Column: Bearing Our Blessings

2022 was an eventful year. Our oldest son Brendan and his bride Becky brought their second son into the world, then a few short weeks later, moved to Rome. Our second son Gabe left NET Ministries to live in St. Paul and work here at our parish—but only long enough to apply to the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal in New York City. If accepted, he will move there this summer to discern religious life. Emma returned to the University of Mary in Bismarck this fall and does not anticipate coming home to stay again. Trevor graduated last spring and left for seminary this fall, leaving just Lily and Bruno at home with Jodi and me.

It is quiet. We are learning new routines. Learning to bear our blessings.

What do I mean by bearing our blessings? As I have shared before, our children are doing wonderful things we would never have imagined for them. They are doing God’s work and pursuing God’s will—and we, who were entrusted with five tiny, wriggling souls so many years ago must now give them back.

It is hard to let go of someone you have loved so dearly for so long—someone you have tried so hard to nurture and protect. It is hard to surrender your own plans and dreams for your children to a future you can neither imagine nor control. It is hard to be so far away.

At a wedding a before Christmas, I watched two good friends play with their grandsons and was tempted to be jealous of their joy, while ours learn to be little boys an ocean away. A week before that, while visiting my folks in Michigan, I realized midway through a good conversation with my dad that he thought I was someone else—and began mourning the loss of the man to whom I was speaking.

But our folks (both sets!) are all alive and happily married, lifting each other up through God’s grace. Ours grandsons are healthy, happy, and adorable. And through the miracles of technology, we can converse with all of them in real time, voice-to-voice and even face-to-face!

We are learning to bear our blessings. What have we to complain about?

Having older children should relieve some of the pressure I have felt for many years to facilitate both a blessed celebration of the Lord’s Nativity and a magical visit from jolly, old St. Nicholas. This year, it did not. Our children have a deep love of our Christmas traditions; that, coupled with the challenges of sending gifts to Italy and the possibility that this could be Gabe’s last Christmas at home for the foreseeable future, burst my poor brain like a roasted chestnut. Advent was three-fourths gone before I realized I was neither peaceful nor prepared for the Lord’s coming, neither waiting vigilantly nor seeking diligently, but chasing tinsel instead.

I did, finally, settle in. Confession helped, as did three white-knuckle trips on slick roads to retrieve our adult children in time for the holidays. Nothing like winter driving to teach humility and surrender. Fishtailing is a school of prayer.

We prayed and worshipped. We feasted, drank, and made merry. We watched movies, did jigsaw puzzles, and played games. We enjoyed each other’s company, real and virtual. We got close to each other again and gave each other space. We learned to manage our blessings.

Now our older kids have returned to their own routines, and we are returning to ours. Our lives overlap, but no longer encompass, theirs. Our parents went through the same. It is bittersweet—but we are all in the hands of God. We will meet them at His altar and see them again soon.