As I listen, anxiety from a first meeting with a room-full of strangers fades away. I feel the connection of having made a similar journey into the Church. The group is welcoming, each sharing the story of how God has intervened in his or her life. Every account is unique and personal, yet with the common threads of all conversions: questions and doubts, sufferings and surprises, searches and awakenings. I feel the beginning of a connection to people outside our family, here in Houston
Almost a week later, having flown to Phoenix for a diaconate convocation, I am in a much bigger room with two or three hundred people. This time I am not anxious, but excited. Doug and I have accompanied many of these people through an intense diaconate formation program but haven’t seen them since our move to Houston eleven months ago. To my surprise many tell me they read this blog and watch Doug’s videos. Several encourage me to keep posting because it helps them feel connected, as if we haven’t moved so far away. I wonder, is it good for them to feel connected to my life when I have no idea what’s going on in theirs? I decide that virtual connections can also be real, even if mostly one-sided.
A few days later I’m with my seven siblings, some of their spouses, various nieces and nephews and their children, along with my 94 year old dad. We gather to celebrate the faithful and good life of Scott Johnson, my sister Marsha’s husband who died peacefully at home after a long battle with cancer. Marsha and her six children, their spouses and twenty grandchildren, while sad, are also peacefully assured that Scott’s suffering has ended and he will spend eternity in heaven.
Because my family members live far from one another, we don’t know the details of each others’ daily lives. Still, family connections run strong and deep stirring up memories and a host of feelings as we gather. Joy mingles with sadness and insecurities as I hear stories, knowing I’ve missed nearly all the stories. Though exhausted, I want to drink in more, I want to stay up longer, I want to hear every voice and gaze into every heart with love and encouragement. I want them to know how much I love them. A quick hug and “I love you,” seems pathetically inadequate. Then it’s time to say goodbye and cars and planes take us to our respective responsibilities and families.
Home now, I’m painfully aware that long distances and the absence of hours spent together through the years have diminished what might have been fuller expressions of our love for each other. I can’t pretend otherwise. And yet, I rejoice in the glimpses I saw of one niece’s wit and another’s tenderness; of my sisters’ compassion and a brother’s thoughtfulness. . My mind plays back over profound, too brief conversations with my sisters-in-law . I hope I won’t forget the endearing smile of a grandnephew licking his chocolate covered fingers nor the sheer fun of rides to and from the airport in a BMW rental with my youngest brother, discussing a variety of subjects while listening to his favorite music.
As I look at photos others sent, I notice our wrinkles and graying hair, but our weathered bodies matter so much less than I’d have imagined in my youth. When I hug my father goodbye, not knowing when I’ll see him again, our eyes meet in wordless acknowledgment of the swiftly passing beauty of this time and place while we await the glory yet to be revealed.
I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us. For creation awaits with eager expectation the revelation of the children of God
Romans 8:18 & 19
Inundated with Love 