by Eileen Tully
Peace came from an unexpected place for me one Sunday a few months ago.
I was singing in our High Mass that week, so I spent the time in the choir loft and found myself speaking the Lord in my head through much of the Mass.
As so many weeks are these days, it was a week that came with unsettling news – wars and rumors of wars, disturbing headlines, and all the things that can tempt us to lose our peace.
Only my question to God was, What can I do?
It seemed that every time I looked around, there was news of another horrible event, and my heart hurt. I was praying daily and lifting these situations up to Him, but I wondered if that was enough. I was tempted to believe that it wasn’t.
Should I be feeling more desperation?
Should I be pleading day and night for change in our nation and in the world?
Should I be fasting every day in penance for the horrors in the headlines?
I asked Him to show me what He wanted me to do, and as I knelt for the Consecration, He answered me in a way that He has done many times before – with a scene from my own family life.
Last summer, we’d had a tornado warning. I know these are common in some states, but tornado warnings are not common in New Hampshire, so as we headed to the basement of our home, our younger children had furrowed brows and plenty of questions.
What if there really is a tornado?
What if it wrecks our house?
What if a tree falls on our car?
How will we know when it’s over?
They looked at us with concern, but neither my husband nor I were really worried. We knew that a tornado was highly unlikely, and as we answered their questions truthfully, we remained calm.
If there is a tornado, we are in the safest place we can be.
If it wrecks our house, we will figure out another place to live.
If a tree falls on our car, we can get a new car.
We’ll know when it’s over when the sky clears up and the storm passes.
We asked them to trust us and not to worry. And eventually, they did. We talked, joked, and listened to music as we sat downstairs until the warning passed, and then we came back upstairs and moved on.
When the Lord brought this memory to mind there in the choir loft, He asked me, In which way would your children demonstrate that they trusted you more – by fretting and worrying the entire time you were downstairs, or by calmly sitting on your lap and resting?
I love when God uses examples from my own life like this, because I can so easily relate to them as a parent, and I know that He is an even better Parent than I am.
Of course I knew that by settling down, talking, joking, and singing with us, the children were showing me that they trusted my husband and me to protect them and to make things okay, even if the worst happened.
After we sang the Agnus Dei, I joined the rest of the choir in heading down the stairs for Communion. I knelt down at the communion rail and found that I was directly in front of the statue of the Infant of Prague.
It had always been a curious statue to me – the Child Jesus dressed in robes to match the color of the liturgical season. It had never really inspired me, but that day, I saw it in a new light.
I saw the whole globe held easily in the Christ Child’s small hand. I saw the look on His face – a look that was peaceful and unperturbed, with a hint of a smile, even. I saw His tiny fingers raised in a gesture of blessing. And at that moment I understood: He knows everything, He sees everything, He holds it all in His hands, and it doesn’t worry Him.
Over and over, we are told in the scriptures not to worry. “Do not be anxious about anything,” St. Paul tells us in Philippians 4:6. “Peace I leave with you…let not your hearts be troubled,” Jesus tells his apostles in John 14:27. Verse after verse assures us that the Lord knows that there will be trouble around us, but that we only need to surrender ourselves in trust to the One who holds it all.
“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33
Friends, as news about the depravity of this world continues to unfold, place it all in the palm of His loving and capable hands and do what St. Pio of Pietrelcina tells us: “Pray, hope, and don’t worry.”
Eileen Tully is the editor of Those Who Mourn, and founder of Sursum Corda, an apostolate for women who have experienced pregnancy and child loss. She is a Catholic convert who lives in New Hampshire with her husband and six of their children, while four others intercede for them in heaven. You can learn more about Eileen’s apostolate at EileenTully.com, or follow her on Instagram.