Scenes From the Domestic Church

Perspective. It occurred to me this morning how important a genuine perspective can be to the members of the Mystical Body and our support of one another. I came across a wonderful photo of a young dad, slouched wearily on a sofa, who was obviously exhausted, reading a book of fairy poems to two little girls perched like happy birds on the arms of his chair. Clearly, their delighted faces revealed that he was doing ALL the voices. This weary, weary Dad pushing through to beauty and giving joy to those two little birds who were his own. That Dad spoke volumes.

As a mom with all grown children, I tend to look back with somewhat rosy glasses to the "good old days" when the kids were young; that mothering amnesia that only seems to remember the beautiful times, the joys, the jokes, the captures of grace surrounding a child. But I realized suddenly, when looking at this Dad, that it's important to really remember everything so that I can pray properly for families with babies, toddlers, and middle schoolers. To remember how hard it really was; this distinctive pushing through that is the mark of parents with many young children. I don’t think it an exaggeration to say that the life of young, faithful parents is truly filled with heroic charity.

One evening, for instance, I sat behind a mom and her kids at Mass. She was wrangling the energies of a precocious little toddler with definite signs of escape in her smile. I was smitten by that smile, but this mom had that look of persevering exhaustion so evident in mothers with several young children in tow. It’s a look that always fills me with deep love and admiration. If she was incense she would have filled the Church with her sweet offering. She probably didn’t feel like incense in the slightest trying to calm the suddenly captured toddler wailing loudly at being foiled in her escape down the pew; while at the same time showing the five year old who had pushed a book right under her nose, where we were in the Mass, and also keep her own chapel veil squarely on her head. Prayer at this stage of parenthood is almost never of the contemplative kind, but more of a physical offering whose endurance is akin to an Olympic sport. It is an offering precious to the Lord.

I remembered trying to brave a Good Friday service with three kids under five once. I just desperately needed some grace, so we went up the street and slid, em, indecorously into our pew. My three year old daughter had worn her new “clicky” Easter shoes; her pride and joy because they had red sparkles on them. Not too far into the service, and, well, of course at the most solemn, silent time when the priests were prostrate on the steps, she managed to escape down the pew doing an elaborate tap dance as she went, delighting at the sound she made on the very satisfying wood. I couldn’t help admiring the choreography in spite of myself. Meanwhile, my son let the kneeler go and hit his head on the pew and began to wail. It was bedlam and I was mortified. Grace wasn’t lookin so great at that exact moment. We slunk out of church and I sighed in weariness. Failure! But this tiny old lady saw me come out and said, “God bless you, honey. It’s always the best thing to bring your little ones to Jesus.” I almost sank to the ground and bawled, but I didn’t want to scare her. My daughter promptly lifted her shoe to an inch of the lady’s face and waited for the appropriate response that glittery, red, clicky shoes must by very nature elicit! My tiny little lady did not disappoint and gave the appropriate oohhs and ahhs expected. We tap danced our way all the way home.

My kids are all grown now, but I want to be that lady for every young mom I meet. You are each marvelous, brave, strong in love, and like the most fragrant of incense before the Lord! And they will all grow up one day, and you will laugh out loud remembering the stories of clicky shoes and slamming kneelers, I promise. You will wonder where on earth you got the energy to get through those years. It was grace, all grace.

The Catholic family is a living sign of the community that exists in the Trinity. It tells the world there is hope and love and endurance; this community of distinct individuals who form a beautiful, unified whole.

The thing about domestic churches is that if you are one and you are in the middle of it all, you really can't see the proverbial forest for the trees. And sometimes you feel like that forest might be on fire. You might begin to wonder if your life only serves as a cautionary tale for others. That's why it is such a gift to reach the other side of the forest as an older mom or dad and get the lovely privilege to observe, as a guest, the domestic church in action. What you see will be very different than what they feel. Sometimes, however, you are privileged to see a beauty rising out of what might look like bedlam, but is actually filled with wonder to an outsider looking in. I found myself feeling that wonder one evening when a very brave young family invited us over for dinner.

We were greeted at the front door by the oldest girl who held on her experienced hip a blue eyed beauty of a baby sister. This girl of perhaps twelve had an open, honest, confident face. The kind of girl who would know how her dad liked his coffee and who loved to sit in the kitchen and talk to her mom while she cooked dinner. She shook hands, and showed us down the hall. But we didn't get far before a wild haired, bright eyed sprite (I LOVE the wild haired sprites. Every family has one.) came skipping down the hall demanding with open arms to hold the blue eyed beauty. Older sister complied without a trace of doubt or fear and other than a temporary widening of her blue eyes, the baby seemed to realize she was about to get a wild ride and held on accordingly as she bounced with serenity down the hall with said sprite. A little boy thundered down the stairs and remembering vaguely that he needed to greet guests in some polite manner said quite frankly and cheerfully, "Hiiiiii!!!!" and then promptly disappeared out the front door.

The dad walked us around the back yard and showed us all the beautiful trees in bloom and seemed delightfully oblivious of the wagon careening by on two wheels as an older brother gave a younger brother the kind of ride which produces that distinctive boy scream of mixed terror and ecstasy. The Dad accepted this as a matter of course, sipped his cocktail, and continued the tour unperturbed. Up in one of those beautiful trees was a pretty, rosy ten year old girl sitting among the branches and probably dreaming she was in a fairytale of some kind. She said a bright hello to us from the heights.

And in the middle of all this was the tall and serene mom. The blue eyed baby had managed to land safely and sleeping on her shoulder wrapped expertly in one of those baby wraps that always mystified me as a young mom and ended up in a tangled mess at my feet. I never did figure them out, alas. But here she was in the middle of the yard, the serene "captain of all she surveyed" completely unaware how beautiful she looked. Kids boiled by or hung from bars or were swinging and she stood smiling amidst it all....but I knew that waiting right underneath that serenity was a super power, a power that would spring into instant action if someone fell.

It was a wonderful experience to see this Domestic Church in action as an observer. All this wonderful, controlled chaos and life boiling over everywhere. There was love, security, acceptance, sprites, sleeping babies on mother's shoulders, a dad okay with it all. It was a lovely gift. And it truly sang to my heart: GOD IS LOVE.

It was shortly after this evening that I promised to say a daily rosary for young families everywhere. That they may persevere to the other side and have great memories to call upon in older age.

So, I solemnly promised: this rosary is for you, young mom sitting on the floor staring at the bookcase where sits Keats gathering dust, and you sit wondering if you can possibly say goodnight to the moon ONE MORE TIME, and are desperately wishing that the great green room was a more sensible color. This rosary is for you as you drink your lukewarm coffee and stare at your living room floor wondering if there is an actual possibility of death by legos. This rosary is for that distinctive ache between shoulder blades as you carry your new born around. And for the hundredth time you tell your clever little son that NO he cannot eat his dinner in the corner like Jack Horner. This rosary is for the Dad who actually turns the projectile milk spit up of his new born into an olympic sport just to make his wife laugh. This rosary is for the moms who are doing a military crawl past their toddler's open bedroom door so he/she won't see you and might sleep a little longer. I SO get it and I send you a Hail Mary! My rosary for the zombie feeling of middle of the night feedings, for feeling like you own the clown car at the circus when all your kids pile out for Mass on Sunday with socks and shoes still being put on. I pray this rosary for all the times you are asked if they are all yours! And how many are you going to have anyway? And are you the shuttle service? And where on earth do you buy such a van of unusual size?

It REALLY is all worth it! I made it to the other side and you WILL get to read Keats again, your house won't look condemned anymore, you will be able to take a shower every day - think of it! And suddenly your kids turn into grown ups and have conversations with you.....adult conversations. And they start thanking you for reading all those favorite books millions of times; they thank you for being a great Mom and Dad. They really do.

God bless all those domestic churches out there! You are beautiful, you are a great sign of hope and love in the world. I pray for you! Long may you careen!!

I do not feel inclined at this time to have a paid substack. But if we were together in a cafe discussing all these thoughts, I would not be opposed to you buying me a cup of coffee - with cream, of course. In that spirit, if any of my posts resonate with you and you feel so inclined, you can donate here: buymeacoffee.com/denise_trull