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The Little Lepers in My Living Room

Funny and insightful stuff from Deirdre Mundy:

Why is Jesus crying? Because he fell down. Because the banana broke. Because I said he can’t stuff the other toothbrushes down the bathroom drain. (He’d already gotten three down there.) Because he isn’t allowed to play the organ during Mass. Because Grandma only played with him outside for three hours before she had to leave. Because his sister said the new baby can be Dora if it’s a girl, but not Boots if it’s a boy. Because the helmet fell off the Lego guy. Because he is two, the world is big and everything is always broken. My youngest son’s name is Henry, not Jesus, and he is perpetually mourning and weeping in this vale of tears that is his life. The disappointments come fast and furious, both from Henry and, more sporadically, his older siblings. Once upon a time I was a single woman. I prayed the rosary. I reflected on Scripture. I attended daily Mass, made it to confession every two weeks and looked forward to the stations of the cross on Lenten Fridays. Now, my prayer life is a litany of “Please, Lord, help me through the next 10 minutes.” The Church tells us we’re supposed to see Jesus in the faces of the people we meet every day. I’m mostly home with the kids. As far as I can tell, Jesus is somewhat hysterical, extremely emotional and has unrealistic expectations for how the world should work. And he’s crying again.
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