A reflection on love, Mary’s presence, and offering our humanity to God.
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“Were you close to your grandmother?” A colleague and I were dinner guests at the home of our close friends, to celebrate among other things the birth of three new grandchildren in their family. Immersed in the warmth of their loving hospitality, my friend’s question flooded me with memories of time spent with my Gramma Trudy, who lived a long and full life until her death on August 14, 2011.
The day after Gramma Trudy’s death, I went to mass for the Feast of the Assumption, which has always been one of my favorite liturgical feasts. Grieving through the loss of being able to sit at her big round dinner table, I found deep comfort in a sense of the Communion of Saints, and a new image of us gathered together for the heavenly banquet.
Years have passed, since then, but I am still aware of honoring Gramma Trudy by speaking her love language: food, hospitality, and particular care for those who may be struggling the most.
When I prepare a setting to welcome students, colleagues, or friends, I carry deep in me how the perfume of hot knots or freshly baked cinnamon rolls would envelop us when entering Gramma Trudy’s home. I still mark special occasions with a homemade quiche or pie because thanks to her careful instruction I’m now the family keeper of the recipe and technique for a tender and flaky pie crust.
Mary, please take all of this awkwardness with you, take all of my humanity up to Jesus, so that he can do whatever he wants with it.
I realize now that it was my grandmother’s love that helped open me to a strong sense of Mary’s presence in my life.
Focolare founder Chiara Lubich explained the mystery of the Feast of the Assumption this way: Mary is taken up, body and soul, bringing all of her humanity into heaven. So this is the day to entrust to Mary’s care all of our efforts to infuse with the light and insight of the spiritual life all of those fleshy and concrete dimensions of our human life. We can place into her hands our work, our professional life, and even the knots and tangles of our family and community relationships, so that God can work the miracle of a “New Humanity” in us and around us.
I remember a particular moment of struggle when I was in Loppiano, near Florence, Italy, for the vocational formation program to live in a Focolare community house. I was having trouble seeing how my often strong, exuberant, and sometimes loud personality could “fit” into what felt like a too-tight mold of the consecrated focolarina. At that point, many dimensions of my life felt awkward and somewhat forced. It was on the Feast of the Assumption that year when I prayed: “Mary, please take all of this awkwardness with you, take all of my humanity up to Jesus, so that he can do whatever he wants with it.”
From that moment on, I felt a deep sense of peace and trust that with Mary’s love and help I could open myself fully to the work of integrating the depths of my humanity into this vocational path, so as to be responsive to God’s particular plan for my life.
Not long ago my father, now in his mid-eighties, said with a twinkle in his eye: “I have something for you.” He pressed into my hand a little figurine of an older mouse rolling out some cookie dough while a tiny mouse on her tip-toes observed. We both knew that represented me with my Gramma Trudy, explaining the texture of a good pie crust—don’t overwork it.
What I love the most about the figurine is the tiny chip in the ear of the older mouse. This reminds me of how Gramma Trudy tried to face with love the difficulties and sorrows of life. The figurine now sits on my nightstand, next to my favorite picture of her. As I set out each day, with a “Hail Mary,” and the renewed intention to fully own and speak Gramma Trudy’s love language, I also thank God for the gift of a vocational path that brings together heaven and earth.
