“…and Mary pondered these things in her heart…”
As a bed-fast quadriplegic my Papa was well looked after by the medical mafia of Williamsburg, dedicated doctors who regularly came by the house to check him over. But there were numerous times Papa was in and out of the hospital for medical emergencies and diagnostic stays.
@ the hospital, he always asked the names of nurses, doctors, LPNs, lab technicians – anyone who came into his orbit.
The thing is, Papa remembered their names. (I sometimes have trouble remembering mine, and it’s where I’m from!)
During his last stay in the hospital (an hour before he passed) Papa asked the name of the lovely Spanish American nurse attending him. She said, “Maria.”
He looked at her and said, “Santa Maria.”
She quickly yelped, “Oh, no! More like Mary Magdalena.”
He said, again, slowly (each breath an effort): “You are santa Maria.”
In Spanish santa = holy.
She cried.
We cried.
A bit later as my sisters and I recited Psalm 23’s “and He leads me beside still waters,” Papa’s contorted face eased into peace. As our precious Mama clasped his hand, Papa went to rest in the Everlasting Arms of God’s everlasting Love.
During Advent we hear the word holy often: “Silent night, holy night;” “O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining;” “Infant holy, infant lowly…”
We ask God to make us holy. We’re at least meant to try? Like, it’s a part of our faith?
“Pursue peace with everyone, and the holiness without which no one will see the Lord.” (Hebrews 12:14)
I pray, Lord, make me holy as You are holy. Then, I get a little scared.
What needs to change? Attitudes? Actions? Absorption (me, me, me?)
To be holy means it’s not about me, its about drawing closer to God: letting God’s ways mend my ways into a heavenly blend with a holy aroma.
Santa Virginia? Nada. Not yet, anyway, but maybe one day by the grace (& mercy!) of God.
“God calls us to collaborate with Divine Purpose. But we cannot do it ourselves. We need everlasting Love pushing, nudging, if not outright shoving.” Madeleine L’Engle
grace, peace & holy Advent blends
Virginia : )
p.s. My Papa was never one for languages (except Biblical ones.) How he knew santa is holy in Spanish had to be Holy-Spirit engendered. (Although back in the early 1950s he completed his studies in California & worked a few jobs there. Maybe all those Santa names attached to CA cities somehow rubbed off on him.) 🙂