Last night, we took an eager aunt up on her offer and went to Mass without Toddler-tron. You would think, wouldn’t you, that this would be a great way to go to Mass, to get a break, to be able at last to pay attention and reflect and pray?
Wrong!
For one thing, everyone inquired after her. “Is she OK?” they asked. “Where is she?” asked others. “Hey! Where’s that cutie?” still others asked. She’s obviously missed by her parish family when she’s gone. (Dubbed the parish baby upon her birth, I guess this reaction should have been expected.) But we found, more importantly, that we missed her during Mass. The people behind us did not have the distraction of smiles and giggles and pointing and blowing kisses. The choir didn’t have the extra voice she always adds. Father didn’t have any interjections to his homily (or, as is more common, to the consecration (“Wa-wa” which I’m pretty sure means “Padre”)). The other babies in the crowd were safe from “Hi Baby” exclamations and the people we know well were safe from her possible dashes away from our clutches.
What made Mass lonely for me, though (and I think for hubby too), was the lack of squirming and reaching and crawling. I longed for the small weight on my lap, and the dawning comprehension that she can “pray” too. I missed the arc of Cheerios, the scramble for books, the half-awareness I always keep of where she’s at and what she’s doing. It was too bad that I could pay full attention to the Mass, because I didn’t give near as much back to God as I think I would have if we’d had her with us.
You see, for as much as my daughter “takes” from me, she makes me a better person, and most especially a better Catholic. I can no sooner deny the small miracles in my life (which was the topic of Father’s homily this week – see Breakfast and Bible for a small window into his thinking on this) when I look at my daughter than I can deny her existence. The fact that she is here at all is proof of how God can change hearts of stone. So, during Mass, when she is with me to remind me of all of this, I think God gets a better act of contrition from me, and a better frame of mind altogether.
After Mass, one of our friends with two youngsters said, “Oh, I wish!” and we tried to assure her it wasn’t all you’d think it would be. I’ve heard other mothers (and fathers) bemoan the days long gone when Mass was a quiet, reflective time with God. I have two replies to this, and I intend them with all charity. First, sign up for Adoration! It’s an hour, all to yourself, with JC himself. Second, I would like to revisit what Mass really is. It’s a giving back to God. So when you offer him your hectic, chaotic parenthood; when you give him back the blessings he has given you – just look around you! You will not be disappointed.
I hope never again to say, with longing in my voice, “Ahh, the days of a quiet Mass.” It is the noise that is my prayer; it is the wiggling that is my joy; it is the child who reminds me of my vocation. (And in bemoaning a nonexistent quiet Mass, do we pressure those whose children are also there? Do we put pressure on them to keep their kids quiet? This is food for thought; something to reflect on as we talk to one another and encourage one another to have the courage to be Catholic!)
Besides, it won’t be very long before we will once again go to Mass without the Toddler-tron, because she will grow so fast. There will be a day when we, in fact, long for the days when she is small enough to sit in our laps, and interested enough to listen to our answers to her questions. She will be small for such a short time.
Hi Sarah, I linked to this post of yours. It was the shot of reality I needed.
That’s all very true. And you are seriously blessed to have a parish family who misses your Toddler-Tron when she’s not there. Obviously they “get it.” They get how important it is to grow up our children in the faith, to bring them to Mass, to help them bless themselves, to point their attention toward the Altar during the Consecration, to help them hold a hymnal although they can’t yet read, to let them shake hands with everyone they can reach at the sign of peace. And it’s glorious when they grow up into Bigger Children and become altar servers, or choir members, and learn to serve the community in those important ways.
I am extremely blessed with my parish family, Barb, you’re so right. And Michelle, I’m so touched by what you wrote on your blog and by your comments. I almost didn’t say all that I did…and I’m glad there was a kernal there for you to take away.
Great post — my three girls are real wigglers at church (well, not the baby, as she’s three months, but you know what I mean). But they’re learning. Some weeks we get through mass without even having to take anyone out to the vestibule. I love having them there, however — they learn from our example, and we’re doubly conscious of our behaviors and postures because we know that we’re providing an example.
Found you through Amateur Catholic, BTW.
Mrs. Darwin, I feel your wiggly pain, though I only have one right now. But do you find, as I do, that as THEY learn, so do you? As they notice things, so do you? As they experience the miracles, so do you? This is the joy of Mass with my child/ren for me.