Identity

Probably for most people someone close dying forces us to question who we are, what we're about ...maybe even figure out where we're headed.  That's certainly been true for me since Phoebe died.  And that experience, the gleaning out, the defining ...has to be ours alone.  But its hard, hard stuff, to figure yourself out.  So much of that has focused on my relationship with Phoebe, at first primarily surrounding her death by suicide, and then, as time passes, it branches out into the bigger picture of life with this girl.  My life isn't a composite of days spent with Phoebe, the year mourning her ...it's far more than that.  Each child shapes me, my marriage too.  But mostly for me, it's been a struggle to say who I am with God.  And that is, I think, the most intimate, personal questioning of all.  So intimate words could not possibly express, so personal, exposing my greatest vulnerabilities, it could only be whispered between God and myself.  We can speak in generalities, give suggestions, for enhancing, embracing a life in God ...but we can never, ever assess another's relationship with God.  We can pray for another, beseech God to enter a person's life, to open one's heart ...but to presume we understand or 'know' another persons relationship with God, really know it ...I pray I don't go there.  That struggle for my identity, who I am, before God will be lifelong.  It's meant to be.  For me there was my relationship with God the moments before Phoebe died, and then there is the one now that began the moment I knelt beside my lifeless daughter and held her for the last time.  In that moment I said goodbye to her ....and with my whole heart I told God I would trust Him, no matter what, that I would choose Him always.   We all have moments where we choose God ...ignore Him, reject Him outright.  That is the challenge of our fallen nature.  But I know with every inch of me that from the second of that panicked phone call, my voice and my heart went straight to God and the Blessed Mother.  And I know as I pressed my own shattered heart against the silent one of my daughters and moaned and screamed in utter brokenness, He was there, and I held His hand and trusted Him as best I could.   That doesn't mean I haven't, or won't again, shake my fist at God, question Him.  It doesn't mean every step is one of peace and ease.  I stumble ...a lot.  And in every argument I have with Him, He reveals Himself just a bit more ...and I can go on.  I wish I could remember where I've read that the further away you seem from God, when you are striving to live in Him, the closer you actually are.  Even the most ardent atheist, in the hidden recesses of his or her heart, might speak with God and question Him unceasingly ....like a child.  And only God and each person knows the whispers they share ...no one can assume they know that ...its the most intimate and holy aspect of a person's life ...not to be shared, assessed or critiqued.  It's the very essence of each soul ...so precious and delicate ....a gift ...a pure grace from God.  And it is also a hope ...our purest, truest identity.
The other morning, when I actually had a few moments of quiet, I read again the story of the Last Supper.  How many times have I read or heard that story told, re-told?  I remember hearing it from Sister Charlotte who told me in first grade with her sweet voice, Sister Anne Catherine told me in third grade, Sister Mary Florence matter of fact told all of us in sixth grade and we really listened because she used to be Mother Superior, Sister Mary yelled it at us in seventh and Sister John Francis read it to us in eighth and then left the room.  My mother, Fr. Callahan, Fr. Chain. told me countless times too.  And these recollections are just a fraction of how many times I've heard this story told.  But when I read it just recently I saw something I hadn't fully realized ...Christ knew, fully and wholly, what was to come just hours later.  He knew the brutality, ultimate cruelty mankind would inflict on Him.  He knew He would be kicked, spit upon, chained, whipped ...that flesh would hang from His bones ....and that every drop of blood would poor out from His body.  He knew He would redeem us, that the price was high ...and yet, because of His divine love for us and His unyielding desire for our salvation ...He chose us.  Christ chose to suffer and die for each and everyone ...even me ...amazingly.  And fully knowing this, He broke the bread, the first Eucharist, His body and blood was shared that night, and forevermore with those of us who partake ...even while He knew what was to come.  He knew I would hurt Him, knew the cruelty of humanity on that night and the following days, but also the long years ahead ...and He still gave every last drop ....and a lifetime of moments to choose Him again and again.  He is not a God of second chances ....He is a God of trillions of chances to choose Him.  He knows each of us so well, so intimately, He knows we need an infinite number of moments to say yes, and that not one of us follows a straight line diligently after Him ...just read the lives of the saints.  Christ is not a God of resentment.  He does not smile upon us, all the while keeping a debit log of how many times we've said things to Him He didn't like when we've bared our soul ...only to whip it out and use it against us later, change its meaning.  He is not a God who sits silent and misconstrues what we say to throw it back at us when we're not looking, hitting our most precious aspects of our lives, casting a blow to our greatest vulnerabilities ...That is not the God I know.  And if I do those very things to another, then I am not a follower of Christ ... in that moment. I want my identity closely linked with Him.  Do I spread the kind of love He wants me to, the kind that shows His infinite love all the while remaining steadfast in Truth?  Can I speak the Truth without wounding a soul ...making God seem out of reach?  Sometimes we speak the Truth and people are offended ...that's part of discipleship ...but there is never a need to wound.  Christ does not wound us ...and when we wound another, hurt their soul, we are not working with Him?  I don't want to be that person.  I want to be a window or at least a door to Christ. 
I've looked back at so many moments with Phoebe and see plenty I wish were different.  Could I have been more patient?  For sure.  Listened better? yes.  Watched that movie she wanted me to see with her? Of course.  Could I have loved her more, with a fuller heart? No.  I loved my girl with so much, I pulled it from the bottom of my toes ...I loved her with intensity and passion, but I am imperfect.  And that imperfection is part of my identity ...and God sees it all, every bit of it ...and still He loves me, still He gives me chance after chance, moment after moment ...and pulls me along and away from the distractions.  God knows my ways, and He knows my hurt, the sleeplessness, the sadness ...the missing.  In the midst of the laughter and silliness of this household ...He sees me.  When people ask me to tell them about Phoebe and they respond back over and over how they can see her, hear her, feel her by the way I tell them about her, and that they can see how much I loved her ....God sees.  When people say things that sting and hurt, when they are cruel or clueless, and my heart drops, but I still smile ...God sees.  When my husband and I share a million words with just a look ...and he says silently "she's still not here"  God sees.  When I grow angry and tired, when the wounds burn and I am drained ...God sees.  He sees an imperfect women striving to  love Him and thank Him for everything, to even smile at the loss because I trust Him.
I struggle to figure out who I am everyday, but I know the things most important to me that have been the same, in the same order for years now:  God, striving to know Him, love Him and serve Him always comes first for me.  My family is second ...my kids, my husband, caring for them, serving them ...enjoying them with as much laughter as possible (which isn't always easy!). Third are my friends, of which I've been blessed with extraordinary ones in my life.   Other things are there, but these are central and unchanging.  They anchor me, let me see myself clearly, even while bombs get tossed my way, I can see where I'm rooted. 
And have I figured out where I'm heading ...I'm hoping to one day be with God ...and once again chase after my girl, Phoebe, while she looks back at me with her big blue eyes, bun flopping to and fro, giggling.  I want lots of stories to tell her, lots of laugh lines, and as little wasted time as possible. I want Phoebe, and all my kids, to remember me for the love I showed them and others.  Today I'm headed to a day of joy and laughter, even with the weight of sorrow I'll always carry.  Today, I hope my eyes twinkle, I hope I see the cardinals eat the berries on my holly tree.  I hope I stop for a moment to see our resident squirrel dine once again on the pumpkin, chasing his friends away.  Today, I'll put a finger up the middle of Mary Claire's bouncy curls, and answer the kitchen door she knocks on with a basket full of dolls, begging for a place to rest as she travels with her babies to New York City.  I'll be the innkeeper, and I'll say yes.  Today, I'll greet my husband after a long nights work, and hold his hand as he looks around for her.  Today, I'll pour the ginger ale, make tea, and hold my precious Olivia, as she sweats out her fever.  I'm headed toward today, with a mission to give ...not counting, keeping a log, of what I get.   I guess really I'm heading to the place where my heart isn't broken anymore ...and there is only one place for it to be made whole again ...and that is in Christ ...who makes all things new.

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