When my 8th-grade son, Michael, was younger and was small enough that I could kiss the top of his head, he collected sports cards. On any given afternoon, Michael and a group of his neighborhood pals could be found with cards scattered across the carpet, negotiating trades as if it were the floor of the NY Stock Exchange. The most sought-after card among this gaggle of boys was a jersey card – a card that contained a genuine piece of a professional player’s jersey. One afternoon, Michael traded two valuable cards to obtain one jersey card. That afternoon rolled into the next, and the doorbell rang.
Michael answered the door expectantly, and a friend stepped over the threshold. Without a greeting, he announced, “I want my jersey card back.” Michael protested, “We agreed no take-backs. You don’t let me undo my trades.” The friend continued, “But the cards you gave me got destroyed by my dog, so I want my jersey card back.” I continued working in the kitchen, listening to the argument with growing discomfort. Finally, the two boys turned to me, asking how they should resolve it. I didn’t have a good answer. Solomon may have cut the card in half, but I lacked his wisdom. Instead, I offered encouragement, reminding them that they were good friends and would figure this out.
Moments later, the friend left, and I watched as Michael pulled the storm door closed. Then he pushed shut the front door and slid the deadbolt into place. Next, I heard his feet run down the hallway, followed by the sound of garage doors rolling closed. Michael was locking down the fort. He had no intention of returning that card. The knot in my stomach grew tighter, but I didn’t know how to guide Michael. Where was the marriage of justice and mercy here?
The next morning, jersey-card-fiasco forgotten, I rose to make a pancake breakfast. Opening the pantry cabinet I reached for the vanilla and there, wedged between the bottle of vanilla and the cabinet wall, was the jersey card. Apparently, Michael had hidden the card where his friend would never find it. I closed the cabinet and with trepidation continued our morning routine. I didn’t mention the card to Michael, hoping time would allow for right judgement.
That evening I was waiting for Michael to climb into bed when he asked, “Mom, what do you think I should do with that card?” We walked through the options: the card was irreplaceable but could they negotiate a different trade to return it? Could they share it in some way? No solution was acceptable.
Our Lady is so gentle in bringing us to her son. As my son climbed into bed, I picked up a few items from the floor and caught sight of his rosary. “Have you prayed about it?” I asked. Michael shook his head saying, “But God doesn’t care about a football card, right?” I told Michael that God cares about everything on our hearts, including football cards.
I encouraged Michael to say an extra prayer before he fell asleep, and, like the Blessed Mother, to be open to whatever God asks of him. Lights off, Michael tucked in, I turned to leave. Just as I stepped out of the room, Michael called over his shoulder, “Mom? God wants me to be happy, right?” I poked my head back in. “Yes,” I said, “I think God desires our happiness.”
“Well then,” Michael huffed triumphantly, “I’m keeping the card!” I returned to his bed to clarify, telling Michael that God invites us to something much greater than mere happiness. More than our happiness, God desires our holiness. And with holiness comes great joy. I reminded him of the joy he felt when he surprised me by cleaning the bathroom. The clean bathroom made me happy, but the holy sacrifice made him joyful – he was giddy (and soaking wet).
The days that followed were a moment in parenting that are among my favorite memories. I watched 8-year-old Michael wrestle with discerning what God wanted of him and what God wanted for the jersey card. This was not a trivial matter – it was a true spiritual battle. It was an interesting time to walk with Michael, as he discovered the truth that had already been written on his heart.
I remember this event in Michael’s childhood with the same fondness that I have when witnessing my students conquer spiritual battles. For example, they resist the urge to take the best spot on the classroom rug. They tackle a challenging assignment with alacrity. They follow a direction without complaint. They pray for one another – despite their disagreements. They are peacemakers in the gaga ball pit. They are patient in the pizza line. Children’s days, like those of adults, are full of spiritual battles and full of opportunities to grow in holiness.
Sometimes I make the mistake of talking to my students about becoming saints; as if it is some future endeavor. But truly, they are called to be saints today. And in those moments when they are victorious, when they choose holiness over happiness, no one will rejoice more than their SBCA teachers!
All you holy men and women – boys and girls – pray for us!
AUTHOR: Bridget Kenney, Grade 5 Teacher
