Starting
Point Precious days in the pasture
By PAIGE BYRNE SHORTAL
My work is to prepare liturgy and I
find myself immersed in the scriptures of this long Easter season: stories of
the incredulous disciples, the struggles within the infant church and -- a
favorite -- the Good Shepherd texts from the Gospel of John. On the home front
Im preparing for Mothers Day, which, as a daughter, involves
standing in front of the card rack for hours, trying to find a card that
doesnt tell any lies and eventually settling for a blank card with a
floral print where I can write my own truthful message. Or as truthful as one
should be on such a day. As a mother it involves making not-too-obvious
preparations to receive the rough, but genuine ministrations of my sons.
Shepherding and mothering are similar. Most of us mothers lay down
our lives for our children in some fashion every day. I can just barely
remember mothering one child, then I was the mother of two for only six months
when we adopted our third and oldest boy, so most of my mothering experience
has been as out-numbered. The three of them conspire to take turns
on the edge of the cliff while the other two are biding their time safely in
the pasture, waiting their turn for crisis or adventure, whichever comes first.
Being the Good Shepherd mother, I perpetually go after the one and leave the
other two (99 in the gospel) to graze. The problem is that I dont much
like heights and would enjoy a little time amongst the grazers. I have
suggested that it would be simply splendid if they all wanted to be happy and
safe at the same time, but on the rare occasions when they are, I just wait
around for the other shoe to fall. They all seem pretty fine. Just you
wait.
I was thinking this week about ritual lies. At the airport
Im asked, Has a stranger touched your bags today since you
packed? The ritual answer is, of course, a firm, No! Do not
tell the truth: Well, no one except for the bell captain at the hotel who
picked them up from my room, the porter who just carried them to this point,
and you, for that matter, whom Ive never seen before in my
life.
Or at the doctors office where the nurse, the 14-year-old
medical student, and eventually the doctor ask me, How are you? to
which I invariably respond, Fine! -- which is patently nonsense or
I wouldnt have just spent two hours in a small white room the temperature
of my vegetable storage bin to see a doc for seven minutes who informs me that
I have a sinus infection. Of course, I already know I have a sinus infection,
having lived with these sinuses for 48 years. I told them when I called for a
prescription.
One of my favorite ritual lies is part of the liturgy of Baptism.
The parents of the little one are asked if they indeed want their child
baptized and intend to raise this child as a Christian. Then they are asked
this question: Do you clearly understand what you are undertaking?
The parents always respond, Yes or We do or some such
ridiculous answer and experienced parents who are paying attention roll their
eyes and snicker behind their hands.
My youngest grazer is, as I write, pleasantly sick. Just sick
enough to be swaddled on the couch and need hot tea and sympathy and read his
book for English and doze a little, but not sick enough to be scary. Is it
awful to enjoy your children when theyre a little bit sick? Im not
one of those mothers with Munchausen syndrome by proxy -- the ones who push
their children down the stairs so that they can take care of them -- but I do
enjoy them biddable and cuddly and looking to me for whatever mom wisdom I
have. Those moments are rare in life with a shaving, weight-lifting, mumbling
adolescent.
Motherhood is essentially a life of the humblest kind of
servitude, which goes on anywhere between 18 and 30 years, depending on how
many kiddos you have and how much space between them, followed by another 30 or
more years of waking suddenly in the night worrying about one of them -- the
length of those years depending on how long you actually live.
Would I choose it again? Of course. Those precious days in the
pasture make it all worthwhile.
Paige Byrne Shortal is a pastoral associate in a parish in
rural Missouri. Her e-mail address is pbs@fidnet.com
National Catholic Reporter, May 11,
2001
|