Filling the Empty Spaces

How Jesus and the Saints are coming to the empty-nester rescue

It’s happening for real: My son is leaving for Germany tomorrow. I do feel amazingly good (aside from the usual Mom worries that he might get himself killed through youthful recklessness).

It seems this is what I always do when I lose a loved one: a slow-motion grieving process that will start—though typically interrupted by bouts of anger and denial—as soon as I learn the news.

I assume other people start grieving when the loss is final—that is, after the person is gone. Not me. I begin a complicated weaning-off strategy right away in order to avoid that unbearable emptiness at the very end.

As I mentioned in previous posts, I’ve been working on an agreement with God, inspired by what one of my fellow Carmelites told me:

“You know, I got divorced and lost my best friend. Then my oldest one, my son, moved out and joined the Army. And then my daughter got married and moved away. And I said to God, ‘Am I impossible to live with? Am I a person no one can stand to be around? Tell me the truth, I can take it.’ And then God talked to me and said He wanted to come live with me. And I took Him as my spouse, and I’ve been living with Him ever since.”

So I had a little chat with Jesus at church a few days ago, asking Him to come stay with me and fill the empty spaces in my home and in my heart. He promised He would… and ever since, I’ve been receiving the sweetest consolations.

For example, today I stumbled over this tweet by a single Catholic, which really resonated with me:

Supernaturally loving all people is great, but it’s not enough for God. Once He claims you as His own, He wants you all to Himself. Among my monthly OCDS (Carmelite) homework, I discovered this gem from the heart-stoppingly beautiful Song of Solomon (3:10–17).

My beloved speaks and says to me: ‘Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtle-dove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. Catch us the fox, the little foxes, that ruin the vineyards—for our vineyards are in blossom.’

My beloved is mine, and I am his; he pastures his flock among the lilies. Until the day breathes and shadows flee, turn, my beloved, be like a gazelle or a young stag on the cleft mountains.

It’s like getting a love letter from God.

The Saints are also coming to the empty-nester rescue. This afternoon, I “inherited” a slightly chipped but gorgeous four-foot-tall statue of St. Thérèse of Lisieux through my OCDS group. It was left behind by an elderly member who moved to Iowa to be close to her family. Three other people were interested in adopting the Little Flower, so I was stunned when they all deferred to me and let me have her.

It’s like my Little Sister (as I call St. Thérèse) arranged it so that at the exact same time A. moves out, she’s moving in to keep me company. I can already tell that I’m in for some sweet surprises. I’ll keep you updated.

My Protestant friends who don’t believe in the Saints: I was once like you, but you don’t know what you’re missing out on. So much love, kindness, and close community, not to mention the miracles they will work for you. And if you belong to a specific order, watch “your” Saints come to your aid all the time.

How wonderful it is to be a Catholic, and how wonderful to be a Carmelite!

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