thy will be done.

This weekend I was fortunate to be able to fly up to Rhode Island to visit my maternal grandmother (Memere, pronounced Mem-ay) and (most of) the rest of that side of my family. It was wonderful. All of it. And while I was sitting there in mass on Sunday morning, the priest said something that really stuck with me in his homily...and maybe it's because I was sitting next to Memere or maybe because I was being nostalgic for that Woonsocket church where my parents were married or maybe because I knew I was leaving all of it in five hours time. But regardless it took all my strength to not be total waterworks for the rest of mass.

"Thy will be done"

It was a homily based on the Lord's Prayer. A prayer we spout off without even thinking most of the time. A prayer for mercy, that I clung to when I was sick, that I honestly don't think much about otherwise. Back then I clung to the "give us this day... And deliver us from evil" parts. The needy sick parts. The "give me" and "save me" parts. But this preist made us think about the other not-so-fun parts. "Thy will be done." It's not everything happens for a reason. It's just going to happen. Blink, and it's already done.

It sounds almost non-religious when you think of it in that sense. And I guess you could think of it either way. It all, just, happens. By divine intervention or not, life goes on. People get sick. People get stranded. People make decisions. People love you or don't love you. Someone loses their job. Someone else get's their dream job at age 65. Children are abandoned or cherished. People die.

But it does help when you think of some higher power controlling it all, I suppose. Because otherwise, it makes your whole life seem pretty pointless, right? What would I want with a God who planted that damn brain tumor or let my sweet Grandpa die before his time? It is impossible not to question where is the mercy, the justice? Thinking that God's will may be outside of our own interests or understanding is a bitter pill to swallow. It's a lump in our throat. It leaves us with more questions than answers. And that is just plain uncomfortable.

No matter what we may want, things are just going to keep happening. It is mostly out of our control. But in a broader sense, in the presence or absence of a higher power (though I prefer the former), we do have some control. Maybe not of the broad strokes that form the backdrop of our lives. But of the smaller details. Of extra hugs and kisses and smiles. Of acts of kindness and charity. Of how we invest our time. It is not that we can stop the flood or keep that tumor at bay, but it is in how we choose to navigate our lives against that backdrop of this constantly changing scenery. We must accept that "thy will be done"(or in the very least that we are powerless to nature's course) or we will be stuck, minds milling in frustration and sadness, for the rest of our lives.

I cried and cried when I left my grandmother and the rest of my family to take that plane back to Knoxville later that Sunday. I am 25 years old and I was a mess. All I kept thinking was how every time you see someone, you never know if it is the last time you'll hear their voice or smell their hair. Even if that person is someone you see every day, but more importantly if it is not. It makes me want to hug Memere and never let go. It makes me wish I could teleport places and that I didn't have so much ambition keeping me away from the people I love all the time.

But "thy will be done" somehow brought me some semblance of solace yesterday. I was able to leave knowing that no matter where I am or what I do... the bad and the good... it's all going to keep on happening whether I am there or not. My only job being to cherish the moments that are under my control. Love big and live well. Navigate all of this inevitable change with (clumsy) grace. Take time to listen to that voice and remember the smell of that hair. The sound of a rousing game of Parcheesi (and those dang triple sixes). The taste of Dinamites and that sly smile when Dean Martin is on. That four year cousin old playing the ukulele while I dance with Uncle Jim and that sweet grandmother taking it all in. I will cherish it all. And I will do all I can to see the beauty in those broad strokes He paints, even if the picture is yet unfinished.

Liv