Sometimes, Humility is the Name of the Game

I cannot remember what my dreams were for when I turned 50. I cannot remember my daughter getting married or graduating from high school. I cannot remember holding my babies - or even burying one. I cannot remember 2 November 1996 or 23 May 1987. I cannot remember coming home to the Church, nor leaving it to begin with.


I cannot remember having my dogs or my cats, my own bedroom or sharing with any of my sisters, fighting with my brothers over who was the fastest or strongest or better at skating or biking, going to see Grandma and Granny twice a month, arguments between mom and dad as to which house we kids would spend Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter.


I cannot remember what it felt like when I look at all the pics - I cannot remember having taken all the pictures.


I cannot remember finding out trees had leaves, or there really were stars with the moon. I cannot remember the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew or the Bobbsey Twins or Cherry Ames or Perry Mason or... I simply cannot remember.


What I do remember is waking up. Smilingly, joyously, happily - eager to find myself in whatever it was called ( a bed ) at whatever it was called ( a hospital ), surrounded by swiftly fading angels and saints and people. The next-last to leave me were two older women, taking a small baby from me. I could hear them all saying something to me - unimportant at the time, as I knew no more about talking than I did about walking ( putting one foot in front of the other ), but still there.


The last one to leave was a Man. "Remember - I love you."


"Go back to the Church. Write about Me. Until then, post about My Church. As often as you can, meet Me for Communion. Don't forget - Penance is important..."


I could see Him. I think I remember His saying, "Your sins are as your memories before now - forgotten..." Forgotten - completely, utterly, forever. They are gone. He's gone, too - but He comes back, repeatedly.


I love You, O Lord.


I trust in You, Jesus.