Again, on saying goodbye

I'm back in Rome.
The other day as I was packing my things and trying to put back in their proper places the things that I have used these past two weeks, another wave of quiet pain hit me. Here I am again experiencing another goodbye. I thought of the other goodbyes I've had in my life. Not one was without pain, though the intensity varied.
Then the question hit me again: Is it worth investing one's heart or giving space to joy and delight, when we know that everything comes to an end? Wouldn't it be easier to just be detached?
Then one line from a movie came back to me: It doesn't seem like God put us on this earth to have it easy, but He did put us here to love one another.
I guess daring to love, knowing that our love will always be imperfect no matter how hard we try, is giving honour to God.

Bells

One of the unusual, in a good way, experiences I am having up here is the delight in listening to the bells of the chapels and churches throughout the valley. Their ringing signals the time or an invitation to Mass. At some point they sound as if they are talking to each other with one asking a question and the other responding. It is as if they are talking about a mystery, sharing a secret that only they know.
I feel called to discover the secret, to be part of that mystery. And when I just close my eyes and really listen, I have a feeling that I am getting closer and closer to the secret.
I feel sad that we have lost this connection with mystery. We want to have explanations for everything. I don't think that is bad. But what is bad is when we become too attached to our explanations, forgetting that life is infinitely more interesting. We forget the art of asking questions because we have lots of things to do and responsibilities to face, and so we become secure in our state of blissful ignorance. 
The bells in this valley remind me that our life is a part of a bigger mystery. It is okay not to be sure. It is okay to ask questions. Nay, they are the beginning of liberation.

Mother and Child

Yesterday we went to a campsite which is curiously called "Il treno dei bambini" (Children's train). There is an unusual statue of the Mary with the Child Jesus. Below the statue is a brief description in Italian that can be roughly translated this way: under a pile of snow, the like of which has never been seen, the barn collapsed ... among the wreckage ... the Baby Jesus remained intact embraced by the protective hands of His mother, Mary. Jesus Christ is the baby... He always triumphs. His mother's (Mary's) hands always protects. They made a sort of an altar with the remains of the barn. What an impressive image, what a comforting message.
On this day of her Assumption into heaven, Mary reminds us that we are made for greater things. Our hearts are too noble to be satisfied with the passing things of this life. We don't need to despise the things of this world, after all they are gifts from God. Nay, we delight in them but it is useless to attach ourselves to them. It is a folly to build our lives on them.
We don't need a lot of things. We have what we need to be happy. What makes us unhappy is not the lack of things but the lack of attention and appreciation to that which we already have. It is the desire for more, to surpass what others have, that makes us insecure.
And as that inscription on the altar reminds me: Jesus is the One that endures forever. When our hearts are anchored on Jesus, we are already having a taste of heaven.

Sophia

I had a student named Sophia. That was many, many years ago. Her intelligence impressed me. Her questions provoked me. Her indifference intrigued me.
I was then a very young Sister with so many high ideals, wanting to change the world, trying hard to make a difference to the lives of my students who, at the onset of their youth, were anything other than interested in "a life with a higher purpose".
Many years have passed since then. I have changed. I am sure that my students have changed. Life moved on, it still moves on. What I considered brilliant ideas and strategies as regards educating my students, or as regards life in general, I now consider as "hot air", as a former professor usually described our expositions.
Life teaches us that what really matters are not the ideas that just stay in our heads, no matter how profound they may be.
It is life itself that proves what to us matter most. There are no textbook solutions to life's "exams". How we handle them reveals what we have learned.
And this learning is called wisdom, "sophia".