As Maddy continues to teethe (she just got her 7th tooth a few days ago;it is her bottom molar, second from the back, and it broke the skin in the middle of the night), and as I continue to learn all about each tooth's approximate due date, I think back to the time when Maddy's little mouth endured many changes, which came on Holy Saturday night. After that experience, I wrote this short reflection a few days later:
Time for Rising and Budding
After having a baby and making the beautiful and dedicated decision to remain in our home so as to mold and teach our daughter, I get a taste on a daily basis of what motherhood is all about. It is a task that never ends. Motherhood is a job that lasts twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It is a journey of happiness to watch Madeleine grow, change, and respond to our voices. It is a permanent call to potential pain—agonies as she falls, cries, and begins to make choices: leaving our home later in life to attend university or to marry, and then make a family of her own. “Welcome to life,” I tell myself. What would life be without pain? Life without growth.
Pain and growth: what are they? Gums splitting to make way for brand-new baby teeth; this is growth, this is change. Maddy’s teeth are coming through, and, oh, what pain they caused on Holy Saturday night—the eve of Christ’s resurrection. Madeleine was in such pain. Her fever was 100.6, and her tiny nose was stopped up like a canal, flooded, and ready to burst. Poor baby. She was most comforted by being close, breastfeeding, lying next to me. I was happiest that way too, just knowing that she was receiving some relief. Why was I in pain? My gums weren’t splitting, but my heart was, as I watched Maddy suffer.
What did Christ feel during his anguish? What were the emotions of sympathetic bystanders—those who loved him? Jesus knew not only that he would suffer, experience torment, and die, but that he would soon rise. His suffering was bitter. His agony was unimaginable. His resurrection was glorious. In order to rise, he had to suffer. It was excruciating to watch, though. It is horrendous to know that through my own actions, I contributed to his torture. I also know that it is by my good choices, my positive actions, and my selfless vocation as a mom— watching my baby’s pains and tending to her needs— which will give rise to my physical, emotional, and spiritual headway. This is similar to the beauty of Christ’s Resurrection.
As I laid in bed, with a warm little body next to me, clock ticking in the wee hours of Easter morn, how could I not thank God for the marvelous mystery of his own child’s resurrection, the everlasting reassurance that although there will be pain, sorrow and distress will never prevail. For a little while there may be growing pains, tooth aches, and nights with little sleep, but they will never last forever. The hope of a new day looms on the horizon. Why? Because Christ already made the ultimate sacrifice. Maddy will endure her gums cutting for the baby teeth to bud, but after that, the pain will lessen. The fundamental changes have taken place. When her permanent teeth come in, the preliminary pain will have been paid. So too has Christ paved the way for us. He has loosened the shackles that bound us to sin. We have a new opportunity to live a pure life, to share in his glorious resurrection.
Maddy’s tooth is ready to burst forth. Pop. Explode. One-by-one each tooth comes in. Sometimes with excruciating force; other times, they poke through at a slower pace. Each one, however, makes way for change. And what is change? Change is leaving one’s old lifestyle, one’s former ways—an old existence—for something, we hope, is better, holier, and more beautiful.
