“It¹s a picture of God.” the little girl answered.
“But, dear, no one knows what God looks like,” the teacher corrected her.
“They will when I'm done.” the little girl said.
If anyone could know the face of God, it would be little children. They are so recently sent from heaven to the homes of their expectant parents.
In their innocence they are as close to their loving Father in heaven as they will ever be. As close as we grownups hunger to be in our prayers and meditation, in our reception of Christ in the Eucharist, in our longing when we lie awake in the darkness seeking his comfort.
Christ said, “Suffer the little children to come unto Me.” He wants us to believe in Him as little children do. To become child-like in our faith. Trusting and open, confident that He hears us. He wants us to feel able to turn to Him in everything, even the simplest things.
A nun who taught me four of the twelve years I attended the same parochial school had a way of sharing her tender view of God's special love for children. She often reminded us that we could pray to God for anything. Anything we could ask our Daddy, we could ask of God. And yes, it was OK to pray for good weather for the school picnic. To help us study for a tough test. To ask Him to bless our team at the upcoming football game, to keep them safe and help them play their best. She said it might not be a good idea to ask Him for a victory. That was pushing it. She said that was up to the boys and how well they listened to Him.
A gentle, holy soul, she embodied the spirit of God's caring nature with her students. Jesus' name was always on her lips in ordinary conversation throughout the day, a constant reminder of His presence in class. I didn't find this unusual. The fact that she thought about Him constantly and that His name was spoken so often was the way things were with her. She made it seem so ordinary. She lived her life this way and just expected that we would too. He was there with us in that classroom every day like the air we breathed, like the sunshine streaming in the windows, like the rain hitting the panes during a storm.
Oh, the rain. Did you know that each drop could be offered up as a Hail Mary for the poor souls in purgatory? Sister found the most unique ways to pray for the poor souls. I suspect that the many souls she helped on their way to heaven in her lifetime were joyfully gathered to greet her when she left this world in God's grace several years after I graduated.
If there is contentment in knowing God, she found it. If it is possible to share it with others, she gave it to us freely – in lessons we didn't realize we were learning at the time but carried with us long after we left her.
When my house was filling up with laundry from babies and toddlers, and little kids were wrapped around my legs at the stove, I tried to keep the presence of God alive in our home by talking about Him. A lot. Mostly asking out loud for patience. Then one day, we were all stuck in the house during a storm, and I thought of Sister Jean Mary. That was the day I taught my little ones to offer a Hail Mary with each drop of rain for the poor souls.
Sometimes I wish I had told Sr. Jean Mary how much I carried away from that classroom into my life. Maybe she knows.
