Hope

Yay! My roommate just figured out that my wireless was turned off on my computer (I am far from technological genius). Now I can use the internet and blog. Holler!

“Those who are well do not need a physician but the sick do. I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”—Mk. 2:17

Thank God! This verse fills me with tremendous hope because I’m sick a lot (not just because I teach first grade…though that’s a big contributor…), but because I’m a sinner. God’s recent medicine for me is little gifts of hope. Like, hey, remember that I love you? Remember that I’m all around you in the people you see every day? Through my love, you will want to stop sinning and live in righteous gratitude.

What is hope? Well, it means different things to first graders, an old woman, a restaurant waitress, Catholics who read the Catechism and those who don’t. It’s basking in God’s presence, it’s belief in an awesome after-life, in miracles, in the forgiveness of sin, in dreams, in sobriety, in people, in love and joy even in the midst of suffering.

First Grade

We’re learning short and long vowel words in my classroom. I worked on magnetic letter boards with two girls and asked them to make the long “a” word “make” and then change it to “cake.”

They did so easily.

Next we made the long “o” word “rope.”

“I wish we could make the word ‘hope,’” said one of the girls.

So we did.

“What does ‘hope’ mean?” I asked them, interested mostly because this word had popped up recently in my life.

“You believe in something, like I hope we go to the fair,” explained one of the students.

“’Hope’ means what you hope happens. I hope I could have a cake so I could eat it.” (This other child was clearly still hooked on the long “a” words).

 “And I wish I lived in a Jell-O pool so I could eat it…actually a Jell-O castle so I could bounce and fall down the stairs…”

And then the lesson was redirected….

Old Woman

I went to my favorite nursing home to pray. In the aisle between the pews was a woman in a motorized scooter. It was tilted back so she faced the ceiling.

The woman’s eyes were closed, her lips formed a serene smile and her cheeks glowed. I looked at her for a few minutes and was amazed. She was totally at peace in the Lord’s presence – even though she had no legs.

How do people live like this? I wondered. How is this peace possible?

She can’t dance; can’t walk; she’s totally dependent on her chair and she might not be able to go the bathroom or get changed by herself. Isn’t that slavery? How is she smiling?

I looked at the altar. The cloth covering the ambo was embroidered with the long “o” word “hope.”

Her life is more than her disability. And it doesn’t even end on this earth.

Restaurant Waitress

A group of ladies and I went to a café for brunch this morning to celebrate my friend’s birthday. I ordered hot water with lemon and it came in a miraculous mug. “Mother of the Church” was written above a picture of Mary on the cup.

What? Who gets a “Mother of the Church” mug at a random city establishment? I couldn’t believe it. There’s a huge eclectic collection of mugs in the restaurant, but this one seemed handpicked for me.

My exuberantly expressed joy made the waitress signal across the table to me pointing to her eyes and then my eyes and folding her hands in prayer.

“I know stuff,” she said as she tapped her forehead with a smile.

(I’m checkin myself –simple gray sweater, jeans, hair a little sweaty from Zumba…yea, nope, there’s nothing on me to identify me as Catholic). Ummm…who are you, lady?

The waitress’s arms were covered with tattoos; her dyed auburn pony tail was secured with a pink cloth headband, she wore dangling hoop earrings and a flaming cross tattoo peeked from her V-neck t-shirt.

“Mary is my home girl,” she announced and shared in my joy.

Our server was raised Catholic and remembered to pray to Mary every night when she struggled with an addiction. She’s been sober now for five years and loves Mary.

“She is the Mother of all,” she practically whispered as she walked away to put in our order.

When she came back, she said she “had a moment” and cried for a bit at the bussing station. 

One of my friends gave her a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe because she recently visited Mexico. The waitress opened up more.

She said her grandmother used to have a white porcelain Mary statue that she kissed before bed. It was covered with red lipstick.

The waitress – who ironically shares my name – has her own favorite Mary statue. She received the three foot tall figure from a school where her mother worked. Her mother offered to fix the broken fingers and worn parts, but the waitress likes it just the way it is.

Furniture came and went, but that statue goes with the woman wherever she moves. She said its brokenness reminds her of her dreams and gives her hope.

Catechism

Hope. My friend gets annoyed when I quote the Catechism of the Catholic Church, but it grounds me. So here’s the definition:

Hope’s “the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit.” (1817)

In my mind: Yo, I want to get to heaven, and God you give me the grace and desire. I still gotta do the work, but You inspire me to do it.

Hope also “sustains [man] in times of abandonment;” (1818) is “expressed and nourished by prayer, especially the Our Father, the summary of everything that hope leads us to desire” (1820); and it is the wish for “all men to be saved.” (1820)

That’s what I need in my life! I also enjoy the last part. I always hoped heaven would be an awesome party with everyone I ever met on earth.

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Thank you, God, for the gift of hope. In the people of my little city and in the corners of the world. Thank you for your love through these simple miracles -- in recent times and today.