By the time I got to Mass yesterday morning, I was in a terrific mood. The kids were pumped up on sugar and happy as could be. Getting out the door to Mass was easy – the kids couldn’t wait to put on their Easter clothes and were dressed before breakfast. We were able to leave early enough that we got there before it was completely full.

Seated behind us was a couple with one child who is the same age as Peter. Their son and mine had been baptized at the same ceremony last August. I saw them all the time at this Mass but never sat very close to them. Although the wife appears to be my age (35!) give or take 5 years either way, the husband is salty-haired and has a weathered face. At the baptism, I remembered wondering if he was the grandfather (at a military post, it is not uncommon to see women and children and no dads, not because dad doesn’t like going to Mass, but because dad is in Afghanistan or Iraq or some other equally wonderful place), but since I’ve seen this couple together at many Masses in the last 9 months, I’ve concluded that they are husband and wife.

Wow, this man was full of joy. I could feel it. It was in his voice as he recited the prayers. It emanated from him and truly warmed my soul. It was like sitting in front of a space heater only instead of pouring out heat, he was radiating love.

I’ve met very few people capable of transmitting that feeling just by their presence or by reciting rote prayers. It was pretty cool.

All I could think was: here is an older man married to a younger (but not young, let’s be honest) woman who is given a gift from God – a baby boy. How could he not be joyous? How wonderful to have a beautiful family even if that precious time in your life didn’t come until you thought you’d be too old to enjoy it? Was Abraham half as joy-filled as this man?

After Mass, Bill asked me if I noticed a badge he was wearing. I had, but didn’t know what it was. I guess if you’ve served in the military, you are authorized to wear a badge on your civilian clothes that shows off the highest medal you’ve acheived. His badge indicated he’d been awarded the Silver Star. I’m willing to bet that he has some interesting stories to tell.

Saying Mass was an older black priest – my favorite here on post. All the other priests skip the Confeitor routinely. He never does. I love this prayer. I’ve always loved this prayer. It is wonderfully appropriate for Mass during Lent. I was awe-struck at how appropriate it was for Mass on Easter morning. Maybe it was the love-radiator behind me who helped me to feel the grace that accompanies the humility in confessing our sinful nature.

The rest of Mass was the normal routine of pacifying the baby, corralling the toddler and occasionally correcting the behavior of the older children. Bill was distracted by the “deacon” who was wearing a collar and whose stole did not cross his body…but neither of us were able to pay attention (with our eyes) to the consecration to see if he was a deacon or a priest. Very odd. Katie and Fritz stayed in the pew during Communion and got into an argument about who would sit where. I relocated Fritz to a neutral third location, but Katie continued to softly sob because she wanted to sit in my seat and I wouldn’t let her. Girls.

At the end of Mass, the man behind me apologized if he contributed to the delinquincy of our toddler. Jenny had charmed the pants off of him with her antics and by amusing his son. Seeing an appreciative audience only inspired her to do more. But he was still exuding joy, so I couldn’t be mad at him – or even at Jenny who obviously felt his joi de vivre as well. And then he declared ME a saint. But since I’m not dead, it’s pretty easy to argue against that one. Maybe some day. God willing and if the creek don’t rise.