Translating a World on the Edge

For the last week or so, I’ve been watching The Three Little Pigs on Netflix. It’s Disney’s original 1933 version and my grandchildren love it as much as their parents did. You know the story. The first little pig builds his house of flimsy straw, the second pig builds his house of destructible sticks, and the third little pig builds a model house, a house of sturdy bricks. The first and second pigs hurry to get through quickly so they can go to play. The third little pig builds slow and methodically, mortaring between each brick. He doesn’t have time to kick up his heels. And then comes the Big Bad Wolf. He blows down the haphazard houses of the first and second little pigs and threatens to eat them. So they run for safety to their brother’s house of brick.

My husband and I met at seventeen and married when we were twenty one. At that time, we were probably a lot like the first and second little pigs. We weren’t worried about safety, we wanted to play. Except we too, were building a house, not a physical house then, but a house nonetheless, where we would live with each other and bring up children. Neither of us put it into words, but we wanted a house that would last. We had models for this. We had parents married for decades. It never occurred to us that we wouldn’t do the same. Oh, the Big Bad Wolf has come to our door many times, but our house has stood.

When a person steps into marriage, Trust in a spouse is required. Trust that together you’re building a brick house, not a flimsy one. Trust that no matter how many times you fall, or how many times the wolf comes to your door, you will stand strong as a brick house because you’ve committed yourself to the sacrament and to your children. Nothing else will do.

To those who are married: be steadfast, be faithful, be devoted to one of the highest, and admittedly, most difficult vocations. You are the teachers of your children. You are the model upon which they will build. Make yours a brick house.