Resolutions

Yesterday at Mass, after reading the Gospel when Jesus asks Peter “Who do you say that I am?”, the priest talked about the different images of Jesus that we all create. He grew up in the time of “Jesus Christ, Superstar” and “Jesus the liberator.” The Jesus of my college days at Notre Dame was Social Justice Jesus.  But I remember sitting in my art history class in the basement theater at the art museum on campus while my professor clicked through slide after slide of Jesus through the ages: plague Jesus emaciated and tortured on the cross, pale Northern European Jesus, baby Jesus with magi and patrons, toddler Jesus with Mary in Renaissance robes, etc.  Jesus belongs to our time and to all times. This isn’t the eureka moment, though, as the priest pointed out; what is important is that his message of mercy and love has remained constant through the ages. The question we were told to ask ourselves as we left mass is how do we relate every decision we make to Jesus’ unchanging message of mercy and love.

I have to admit, I haven’t really been thinking about “what would Jesus do” when trying to decide where to live and what to drive. In fact, mostly I’ve been thinking “what should I do” and “what is best for our family.”  But of course in the long run, it doesn’t matter to our salvation what car we drive or what house we live in. What matters is that we’re good neighbors and good stewards and that we don’t drive our kids and husband to the edge of insanity with our fretful indecisiveness.

Easy for me to say now that our decisions are made: we bought the used Corolla, and the waiver to live on base went through. (We needed a waiver on two accounts: one to live in a house that was reserved for another rank of officer and one to put two kids over age 10 in the same room. That’s one of those rules you have to question why? Why can’t kids over age 10 share a room? I’m a strong believer in the benefit of sharing room space for kids, even though I well remember moments when I was ready to strangle my younger sister for touching my stuff. We drew lines down the middle of the room and threw things at each other across the line. We got into each other’s diaries. But in the end we learned about forgiveness and compromise… I think.)

You would think I would be celebrating now that these decisions are resolved, and we did celebrate last night with our best meal yet at a Japanese restaurant. Everyone sampled something different, and I was charmed by the bento boxes and the beautiful, simple designs of the plates and the sake carafe. But I had to quell the slight disappointment about not living on the scenic side of the island, even though now we’ll be able to send the kids out in the street without worrying about them getting run over or attacked by boonie dogs.  And I felt sorry for my husband, who was the one who gave up his ideal of a new car, even though he admitted that he was glad that he wasn’t in a brand new car when he picked up our muddy, smelly teenaged son after football practice. I told him he’ll have first choice on our next car.  I even felt a small wave of sadness about leaving the hotel beach and balcony, from which we watched the human slingshot ricochet in the distance last night.  Ah, the heart is never satisfied!

I need to remember to keep things simple: love and mercy, mercy and love.  This week has been a test of trust, and I didn’t pass with high marks.  I thought I could find the perfect answer myself. We received answers anyway, not perfect, perhaps, but perfectly fine for us. I may have failed yet again to have complete trust this time, but the lesson that trust will be rewarded has been confirmed yet again.