Yesterday, after tossing and turning all night, I woke up in a bad mood. I was mad at the people around me for being less than perfect. I was mad that I had housework to do. I was mad that I needed to put gas in my car. I was mad that after I had driven almost half way to my daughter’s house, I realized that I had left my grandchildren’s Easter baskets at home — my reason for going over there in the first place.
Then I had an “epiphany.” I wasn’t mad at all. What I was really feeling was fear because my son was on his way to Afghanistan to participate in the war. My biggest fear was that my son would not make it back home. It was easier to be angry at things that I could see and hear and touch, than to admit my fears over my son’s safety in a place thousands of miles away.
So I decided to pray. I prayed the Memorarie several times and five decades of the Rosary. I felt better, and my wild thoughts had been reigned in. I was at peace.
That night in church — the first night of the Easter Tridium — I realized something: God gives us blessings every day, but it is up to us to take hold of them. In praying, the lines of communication with God were opened, and I was given ears to hear.
Last night, I slept like a log, and this morning, I woke up happy to be alive. I had a sense of peace about my son’s wellbeing.
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