The Face of Jesus

In my single years I spent 7 summers working and living with Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity. Suffice it to say, I spent many an hour on my knees in their chapels. It was like a 7 year spiritual high.

Flash forward 5 years, a husband and 3 kids later. Spirituality, well it's not exactly the same. In fact it's not anywhere close. I really struggle with accepting the fact that my spiritual life is not what it used to be. Things like daily mass, weekly Adoration and summers with the MCs are long gone.

I know God called me to motherhood. I know that this vocation does not lend itself to the contemplative prayer of those holy nuns. I know that God understands this. That doesn't stop me from missing it.

Last night as I pulled Aiden out of the bathtub after a long soak and thorough cleansing, he looked down at his wrinkled fingers. "What's dat mama?" he asked inquisitively.

"Those are wrinkles," I said, answering the 50th question of the day.

"Pringles?" he repeated.

"No, wrinkles," I said again.

Upon closer inspection of his tiny wrinkled fingers he looked at me and announced, "Lookit mama, Jesus!"

"Uh, huh," came my mechanical reply as I dried him off.

"Lookit mama! Right here! Jesus!"

I stopped to examine his fingers and sure enough, in the wrinkles of his index finger, was the face of Jesus. "Wow Aiden! You're right." And I kissed his finger saying, "I love you Jesus." Aiden followed suit.

The verdict is still out on whether or not I have a mystic in my house. However, what I think God was trying to show me is that He will meet me right where I am.

My spiritual life these days is teaching the Our Father and the Hail Mary. It's saying the blessing over hot dogs and peanut butter. It's praying protection over my children as they jump off furniture with wreckless abandon. My spiritual life is seeing the face of Jesus in the hearts and hands of my precious babies.