Sunshine In A Bottle

 When I first came into the Church, I had a tough time with Mary, the Mother of God. Not for any theological reasons, but simply in a relational sense. One often hears of struggles people have with God as Father because of their wounds with their own father. For me it was the opposite--my father exemplified the unconditional love shown by the father to the prodigal son in Luke 15. But with Mary, it was an issue of her being peripheral. 

I have a good relationship with my mother and love her dearly, but I realize in sitting down tonight I don't mention or write about her much. And that's how I viewed Mary, the Mother of God, for a long time--not sure how she fits into the picture of my newfound faith. I learned to pray the rosary during those first years as a Catholic, but it was hardly my favorite prayer. My recitation of it seemed to stay on the surface of things above the depths, which now in hindsight, would be a good description of my relationship with my mother. 

My mom may quite possibly be one of the nicest and most pleasant people you will ever meet. I have described her to people who haven't met her as "literally, sunshine in a bottle." My brothers and I joke about her "permagrin"--that is, the fact that she is always smiling. I don't think it's superficial, either. She is a genuinely happy person.

But part of that happiness and effervescence is perhaps why I had trouble relating to her growing up as a broody teenager who thought about things deeply and was discontent with the supericial and fleeting nature of existence, and even today as an adult. My mom is a smart, educated woman, but she doesn't necessarily "go there" when a conversation gets too deep. She prefers to stay on the surface rather than stare into the sun with the naked eye, and will sometimes change the subject to something more essentially palatable if the discussion vears too existential. Maybe this is how she is able to maintain her positive outlook on life, by not staring straight into the abyss on the daily the way I tend to sometimes. 

I've put her through the ringer growing up, and between dealing with me and my dad and our mental health issues, she is stronger than I give her credit for. She also has a natural deference to my father's authority in most matters, though my father also recognizes how much he relies on her to complement his own deficiencies. Their marriage has withstood a lot in large part to this model, and I give her credit for it.

But there is also a degree of frustration on my part in expecting my mom to be someone she is not from time to time. For one thing, as much as I would love for her to come into the Church as a Catholic, she remains outside of it. It is not a negative in our relationship, and there is no antagonism, but I have trouble understanding people who do not consider the four Last Things: Death, Judgement, Heaven, and Hell. The impetus is not there. I want her to know herself the joy that is our hope, not the happiness tied to the externals or pleasures of this temporary life. But ultimately, these decisions to pick up our cross and follow the Truth wherever it leads must come from the individuals themselves.

It's hard to reconcile sometimes. How will the good Lord judge my mom when she comes before Him? Am I effectively living with the cognitive dissonance of trying to reconcile a modernist concept of your religion not mattering, of being a "nice person" (which my mom most certainly is!) with the exclusive claims of the Church, the necessity of the sacraments? Maybe it's why I trend towards throwing myself on God's mercy and fearing His just judgement in the same breath. I fear the hellfire myself, but I also fear it for my family.

Ultimately, the Mother of God broke into my and my wife's life and flooded us with grace and afforded us her protection (by way of the Miraculous Medal). She is no longer peripheral. We pray the rosary regularly and are indebted to her for that grace.

I still hold out that that same grace might break through in my relationship with my mom. I want her so badly to be Catholic, and she's not, and I don't know what to do with that. I respect her enough not to force the topic, but maybe I'm not doing enough either to make the prospect hard to resist. And it becomes hard when you know that the popular sentiment of "good people go to Heaven" and "being kind is the most important thing" is false when you know the people you love fall into that category. "Lord, who can be saved?" As He tells us, "with men, it is impossible. But with God, all things are possible" (Mt 19:26).