May 8, 2008

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By Dr. Mary C. McDonald

Secretary of Education, Superintendent of Catholic Schools

There is a saying that, "Small children disturb your sleep, big children, your life." That's not a saying you find on birth announcements or balloons tied to doorknobs on the hospital maternity floor. It's a saying for later, after the emotional high that accompanies this new interpersonal relationship called parenthood, after this time when everything seems glorious. There is a newness that can become seductive and mask the insecurity, the fear of failure, that a person might feel when leaving what is known, to go to the unknown, when losing one identity to create a new one. I remember when the reality of being a parent first hit me. It was the day after everyone left. My husband was back at work, our family members and friends had all returned to their homes, and my son and I were alone for the first time since he was born. I looked at this tiny gift of love and thought, "Now what?"

I'm sure it's a common experience. Here we are, people of vast experience, people who have been there, who know what life is like "out there" away from family and home. How hard can this be after all we have learned? And what do we want to do with that knowledge? We want to pass it on. We'd like to save our children, whom we love, from having to go through the hardships we had to endure because of our mistakes. We'd like to smooth the way, point out the pitfalls and guide our children over them. We want to keep them safe and out of harms way. But what happens when we can't? What do we do when they suffer?

I overheard someone ask my mother-in-law years ago, "Which one of your children do you love the best?" Without missing a beat she replied, "The one that is sick, or farthest from home." Over the years I have come to understand the wisdom of this truth, and the universal essence of compassion. When all is well, when your child throws his arms around you and says, "I love you", when you see your child helping another child, or bursting with excitement at a victory won or a skill learned, when you see your happy and healthy child grow in wisdom and age and grace, then life is beautiful, and love unquestionable. But there are those times, no matter how young or old our children are when we learn that the labels "Child Proof" and "Unbreakable" don't come on a parent's heart.

So, what happens when things go wrong, when we can't keep them from harm? We give our advice, we counsel, we educate. We tell our children what needs to be done, and they do the opposite. There may be times when they are sick, in mind, body or spirit and we think, "Now what?"

There may be times when they are far from home, and we ache for their safe return. There may be times when they are too weak, too tired to fight for recovery, or to overcome their addictions. There may be times when they have strayed so far from the core of who they are, when their anger, fear or a violent and hostile world keeps them from returning that we think "Who is this person, this child of mine?"

Where, then, is the balance between those two halves of our child, the half that can fill your heart with grief and the half that can melt it with love? The balance lies in compassion. It is when our children are sick or far from home that we must love them best. Love is stronger than fear or hate or grief. It is compassion that suffers with them and relieves their burdens when they are too weak to fight, or too blind to find a way home. It is compassion that keeps a light on in the window, waiting in prayer for their safe return. It is compassion that gives them hope for forgiveness, and strength for a new beginning.

But it isn't just your child who is entitled to such compassion, to being loved best, when he is suffering or lost. This is the birthright of all of us as children of God to be loved best. At those times in your life when you are sick, in mind, body or spirit, at those times when you are far from home, the home to which we all journey, at those times when you have been beaten down by life, betrayed, or lonely, at those times when hurt gnaws at your heart, it is always a gentle comfort, and source of great strength, to know, even in the midst of great evil, suffering, or loss, that there is a God, a compassionate Father, who waits for your return, who enfolds you in His arms, who, in His infinite subjectivity, loves you best.