until our youngest son, along with his dad and I, exhaled into a pew just on time for mass last weekend.
I think I mentioned in a previous post that getting ready for the new school year was a bit intense this year for one reason and another.
As part of his warm welcome back to campus sermon, the college chaplain repeated a phrase from one of the gospels that said something to the effect of:
“Come in here.”
My brain was still buzzing with post week one of elementary and high school forgotten or screwed up back to school purchases, so this repeated phrase was all I could gather from that hour of rest.
“Come in here.”
Kate’s brain: “JesusMaryandJoseph where are those stupid receipts?”
I did manage to hear Fr. Chuck say,
“As a chaplain, I’d love to have a big sandwich board sign out front that says just that:
‘Come in here.’ “
It felt so incredibly good to sit still, yet my two adult sons were at work and rest, so it was a three person attendance.
That was a little bittersweet.
rather than feeling sad that the college students we sat with are the
same age as our older sons, somehow,
my mind started to wander about this theme of signage and coming in and out of various doors.
Which led to a series of odd, I admit, but calming images about turnstiles and revolving doors.
Here goes one about revolving doors. (I won’t bore you with my communion service turnstile idea):
Being a parent is like being a fancy hotel guy with a gilded cap who says “good afternoon” as stressed and giddy folks push through a revolving door. Our off spring, their friends, our nieces and nephews, and a host of others, come through our doors,
hour after year,
after, “was that day ago, or did I lose my 2nd cup of coffee again?”.
I can think of at least 10 doors that belong to houses that we’ve been in as a family that have seen such action.
Yet, unlike the gilded door guy,
parents don’t get a paycheck for politeness.
Or a raise for anxiety and stress management.
Or a maintenance crew to keep the thing flowing and unfogged.
Or a secret panic button that will hail Super Grover to save another day.
But, we do get invited back. To church, to the gym, to the dog park, a knit n’ gripe group, an over the fence chat with a neighbor. The list is pretty darn long of the spots where faith in a Good God dwells.
I do miss Super Grover every so often though.
Stinkin’ cute you must admit.
(p.s. If you have an extra 4 minutes and 32 seconds, click above on the blue JesusMaryandJoseph for a very sweet Irish back to school YouTube video)