Fidelity in Love
I heard her wheelchair coming closer before I saw her. But I knew who to expect. It was time for my weekly Holy Hour and her time to tend to the altar.
When she reached the foot of the altar, she slowly lifted herself from the wheelchair and steadily bowed her head toward the monstrance. Over sixty years His bride and she never lost her awe of Him.
The oldest Carmelite in my town was a well-beloved figure although her life was mostly hidden. Those who were graced with her occasional presence spoke of her peace, joy, and warmth. For years, I was gifted this quiet presence from my pew.
On this day, as usual, my eyes followed her as she rearranged the floral bouquets next to the statues of Our Lady of Mount Carmel and Saint Joseph. She removed dead stems and leaves and fluffed the remaining flowers still in their fullness. As she moved about her work, she subtly reached out to touch the foot of the Marian statue: a humble hello to the handmaid and a reliance on her for physical support.
She exchanged the altar candles burnt low with fresh ones that rivaled her height. She caught my glance and smiled her maternal smile. I can still close my eyes and see it.
During this season of our overlapping time in the adoration chapel, I was a young wife and new mother. My life had been radically changed by this entrance into my vocation and the unfamiliar demands of being someone’s source of nutrition and nurture. Uncertainty and fatigue plagued my mind. These Holy Hours mostly consisted of me begging Jesus to show me the way in this new world while nodding off in my exhaustion. And, of course, Sister.
Amongst her duties as a religious, Sister was tasked with caring for the residents of the nursing home run by the Carmelites. Residents and their families entrusted themselves to her medical knowledge and her heavenly wisdom. I entrusted myself to her example.
Witnessing the way she cared for the altar of adoration radically shaped my understanding of my role in my home. I could have completed her tasks on the altar in half the time she did; yet each of her movements overflowed with an intentionality motivated by love and not by lists.
Nearly a decade later, I return to those moments in the chapel when I need to be reminded of the purpose of my own vocation. These short, seemingly insignificant moments of quiet interaction with Sister refocuses my mind and reorients my heart toward the One I serve.
I must slow down. I must look at Him with love. I must rely on Our Lady. I must prune the flowers and keep the light burning. I must smile. Day after day. And through this fidelity, modeled to me by Sister, I will offer Jesus my continual adoration.
