D-Embarkation & De-Attachment

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord...

Did you know that the "D" in D-Day stood for disembarkation? Neither did I, until my husband -- a font of useful and interesting information! -- told me so this weekend, as the 65th Anniversary of that momentous battle was commemorated. A captain that interviewed Mr. SL during his officer admission process recommended the now famous Band of Brothers as both an excellent book and an insightful look into the role of command in the armed forces. So, of course, now I'm reading it, coincidentally on the weekend of the D-Day itself, which was the first time the 101st Airborne engaged in combat. And, I don't know if its hormones or my mother's genetics, or just trying to imagine my husband in some of the roles I was reading, but I kept tearing up at various recountings of unit pride, camaraderie and high levels of commitment and determination that these "civilian soldiers" seemed to have. There is something so admirable in what they did, and even why they did it, and I feel a bit honored that, in some small way, our family is going to participate in the same organization that those men did. So, if you think of it, say a prayer for all who fought and died on that day, that the world -- then, and now -- might be free.

“[Lord,] Grant me the treasure of sublime poverty...”

On a separate - but, oddly enough, related - note, I am not doing so well on the lack of panic-ing when it comes to our moving process. I have been very good about doing my Mother's Morning Offering, I have been so-so on the daily readings, and I have been decidedly un-good on the stress factor. This, of course, is to the detriment of my husband and son, because my stress communicates itself as snapping, yelling and general nastiness. Lovely, huh? Especially when the victims are a gentle, ever helpful, all around wonder of a husband and an innocent, cheerful toddler who just wants to be with his mama. Le sigh.

I think that the problem is two fold, and thus needs an attack on two fronts. The first is that more prayer = more peace. If I move my daily readings to nap time, instead of a vague "before bed," I think the grace of that will help carry me through more of the day.

The second problem is one of stuff, and that leads to the nice little icon of St. Francis I found today. I think he is a good patron to have of this packing process because not only was he poor in spirit, but he was also dedicated to being poor of stuff. While I don't think you have to be actually poor to be poor in spirit, I think both the Bible and the lives of the saints make it pretty clear that those who lack in stuff seem to have an easier time finding themselves a poor heart.

Stuff can be a physical and spiritual positive - it keeps us warm, it keeps us clean, religious "stuff" reminds us of God's presence in a tangible, sacramental way, and even stuff in general can remind us to thank God for His blessings and generosity. However, stuff can also be detrimental to the health of our souls when we let it, the love of it and the worry over it cloud our minds and hearts to the fruits of joy, peace and patience that the Holy Spirit is waiting to give us.

A poor heart is empty so that the Love that surpasses all understanding can take up residence and if I'm too busy worrying about packing my stuff, moving my stuff, remembering my STUFF, then there is no room left in my heart for Love to enter in. I need to detach myself from my possessions, in a spiritual sense. I need to remember that they really are just things, and that the people in my apartment are the most important "stuff" in my life. And, more than that, they are treasures that God has entrusted to me, and thus are more deserving of bubble wrap, Styrofoam peanuts and extra packing tape than plates, pictures and books. In a figurative sense, of course :)


St. Francis, pray for us!