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"A life lesson from a peculiar source" by Tami Urcia (CatholicMom.com) Image credit: Pixabay (2015), CC0 Public Domain[/caption] It was a rough night. I watched the season finale of my favorite historical fiction and was bawling the whole time. How could they do that? How could they bring us through a romance and finally a wedding after 5 seasons and then kill off the main character? It was cruel and unfair. Our favorite hero, our handsome prince, was gone. And together the fans go from disbelief, to sadness, to anger, each attempting to manage their own grieving process. Then I take a step back and wonder if I sound absolutely ridiculous. Are these just pregnancy hormones at their finest or have I really become so invested in a TV show? It was as if I was living what they were going through right along with the actors. I was in a daze and finding it hard to shake the emotion to continue on with real life. My thoughts drifted on in a hazy cloud when suddenly I realized there was another man who died, and this one died for ME. How could I possibly cry and grieve this way over an actor and not over the death of my Lord?? Am I as devoted to Him, as wholeheartedly dedicated in my relationship with Him as I have been with this series? The answer to my own question was a deplorable embarrassment. This drama has taught me lessons of faithfulness, dedication, and compassion. I notice how the main actress treats her students with such gentleness and understanding and do a self-check. How have I been treating my own kids lately? My rough night continued with my 5-year-old waking up with a nightmare at 2:00 AM. In my sleepy stupor I gave him a hug, a few rubs on the back, prayed with him, blessed him and sent him back to bed. But when he came back a second and a third time, still frightened and unable to sleep, my tone hardened and I became frustrated that my precious zzzz’s were being interrupted by my oldest child who should be the last one to wake me up. Where was my motherly love? I recalled my own early years when I suffered greatly from repetitive nightmares for months on end. I was even older than my son is now and my parents still let me sleep on a mattress in their room or nestled in between them in their bed, yet I did not extend the same kindness to my scared little boy. You never know where your wake-up calls will come from, whether it be a coworker with cancer, the death of a family member, a car accident, a candid conversation with a dear friend or a TV show. But whenever they do appear, I pray I will have the humility and the openness to change, fortified by God’s grace.
Copyright 2018 Tami Urcia