This is really tough for types like me.  Have I given as much as I can to God?  I think I have ...that's been my purpose.  But this time it didn't go my way exactly ...and I am mad!  That's not fair of me, though.  If I claim to love Him, and trust Him, than why not now?  Why am I so angry?  Because I am in such great pain.  Every cell in this body, this capable, strong bundle of bone and flesh, is hurting everywhere.  I am not accustomed to having no control over how I feel ...physically, at least.  Even in the midst of such beauty ...my other kids ...I hurt.
It is like no other ...and it leaves me vulnerable ...open ...threatened.
So here I've started my journey to Bethlehem, and I fear I am not a good traveler.  I am the whiner, the one not making do.  I'm the child in the backseat ..."how much longer?"  34 seconds later, "HOW MUCH LONGER, NOW?"  "You said we'd be there already, WHAAA, WHAAA."  Most of us have experienced that child in the backseat.  Well, that's me now.
I really thought the graces would just flow for me because I had decided to make the trip.  How presumptuous?  How self-centered?  Who is this all about?  Myself?  I guess it is.  But I don't want that, I want this to be about Phoebe ...more importantly about Christ coming to us as redeemer, as our salvation.  I want to give Phoebe back to Him for her salvation.  I want salvation ...eternal life to be my desire.  Eternal life means a life in Christ, for all time.  That's what I want for all my children, my husband, myself.  That's where I want Phoebe to be right now ...and I want proof!  I want a receipt!  "One daughter raised well, loved immeasurably.  Mother did a good job ...no complaints.  Daughter returned to Creator where she will live in His glory for eternity.  Mother will see daughter on ....  In the meantime, mother is guaranteed frequent proof that daughter is doing well and can see her from Heaven and thinks she's the best." Mother will not suffer any pangs of discomfort in the meantime."
Well, how dare I?  If I truly believe in Christ, and truly trust him, and truly desire eternity with Him ...I MUST be patient.  I must just rest in Him.  Naturally, I am not patient ....I'm always buzzing externally and internally. I pray God will grant me a bit more, so that I can truly rest in Him and trust Him in the way He wants me to. 
My guess is that God is pleased with me and my desire to serve Him these many years.  But, I think He's given me a promotion (maybe its a demotion) ...in the sense that He expects more of me.  Perhaps He expects me to turn parts of myself over to Him that I don't even know I have ...  Maybe He sees my pride, and the only way to get me to turn that over is to offer me this horrible tragedy ...take one of my seven pearls ...the one who took so long to settle on a stride with.  Maybe His timing, so imperfect for me, is absolutely perfect.  I don't really want to believe that or accept that thought ...but what if its true.  And in my heart, I know it is.  He allowed Phoebe's death at a time when the value was at its highest ...when the cost would be most severe.  That's not to suggest our children are like stock, increasing or decreasing in value, but our struggles to love each other in our similarities and differences had been teased out.  We were victorious and SATISFIED.  We had arrived ...and then BAM ...she's gone! 
Somewhere in there ...is His love for us.  Somewhere. 
Today Mass was offered for Phoebe.  The request was made by a good friend's son and the priest who offered it is another good friend's, friend.  I've been telling God how abandoned I feel, that all the saints have left me ...no one has stayed.  And here in this Church were the most beautiful stained glass windows of the Saints. There they were ...One struck me the most, and held my gaze ...Joan of Arc.  Why her?  Her image was behind me, so my eye didn't just rest there, but it kept pulling me back.  I don't know, maybe something is there for me to understand.  Days before Phoebe died she had told her principle that she (the principle) was just like Joan of Arc ...being very serious about a particular issue and concern at several meetings.  As they left the gathering space Phoebe said.  "You know, you're starting to sound like Joan of Arc."  Her principle chuckled and said, "Oh, I kind of like that ...Joan of Arc."  "Yeah, just be careful, some people thought she was, you know, crazy." replied Phoebe.  They had laughed together.  It was something this woman appreciated about Phoebe ...that she had this knowledge and understanding of her faith and history that few of her peers shared.  Many others had expressed that too.  So maybe its just because of that Joan of Arc struck me today.  But what stunned me most was the treasure of our Church in making the saints so available to us.  We've been criticized abundantly for "worshiping" saints, taking away from God.  But that is so ridiculous.  Saints were flesh and blood people, born with original sin, just like us.  They struggled just like us ...and they've attained Heaven.  They're like consultant's who can intercede for us.  We ask for them to petition on our behalf, to ask God to grant us some wisdom, understanding so we can attain Him too. 
Surrounded by all these saints, and praying for Phoebe ...we also prayed for little Mary, who, after a four year battle with cancer, died in her parent's arms.  My heart stung for those parents.  I know what they are experiencing.  Here last night I am cursing I am only two months out ...and hearing this, I am so grateful to be two months out ...away from those first pangs of crushing and shattering.  But I am so heavy for them and their grief.  And I look at my own greed.  I lament the loss of Phoebe at 17, and yet they lost their daughter at 8.  I had nine more years ...what a blessing!  What a miracle!  How generous of God with me.  Their daughter fought to live ...mine died on an impulse.  Oh, the mystery of it all.
He has heard my cries, my pangs ...and He has shown me through this Mass ...and through a friend who dared to speak the truth to me.
I am possibly the most impatient person in the world, and the funny thing is people are always saying to me "oh, you  must be so patient."  Ha!  They don't know me.  God is teaching me patience ...and I must accept that.  Let me be the quiet one on this journey.  Let me see who needs my help on the road to Bethlehem.  Let me just be as God wants me to be.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.