Monday is the last day of a journey toward Marian consecration that I have been on. It's been quite an adventure, with emotional twists and turns along the way. Last night, in our small group, we talked about one of the questions we'd been given to help us ponder our reading. It was a question about sharing our homes with Mary, and was closely related, in my mind, to another question on another day about dedicating a corner of our homes or gardens to her. Small group, as you can well imagine if you've read many of my posts, is a tough time for me, and has been it's own weekly rumble strip, if you will. (Fr. Mike did point out in our first video session that the apostles were the first "small group," and made a whole lot happen!)
Anyway, I did have thoughts on these questions. About an hour before class, after a day that was out of my usual routine, I read the pages for the day. (Last minute homework has not been my usual thing with this class--it's only happened twice. I'm as surprised as anyone!) When I finished the pages, and read the questions, my first thought was that I have some Mary statues and things around the house already. But that felt like I was blowing off the question, so I took a breath, and considered where I would or could, or if I would or could, make them more visible. Then my heart shook, and I thought, "Stephanie, you are the house and garden." With the realization that the question very well could be taken figuratively, a few more elements of the retreat fell into place. (I really do picture a Tetris screen in my mind, only instead of the pentagrams falling and shifting to fill in, this kind of cognizance shakes it a little at the base, and the pieces just line themselves up. If only I was a cartoonist, you would see what I see!) I shared with the group. I almost felt as though all the questions and doubts in my own heart were gone.
Almost.
There was still a niggling concern that I'm not ready. Not immersed. Not understanding. Not really being asked to do this consecration. But something happened today that was more like a smack in the head. I have a Miraculous Medal that a very dear friend (one of my family of the heart!) gave me. It's on a bracelet, not on a chain, so I wear it on my wrist. Every day. I never really understood it as a sacramental until this retreat, but ever since I read up on it, and have paid more attention, I've seen the little miracles in my life that are, absolutely, prayers answered. (Some of them I prayed years ago, but I know that we do not know what is best for us. We just think we do!) Once, over the summer, at work, the medal fell off the bracelet, but I didn't notice until I saw it on the table as a lost and found item. Guy had it put back on, but I just stopped wearing it unless I was getting "dressed up." When the pool season ended, and I started working indoors again, I started wearing it again. For the past three weeks of the retreat, I have been particularly aware of it.
Today I lost it. I think it was a message; an answer to my concerns. (Silly me, I hadn't prayed about them! When will I learn? "Should I?" "Guide me, please.")
It was when I sat down to eat lunch that I realized it wasn't there. My first thought, "I hope whoever finds it, enjoys it and gets blessings from it." Then I started to deflate. I'd been having a difficult day--working on elements of my job I had not done alone, while being interrupted by phone calls I was not exactly sure how to answer. While managing to hold the mild panic down, I was pushing through, hoping that I wasn't getting overwhelmingly behind in my other responsibilities--the ones I really have a handle on. (Again, did I give this up to Mary? Is that not one of the things I'm supposed to be learning to do? Was she maybe nudging me to just say, "Guide me?" Probably!) Just before I noticed, just before a friend joined me at the table, I had been wondering if I should cut my break short to try and catch up, if only in my own mind.
I noticed. I pointed it out. We chatted while she finished her lunch. I resigned myself to the fact that it may be gone forever. I consoled myself by remembering that I could buy another medal and put it on the bracelet. I took a quick walk (after finishing the project I'd been on all morning, and finished after lunch) retracing my steps to the kitchen. I reminded myself to tell the kind man who empties our waste and recycle cans, and ask him to keep an eye out. I even opened myself up a little and told someone I'd met but never talked to; he said he'd keep an eye out. On my way back to my desk, a distance of maybe 20 feet, I thought, "Please let it show up.")
It was there, my Miraculous Medal, on the floor at my feet, in a spot I'd looked three times. As I smiled and held it up to show my workmates, I felt the turmoil in my soul subside. And I knew it was another one of my prayers answered. I knew it was an answer to at least a bit of my self-doubt. There are still some small pinpricks of hesitation; still something that I'm holding back. I don't know what it is, or if it will go away, but I will continue to ponder what is in my heart.
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