"Hey, in what classroom are you in? Are you with the Confirmation kids?", happily asked a little girl (7 or 8 years old) who I had sat next to a few minutes before in the chapel, place where the kids gathered every Saturday morning for prayer.
Smiling at both the question and her great extroverted approach I answered that I was indeed NOT preparing for Confirmation nor was I really IN a classroom.
"I am actually one of the teachers," I admitted, "with the first communion kids.I just started. I help Emi".
"Oh! I am not in that classroom but you know what I'll ask to change, yes, I'll ask to be changed to be with you!," she blurted with joy, nearly giving me a hug.
"What's your name?", she inquired with equal enthusiasm.
"My name is Sofia", I said.
"Ohhh... that's also MY name. Do you know what Sofia means?", she eagerly asked.
"Haha... yes", I began to answer and before my next word was formed she had joined with me...
"It means wisdom", we declared simultaneously.
Little Sofia continued to rejoice deeply in both the coincidence of our shared names and the actual meaning of it, smiling again and again and then wanting a high five. Her response perplexed my own mind and made me ask myself if her reaction arrived from the beautiful innocence kids hold or a deeper grasp of what "wisdom" was to her. It was a curious thing indeed but at the moment I just continued to respond to her with a smile as she continued to rejoice and giggle for a few more seconds.
I knew the strongest motivation (one I prayed about for a few months) for joining the catechetical team at my parish was born from the realization that I needed to grow "deeper roots" in the place I am now. I needed to give myself wholeheartedly to a task that would be fruitful, a task that would require a fair amount from me intellectually and spiritually and in the end, to no longer look "back" in what I wish it were but realize the beautiful potential and blessing of what I was holding. I needed to quite literally hold and touch the things I loved. I knew God was withholding that actual physical touch of my parents, dear friends and other things that still felt "unsettled" in St. Louis perhaps to draw me that much closer those I am called to love, to caress, to share with here. Little Sofia's most immediate and genuine embrace of my person from the simple few minutes we spent together in the chapel was a beautiful sign of God's most tender and sweet watch of this most stubborn daughter of His.
But really, I've continued to ponder Sofia's question since this morning... Do you know what Sofia means?...and in a more sincere respond I'd say to her, "No my dear, I am not exactly certain but I pray to abide somewhat close to its Greek derivative of "wisdom". Wisdom to know my own hidden distortions of truth and inclinations to reach for those distortions, wisdom to know my own vulnerabilities and pains, wisdom to also recognize the Beloved's most sweet and gentle call of love, Wisdom to have the faith and consistency to keep seeking the above forever"
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| Sofia the Martyr and her 3 daughters: Faith, Hope and Love. This early martyr is still honored in the Eastern Orthodox Church |
LOVED THIS. :)
ReplyDeleteAhh, the voice of God through a voice of a child. I'm reminded of the "garden scene" in Augustine's Confessions:
I went on talking like this and weeping in the intense bitterness of my broken heart. Suddenly I heard a voice from a house nearby—perhaps a voice of some boy or girl, I do not know—singing over and over again, “Pick it up and read, pick it up and read.” My expression immediately altered and I began to think hard whether children ordinarily repeated a ditty like this in any sort of game, but I could not recall ever having heard it anywhere else. I stemmed the flood of tears and rose to my feet, believing that this could be nothing other than a divine command to open the Book and read the first passage I chanced upon....No sooner had I reached the end of the verse than the light of certainty flooded my heart and all dark shades of doubt fled away.