It was the perfect time to take our four children to Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. Ranging in ages from 10 to 16, they were at just the right ages for remembering such a trip.
After driving for two days and camping in the foothills for two nights, our family headed up into the mountains. Hiking thwarted by pouring rain for the time being, we decided to drive up Trail Ridge Rd., the highest paved North American roadway, which offers breathtaking views of the Rocky Mountains at every turn.
My husband and I had seen the majesty of the mountains when we were younger, and now we were eager to share it with our children.
Hidden behind mist
Only now — on this particular day — the rain caused a dense white mist to cover all majestic views from sight. Peering as hard as we could, our eyes could not penetrate the curtain that hid all beauty we knew lay before us.
Only white mist swirled before us, even as we climbed to 12,000 feet above sea level, and my heart sank because my children would not experience the majesty of the mountains the same way I had when I was a girl.
It can be frustrating to know that beauty lies just beyond what our eyes cannot see.
But then . . .
The mist began to clear, and we caught glimpses of the rolling mountains beyond as we made our way back down the road. We even saw a herd of nearly 30 elk grazing and resting among the tundra vegetation. Trees crept along craggy rock faces, and snow clung to massive peaks in the distance.
“Whoa!” my daughter exclaimed breathlessly, her face lighting up in awe as she saw the vast beauty that had been hidden in the mist just moments before.
All the majesty I had wanted to share was indeed still there.
Spiritual mist
In our spiritual lives, too, sometimes we can feel like we exist in a mist or a dense fog due to suffering, spiritual dryness, or dark nights of the soul. In these times, the veil of mist covers everything beautiful from our sight, and we cannot see the majesty of God’s plan behind it.
This “mist” can be frustrating as we must trust in God’s plan for us, even though we cannot see the reason for the difficulties we are facing.
Take, for instance, a recent assault on my motherly instincts, when my son experienced inexplicable stomach pains and I, ever anxious about all things medical, wanted nothing more than to suffer his pain for him.
Witnessing a loved one suffer is among the worst kind of suffering there is.
Beauty of God’s plan
Lost in the “mist” of this suffering, I wondered why my son had to suffer in this way. Behind the mist, I couldn’t see God’s plan.
But then I heard “Mom, I’m starting to feel better.” At that moment, the “mist” lifted and I felt in my heart the answer to the “why” I’d been asking.
Suddenly, with great clarity flooding my heart, I became aware of the reality of the desolation of so many mothers who wait at their children’s bedsides in hospitals throughout the world.
I realized then how very blessed I was, how very hopeless some are, and how I could offer my own mother’s suffering in a prayerful sacrifice for other mothers who had it so much worse than I did. In this way, I could offer up my own suffering, pitiable as it was.
I whispered a prayer of thanksgiving then, and I asked my guardian angel to bring a message of Jesus’ comfort to all the guardian angels of the mothers without hope.
The “mist” was clear then, and I saw the intricate beauty of God’s design — how we, as His children, must help each other by offering in unity with Jesus’ sacrifice our own sufferings, even if they are just a pittance compared to the offerings of others.
Redemptive suffering
What can I offer? My own suffering, no matter what it is or how small it is. Jesus acknowledges even the very little we are able to feebly offer. And He loves us through the offering and understands when that is all we have to give.
The ache of my mother’s heart for my child, the anxiety that burbles up in every medical situation, the surrender of control to God in situations whose outcomes are uncertain — all of these things I can offer up for the good of others, for souls in Purgatory, for other moms who are suffering without hope, for anyone most in need of peace in body, mind, or spirit.
When the mist clears — exteriorly and interiorly — the beauty of God’s design is truly wondrous to behold.
Julianne Nornberg, mother of four children, is a member of St. John the Baptist Parish in Waunakee.