Habemus papam

Messages flooded the screen, stating that there was white smoke at the Vatican. “Sorry kids, Anpanman will have to wait,” I said as I grabbed the laptop and switched from a video streaming service to a livestream by a Catholic news service. We looked at the huge crowd that was gathered and the clusters of cardinals that stood on balconies, a hint as to who wasn’t the new pope.

The days following the death of Pope Francis had felt odd; we were mourning the death of our father, while also knowing that sometime--probably in the near future--we would have a new Holy Father. The sorrow had mixed with a joyful anticipation. Now, the white smoke had shown that our wait was over. 

A man stepped out onto a balcony and declared: “Habemus Papam.” Tears sprang into my eyes. As my children chattered, I tried to listen for a name. I couldn’t catch it, but suddenly, there on my screen was a picture of a cardinal I had never heard of…from America! Moments later, that same man walked onto the balcony and blessed the crowd as peace flowed from his youthful gaze.I was stunned and ecstatic, and a thousand and one questions whirled through my mind. However, my kids had been waiting to watch their movie, to I started Anpanman and left to rest with the baby. 

Later on, slightly more rested, I knew that I needed to do something. How could I sit inside and field countless questions from my other kids about Pokémon or Star Wars when we had a new pope? I glanced at the backyard and suddenly knew what to do.

Soon, my toes sank into the dirt that was soft and wet from our rainier-than-usual springtime. A blanket of dead leaves lay before me, and I pushed it aside, revealing an empty patch that was waiting for seeds, waiting for new life.

I called a couple of my children over, and we got to work. Envelopes and packets of seeds were scattered across the grass. I had ransacked the house for every last little seed that had been gathering dust for the past couple years. Everything needed to come out and be planted. Together, we scooped dirt and poked holes in the ground, formed small trenches and dropped seeds in. Gently, we covered them.

“These are old seeds,” I reminded my kids. “They may not sprout or grow into anything.”

We planted them anyway. The soil was ready, and the seeds had been waiting. We don’t know what hidden work may happen below the surface of the ground. We don’t know what will grow, if anything. But all we can do is work faithfully, then wait and see what God does.

I sprinkled earth over seeds and thought of our new pope, Leo XIV. As my fingers caressed the soil, I sent up a prayer for him. That God would offer him the grace and strength and guidance he needs as he begins this life as our Holy Father. That we, as a Church, grow in unity under his leadership. That we work faithfully and practice patience as we wait to see what marvels God does.

I looked over to see vines and green leaves cascading from our compost pile, looking suspiciously like the beginnings of a vegetable plant; some sort of squash, perhaps. New life is coming forth from the scraps that we’ve thoughtlessly tossed into a heap over time.

A couple days later, my husband noticed that flowers were blooming on our cactus--and I was shocked. We had found a small scrap of a cactus years ago and stuck it in the soil. Over time, it' grown large, but we have never seen flowers on it. Until now, that is. Bright yellow and joyous, these flowers burst forth from the prickly, poky plant. 

It is almost as if all of nature is crying out: "Habemus Papam." 

We have a pope!