I’m writing this on Gaudete Sunday — the Sunday in Advent when our pastors wear rose-colored vestments signifying joy.
We’re just hours past the funeral of my beloved mother-in-law, Beverly Jean Salonen. Joy should be most elusive, and yet the word “rejoice” brings an odd comfort.
During his homily at the Saturday vigil Mass, Fr. Robert Foertsch repeated words from the readings, encouraging us to “cry out with joy and gladness” despite our suffering.
When I think of Bev, the best mother-in-law ever, it’s hard to stay forlorn. We shared so much: brown eyes, a zeal for life, a love for singing (we had such fun harmonizing), a passion for nature and capturing it through digital photography, and a great gratitude to God.
She quickly embraced me as her “other” daughter, and, just as fast, became my “other” mother. I measure God’s love for me in part through having been given not just one but two mothers who’ve loved me unconditionally.
If my mom is a pink, ever-present carnation, Bev was a red rose, boldly lavishing me with encouragement. No one who encountered her left feeling unloved or undervalued.
This made her end all the more confusing and distressing. The healthcare system’s response to her relatively brief illness was bewildering at times. For instance, when she could barely handle a sip of soup, she was given an overwhelming pot-roast meal. The care often seemed disproportionate, with obvious cues overlooked.
Though this experience makes me wonder about the lack of humanity in today’s healthcare, despite medical advancements, none of that brings her back to the earth. And despite her end failing to be tied with the pretty bow I’d have liked, “rejoice” still seems reachable.
A day before we left for Glenwood, Minnesota, to make final preparations — and prior to thinking anything about Gaudete — I was sitting in front of the tabernacle, praying about this recent loss, when my mind went to the near future. Specifically, I asked God to help me choose a word to define 2025 — my end-of-year tradition since 2008. It appeared rather suddenly, largely: “Rejoice!”
Singing with my daughters at the funeral days later, sadness washed over me, but it was covered in “Rejoice!” as I thought of Bev’s love for the Lord, how she lived life with this at the fore and the strong possibility of her being free with him now.
When Fr. Foertsch reminded us of St. Paul’s admonition, “Rejoice in the Lord always; I say it again — rejoice!” I knew I’d found the right word, despite our great loss. As he made plain, we can experience suffering and, at the same time, rejoice in Christ, for “We rejoice in the victory of Jesus himself, who can conquer even the heaviest crosses in our lives — because he went there first.”
Thinking now of this dear, spunky, classy lady — all five-foot-two of her — I imagine her saying, with her bright smile and endearing dimples: “Rejoice in the Lord, for he is good. His mercy endures forever.”
[For the sake of having a repository for my newspaper columns and articles, I reprint them here, with permission, a week after their run date. The preceding ran in The Forum newspaper on Dec. 22, 2024.]
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