Reflections on 2012-The birth of Our Lord, The Flight into Egypt, The Holy Innocents

Merry Christmas Everybody! Wow...2012 is almost over already. Why does it seem like the more I mature, the faster the time escapes me? Anyhow, 2012 has been a very eventful year for me.  It was a difficult and sad year in many respects. Yet it was joyful and wondrous and full of love and learning as well.

One of the things that happened that was sad was that at the beginning of the year I had begun a new life in a strange new place with a person who was untrustworthy. Then I had to run away from that family member and flee in the night and seek refuge in a women's shelter and aid from a convent of nuns. It is a very lonely feeling, running into the darkness, dragging your suitcase over the icy sidewalk, avoiding the gaze of drunks stumbling out of bars, and hearing only the moan and wail of the nearby railroad yard to drown out the ponderous silence...There is a special vulnerability to being a homeless young woman and being so alone. Hence, there is a special kind of courage that to which God calls me and all of the other ladies-young and old, from every race and social class and creed-who sheltered with me in that Safe-House, during that cold winter.  I do not think I will ever forget that experience.

One of the graces that came from that experience blossomed this Advent Season. We all remember the horror as children, at the first mention of poor baby Jesus having no place to stay in Bethlehem. I remember telling the story to one of my baby siblings and she burst into tears. Another child looked at the infant  Jesus doll nestled under the tree, picked it up, carried it to her room and set it in her doll's bed and covered it with blankets.  I have always felt so sorry for St. Joseph at that moment in time. He had this unplanned responsibility of taking care of and protecting the Mother of God. Now he arrives in his town of Familial origin, obediently awaiting the census, Mary is big with child, and probably senses through the Holy Spirit that this will be the night that her Lord will be born! So he runs around knocking on inn doors and looking for a place to shelter the Queen and the infant King placed in his care and everywhere he goes people say, "I'm sorry, we simply have no more room. Try someplace else."
"No room for them in the Inn?" Really?
There is a young man standing out in the winter night with a pregnant teenager and NOBODY in all of Bethlehem can take notice of them or give them a safe place to give birth? Really?
The King of Kings has to be born in a heap of hay in a cattle stall and laid in a feed-box. Woo Hoo. Great job, world.
The memory of Christmas was still in the winter air as I called the Women's Shelter and explained that I had been assaulted and needed a safe place to stay until I could find a permanent place. "I have a job," I explained, "I am not on drugs, I have no criminal record and I am starting to get to know people in this parish, it will not be for long. The parish priest knows me! Please!"

"I am sorry. We simply have no room. Try someplace else," said the cordial sounding lady on the phone.

"I understand, thank you, anyway." I sighed and tried hard not to cry.  My nose was running from the cold and I took off one mitten and used it as a handkerchief and felt very unladylike. "God," I prayed, "Help me! I can't go back to where I was. I won't go back. But I can't stay out here all day and all night! Please help me!"  I walked to the public housing, and they were all full up too, with a looooooonnnnnggg waiting list. "In the winter, every place is always overflowing," They said, "Good luck finding ANYTHNG ANYWHERE!"

I kept walking to stay warm and tried to think of what place to try next. I called the social worker again and she was out of ideas. I called my parish priest again and explained my lack of success with him. "I feel so terrible about causing you all of this trouble, father! I am sorry!" "No!" the kind old, Irish priest said, "You need some help right now, and this is my job. Do not worry. Pray and don't worry. Keep being brave. God will find a place for you to stay tonight one way or another. There has to be room, somewhere!"

I walked to the other end of town to the Adoration Chapel and waited with Jesus. In the half hour or so that passed I though of Our Blessed Lady, expecting baby Jesus, waiting with St. Joseph for some place to open up. Finally having to walk to the outskirts to shelter in a cave. Then I thought about the other homeless outcasts who would be out on the street this cold winter night,  or shivering in their car somewhere or huddled next to dozens of other strangers in a Salvation Army shelter. I thought of the ones who were struggling with mental health problems, ones who had abused with drugs and were haunted by criminal pasts.   Compared to them, I was still very fortunate. Now it would be very hard for them to earn anybody's trust or charm the charity out of anyone. And they felt the cold the same as I did. They were as lonely as I. Except that I had a warm coat. I felt very sad for them and utterly powerless to help them when I could not even help myself. I prayed to God for them again. And then I kept praying for me. Then my cell phone rang.

It was Father A who had spoken to Sister B and Sister B wanted to meet me and see if she could help me.  I  blew my nose in my mitten again, stuffed it into my pocket and shuffled back outside to meet Father A and be driven to the convent. Sister B, it turned out, was on the board for the same Women's Shelter that I had called earlier. So after seeing me and hearing about my predicament, she called the Women's Shelter and informed them that they did have room for me. That they would have to make room on the couch if they had to. She said that she would put me up in a motel room herself, using her own precious savings, for three nights to give them time to make the necessary arrangements. I gave that dear old nun a big hug and thanked her with all of my heart.

This Advent, I was remembering all of this. Remembering the nights in the motel room, the flight in the dark, and the nine days that I spent in the Shelter before I found a home. Poor Baby Jesus. He was abandoned by the world and left out in the cold. For my sake, for the sake of us all, He willed to come into the world and be born in a barn. He chose to come into the world, when He knew, as God, that the wicked King would hunt him down and try to murder him. Poor St. Joseph and Our Blessed Lady! No sooner had they settled into a safe place, they had to arise, grab their things and flee into the night to an unfamiliar land.

One of the sorrows of the Immaculate Heart of Mary is the Flight Into Egypt. Did she know about the mothers who would weep for their murdered babies and toddlers when that fearful dawn broke to greet the Church's First Martyrs? Did she weep for her poor little son, who had to be plucked from His cradle and jostled on the back of a donkey across the desert because a ruthless tyrant wanted His infant blood? Did she  feel a loneliness a thousand times greater than the loneliness I felt as I ran into the darkness toward the motel on the side of the highway. When she guided my steps on the icy road, had my Heavenly Mother's heart ached again for her adopted child (who was not nearly as brave and trusting as she had been in obeying God's command)? I ponder all of these things in my heart as I lift them up to God who has preserved me in all my adventures and upheld me in existence. I am so filled with gratitude in remembering all of this now. I am so grateful to God for the graces He gave me and the joys and sorrows that He lived within me. "The Almighty Has done great things for me. And Holy is His Name."