I can think of several pivotal moments in my life where a tension existed between a life trajectory that sounded appealing, and by contrast, the one God was calling me towards. Each of these moments contained within it the choice between some degree of suffering or other—in at least one case a considerable degree of it—and a path of relative ease. 

Church teachings can be hard. They can often feel like cold, antiquated constraints, issued from a time and place far away – impersonal and unsympathetic to our own set of circumstances. Sometimes they even feel cruel, especially when uniting ourselves to them means making choices whose byproduct requires or prolongs significant suffering without the benefit or the reassurance of knowing how things will turn out. What I am referring to is not remotely the apex of difficulty, but still notable in its call to a life choice with ample uncertainty, physical discomfort, and even fear. I’m talking of early motherhood and openness to life. Of course, motherhood also abounds infinitely in its moments of wonder and joy.

After I got married, Juan and I moved to a Chicago suburb. There are lots of communities in Chicago full of devout Catholic families, supportive of one another in their efforts to live Church teachings. The neighborhood where we chose to live, however, though wonderful in its own right and full of friendships I still cherish, was not one characterized by affection for the Catholic Church. 

With our babies arriving in rapid-fire succession, people thought I was weird. Even my own extended family wondered why I wasn’t hip to news about birth control and often encouraged me to look into it.  This isn’t a huge deal, but it added a layer to the challenge of welcoming children “as they came.” As relatively benign as that all sounds to me now, at the time it was a legitimate struggle. Even if you surround yourself with people who encourage you to persevere in this effort, it can be very difficult, and when you cannot confide with friends that a new pregnancy feels like more than you can cope with, it can feel like the proverbial straw.   

If I sound like an ungrateful wretch, it’s because I was. And for that, I am sorry. I know there are far worse situations to endure, and believe me, I’m loath to reveal to you the trouble I found in what ultimately amounted to allowing God to gift me a richness of life that exceeded my wildest expectations. But I think there’s something here that’s common to many of us.

How often does a life experience or adhering to a Church teaching involve a degree of suffering that we are not at peace with? How often do we question whether God is in the details when we feel hemmed in by the guidance we receive through the Church and her ministers? 

With the luxury of hindsight, it’s now clear to me what I would have missed out on without these guardrails in place. For they are just that. Far from the impersonal limitations we often perceive them to be, Church teachings are rather the opposite. They orient and steer us towards God’s will for us, which holds within it the fullest possible degree of happiness. Innate to them is the wisdom that, left only to our own devices, we are far less likely to choose what is best for ourselves, given our inclination to sidestep struggle. He loves us and has given us the means to find certain happiness if only we have the faith to abandon ourselves to whatever it is that he asks of us along the way.

In this second week of Advent, as we await the Lord’s coming, my prayer for us all is to receive Christ’s peace in whatever ways we are trying to abandon ourselves to his will in our lives.