As a freshman, one of my friends was taking a course in religion and science from an old priest, Father Hosinski. My friend told me all about the class, especially the alternate explanations for miracles in the Bible. It was psychologically traumatic for me; my faith was still immature and narrow. My friend kept preaching, “Father Hosinski says…” and delightedly kicking legs out from under me. So I went to confront Father Hosinksi with my bitter pain and questions.
I will never forget the wrinkled old priest’s gentleness and ease--he was not interested in destroying anyone’s faith. His life of poverty, chastity and obedience had worn away any sharp edges. He had no agenda. He refused to tell me which way to turn or what to believe. He seemed to be looking at me in a much wider picture. In this narrow moment, I was gripped by fear of losing my faith anchor, but he seemed to lean back, take in a grand view, and assure me that God would find me and I would find God.
He did not say those words out loud. I don’t remember exactly what he said or what I said, I just remember his smile, the happy house plants draped around bookshelves and filing cabinets in his dim little office, and how some of my fear drained out that day.
My own lens widened a little when I took Father Hosinksi’s religion class. Although he is a “man of science,” he told the class he believed in Jesus’ literal Resurrection, “because nothing else could explain the change in his disciples.” He also choked up in front of the class when he read the story of the Prodigal Son, and told us, his voice cracking, how God had been his Father.
Sometimes I again find myself absorbed in a moment. My faith is not in crisis, but I still feel the restless fear and frustration I packed into Father Hosinksi‘s office that day.
I am a mother of two. I always thought I would want to have a "bunch" of children “someday.” Now that I’ve begun, I am having second thoughts. My life is filled with diapers and potty-training and runny noses… and the bewildering questions of how to handle the original sin rising up at 2 and 3 years old. I can’t just kick them out of the garden; I have to keep living with them.
But my life is also full of sweet moments when heaven breaks in and I can see more widely. This morning, I was reading Matthew 6. Jesus says not to worry about what you will eat or drink or wear, because your heavenly Father knows what you need before you ask… I think of how I know when my children need to go to sleep or eat something or use the bathroom--before they do. And they don’t like it, but I really do know better. And I think of how they make their needs known and trust me to take care of them. They don’t worry about whether there will be food tomorrow. And when they are tired they whine and cry, but I can sit back and look at the big picture, and smile because I know that soon they will sleep peacefully with all their needs met. So I say to God, I want to be like a little child who trusts You. I fuss and fret and cry, but He sits back and smiles because He is doing what’s best for me. He sees the wide picture, lets me unload my fears, and says, don’t worry, you’ll find Me and I’ll find you.
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