"Small and beautiful graces"

Today I am grateful for a nice spring break and a job to return to.

I went to the funeral yesterday of my co-worker's mother. My co-worker just retired last June and had been doing much caregiving both prior to retiring and certainly in these last months. Her mom died just weeks short of her 90th birthday. As I spoke to my former colleague during the visitation, she mentioned how her mom had been pretty restless and agitated in the couple weeks before she died. But the night she died, she was more restful and at peace. That seems like an indication of her readiness to let go.

To go from the joy of Easter services one day to the solemnity of a funeral the next day was a contrast. But both services had beautiful music and the hope of new life.

The priest who gave the sermon used the phrase "small and beautiful graces." Those words really struck me. That is how we touch one another's lives. That is how we make a difference. Those are the gifts we are given and the gifts we can give others. Small and beautiful graces. My friend's mother undoubtedly gave and received many, many small and beautiful graces over the decades of her life.

The church where the funeral was held was not the same church building that the deceased had attended much of her life. I thought of my father's funeral and how it was held in a newer church built on the same land that the church he went to most of his life had stood on. It's a beautiful church and was needed to replace the previous one's structural problems. But I recall feeling a little out of sorts in that newer building. I suppose because my childhood memories were of the other church and when a parent dies it seems natural to return to some of those childhood memories.

Maybe it is best to remember our deceased loved ones with that phrase "small and beautiful graces" and to take that phrase into our own day today. Look for opportunities to give and receive small and beautiful graces today. Pause. Pay attention. Be grateful. That is where grace begins.


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