The readings for the Second Sunday of Advent seem to me particularly directed toward mothers. Perhaps this is because, as I am writing this meditation, I am awaiting news about a grandchild who has been airlifted to a hospital after a four-wheeler accident, and I keep putting him, his family, and myself into God’s hands. So when Baruch says, Look to the east and see your children . . . rejoicing that they are remembered by God, I feel hope in the Lord and confidence that he will remember this child and heal him as he remembered and saved his First-born, Israel. 

I am comforted, as well, by the refrain echoing through today’s readings that Every valley shall be filled and every mountain shall be made low because those valleys and mountains are obstacles in our paths to the Lord and difficult for us to overcome. Motherhood is often a daily diet of valleys, from the cacophony of sibling quarrels to feeding the multitudes, even to walking through the valley of the shadow of death, and everything in between. The mountains are not only piles of dirty clothes and dirty dishes, but stretching a budget, dedicating time and energy to schooling, modeling virtues to our children even when we are exhausted, anxious, and out of patience, all while carving out a time and place for prayer in an all-too-busy day. 

Sometimes I just wish my guardian angel would bring a flotilla of angel friends to clean up my life, so I could try to be a better wife and mother and now grandmother. But God has a better plan to ease the pain of those many valleys and mountains. 

One week into Advent, we are already being promised the coming of his beloved Son, the only one who can overcome those obstacles and pitfalls too massive for us. He will do great things for us and fill us with joy, we sing in chorus to the psalmic promise of redemption. All we are required to do, says St. John, is repent of our sins. 

The part of repentance that’s hard for me, though, (and perhaps for you, too), is changing my heart. I know that God loves me and would never give me anything hurtful, but I don’t always act that way. I often see all those valleys and mountains as occasions for worry, anxiety, anger, self-pity, or even punishments—things that I need to solve and overcome by myself. But if God loves me—and I know in my heart of hearts that he does—then all these “problems” are really his acts of love for me. They are moments for me to show that I love him, that I trust him with everything, and that I surrender all things to him. 

When I do that, I don’t change what happens, but God changes me. I become open to his shaping hands as he offers me chance after loving chance to become that most beautiful soul he fell madly in love with and wants with him always. He embraces me with his peace. 

And he blessed and healed my grandchild.