Defying Gravity

Let’s see if I can type this and not short circuit my laptop for the tears. . .

For our bedtime story last night we chose a book about the lives of young saints. It’s just a little paper back book featuring the lives of about a dozen young heroes who spent their days loving God and have been canonized as saints because of their good example. Each story is only a page long with an illustrated companion page. Ya know, some light reading. . .

While reading a handful of these stories, No. 2 quickly catches a common theme. . .All these saints died at an early age (hence, they are young saints). These were stories of bravery, purity, suffering, and serving God even when it is hard. We read about St. Agnes (whose head was cut off at 12 years old); St. Dominic Savio (who died from poor health at 15 years old); St. Joan of Arc (who was burned to death at 17); St. Tarcisius (who died as a boy martyr in the 3rd century), etc.

After a few more stories, No. 2 posed the question which weighed on us all: “Why are all these kids going to heaven when they are still little?” WHEW. With Daddy on a bike ride (translation: I couldn’t say “ask Daddy”), I was forced to come up with an answer on the spot. My main goal in answering was to alleviate any fear these little guys may have and to communicate the joy of looking forward to eternity with God in heaven. Not sure how good my answer was. . .it’s all a blur. . .but it seemed to satisfy the inquiring mind. So, we continued reading.

After we finished our stories, No. 1, sitting on my left, smiled a big smile and asked, “Mommy, if I die before you and Daddy, do you think you could write a story about me, too?” “Of course I could!” I assured him, with a lump in my throat.

A few minutes passed, the 4 of us thinking about all the good stuff we could write about the 3 little saints piled up beside me on the couch.

Then, No. 2, sitting on my right, turned the lump in my throat into full blown salty tears. . . “I think I’d like to go to heaven to see Jesus now.” And I said the only thing that I could get passed my vocal cords, “Just practice looking for him every day, and you will see him in heaven when it’s time.” His big blue eyes lit up and he giggled, “I can’t wait!” I choked, “It will be so great, but I sure would miss you. . .” His little voice bravely comforting me, “I know Mom, but I will be so happy.” Oh, it was definitely time for prayers and tucking-in.

As my head hit my own pillow, my prayers were in tension. As Fr. Richard John Neuhaus puts it, "Living between the now and the not yet." My thoughts and emotions toggled in the same way they do during the last days before giving birth. . .Praying that labor will start, knowing the happiness on the other side of it, but still conflicted by the comforts (albeit waning) and familiarity of staying right where I am.

My heart sunk with the thought of heaven’s population (God forbid!) increasing with the soul of my child and me still on this side. That thought of heaven really seems anything but heavenly! And, yet, I considered how with a few more years in this world, the innocence which fueled his excitement for seeing Jesus will most probably fade. With growing attachments here, I know he will most likely one day, like me, find all the little ways to displace the happiness of eternity with the gravitational pull of today and here and now. And the day may come when he, too, will have a child whose little soul is defying gravity while his feet are heavily on the earth. Then, maybe, he'll understand why Mommy got all weepy on the couch.

And so, tired from the day and the thinking, my prayers inevitably drifted into "Thy will. . ." And I know He will.

"And he said: ‘I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.’” Matthew 18:3