We are… and will be

Story and illustration by

Dara Wilkinson

After I separated in 2021, and some years later got divorced, I decided to return to my home of origin to live with my parents once again. I stopped the rental agreement on the marital home I loved and closed that door, not wanting to be reminded daily of the seven years of trying to be a family. It felt as if life was a big, cosmic kite that suddenly ah-yo, leaving me without breeze or sunshine.

I returned home and could pitch in even more to help with taking care of my mom who was having difficulty walking and continues to strive to regain full mobility even today.

One night at the end of April 2026, I went outside to bring my parents’ trendy tray-truck in from the street. My Dad stood in the frame of the open front door and looked out, safeguarding me as I went.

Typically, for the long truck or van to fit the dimensions of the driveway, we would have to park cater-corner, angling as we reversed diagonally into the yard. Unfortunately, that night I backed in way too straight. To angle just then would be to collide with the vehicle behind me, clipping the bumper as I turned. Yet, as I gauged the front, I could see I had not cleared the threshold where our yard met the street.

Suddenly, the heavy bars of the metal automatic gate began to rattle and close in on the van. In a bid for my safety, Dad had tried to time the manoeuvre, assumed I had cleared the gate, and had clicked it closed.

Now, dear fellow Christian souls, I am told that there are hosts of seraphim and cherubins that chorus the most angelic of music in the heavens. Well, just to be clear, the hollering and discordant cacophony of sounds that I exclaimed in that moment were the exact opposite of cherubin harmonies.

I imagined the van crunching and going out of commission for weeks. I imagined the gate denting and no longer being able to close, lessening our sense of a secure perimeter. I imagined the cost to fix both—a financial blindside—and the additional tax of time required for these items now added to our to-do list.

Reflexively, I had popped the horn and exclaimed several times in the van. Something stopped the gate in time. Perhaps, Dad clicked the remote in time or perhaps a safety sensor on the gatepost kicked in, and there is no guarantee these sensors will work.

In my mind, I began to picture neighbours peeking out from behind curtains. Several of my articles had been published in The Catholic News in the past few months, and I was trying a little extra to live along the lines of the responsibility that came with that.

I was trying to walk good. I imagined my neighbours on all sides looking out and seeing that I was the one making a nuisance of myself in the quiet of the street with my couple of exclamations as I reversed the van. ‘Big chupps,’ they would say (in my head), crumpling up their faces. ‘Church paper writer, my two foot!’

(I’m kidding about the above comments from neighbours… My neighbours are actually very nice…)

The more I thought about it over the next few days, I realised my conundrum. The paradox is that I have to try to be who I am even before I fully know how to be who I am. We all do.

This is the befuddling adventure before us all—that while becoming, while still in formation, even as He draws us, shapes us, and graces us, we are already Catholic Christians. We are already being who we are even as we are becoming and learning how to be who we are.

I work as a part-time lecturer and I often have to share with my graduate students (the ones who are intimidated by graduate level academic writing) an expanded version of something my dad used to tell me.

It goes something like this: This is just like when you ended the school term at Standard Three and were heading for Standard Four. From day one of Standard Four you were an official Standard Four student before you knew how to be one. You could not imagine how you would begin to do the big Standard Four work of the big students. But bit by bit, day by day, you grew into it until you were able to do it.

Each day, from our Abba Father, portioned out like sustenance, grace for the journey comes… like a small daily bowl of rich, nourishing soup… like breaths of air… like glimmers of the sun.