A Lent of pain, prayers and surrender

Mary DeTurris Poust (Courtesy photo of CINDY SCHULTZ)

Whenever I lead Lenten retreats, I remind people that often the sacrifices we set out for ourselves at the start of this journey through the spiritual desert are nothing compared to what God has in mind for us. Every so often, we come up against a Lent that tests our faith and puts us on a path we didn’t want or expect. It is in those moments that we realize how easy our self-selected Lenten sacrifices really were. We give things up or do things extra, but really, when life lowers the boom and strips us of our defenses, we quickly learn that our little plans are lovely pious practices but perhaps not the kind of things that will truly transform us.

Most of us come up against this kind of transforming pain, usually many times in a lifetime. For me and my family, this Lent was one of those moments. After visiting our younger daughter, Chiara, in Florence, where she is studying abroad, we headed to Rome for a transcendent Ash Wednesday when my husband, Dennis, and I met Pope Leo XIV in private conversation at the end of the papal audience. It was like something from a dream. We left for home floating on a spiritual cloud. Just four weeks later, however, we were hopping on last-minute flights back to Florence because Chiara was in a hospital fighting a serious infection. It’s amazing how quickly all the “important” things we have on our daily “To Do” lists become utterly meaningless when posited against the health of your child.

In the midst of this, a blessing burned bright from the start. Our older daughter, Olivia, had arrived in Florence only hours after Chiara had been admitted to the hospital. Originally a long-planned visit for outings to Tuscan wineries and famous museums, it instead became a labor of love, one sister to another. As parents, we could not have asked for more, and Olivia calmed Chiara and inspired us with her selfless care.

What transpired over the next two weeks was a roller coaster of emotions — overwhelming fear threaded with glimmers of occasional hope, strides toward healing offset by ongoing uncertainties. We prayed and begged others for prayers. We cried and begged God for answers. Praying. Crying. Begging. And praying some more. This was the Lenten path we didn’t choose but the one that will bring us closer to Jesus than anything we could have concocted on our own.

On the Sunday before Chiara was discharged, Dennis and I sat in the Church of Santi Apostoli, the English-language parish just steps from our hotel. It was standing room only in the 11th century church, filled with so many exchange students and local residents alike. As the choir’s voices echoed against the ancient stone, singing Psalm 23 — “The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want”— tears rolled down my face. The Italian woman next to me put her arm around me, and at the end of Mass I thanked her and asked her to pray for Chiara in my mangled, non-existent Italian. “Ah, like Santa Chiara di Assisi,” she said, nodding in recognition of our youngest’s Italian name for the most famous Clare. This woman was not the only one to happily promise to pray for Chiara in this country where almost everyone feels like family, from our hotel owners, to shopkeepers, to people I randomly meet on walks to and from the hospital.

I am still in Italy as I write this, waiting for my girl to get the green light. It’s not the romantic trip to Florence that others imagine when they hear I am living here for weeks. Instead, it is a miniature version of a road to Calvary that weaves through some of the most breathtaking sites in the world. It’s a Lent where I eat Italian pastry for breakfast every morning without guilt because the real sacrifices have nothing to do with the food I am eating or the habits I’ve given up and everything to do with the plans I’ve had to turn over to God day by day, knowing I am not in control. Surrender is my Lenten sacrifice this year, the hardest practice I know.

Mary DeTurris Poust is a writer, retreat leader and spiritual director living in the Capital Region. Visit her website at www.NotStrictlySpiritual.com.