The little saint from Calcutta

Someone I dearly love was canonized two weeks ago.

I have loved the little Saint from Calcutta for many years, so it was natural to throw a little party, just with my own family, in her honour.

Colouring pages found here.

Cupcake toppers found here.

Slightly silly banner made from good-on-one-side paper and a blue coloured pencil 

(by me, hence the unintentional asymmetry) 

with some books from our shelf and a framed picture I keep by my kitchen sink 

(oh and the leftover pompoms from Noah's First Communion, which was Isaiah's idea).

  Shopping the house liturgically.

My little sweetheart. 

One of the ladies at Madonna House did his face-paint -- 

we had been there for the Heritage Festival -- 

so he decided he needed to put on this wig when he got home.

"Indian food". (From a jar. Shrug.)

Butter chicken and basmati rice.

(And my favourite shoes... which are too tight now thanks to my most recent pregnancy with my darling gigantic Elijah.)

Unbeknownst to me, Anna decided to dress up like Mother Teresa for dinner. 

She crept up on me in this pose as I was cooking.

Noah revelling in cupcakey-ness with the remnants of his face paint, too.

I have always been drawn to Mother Teresa: her iconic face, aged and yet radiant, her short stature, hunched from years of service and self-denial. Even when I was young, before I gave much consideration to what it meant to be Catholic or to give one's life to Jesus, I thought her dedication to the poor was such an example.

As I have grown, I have learned to love her in a new way.

Not only is she a witness to her love of Christ and service to the poorest of the poor, but also in faithfully living her vocation despite her well-documented mental and emotional struggles.

When she said "peace begins with a smile," I can't help but wonder if that meant not simply peace towards others, but towards oneself. By practicing small acts of joy, she showed a powerful way of cultivating virtue. In darker times, a smile itself can be an act of courage, and yet that very smile may help to combat the darkness itself.

I don't hide the fact that I battle depression. I'm happy to say, it has been "in remission" for about a year now, but I have a husband and a mother and a sister and several close friends who keep a close eye on it for me.

Of course, so do I. I know the warning signs. I know what makes my symptoms flare up. And I work, rather tirelessly, at keeping this illness at bay.

In 1959 Mother Teresa wrote, "if I ever become a saint—I will surely be one of ‘darkness'.
I will continually be absent from heaven—to light the light of those in darkness on earth." 
I take such solace in these words. Not only does she provide such an example of hope -- one can dwell in periods of darkness and still be a powerful instrument in God's Hand -- but also that she is a patron saint, of sorts, for those of us on earth struggling with mental health challenges.

Of course, as we coloured and decorated and iced our cupcakes, I didn't relay this particular detail to my children. Not yet, at least. But they were really amazed by the details of her life that we did discuss, and so were properly excited to celebrate her canonization. 

Yet when they get a little older, I won't hesitate to share this detail to them. I think we all need to know that holiness isn't reserved for those who have it all together. Rather, grace is supplied to us lavishly in our weaknesses and struggles, not despite them.

Saint Teresa of Calcutta, pray for us.