No one starts out a saint.

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What do you love? I know the first thought that should come to my mind is “I love God.” and it’s true I do love God but I must tell you that was not the first thing that came to my mind. Or even the fourth or fifth. It is a thought I must constantly remind myself to think. I have to constantly work to keep the first commandment at the front of my mind. Of course God made everything that does pop to the front of my mind when I ask myself that question.  God brought me my son, my husband, my mother, my brother, the books I read, the art I love, even little thing like my magical hairdresser or my Phillies t-shirts. God made everything I love. He made all of those things. He made everything. Even the things I don’t love, understand, or even like.

I received a token of John Paul II. I kept wondering why and why is he insisting on being carried around with me. I got part of the answer today in my prayers. John Paul II wasn’t always a Pope.

God didn’t make me a saint. At least not yet. Maybe not in this lifetime.  He isn’t done with me.  I am not a completed creation. Creation is not a swift business.

Words are Life. The Pause When Life Ends.

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My blog began with a story about my father taking me to the opera. Just a few weeks later. He passed away suddenly. I had no words. Death came like a thief. I felt like Death had been casing my home but I said nothing. I felt it and did everything I could to discourage it. Time with family. Phone calls. Health advice. Like I was banging pots and pans around the house to let whoever was outside know I heard them. I was awake.

It doesn’t matter. We have no control of mortality. When the Lord comes to take you home your time is done. My family rushed to the hospital. We prayed. We circled his body. I felt it though as I said the words. He was gone. The machines performing a maudlin show. His soul had already left his body which hadn’t been helpful to him for so long. I was oddly calm. As I tend to be.

Silent. Silent as the machines continued to beep. Silent as the crash carts came. Silent as I held my mother. Silent as I heard the sobs and shouts of my mother. My brother. Silent as I hugged my young niece. Silent as I hovered in the space between here and there.

Silent as the curtain closed on my father’s show. Words so rarely come to me right now. Although late at night tears have finally come. Silent slow tears. Gentle relief. I can only hope that was the feeling for my father as he passed from this life to the next.