Sitting together at Thanksgiving with the whole family gathered is one of my favorite things. Everything seems in balance and right in the world when my mom can pass the rolls to my daughter. However, time with everyone together, my adult children along with my own parents, is rare during this time when I am sandwiched together between my growing children and aging parents. Sometimes I help my daughters discern what’s next with questions about graduate school, MCAT testing, and moving apartments, along with addressing the needs for health and companionship of my parents. I feel, like so many, that I am often failing at one or the other. My greatest desire is to remain at the table where everyone is together. I desire to be in the place where things remain the same, with the noisy house and the familiar rhythms of parenting and being parented.
This ache or desire in my body reminds me of the sacred desire for unity, belonging, and connection that resides in all of us. Saint Ignatius of Loyola asks us, “What does your heart desire? My heart desires for all needs to be met in all those that I love. My desire is that no change occurs: that my children stay safe, and my parents remain healthy and know that they are loved. Life, though, and natural progressions, force change.
There is such beauty in these changes. Ruth and Naomi, too, are caught in the midst of great change. Naomi, after losing her husband and sons to death, asks her daughters to go back to their families. Orpah does return, but Ruth responds, “Where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” In the lives of these two women, we see how life feels complicated and overwhelming. The needs of the family seem greater than the desire for unity.
Even when change occurs, though, you hear how the covenant of community remains the same. The need to remain bound together in love is where God is actively at work. God waits in the longing. God does not expect us to navigate these transitions with perfect, stoic strength. God’s own dream and desire for us is union. God waits there, whispering in the quiet, reminding us that we are held together.
One side of our family recently decided to begin meeting once a month for Sunday dinner. Even though we live in several cities and states, we would try, and those who could be present would be. God, I think, works best in the imperfect. We have played games together and watched sports together. Though we have only just begun, I can feel God whispering in the quiet with us, soothing the ache for our own unity.
When we find ourselves in the “sandwich generation”, stretched thin between launching our children into their own futures and tenderly holding our parents as they age, the sheer volume of change can feel overwhelming. But even when everything around us shifts, our deepest longing for unity and belonging remains a steady anchor.
Going Deeper
Consider setting aside some quiet time this week to pray, journal, and bring your own longings to God.
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Notice the Movements of Your Spirit (Consolation & Desolation): St. Ignatius teaches us that our “gut”—the deep movements of our interior self—is a valuable indicator of where God is calling us. In seasons of intense transition, we often experience opposing pulls in our hearts. To help bring these internal movements to the external where you can look at them with God, divide a page in your journal into two columns:
- Desolation (Notes that feel “off-key”): Where is this transition causing you to feel heavy, restless, or disconnected? Write down the discordant notes, perhaps the fear of an empty room, the sorrow of seeing a parent’s strength fade, or the urge to just push through and rush the process.
- Consolation (Notes of harmony): Where do you feel a quiet warmth, an increase of love, or a sense of “home” even in the midst of the chaos? Notice the sweet, harmonious moments—the pride of seeing your child’s unique call unfold, or the sacred, quiet privilege of holding a parent’s hand.
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Enter the Dusty Road of Ruth and Noami (An Ignatian Contemplation): Ignatian imaginative prayer invites us not just to read Scripture, but to step inside it and let it become a mirror for our lives. Close your eyes, slow your breathing, and place yourself on the road from Moab to Bethlehem in Ruth, Chapter 1.
- Feel the scene: Feel the dry, hot wind of transition on your skin. See Naomi, weary and grieving, packing up what little she has left. See Ruth standing beside her at the fork in the road.
- Find yourself there: Who do you feel like in this scene? Are you Naomi, feeling stripped of the familiar and wondering if your presence still matters? Or are you Ruth, clinging tight to the ones you love, choosing a covenant of presence even when the future is completely unknown?
- Talk to Jesus: Imagine Jesus sitting on the dirt road right next to you. He is not rushing you toward quick answers; he is simply lingering with you in the transition. Tell him what your heart is longing for, and listen for his gentle whisper.
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Write Your Own “Covenant of Presence”: Life in this fast-paced season can feel like we are constantly in a drive-through, shoving our lives down our throats like fast food. But our souls and our families deserve a sit-down dinner with a full place setting; they deserve our slow, deliberate time.
- Take a sticky note or a small index card.
- Write out your own simple covenant of love for this season: “Even as roles shift and seasons change, my promise of love to [Names] remains. My prayer for our unity is ________.”
- Place it somewhere you will see it daily—on your bathroom mirror, your dashboard, or above the kitchen sink. Let it be a tangible reminder that while the roles of parenting and caregiving are changing, the covenant of love stays exactly the same.
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Pray with Music: For the moments when the transitions leave us with “no words” and we simply need to receive God’s comforting presence, let the melody pray for you. Sit in a quiet space, light a candle, and let these songs wash over you:
Photo by Kateryna Hliznitsova on Unsplash.
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Stephanie Clouatre Davis
Stephanie Clouatre Davis graduated from Loyola University New Orleans. Stephanie speaks to adults and teens around the nation at parishes, high schools, and dioceses in various venues including retreats and conferences. With humor, joy, and stories, Stephanie not only fully engages her audiences but also inspires them to challenge themselves and build a stronger relationship with God. She lives in Covington, Louisiana with her husband Michael and two girls Emma and Abby.



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