Remember that you are dust

Tonight the family went to Mass, because it's Ash Wednesday. There's something so spare and beautiful about the imposition of the ashes. I still remember the first time I saw a priest form that smudge of a cross on baby Tre, above his jewel bright brown eyes. It sent a chill down my spine.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

That always seemed like a grim burden to carry. To walk out into the world, we creatures of dust, and to try to live lives that are good and bright. 

Tonight the church was packed, and we were almost late, so we ended up in the back, jammed rather close together. Sophia was restless and...frankly, a little obnoxious. She wore pink shoes, turquoise leggings, a purple flouncy skirt, and a red shirt. As you're mentally assembling that picture, I urge you not to imagine any of those colors being muted. In any way. She was anxious to get to the part with the cross on her forehead, and clambered over and under everyone and everything, in her excitement. 

By the time we were ready to receive the ashes, I was a little dishevelled. Raphael, who is recovering from a cold, had been sniffling all through the service, and I was also tired from biting back my irritation. It's not okay to be mad at your child for nasal congestion. It's just not. 

We filed up, and Sophia jumped in front of me, smoothing her bangs back to expose as much forehead as possible.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

For the first time, watching her forehead be smudged with the promise of mortality, I realized that those words are not a warning at all. They are a promise.

What's more, they are a lovely and hopeful promise.

When I got home, I talked to a dear friend, who has recently shouldered more than is humanly possible, and who is preparing to take on even more soon. Out of love. Out of overwhelming, messy and imperfect, dusty love.

All of us, this massive and untidy family of humanity, are created of humble stuff. We can prove no reason to reach above what we are made of, and yet we do. Because we can just almost hear the invitation of One who loves us - not because of who we are, but because of who He is.

We are dust. And we are infused with love. And the love, it lives on.

Comments

[Holly Gault]

I like putting a Sagan touch to the whole: "Remember that you are stardust, and to stardust you shall return."

I love Sophia's sartorial choices.

[Mir]

xoxo

[Stephanie]

Love this.

[Colleen]

8-)

[Amy]

I so wish that Luna and Sophia could meet. I think they could be life-long friends based on their couture choices alone.

[Anna]

This was beautifully written.

[Carmen]

You and I should go for coffee one day. I'm convinced of it. We will.

[kim]

Beautiful.

[Sr. M. Walburga]

"Love is the fellow of the Resurrection, scooping up the dust and chanting: Live!" -Emily Dickinson (or something like that...the only thing I can quote from her, Kira!) Just yesterday when we had a Sophia dress-alike at Mass I decided heaven will be something-like getting to dress like a 4 or 5 yr. old...color, color, color

[laura]

♥
that is all...