PHOTO: Public Domain
Sunday morning when my cell phone alarm began to ring, I fumbled with it until I found the “snooze” button. I had driven all night to return home from a family wedding reception and had set the alarm to wake me for early Mass. My legs did not want to move and neither did the rest of me, but I forced myself out of bed and made it to church a little late. I was glad I did.
“Someone once said that you need three things to have hope,” our pastor said as he began his homily. “Someone to love, something to do, and something to hope in.”
As I listened to his words, I thought of my life. I had been feeling discouraged. My path had not turned out as I thought it might and its direction was lost in the mist of uncertainty. Still, I had someone to love. No husband, but children, family, and friends. Yes, I am blessed with three daughters, with friends from across the country and around the world: GED students, authors, care givers, professors, and poets.
I have something to do.I am a writer, as my daughter reminds me. I work as a retail associate to make ends meet, but I am first, a writer and I have books to finish and projects yet to discover. I have a father to love and care for. I can be present to my daughters. I have a part to play in God’s work of brining the Kingdom, and though I do not often know just what that is, I believe with Thomas Merton that the desire to please God does indeed please God.
And hope? Many things can be hoped for, but, as Fr. Denis reminded us that morning, our reason to hope is Jesus Christ. He has revealed the Love and Compassion of the One Who Created All. He gave us the Spirit of that Great Love to dwell within our very selves. What work we have to do, we are empowered to do. What love we are called to share, we will have to share. That includes me.
After the homily, I walked from the back of the church and slid into a pew, sitting by a friend. We share the hymnal, sang our hearts out, loving “You Are Mine” and “Jesus Christ Has Risen Today.” Receiving the Eucharist fed both my soul and my body. By the time Mass was over, my friend and I both felt like Easter.
Hope had found her way into my soul and was shaking her feathers and singing her wordless tune.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
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