Saturday was Zosia's First Holy Communion. It all started in the morning, when the two of us went on a special date to get her ears pierced (which those of you with daughters probably know is a major event). Two pearl earrings later, Zosia put on her dress, I curled her hair, and my dad brought by a wreath for her to wear-- a traditional Polish custom on the day of your First Communion.
The mass was beautiful: each child played a special role in the mass, whether bringing in the altar linens, or presenting the gifts, or reading the Gospel, or reading the prayers of the faithful. I know that Zosia felt incredibly loved to be surrounded by both sets of her grandparents, a beloved great aunt, her Aunt Irene, cousin Grace, and her own little family. And I know that she understands the incredible truth of the Eucharist: that Jesus came to be with us, not just once in history, but always, whenever we need him, just as he promised us. It is a beautiful thing, and I am so thankful that it is something that I can now share with her through the mass.
We went out for lunch afterwards, on a perfectly beautiful spring day. And then we came home and all the kids ran around the yard like crazy (after having changed out of the First Communion dress, thankyouverymuch), because that is always a perfectly appropriate activity. But all fun aside, the thing I will carry with me from this sacred day is a deep gratitude for God's grace and love. I can still feel it, all these thousands of years later, and I pray that my intelligent, beautiful and kind Zosia will always feel it, too.