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Oh Happy Day!

It’s really a provisional baptism. We believe he was christened in the Ethiopian Orthodox church, which is of course a valid baptism. However, in order to be sure (as you really want to be sure your child is baptized of course) and in order to have a Baptismal Certificate so he can receive the other sacraments, we were able to have him have a provisional baptism, today. And it was no less sweet or awesome or joyful.

We were able to have him wear the traditional Ethiopian outfit, handmade for him by his favored caregiver. Just ironing it and putting it on him took my breath at the joy of this connection and continuation. He looks so handsome in it and it is a treasure; no better, no more appropriate, outfit could have been chosen.
We were blessed to be able to have our dear Bishop, our spiritual Father, perform the baptism and the Mass today before it. Although, when Bishop says Mass we get to hear all our favorite (and his) hymns, which had me working very hard not to cry even at the recessional hymn: “Oh God Beyond All Praising.” Especially today, with the adoption of this boy, and with all the families traveling and on my mind, this song got to me. It is one that I posted about before and how it makes me feel connected. And I do.

And really, that, for me, is so much what baptism is about. Connection.We are connected. When we adopt, we connect kids and sibs and new families and races, culture and countries; threads woven together. And with baptism, we are connected, adopted, by God the Father, we are Christ-ened, made to be children of God. We are made anew.

And so this sacrament has so very much meaning for me now, in a way that I could only kind of begin to intellectualize before I began to adopt. I mean, I ‘got it’. But not nearly so deeply as I ‘get it’ now.

And the beauty of it makes me laugh and weep all at the same time. Once again, our life here, when it is at it’s VERY best, is a mere glimmer and reflection of the glory that is what’s real and awaits.

But, oh, it takes my breath away.
And so I started crying and blinking back my tears at the hymn. Then started up again as we were surrounded by family and friends and saw my girlfriends crying as the Bishop took my hand and talked about my job as the mother to this child, this child of God.

Gabriel slept through part of it, through the christening with oil and the sign of the cross, indelibly, sacramentally, on his chest and forehead….until they poured the Holy Water on his sweet curls. Even then, he settled down fast, in my arms – my newly baptized son, as we all repeated our baptismal vows, our statement of faith.
And the veil between this world and the much more real world around us got a little thinner…and it glimmered.
And we all grinned and blinked tears of joy.
Oh happy day!

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This is us, years ago at St. Peters square: connected with the world, literally people from every country around the world, physically and through prayer and history. Too cool.

This one is for Jana. She, of the cool art and a fav blog, is waiting. She is waiting for that referral of her baby. It is hard. Especially this week, with the great rejoicing of the tide of referrals and court passes. But I’ve been thinking about Jana.

She put up the coolest thing: the song played at her wedding. Little did she know, it is one of my favorite hymns. Yes, an old favorite Catholic hymn: “Oh God Beyond All Praising.” If I can find a link to the music, with singing, I will link or post it (it’s that great). But read the words, they are so good, perfect. And that hymn, her post, got me thinking.

You see, it’s all connected.

All of it. It’s supposed to be, of course.

But we forget.

Or at least, I do. Too often.

And then I am reminded and the beauty of it catches in my throat and pricks tears behind my old crazy eyes.

My husband and I were sitting outside after dinner, watching the kids rip and tear and talking about this hymn, Jana’s post and the connections. (yes, we are that nerdy, we sit around talking about religion….we can’t help it).

You see, this particular hymn is a song of rejoicing. But in that rejoicing and praise is also so much, so much that is not so rejoice-y. In fact, it alludes to how hard things can be or get – waiting, suffering.

>Today is the start of the novena to St. Anthony!

Now St. Anthony (of Padua) is a FAVORITE of mine, a patron who has been a faithful intercessor for me!

His feast day is my birthday, so I feel a particular connection….and for those of you in the adoption world and process, his prayers were sought in the adoption of our Little Man and this last adoption of our Gabriel Tariku.

He is the patron of “lost things” yes, but also for finding and bringing home things too, so we hit him up for adoption prayers as well. Hey, it couldn’t hurt! And well, we believe he is a faithful intercessor.

So, I’m just saying….don’t fall for the trite prayer that people make fun of when they lose a coin or purse or ring. Really, think about a serious mindful prayer and even the novena.

Prayer transforms us.

And for those of you not Catholic, yes we do hit up the saints FOR PRAYERS, not to worship them…but rather like we ask each other or a dear aunt or uncle to pray for us in a rough patch. Same deal, but the saints are closer to God in that they are already in the Beatific Vision and so their prayers are more pure than ours, not murked up by all our natural human distractions and selfishness and pride.

If you’re interested in the novena go here or here. The novena starts today, ends on June 13. I’ll just leave you with two simple reasons why I love this saint:

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Today is Ascension Thursday in the Catholic liturgical year.

It is the beginning of the preparation for the feast of Pentecost, nine days away (start your novena now if you are interested.)

And in my own distractable, self-absorbed sort of way, I have been pondering these days in a whole ‘nother light. My husband and I have had discussions about this and how these days, this year in particular, are suddenly even more meaningful.

We love being able to live the liturgical year. It gives a rhythm to the year just like another layer of seasons. And this year, we have the greatest gift of being able to live the liturgical year in the most real way ever, the most literal living of the domestic church possible for us.

Today is the feast of the Ascension. In nine days it is the feast of Pentecost. That is the night we arrive in Addis (it is also Mother’s Day, another bonus). Obviously, we didn’t plan to arrive on Pentecost. I’ve spoken before about the lack of control in adoption and thus you don’t get to pick such things as when you might pass court and be able to go and get your new child. You just wait impatiently (and anxiously) for it. Sometimes when my mouth drops from the shock of finding these connections and little gifts of grace I just as quickly laugh – knowing that we must really be pitiful doofus types to need such obvious bricks falling on our heads. It takes the almost slapstick-level obvious smack in the face to help us “see” what is really real. Slow learners, indeed! (But again, isn’t it SO nice to know that God will meet you where you are, come down to your level? Great comfort to me, I’ll tell ya!)

This feast in particular, the Feast of the Ascension, has always been an odd one for me to fully grasp. I mean, here the disciples have been relishing the time together with Christ after we was mercilessly crucified, and now suddenly, he’s leaving them again. So where’s the feast and joy in that? And what about his mom? She has to watch him die and then rejoice that it really happened – he came back raised from dead – and here he was again, and now, once more, accept his departure. That’s devastating. Just saying goodbye each time to my college boy just kills me. Every time. And that’s just saying so long for a bit, and knowing he is perfectly well and crazy happy there.

But. On this day He said, “I go to prepare a place for you.” And now, for these next nine days, in our house we are too preparing a place for our new child. And he too, sits as they sat, waiting and not understanding or even knowing what was to come. In our church, we are taught that the family is the “domestic church.” We model the greater church as a whole, ideally. No pressure, right? Ha.

However, this year, this feast is such a parallel that it makes tears spring to my eyes. This feast is a leave taking, but better; it is a promise. The best promise of all. The promise of preparing a place for the whole of God’s family to be together. The promise that he “will come again and take you to” himself. This is the promise we also have made to this child, who does not yet even know or understand. But we prepare him a place, in our family, and we are waiting at the gate to go and bring him to ourselves.

And so, now: in nine days it is Pentecost; the feast of the coming of the Holy Spirit. The comforter. God himself, again. Another promise of a feast, played out. “I will not leave you orphans” is the promise. Well, again, blessedly for us, we have been given the grace and gift to be able to live this out, as literally as we can imagine. We land in Addis Ababa on the night of Pentecost. The next morning we meet our new son. Our new little boy. Gabriel Tariku. We have prepared him a place. We will not leave him an orphan. And we will, with tears and thanksgiving and inner whoops of joy, take him to ourselves.

3 And if I shall go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself: that where I am, you also may be. 4

18<!––><!––> I will not leave you orphans: I will come to you.

Image source, top painting by Giotto. Second Image from trip to Greece taken by husband.

>Today is the third anniversary of the death of Pope John Paul II.

In many realms, he was controversial, but we loved him. He was an amazing man and our spiritual father, Il Papa. He was truly a servant of God, or, as one of every pope’s titles: “Servant of servants.”

John Paul II loved children and youth. He was a vibrant and active young man and he started World Youth Day, bringing the world’s youth together for events to confirm their faith and to send them out to the world to be “salt and light” – to live their faith and serve others so that Christ could be brought to the world, through them (us).

John Paul II served until he could do no more, even sick and suffering, on display and in the humiliation of incapacitating illness and progressive disease. He kept going. He was a great example of perseverance and fortitude and faith, and joy even in suffering.

Some might think it is a reach, but as a catholic mom, I think of him. I can look to him as a role model of perseverance in faith and joy. Even when the next step is unknown or unsure: should we adopt? what child will we be referred? when is court? will he pass? when will we travel? will I be a good mom to this small boy?

This week, as I am moody and stew as I wait (I am SO bad at waiting), I swing my mind between excitement and wonder and worried and fearful. But “be not afraid.” It is in the bible (over 300 times). JPII said it in his speeches, as a father says it to his children. So. I’m trying. And on this anniversary of his death, I will remember, harder, that we are sent. We are sent out to serve. And I will try hard to ‘be not afraid’ and to persevere in the wait and be ready to serve, all my family, whoever God brings me and when. JPII, pray for us, pray for my little guy over in Ethiopia.