Today my littlest one surprised me--genuinely took me off guard. At Mass for Ash Wednesday, we were all doing pretty well, in spite of the fact that it was naptime and everyone's a little under the weather. I was also down a man in defense, with husband working.
In the quiet--lots of longtimers at the noon Mass--we lined up for ashes, to be marked and reminded of who we are and how wonderfully low God stoops for us. Why would I expect a fray?
Lulu, on seeing the ashes in the bowl, began to protest vociferously (Father made a pretty good mud of them this year). Physically. Vocally. Twisting this way and that, hollering, "I don't want those!" Top of her lungs (which for this family is pretty high up there). Tears. Yikes!
She looked horrified at the smears on my forehead, and when I pointed out that we all had them, nothing but disgust.
After Mass, Fr. Augustine convinced her to try them, so that she wouldn't be left out of the sacramental grace that comes through them. He caked her up pretty good, and there were tears again. Back in the van she declares, "I'm nasty."
In hindsight, I'm just glad He got down in the muck and the mud with us and doesn't leave us alone in it.
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