Dear Jesus,
Do we have to suffer in this world? Can’t it be easier? I know you tell us in today’s readings “You will suffer in this world,” but it makes us uneasy. Our lives are hard, with families that don’t quite work the way we want them to, marriages that are more challenging than we expected and children who push us away. We sit with dear friends who are dying or watch families torn apart by divorce.
Where are you in all of this? Where are you in the lives of starving people in Ethiopia? Can we find your presence in the wars, the landmines, the abandoned children and the inhumanity we see on the news?
But what else do you tell us today? “Take courage!” This is when I remember that you care about me, about each one of us in a deeply personal way. You tell us “in me you may find peace” and we want so much to believe. We want to believe in you, but we don’t want to hand over control of our lives. We want to be independent, not relying on anyone else, even you. And so we continue our struggles in life, certain that we can do this alone. Until we become aware of the pain again.
There are the moments of crisis in our days. We turn to you. Help us. Maybe our families seem out of control, our marriages strained and our friendships fraying at the edges. Maybe the medical test didn’t come out as we had hoped. Our careers are failing. Our lives feel empty and we don’t know how to fill them.
How can we ever get through this? We can’t alone. And so, in our suffering, we turn to you more deeply. We give up trying to be in total control of our lives and we remember that you are here for us, loving us in our sadness and pain.
We are so much like the disciples in today’s gospel, reassuring Jesus that we’re ok now, we get your message, we’re back in control. Until our lives fall apart and we leave our arrogant postures and return to you. Always, always you are there for us, opening your arms again and again for our desperate return, knowing that after we cry, after we unburden and seek peace in you, we will inevitably wander off again, once more “in control.”
Jesus, thank you for your faithfulness to us. Thank you for caring, for being here for us, always. In you we find our peace, our souls and our most authentic selves. Help us to remain here, in the peace of your incredibly loving embrace.
Maureen McCann Waldron
The most important part of my life is my family – Jim my husband of 47 years and our two children. Our daughter Katy, a banker here in Omaha, and her husband John, have three wonderful children: Charlotte, Daniel and Elizabeth Grace. Our son Jack and his wife, Ellie, have added to our joy with their sons, Peter and Joseph.
I think family life is an incredible way to find God, even in (or maybe I should say, especially in) the most frustrating or mundane moments.
I am a native of the East Coast after graduating in 1971 from Archbishop John Carroll High School in suburban Philadelphia. I graduated from Creighton University in 1975 with a degree in Journalism and spent most of the next 20 years in corporate public relations in Omaha. I returned to Creighton in the 1990s and completed a master’s degree in Christian Spirituality in 1998.
As our children were growing up, my favorite times were always family dinners at home when the four of us would talk about our days. But now that our kids are gone from home, my husband and I have rediscovered how nice it is to have a quiet dinner together. I also have a special place in my heart for family vacations when the kids were little and four of us were away from home together. It’s a joy to be with my growing family.
Writing a Daily Reflection is always a graced moment, because only with God’s help could I ever write one. I know my own life is hectic, disjointed and imperfect and I know most of us have lives like that. I usually write from that point of view and I always seem to find some sentence, some word in the readings that speaks right to me, in all of my imperfection. I hope that whatever I write is in some way supportive of others.
It’s an incredibly humbling experience to hear from someone who was touched by something I wrote. Whether the note is from someone across campus or across the world, it makes me realize how connected we are all in our longing to grow closer to God.
