Noticing Trinity

Yesterday at church I visited with Ines, Hugh and Evelyn, three babies born about the time Mom was breathing her last. Then we came home to our mantel, laden with more signs of love, seemingly ubiquitous condolences because we are well-cared-for. On some level everyone seems to know the exquisite pain of losing one’s mother.

The joy of these crossings—passing into life, passing into death after a long life—is obvious too. The diaphanous gossamer I sense has been described as a veil before God, one that thins when gazing in the faces of these new beings alongside the memory of a nearly-century-old one.

Recently, I told a friend how hard it is to initiate socially these days or even respond because my work has become local and homebound. She told me all the small and important ways I could be involved politically. Yes, I do want to make a difference. I am constantly discerning God’s path for me with that in mind.

And it all becomes clearer when I snuggle a newborn and encourage a parent. I pray this is enough during this daze of sadness and disillusion. My God, I even notice I am professionally prepared. What could be more important and a better fit, at least for now?