Every Moment Counts

     I love my life.  I have a great family, home, wonderful friends and family.
     That said, it is HARD.  Today, as every day, I could hardly make it through.  I knew it before I descended the stairs: it was going to be a challenge.  Paying the bills with a baby who wants to scribble on the checks; laundry for seven–can you imagine how many loads that is?  Doing phonics and math and spelling and reading, and not letting them watch TV, so encouraging a game instead. . . it is sensory overload, it is exhausting, and it is. . . did I mention exhausting?
     But I prayed before I went down this morning.  I offered my day to be Eucharist–the broken body–for my loved ones.  I was challenged all day, but I was wrapped up in the love of God all day.
     Today was not lost.  It was not unimportant.  It was not any less important than Jesus falling down as he walked to Calvary, or a woman wiping the sweat from his brow.  Jesus’ life was hidden, but important.  As a Catholic, every single thing I do–feeding my children, mopping the floors, greeting a stranger, sending a note–is an act of corporal or spiritual mercy.  It feels small and private, but I know that, united with the life of Christ, it is important.
     I do not know how I would survive without the sacraments, without offering up the details of my day to be united to the cross of Christ–I do not think I could sustain this life as anything other than a Catholic.  Every moment counts, and that makes a world of difference.