Miracles and Miseries

It’s funny that I’m writing this on a word processor, because what I’m doing is not processing words but thoughts and emotions that turn into words. Usually, I journal when I’m in this state, but I’m going to blog because I know a lot of you are wondering why I’ve been busy, having a hard time, etc.

I’ll start with Annika. She has really had a hard time. Since her birth, she has been in a terrible car accident, had all kinds of weird fever issues and issues relating to pooping, had her butt hold snipped, she has had a barium enema, had her arm broken, had her arm reset without sedation, taken a cast off three weeks later to find out that the arm was worse than when we initially put it in the cast, gone under general anesthesia, which is really dangerous for a two year old, to have it reset again, had a catheter, had a fever of 105-106 regularly (at least twice a month), and last week she was attacked by a normally sweet and very nice dog she knows.
Last night was about all I could take. We all had a nice dinner together, came home, had a bath, and put the kids to sleep at their normal 7 pm time.
Annika has been sleeping in the crib again because she kept falling out of her toddler bed while sleeping and that wasn’t good for her arm. The crib is still very high (she can’t just fall out) and she has never attempted to crawl out. (especially with a cast, that’s a fail)
All of a sudden a sickening human crash resounded through the house and we heard Annika screaming. Colliding with one another as we rushed in, we found her curled on the hardwood floor in a horrible ball. We spread her out and felt for breaks. I found the break first… aided by a yelp from her. Her thumb was dangling sickeningly from her cast, already beginning to turn a weird color. Wayne looked at it and made a horrible face…. Saying no, no, no, and making a fist.
We grabbed Ishod and headed straight for the hospital, me praying the entire way and Wayne wondering what he had done to anger God.
Arriving at the hospital, I sent Wayne home with Ishod and I stayed, since they admitted her for the broken thumb and head injury. She went through several nurses and a physician’s assistant, who all said it looked broken.
The doctor ordered some xrays and we waited. I prayed. Mostly for her emotional state, since by now she knows that at the hospital, terrible things happen to her that cause her a great deal of pain and anxiety.
I was amazed that as the hours rolled by, she started to lift her hand, then wiggle it, and eventually play with it. By the time the Xray tech came to get us she was in very good spirits, and where we nearly had to sedate her to get the xrays last time, this time she was proudly showing off her “picture taking” abilities and asking for stickers.
The X Rays came back, confirming what I had thought-- a miracle. No broken thumb. She had rebroken her arm in the cast, but in the same place…nothing new or worse.
God worked a miracle on my little girl--- and I was the only one in the ER not surprised.
I burst into fresh tears.. Thankfulness, this time.
And for the first time in my life, I promised God something. I promised him that I would take just about anything life was going to dish out with true Joy if He promised to care for my little Annika.
When Wayne came to pick her up, he was elated, but also extremely frustrated. He is having a hard time understanding what God could possibly be doing by allowing her to hurt so much.
He and I had been fighting because he deals with hard things by retreating inwards and fighting off questions and what not, so instead of letting him do that and waiting til he wanted to talk, I bristled and took everything personally.

Today, as we were walking out of the church parking lot, he and Ishod hung back to talk to a friend while I took Annika towards the car. As we were walking, I heard a car begin to screech and I spun around, snatching her up so she wouldn’t get hit. Right in front of us, a car hit a motorbike and the biker was thrown straight up in the air like a rag doll, crashing back headfirst onto the pavement where he had lost his helmet… head exploding as both car and motorcycle met on his shoulders. Right. In. Front. Of. Us.
We stood still amidst the resulting chaos of running people, dialing cell phones and cries to God, holding each other tight, praying for this poor man who had probably just received the Lord’s Body and Blood and examined his conscience…. Wow.
If he lives, it will be a pure miracle… but as we know, that’s God’s specialty.

This weekend was my first weekend as a wedding sacristan. Basically, I’m the church owned wedding coordinator… I take over once the rehearsal and ceremony begin. Which is interesting, because we all know that that’s when ALL the last minute crises take over. Not to mention that most of my job involves protecting the sanctity of the environment and of tradition within the walls of the church, etc. Which can be touchy in this day and age.
The rehearsal went well. Basically, the sacristan just walks everyone (priest and wedding party) through the entire ceremony, adjusting glitches here and there, etc.
The glitches were few: a missing maid of honor to make the first reading, and a couple of questions about who stands where and how. The Father of the bride asked when he would be able to give away the bride, and then comes the hard answer: “well, the RCC has never promoted slavery, and since the tradition is rooted in slavery, we try not to… blah blah blah….” OF course, if the father or bride insist, they may, but we are to inform them that this is a mostly protestant tradition rooted in the ancient Judaic “woman owning” concept of giving away a bride.

In this case, the bride, who was marrying a freshly returned from an Afhgan deployment soldier and who will be moving with him to Germany next week, chose to have BOTH parents walk her down the aisle instead of walking down the aisle WITH the groom (as both are the administrators of the sacrament) as we suggest.

Saturday, the next day, was the actual wedding. Photographer issues to deal with, can’t find the rings, none of the boys knew how to pin on their flowers, one of the bridesmaid’s dresses snapped, and things like that.

THEN came the real problems. They were having a wedding mass, but we were short a eucharistic minister. Yikes! Having never done it, Father Mike asked me to stand in. We had to clarify a few theological issues, first with the Family Life ministry leader, Beth. A very, very progressive Catholic, and also a good friend, she wanted to know why, if I knelt to receive the host I didn’t kneel to receive the blood. Which is a good question I didn’t have an answer to, other than that when I was coming up, we didn’t really have the cup, and then they changed it and said everyone should have both. Nevertheless I couldn’t receive on my knees up front because the NORM (in the GIRM) is standing in the United States… which pretty much answered my whole question about whether or not I SHOULD be standing at all. (incidentally, most priests expect this to be changing soon, but it hasn’t yet)
So, on my first day standing, which was REALLY hard for me because of a million reasons from pride at being an example to a real sense of frustration that I couldn’t honor my Lord the way I felt He was meant to be honored, it actually ended up being really cool, and I was glad I acquiesced. It’s also pretty neat handing out communion, it creates a HUGE bond between you and the person recieving. BUT as it turns out, this wedding mass was not exactly full of Catholics, and I found myself with a basically full cup of the Blood to drink when all was said and done, which ‘aint easy to do in less than five minutes at such an early hour. I thought about the scene in The Messenger when Joan of Arc wants to “be at one with Him” so badly she just GORGES herself on the cup and it spills all over her face. I related to her at that moment-- it was a weird experience to which I can only say that the words of one of my favorite prayers, the Anima Christi, seemed to deal with appropriately: BLOOD OF CHRIST, INEBRIATE ME.

Another interesting thing that happened was when the moms were bringing up the gifts. The groom’s mom sharply reminded the bride’s mom that “when we get up there, we genuflect!”
“I thought we were supposed to bow?” She asked with genuine surprise.
“Absolutely not. We genuflect!” was the sharp retort.
(at that point I noticed that the brides’ side of the family was gleeful in spaghetti straps and short skirts and the grooms’ side was head to toe covered and somber… hehe.)

Nevertheless, once the gifts were presented, the bride’s mom bowed and the grooms’ genuflected, and it looked silly and awkward and overdone on both ends. It reminded me of the never ending Catholicism 101 thread in Ravelry where we have been beating these types of issues TO DEATH…. In the end, we all need to understand that piety is a personal thing, and deal with it respectfully and tactfully. The groom’s mom was right-- you DO genuflect, but since the other mom just wanted to bow, she should have bowed and made a gesture. Just like I should stand, and make a gesture. God knows our hearts. And as I’ve seen over the last few days, he is Good and Just, He expects much from us and He gives us all the grace we need. He is sovereign, that’s for sure.