I’m staring grief in the eyes.
This time, it’s not completely my battle.
All I can do is silently hold her through the pain.
Having no need for words creates space to watch and learn.
The first thing I notice is she won’t eat.
Grief steals appetites.
And yet, death has this strange way of multiplying casseroles.
We don’t know how to fill the hole in a soul, so we try to fill the hole in our stomachs.
Oh, how He hardwired truth into us.
Making it obvious, the things we need to survive.
Drawing parallels everywhere.
Mysteries aren’t so mysterious if we just follow Him all the way into it.
Hunger is the trigger to feed our bodies so we will live.
But eating is the last thing she wants to do.
Why does the trigger seem broken right when we need nourishment most?
Her body is not what hungers right now.
His perfectly created plan can’t be broken by grief and suffering.
These are not weapons used against us.
These are windows to truth opening wide for us.
Grief is allowed to take away the physical appetite,
So that suffering can expose the spiritual appetite.
Through the process of elimination, all that is left is the answer.
The soul is a supernatural thing.
It requires supernatural food.
Food that sustains and nourishes life beyond this world.
“Then Jesus said to them: Amen, amen I say unto you: Except you eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood, you shall not have life in you.”
~John 6:54 (DRA)
I’m not helpless in the face of grief anymore.
I do know how to fill the hole in a soul.
I put away the uneaten casserole.
I take her to Mass instead.
The very place where physical and spiritual collide.
The images of Our Salvation all around us.
The smell of incense lifting our prayers to Heaven.
The soothing chants and songs of His praises.
We kneel together at His altar.
We receive the Eucharist from the hands of His priest.
I feel the calming power of His Blood running through my veins.
The strength of His Body relieving the tension in mine.
I watch the light come back into her eyes.
And later that night, I hear words that confirm healing.
“I think I’m finally hungry again.”
It triggers a relief that only comes from participating in His perfect, unbroken plan.
And because He makes good out of even my imperfect attempts,
There’s a casserole already made.