My mother was the buyer of gifts in our house. I can only remember one time when my Dad bought me a gift by himself. He bought me a red bike when I was in second grade or so. It was the Cadillac of bikes. It was a glorious, shiny metallic sparkly red. It had all sorts of bells and whistles: a bell, a back rest and so on. It was truly a thing of beauty. There was a problem though; it was too heavy. We kept our bikes in the basement so I had to carry the bike up and down the steep stairs. My spindly little arms couldn't do it. I tried. How I tried. Unfortunately, the bike had to go back. I ended up getting a Fred Flintstone, plain jane bike, one that I could carry up and down those stairs.
I related this memory to my Dad the other day. It is one of my favorites because first of all, my Dad picked out the red bike and secondly, he picked out the very best bike he could fine. My dad wondered if that memory made me feel sad or if it bothered me to ride that other bike. Not in the least! The knowledge of how much my Dad loves me carried over onto the other bike and I rode it as proudly as if it had been the Cadillac bike.
Somehow, this memory has made me think of the baby I miscarried. God gave me a baby because He loves me. Unfortunately, I was unable to carry her. The sorrow is gone but I still have the joy and the knowledge of God's love for me and I have a baby cradled in the arms of Our Lady. A little saint of my very own. God is good.
Snatching failure from the jaws of mediocrity
2 months ago