Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace

Perhaps one of the only disadvantages of co-sleeping is that sometimes, the baby is positioned at precisely the right angle to spew a stream of regurgitated milk all over your neck, into your hair, and, somehow, down the inside of your shirt. You sit up and peel your shirt away from your body (slurrrp), toss it on the floor, and reach for the spare you've learned to keep in the unused bedside co-sleeper. You half-heartedly use your sleeve to wipe the side of your face, but you can't quite bring yourself to care that you still have sour milk pooling in your cleavage and your hair is actually wet because your child just yarfed in it.

(I was tired this morning.)

I'm savoring the quiet tonight after a whirlwind of a weekend. My parents flew in on Friday so we could make the trip to my great-uncle's memorial service yesterday, and after the somewhat frenetic nature of the last couple of days I'm ready to just sit here and breathe quietly.

Of course, having a three-year-old and an infant adds a little chaos to just about any situation, but my children did remarkably well. Suzannah is a cautious little girl, and large crowds of unfamiliar faces, especially in unfamiliar surroundings, are really hard on her. And Isaac is not quite eight weeks old, so obviously, I have to be prepared for anything -- noisy demands for a snack, explosive sounds from his diaper, and sudden fountains of spit-up, for instance. I was lucky, though. Suzannah sat quietly next to me and played with her stickers, and Isaac slept soundly in Matt's arms throughout the entire service in the stifling, overcrowded church. Several people seemed surprised that we'd been there the entire time, because no one heard a peep from my little ones. It wasn't until several hours later, back at my great-aunt's house, that Suzannah really lost her mind. She hadn't napped, hadn't eaten much besides cheese and crackers and cookies all day, and was suddenly SO OVER IT -- the heat, the crowds, the strangeness of it all. We were sitting in the living room balancing plates of food on our laps, and she was holding it together, but then Matt went to cut up an enormous strawberry for her and he cut it the wrong way and that was the end. She dissolved into exhausted sobbing, and we decided it was time to head home. She was asleep before we reached the end of the street.

It was a lovely weekend, though -- an odd thing to say when the weekend revolves around a memorial service, perhaps, but then again, they have a funny way of turning into unexpected family reunions. I spent time with aunts and uncles and cousins that I haven't seen in years. We pledged to be better about staying in touch and getting together, especially those of us who live near each other, and even though it's easy for that to be just what you say, I really want it to be true.

The service was lovely, too. My great-uncle Ingvald was just such a good soul, and I liked him so much. My dad said, "I always thought he was such a gentleman." The pastor said, "He was a model for how to die with no unfinished business." At the end of his life, he said, his prayers were prayers of praise and gratitude. He was kindness in the world, the kind I desperately need to believe in.

They read the prayer of St. Francis, one of my favorites, and it seems appropriate to end with that tonight.

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
When there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
When there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that
I may not so much seek
To be consoled, as to console;
Not so much to be understood as
To understand; not so much to be
Loved as to love:
For it is in giving than we receive;
It is in pardoning, that we are pardoned;
It is in dying, that we awaken to eternal life.

St. Francis of Assisi (1181/2 - 1226)
Trans. Anon.

(In memory of Ingvald Dale)