“I’m waiting…”
The first time I ever felt frustration towards God was on May 27, 2006 at the age of seven. It was the day I was supposed to die.
As a young Catholic I was exposed to stories of numerous Holy men and women. I absolutely loved listening to and reading stories about Saints and people who lead holy lives. One of my favorite ways of learning about many of my role models was to listen to audio recordings called Glory Stories from Holy Heroes. My childhood favorites were Saint Teresa of Calcutta (Blessed at the time) and Blessed Imelda.
St. Teresa’s devotion to serve everyone as though they were Christ Himself, sparked an interest in the lives of the Saints for me. She was a mother to all. I wanted to give of myself as selflessly as St. Teresa did. Her little lesson on remembering the Gospel on five fingers, ‘you did it to Me,’ was repeated many times when I was trying to do good rather than succumb to my selfish desires. Her acts of kindness towards God’s beloved creations encouraged the use of sacrifice beads in my life. I remember thinking of the goodness and great love in which St. Teresa acted whenever I felt those beads in my pockets. While I definitely performed more than my share of unkind acts, St. Teresa’s example saved many of my siblings from my anger and uncaring attitude on more than one occasion.
Saint Teresa of Calcutta’s life testimony and teachings on loving everyone as one should love Christ inspired a desire to serve others and to show love in my actions. Her ‘do small things with great love’ teaching and her way of remembering the Gospel on five fingers, ‘you did it to Me,’ were constant reminders to choose my words and actions to bring joy to Christ rather than pain to those around me. ‘You did it to Me;’ five simple words summing up how we ought to behave and live our lives, doing everything for Christ.
The story of Blessed Imelda walks through the short life of Imelda Lambertini who had a deep devotion to the Blessed Sacrament at the age of five and strongly desired to receive the Eucharist. As she was too young to receive her first Holy Communion she was left patiently waiting and longing to receive the Most Holy Sacrament. At the age of nine Imelda went to live in a Dominican convent where her devotion to the Eucharist continued to grow. When Imelda was eleven, she was praying in front of the Tabernacle, begging Jesus to come to her in the Holy Eucharist. A nun was cleaning in the chapel when she saw a single Host above Imelda’s head and ran to get the priest. Upon seeing the miracle taking place the priest gave the Eucharist to Imelda. After years of longing and hopeful praying, Imelda was able to receive our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. The Priest and community of sisters left Imelda to pray in the chapel undisturbed. Hours later when some of the sisters came back to check on Imelda they found her still kneeling with a smile of joy across her face. Upon touching Imelda she collapsed, having died of joy after receiving the Most Holy Sacrament.
St. Teresa’s dedication to see Jesus in everyone and perform his works everyday, along with Blessed Imelda’s devotion and love towards Jesus, served as inspirations for my faith at a young age. I always carried around acts of service beads in my pocket and often tried to emulate the five finger rule in my daily life. I thought the absolute greatest way to die is definitely from an overwhelming joy and hoped my death would be one of pure happiness.
The faith of holy men and women helped me explore my faith throughout my childhood. As a homeschooler, my mother was able to make our faith the center of our education. Growing in faith and practicing the use of our intellects went hand in hand for my siblings and I. Whether it was my brother practicing his sword yielding skills to assist Saint Michael the Archangel or one of my other siblings pretending to be Saint Bernadette, the Saints were a constant inspiration and a part of our daily activities. The lives of the Saints made learning and practicing our faith not only enjoyable, but doable.
I do not have much memory of preparing for my First Communion, most likely because learning about Jesus was part of the routine, but I do remember being excited on the morning of my special day. We had just moved six hours away from the parish I was receiving my First Communion at, so we had made the long journey to come back and I was going to receive the Blessed Sacrament alongside my best friend. I still remember the disappointment as I sat in the car in my white dress, with my white shoes, and my hair neatly done in a bun looking at my best friend through her window as she was sick and would not be joining me on the joyous occasion.
The first distinct part of the Mass I can vividly recall is after the Consecration when the priest was walking down towards the kneeler. I stood up and faced the only other first communicant, a young boy who I was convinced looked just like Albert Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie. I can still laugh at the panic that entered my body when it hit both of us that no one had told us who was supposed to go first. He recovered first and took a small bow and extended his hand so I could go. It was my princess moment.
I walked to the priest and kneeling I received the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Our Lord Jesus in the form of bread and wine. I stood and walked back to my pew, knelt down, and silently spoke to God, “I am ready.” I said these words with complete confidence and not even an inclining of doubt that this was my final moment on earth. I put a smile on my face and waited. I waited a little longer. I repeated my words, “I am ready” and added in an “I am happy.” Still nothing… finally I felt it. An emotion I had often felt, but never towards God. The frustration and impatience was quite confusing as I let out a silent plea of “I’m waiting.” Then the priest said, “Let us pray.” I stood and life went on.
Those first few seconds of standing were the first of my life that I felt like I did not know anything. I was not sure what God wanted from me. After all I was supposed to be dead, I was supposed to have died of pure joy upon receiving my beloved Jesus in the Holy Eucharist, but there I was alive and quite confused as to what I was supposed to do. It was probably the child in me that allowed me to recover from the lost confusion so quickly that in mere seconds I was able to simply accept I was not dead, and able to keep going through life without harassing God with ‘whys’ and repeating ‘what next’ until He gave me a definite answer.
Blindly trusting God is not something I do quite so easily today, but I hope to grow in patience as I wait for God to reveal His Will in my life, which will hopefully include a joyful death.
J.M.J.
