Life with Christ

At 22 years old I sat in a pew for daily Mass at St. Thomas Aquinas in my last semester of college. I had been married for less than a year and was anxiously pregnant with our first baby. Between classes for a degree in business and working full time, I would sneak away to church seeking the kind of peace that could only be found in the presence of the Eucharist. There were kind faces of daily Mass regulars that smirked at my rounding belly and the comfort of like-minded friends that were just trying to get through the university experience with eyes set on lofty dreams and bright futures.  

With just weeks until graduation, I fumbled through my prayers and often found myself overcome with emotion as the future I had so painstakingly detailed for myself was taking a much different shape. I was excited about the path my life had taken – married younger than I imagined to a man that guarded my heart with fervor and would walk through fire to give me the life he felt I deserved, expecting a surprise blessing that filled my days with his tiny kicks as we planned a simple nursery and researched car seats, and a four-year degree brushing my fingertips. But as thrilled as I was about all these beautiful changes, I sat in that pew terrified of all my big dreams.  

Last week I found myself sitting in that pew again with tears brimming my tired eyes. Here I was, 15 years later, in Thibodaux on a Wednesday night because that sweet baby boy found his way onto a baseball team that would practice in Peltier Park for two hours. I wandered over to St. Thomas with intentions to knock out a few grad school assignments amid another crazy week. My brain raced in a hundred directions – making checklists for my classroom duties as a high school teacher, mentally assigning household chores for each family member so we could slide into the weekend with at least clean jerseys, and worrying that I had not made enough time to give to my husband and children.  

As I set up my laptop and clicked my pen to take notes at a table in St. Thomas, I realized I had shown up just as daily Mass was starting. With no real excuses, I slid through the back doors of church and cozied into an empty pew. Letting the peace of the Eucharist fill me, I let myself settle into the moment. I cleared my mind, opened my heart, and breathed in the calm that this same church had given all those years ago when I was in such a different place in my life.  

I smiled a bit remembering how frightened I had felt about becoming a mother. I would have never imagined that in less than five years we would have a home filled with the chaos of three little ones. The business degree I was so close to utilizing would sit essentially unused as I followed the unexpected call to education, a career that would become such a huge part of my heart and identity. I would have never imagined how unbelievably hard it would be at times – the feelings of being unworthy, the worry that I could truly do it all as a mother, wife, and teacher. I could not have seen the struggles that would come with losing loved ones and conquering anxiety.  

Father John David Matherne used the homily that day to highlight not the widely recognized John 3:16, but instead on the grace of John 3:17, “For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through Him.” Tears stung my eyes as I thought about how many times I forget to just rest in the Eucharist in those times. I often feel that though I wear many hats, I don’t necessarily wear them well. How often do we spiral in our own thoughts of self-doubt when God so glaringly fills our lives with reminders of His love? How often did I personally attempt to balance all the hats perfectly and expect to continue walking a straight path?  

I have grown significantly since I gazed upon that altar contemplating the wide world I was so close to embarking on 15 years ago. I knew then I didn’t have it figured out, but I would not have fathomed I would face the same doubts and concerns years later as a mother of three, established teacher, and college student again. But I was reminded sitting in that pew surrounded by college students that seemed unbelievably young to me in that moment, that God’s plan was never to send us off on our own to “figure it out” but instead to sit with us in the uncomfortable moments, hold us in our anxiousness, and joyously embrace us in life’s celebrations and victories.  

We live incredibly busy lives and often fill our time with hundreds of things that do nothing to fill our souls. Gifting myself with the quiet time of daily Mass on that Wednesday evening instead of focusing on the papers to write and tasks to check off was a grace that God intended for all of us. We are worth the quiet moment, worth the gift of time, and worth the nourishment in the Eucharist. God does not condemn us when we fall victim to the rat race of life, but He is waiting and hoping for us to see the blessing that is taking time for the Eucharist.