Father’s Day. A young family sneaks into church just after mass has started and sits in the pew in front of us. They are perfectly groomed and in their Sunday best … a young mother, handsome father, baby boy (about 3 months); “big” brother (about 2 ½ years old) and “Mary Beth” (about 6 years old). Her name has been elegantly painted on her backpack. She is wearing a beautiful sundress, dainty shoes, a headband in her fair hair and a heart locket. Brother’s hair is styled, bangs to one side. He's wearing a little Ralph Lauren–style vest with his khakis. I recognize this family. The pretty young Mother is a friend of my sister’s; the little girl adored by my niece—(the divine Miss M).Despite my effort to focus, I’m distracted from the sermon—watching them. Shortly after they arrive, the baby starts to fuss quietly. Big brother comes to the rescue immediately. He plays with him—smiling. Tickling. Soon the baby fusses again. With silent hand gestures, Mom signals Dad to pick up baby while she—in two quick motions (totaling less than one minute)—extracts a bottle and powdered mix in a plastic container and combines them to make a fresh bottle.
While she feeds the baby, Big brother opens his backpack. He extracts a craft kit that clearly Mom has prepared in advance to entertain the children for this hour. He finds a fat, sparkly, new blue shoelace. Then he takes out a tiny plastic container filled with colorful fruit loop cereal. With great contentment, he begins stringing the cereal, like beads, on the shoelace.
The mass continues. The family, children included, have been taking part. And they have been so very quiet and well behaved. Mary Beth pulls out her craft project. Her shoelace is sparkly pink. Her plastic container is filled with plain cheerios. We are at the point of the mass where a miracle occurs—plain bread and wine become the body and blood of our Lord. We are on our knees. Heads are bowed. For some reason, Mary Beth is frustrated. She spies her brother’s multi-colored fruit loops. She expresses a whispered complaint to her mother—who tries to quiet her for the moment. Mary Beth voices her point again—a little louder. “But cheerios aren’t very colorful!” she cries aloud. In one quick, silent movement, Mom opens both plastic containers—creates a new mixture of plain cheerios and colorful fruit loops and everyone is content again (with creativity having been nurtured in the process). I’ve now witnessed two miracles within the hour.
I think about how much preparation went into her morning getting this entire family church-ready. I think about her preparing the craft kits, the bottle ingredients, packing the backpacks, combing everyone’s hair, making sure their clothes were clean and pressed and caring enough to pay attention to the little details like hair bands and heart lockets. All for one hour … to honor God. Could there be a better prayer? I don’t think so.
The congregation stands. We share the sign of peace and wish the fathers in attendance a “Happy Father’s Day." Silently, I’m honoring this Mom today—and Moms everywhere.
