Lent Day 9: A Lent Memory

 

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
    of whom shall I be afraid?
~Psalm 27

This psalm is rich with memories for me. The first and most present memory is of singing a number of different versions of this psalm when I was in the choir at Saint Ignatius, the parish church at Boston College. I remained a member there after graduation, and sang in the choir until my family relocated to the Binghamton area in 1990. One setting, by Tim Manion, stays with me to this day. You can find it here.

The other memory I associate with this psalm is a much earlier one. When I was in fifth grade I came down with a fever and a virus (I didn't eat potato chips again until college, and that's all I'll say about that). My mother kept me home from school for three weeks. 

Here is how my mother took care of us when we were sick: She set us up in the living room, which was right next to the kitchen, where I imagine she spent some time during the day. WE lived in an apartment over the family business, a liquor store, and occasionally she went down to help my dad as well; we had an intercom in the kitchen to communicate with one another, so I had quick access to both my parents, just in case. 

My mom made the couch up like a bed, with sheets, pillows, and blanket. She brought my food in there, a lot of jello at first, but eventually toast and the like. (BRAT diet! Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast). I remember watching a lot of television, including reruns of "That Girl," and I saw the first weeks of "All My Children" ever broadcast. 

I don't know why I was kept home so long. I do remember being content to lie down all day long, which probably means I was sick. I know the fever lingered. But I honestly don't know what was going on, except my mom was worried about me. 

I think she was a little scared. Here's how I know this: As Ash Wednesday drew near, I complained to my mom about the fact that I couldn't got to church and receive ashes. (I asked. She refused. I cried. I was that kid.) She didn't say much about it, but when Ash Wednesday came, she went out for a little while. She returned home with a small envelope that had some ashes in it, and she placed them on my forehead.

I was thrilled. I remember thinking how wonderful this was, and how cared-for I felt. I know I slept afterward. 

When my mom took me to the doctor to get the all-clear for me to go back to school, she surprised me by having him pierce my ears, which I had been begging for since I was about six. 

As for the fear, the psalm says it all, I guess. The Lord is my light and my salvation. Of whom shall I be afraid?