May 9, 2013

There is a little girl that joins us for dinner sometimes on Friday nights.  She has been over multiple times this year and when we pray at dinner--she always holds hands--that's how they pray at her house.  I'm so thrilled they pray and we all follow suit willingly.

Talk about being reminded that they (the kids) soak it all in and model what they see...Nessa has taken to raising her hands and saying, "pray."  She expects that we join hands as we pray aloud now be it at home or at a restaurant.  She wants that close contact--hand in hers and she knows what blessing the food is all about.  She is two.

She tries her best to utter the prayer aloud.  She says amen and attempts the sign of the cross.  Ninety percent of the time she gets it correct.

I am so glad she is observing our prayerful state and is now an active participant.  But this shift from folding our own hands to holding each other's hands has made me think about what I am modeling exactly in those everyday moments where frustration or irritation or impatience has seeped in.  I heard my almost nine year old in church this weekend, "loud whisper" to her brother when I asked her to walk him to the restroom since the baby was asleep in my arms. . ."If you make me miss the blessing of the bread and wine," as she shook her head and walked ahead of him in frustration and impatience.  She sounded just like me.

Not good.  This little display of irritation was after a scolding on the way in because she was loudly complaining about how long church would be--as if we don't go often.  She knows how long it is.  She was just mad that this was the second mass we were attending that day--celebrating a communion and confirmation.  Great way for us to go into church.  Her mad at me.  Me mad at her.  And, her bad attitude continued to be evident as I asked her to help out with her brother.  To do it over again. . .what would I have done differently?  Maybe not stayed as long at the party before church so that they were better rested.?  I don't know. . .attitudes seem to creep in sometimes no matter what I do.  No matter what I don't do.

And then yesterday as we are arguing on the way to drop off my seven-year-old to his last CCD class of the year--who is behind me but the pastor of our parish.  Then I feel shame.  Why do I allow her to push these buttons?  What are we showing the baby?  How can we do it differently day in and day out?  I wish I knew. But I don't so I lean further into Him and pray.  I've been on my knees praying a lot lately.  We are in a busy work season so no one has seen dad much this week with seven late nights and early mornings.  It has taken a toll.

But no matter what, when we gather around that table for dinner, as we do every night, the baby is connecting us with our hands which will symbolize the connected-ness of our hearts.