At seven months old, her colic began to subside and life began to change for Lauren. She calmed down and mainly began to cry only if she had fallen and conked her head on the floor. Then, we went on vacation, and she seemed back to her screaming self.
We were in South Carolina and had the opportunity to go to Sunday Mass in Charleston in the cathedral there. It is a beautiful church, and the music was excellent that Sunday, with a great pipe organ and a young male soloist who sounded more like an angel than a college student. Then there was Lauren. She was ticked off from the start of the liturgy and nothing could pacify her. As is the case in most cathedrals I’ve visited, there was no crying room available, so my wife stayed in the pew with our two year-old son, and I moved to the back of the church before the Responsorial Psalm was even finished.
I stayed back there, pacing the floor and trying to distract Lauren with a combination of stained glass windows and the plastic rattle that she insisted on throwing to the floor time and again. So, there I was, trying to enjoy a vacation and a good Mass in a cathedral with my family, a few good friends, an inspired priest-homilist, a vivacious congregation, beautiful music, and the God of the universe present — and all I could think about was my aggravation, named Lauren, who was screaming and ruining the moment!
Well, our God is a God of second chances who has a great sense of humor. He took this opportunity to speak to me and to give me a moment I will not forget as long as I live.
It was time for the Presentation of the Gifts, and the cantor angelically sang to a tune that the organist floated from his instrument across the balcony and off the ceiling of the cathedral to us, who waited quietly below. The church was silent except for the music, and the people were riveted upon the gifts being offered. The Sacrifice of the Lamb of God was about to be re-presented in the Liturgy of the Eucharist — and Lauren stopped crying. I bent over and allowed her to stand up, and she did so, holding my pointer fingers with her little hand.
She was in a frilly pink dress that I’d hated seven months earlier, and she riveted her big blue eyes upon me. I now thought the dress looked magnificent, and as she looked up at me, she broke into her biggest toothless smile. Her beauty captivated me, and as the angelic music played and we stood at the back of the church at the rear of the center aisle, I had my first dance with my little daughter. Her feet began to pitter-patter with excitement; all the while she stared at me with her glassy, crystal blue eyes and her gummy smile. Her thin, dark ringlets of hair bounced around on her head as she pranced in an erratic rhythm to the symphonic notes floating around the 17th century church.
I suddenly realized in a surreal way what a special moment God was giving me. I forgot about the rest of the world and zoned in on my only daughter — with whom I will probably stand at the back of a church on another occasion. And again, there will probably be organ music and a hushed crowd, as the groom waits with anticipation for the Presentation of the Gift he will soon receive from me — her Dad — the one giving her away. Later, at the reception, I will have that other special dance with my daughter, probably twenty-some years after this first one. And during that dance, when spectators wonder, as they often do, what the father of the bride whispers in his daughter’s ear, I will tell Lauren a story of a cathedral, an angelic song, the pitter-patter of little feet in white sandals, a God with a sense of humor, and a Dad who fell in love with a baby girl.
© Copyright 2002 Catholic Exchange
(Brian Butler, co-founder of Dumb Ox Productions, is a theology teacher, campus minister and senior retreat director at Archbishop Rummel High School in Metairie, Louisiana. Brian can be reached by email at brian@dumboxproductions.com.)
