The Labyrinth: A Journey to True Happiness

By Elizabeth Aimé

The Labyrinth: A Journey to True Happiness embraces several personal questions. Who are you? What have you been put on earth to do as you live the lifethe giftgiven you? In a collection of short stories, Elizabeth Aim gives clues to assist you in discerning your own vocationyour calling. Without resorting to preaching, boasting, or complaining, the stories show how ones calling can and does change over the years. Youll laugh and cry as you share the hills and valleys and the twists and turns that comprise the labyrinth through which one journeys to true happiness.

Along the way marked out by the stories in The Labyrinth, youll come to see that every human life is precious, and every person has a distinctive part to play in Gods creation. In finding our way, it helps to see where weve been. The memories we hold in our hearts serve as clues becauseif we are wisewe put aside what turns out to be insignificant and keep only what is vital to who we are and what we believe.

This collection of short stories follows the path of one individual who wondered, made choices, and learned how to discern a vocation for living well while journeying to true happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jan 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781480842663

Elizabeth Aimé

Elizabeth Aim is a wife, mother, grandmother, and lifelong, passionate writer. She and her husband, married for more than fifty years, live in the Midwest. They enjoy visits from their six children and thirteen grandchildren. Her debut book was a childrens story, A Peaceful Home for Red Rock Hen.

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THE LABYRINTH:

A Journey to True Happiness

Elizabeth Aimé

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Copyright © 2015, 2017 Elizabeth M Aimé.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible® (NASB), Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973,1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org.

SECOND EDITION

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-4265-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-4266-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017900688

Archway Publishing rev. date: 1/26/2017

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THE LABYRINTH: A JOURNEY TO TRUE HAPPINESS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Preface

A PATH TO…

I. Self-knowledge and Discernment through Memories

II. Present and Future Possibilities

III. Eternal Commitment

IV. Lamentation

V. Complete Trust in God’s Will

VI. A New Generation’s Gratitude

VII. Self-discovery

VIII. Thanksgiving

IX. The Future

About the Author

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to the memory of my father,

Leo John Busch (1917–1999), who believed in me

and modeled for me the accomplishment of seemingly impossible tasks with faith, hope, and love.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I thank God, from whom all blessings come.

I thank the families who graciously consented to the telling of their stories, without whom there would be none, I am very grateful for their permission. They have chosen to remain anonymous.

I thank my patient and long-suffering editor, to whom I give my deep respect and sincere gratitude.

PREFACE

Consider the eleven-circuit labyrinth as a blueprint of life on earth. We enter at birth and journey through each chapter to the center, to the end of this life, when we enter into the heavenly Jerusalem. It symbolizes our walk through this earthly existence. Our whole life is a return journey to God, from Whom we have come and to Whom we must return. An ancient spiritual tool, the labyrinth is rich in symbolism and numerology. Author John James, in his studies of the sacred geometry of ancient labyrinths, offers this analysis in Chartres, The Masons Who Built a Legend (London, Routledge and Kegan Paul: 1982): It portrays man’s path to God, not after death, but now, while here on earth. Walking this sacred trail can help us make sense of the complex and mysterious paths of our earthly meanderings and remind us of exactly who we are and what we are here to do. That help is divine grace, which can lead us joyfully through life.

We walk the labyrinth in prayer and meditation to see the beauty of life when lived as our Creator intends, to contemplate how we are doing, and to seek the wisdom to know God’s plan for our lives. The message will be clear when we walk our path in the freedom to love God and His laws above all things, and to lift up one another in love. As St. Thérèse of Lisieux said,  …my vocation, at last I have found it—my vocation is love!

Every human life is precious, and every person has a specific part to play in God’s creation. In finding our way, it’s helpful to see where we’ve been. The memories we hold in our hearts are clues because, if we were wise, we put aside what was not significant and kept only what was and is important to who we are and what we believe.

The labyrinth is not a maze, because we simply travel to the center and return by the same path. There are no tricks or escapes; it’s simply our journey to our True Home. There are turns and switchbacks on the path, just as we encounter trials, tribulations, and redirections in our lives. These are a natural part of life that help us grow and move toward the center as we follow the inner pilgrimage to the center of our being, our very essence. Working through tests and challenges builds character and holiness when we include—and lean on—God’s help. There are continuous, unobstructed lengths on the path as well, mirroring such times in our lives. These are periods of grace that allow us to build strength, faith, hope, and love in preparation for the challenges to come. Reaching the center brings peace and acceptance of all that has happened. On our journey back, we may listen for God’s holy will, which will guide us to make use of the unique gifts that enable us to be His instruments of peace and love in the world.

A wise man once said, Every person has just one good story. Every story is recorded in heaven. Knowing our story, and living it, is happiness in life on earth.

My hope is that you will be inspired—not by me, but by the Holy Spirit—to look at the labyrinth of your own life and take heart from seeing where you have been and where you want to go. Your path is yours, made up of your life events and experiences. Make your pilgrimage a sacred one. Go into your future, unafraid, with the Lord.

CHAPTER ONE

A Path to Self-knowledge and Discernment through Memories

When You Are Nine

Anastasia learned that when you are nine, you take certain things very seriously. Things like knowing your mother’s expecting a baby. She knew this because her maternal grandmother had come to visit for an unknown length of time. Gran was sharing her bed and directing the day’s activities, assisting Anastasia in taking over her mother’s household duties. Her mother had to stay in bed every day.

Life took on a new look. Anastasia and her eight-year-old brother were on summer vacation. Andrew had chores to do on the dairy farm which became more demanding now that school was out. I’m fortunate, she thought as she worked, that I have only housework and not barn chores. The children shared having to mow the lawn, and they managed to turn that into a game by pushing the manual lawnmower around the rectangular patch etched out by the first person to mow. That was always Andrew, of course; he declared he was Andrew in charge! and then sat out one round, drinking pink Nectarade delivered door-to-door by the McNess man from his car fragrant with exotic spices. Andrew poured the sweet liquid into a metal tumbler from a matching pitcher resting on the cement steps, which led up to the nearly-never-used front door of their white-shingled, two-story house while Anastasia took her turn. There were no power lawnmowers then, and there wasn’t much time to play. Living on a dairy farm meant that the work was never done—and that work came before play.

The reason Anastasia took her mother’s pregnancy so seriously was because she had vivid and splendid memories from when she and her brother were five and six years old and had had the surprise of their lives!

At that time, the children slept on a leather studio sofa bed in the dining room. One early Sunday morning in November, they were bewildered to awake in a second-floor bedroom that was not yet completed, in a bed they had never seen before. They questioned the situation and quietly tiptoed down the cold wooden steps to the landing and peered out the window, where they saw a red car parked near the back door of the house. They were even more puzzled. Andrew was an expert on cars and car owner identification. He quickly announced, That Chevy belongs to a stranger. Curiosity took them down the remaining half-flight and to the door, where they turned the glass knob and peered out.

Sure enough, at the sink at the far end of the dining room stood a stranger—a tall man wearing white clothing. He was facing the mirror above the sink and appeared to be washing his hands. That was the end of their investigation, though, because their father spotted them. He rushed them back up the stairs, tucked them into bed, and whispered, Now you stay right here until I tell you to come down, okay? The children stared at the ceiling until they heard their daddy close the stair door behind him, after which they instantly sat up and had a quiet discussion. Dad will call us when that stranger leaves in that red Chevy. Andrew’s whisper sparked a shiver down Anastasia’s back.

Let’s wait by the window, Anastasia said, her feet already on the cold floor. Quietly they made their way back down to the landing where they kept a vigil on their knees, chins in hands, elbows on the windowsill. It wasn’t long, even by their childish standards, when they heard daddy’s voice as they watched the stranger leave the house. Then they immediately scrambled down the stairs.

Come see what’s in the bedroom, daddy called in a stage whisper while motioning for them to follow him. Anastasia noticed the excitement in his voice and the glow in his face, but had no idea what to expect. Andrew followed his nose to the bedroom. Daddy, who was that stranger? he asked; that’s all he was concerned about.

When they reached the doorway, the children saw their mother propped up in bed, facing them. Anastasia was glad to see her happy face. Mommy smiled widely and told them, Look what Gran is holding! Seated just inside the door, Gran had something wrapped in a small blanket on her lap. She quietly and gently pulled away the wrapping, and there was the surprise.

Surprise is an understatement. There was life! A live, breathing baby, so soft and beautiful. Amazing! The best gift in this world is the gift of life, especially the gift of a baby, Anastasia said as simply and honestly as only a child can, knowing what she uttered to be true.

Her father replied, eyes sparkling as they do whenever he expresses his faith in God and His works, You are exactly right about that, Anastasia! He looked into his daughter’s eyes, and she saw that he loved her.

This subject of babies, so dear to Anastasia’s heart, was reinforced in first grade that year through the sweet stories in her first reader, This is Our Family. She liked that book, and her favorite selection was the chapter A Surprise from God. You guessed it! A new baby is welcomed into the family by the characters Mother, Father, David, and Ann who thank God for their new baby. Anastasia’s heart was in that book!

Anastasia’s mother told the children, The baby’s name is Aaron. Now count his fingers and toes to see if he has enough. The children laughed at his tiny, perfect fingers and toes.

Mommy, when he moves, his little face turns all red, Anastasia related. She had never been so excited about anything—except maybe all the little animals her daddy had saved.

New life was not uncommon on the farm. In fact, their father was always saving lives of animals in trouble. One occasion especially important to Anastasia happened in spring of the following year. She’d begged her mother to listen to her tell the story, and to write her story down so she could keep it forever. The original story, as told by Anastasia, was preserved by her mother Dorothea.

A Chorus of Peeps

We have many animal friends on the farm where I live with my family. I am the oldest child, so I take care of lots of things, including my little brother, sometimes. I am seven years old and I am good at taking care of baby animals … and my baby brother.

After my brothers, I especially like the ducks. Mommy calls the mother duck the Muscovy. I call her Mother Duck. She takes care of her twelve new, yellow, fluffy babies. They follow her everywhere about the farmyard.

Boom!

I hear a spring thunderstorm pounding on our house, and I look out through the glass of the back door. It’s as dark as night, but it’s still morning. Rainwater is rushing down the gravel driveway like a river. Lightning flashes pictures before my eyes.

Oh no! There’s Mother Duck in the pouring rain, trying to get her precious babies to safety. With each flash, I see the ducklings being washed farther and farther down the hill.

I call, Daddy, Daddy, come here! Daddy, the ducklings are out in the storm! I know my dad can help.

Dad appears beside me and asks, Where?

There, in front of the machine shed. See them? Do you see them?

What’s she doing out there with her ducklings? I’ll have to get them! Daddy grabs his green chore jacket from the hook, jumps down the stairs, and is out of sight. I run to get mommy and tell her what’s happening.

Bang! The door bumps against the wall as daddy bursts in, wind blowing around him and rain running down into puddles on the floor. He’s carrying his green jacket grasped in his big hand like a sack of feed. He leaps up the stairs into the kitchen and opens the oven door. It’s still warm from our cornbread breakfast. He says softly to mommy, Get me a towel.

Mommy folds a pink towel in half and spreads it on the open oven door. Daddy unfolds his jacket on the floor and, one by one, carefully places each limp, lifeless duckling onto the towel.

I stare at the twelve pieces of wet, yellow fuzz with stiff legs and flat heads. They look something like pictures of seahorses I’ve seen. All are lying perfectly still.

Time stands still. I stand and stare, and all I can hear is my breathing. I ask God to help my daddy.

In silence, daddy picks up the clumps of fuzz, one after another, and with his big, gentle hands, rubs them lightly with the corner of the towel. He puffs a breath of air into each little face and puts each one down again, very carefully.

I wait and watch. The yellow puff balls begin to move.

Peep!

Peep! Peep!

Peep! Peep! Peep!

A chorus of peeps fills the kitchen with bright happy sounds!

The ducklings—all twelve of them—are standing up now, padding their little webbed feet up and down on the oven door while peeping loudly. We all laugh at them.

The storm is over, and the sun is breaking through the clouds. Water is still flooding the driveway, but daddy is walking toward the barn with a bundle of wiggling, peeping ducklings held gently to his heart.

The End

This was just one significant experience nine-year-old Anastasia had had when she learned her mother was expecting a baby, and this was why she was very much aware of how special this event was. She prayed for health and safety for her mother, but mostly for the baby, whom she desperately hoped would be a sister.

With this promise of blessing in mind, Ana helped her grandmother in every way she could. Gran taught Anastasia a lot. She would say, A job worth doing is worth doing well. But Gran did difficult things well all the time; that was her way of life. Anastasia’s mother told her that Gran had been well-respected as a midwife in her youth, and was even credited with saving the life of a hemorrhaging new mother by kneading her abdomen until the doctor arrived.

It wasn’t a very long wait for Anastasia; it just seemed like it. Her mother never told anyone but her husband that she was pregnant until she had to. In fact, she hid it as long as she could by wearing aprons to hide her bulging secret. Soon, though, one of her sisters-in-law would guess the reason and straight-out ask her. Anastasia heard this several times, as her mom had had so many miscarriages that she stopped counting and didn’t talk about it very much. Perhaps that’s why she kept the secret as long as she could—to spare others her trials.

At last, the wait was over! This pregnancy went full-term, and her mother delivered the baby in whom Anastasia had invested so much of herself. When she, Andrew, and three-year-old Aaron came down for breakfast, Gran informed them that their mother was At the hospital. We’re waiting for news. She then led the children in a prayer for their mother and the baby. Gran was always praying. Anastasia knew that she kept a rosary in her apron pocket and fingered the beads in idle moments. She also knew that her grandmother prayed silently on her beads every night in bed.

After breakfast, Anastasia helped with the dishes and tried to think what else she could do to prepare for this day when she would, at last, meet her new baby sister.

In a little while, daddy called from the hospital. Gran turned to the children and announced, You have a new baby brother!

Really? Another brother? That makes three! But then Anastasia thought about how precious little brothers really are. She, her brothers, and Gran rejoiced at the wonderful news, danced around the table, and hoped mom would bring the baby home very soon.

Before long, daddy came home to his waiting family. Anastasia was puzzled when she saw his sad face and stared at him, waiting for him to break into smiles and wonderful words. Instead he exclaimed with intense anger, The baby died! The damned nurses didn’t watch him in the nursery. They say he choked on phlegm when they were out of the room. He lived only five hours. He was a perfectly healthy baby.

Gran said, Aw, aw, what’s the matter with those people? We would have watched him better here at home. She was shocked by this avoidable tragedy, Anastasia could tell.

When the reality of the loss hit her, Anastasia cried, No! No! No! No! How could she be expected to accept this tragic news?

Her dad brought her mother home later that day, and she rested in bed. Then, while Anastasia sat alone in the living room, silently, listlessly waiting for she didn’t-know-what, he constructed a little pine box and lined it with white satin. He put the baby into it and set it on the dining room table. Gran said sadly, Come look at this beautiful baby. She had dressed him in a pink satin baby dress. Anastasia, her mother called from her bed, that dress was a gift to you when you were born, but I never put it on you. It was in my cedar chest all these years. She wanted to get Anastasia to look in the little coffin.

She forced herself to go to the table and thought in her heart that he truly looked perfectly healthy but for one thing; he was dead. Gran, standing next to Anastasia, said, Go ahead and touch him if you want to.

Anastasia, slowly, cautiously, sadly, reached toward him, but she knew he would feel cold. She could not bring herself to touch his skin. Instead, she ran to the living room, curled up in the overstuffed rocker, and burst into unrestrained cries of Why? Why? She thought there would be no end to her grief; she was inconsolable, screaming, How can this be? I wanted him! I wanted him so much! Why did he die? Why? Why? She sobbed and screamed until she had no strength left. Gran tried to comfort her, but Anastasia would not accept her grandmother’s consolation and cried all the more. Nobody understood the depth of her feelings. She felt it was her loss and no one else’s!

For the rest of that day the dining room—the whole house—was a somber morgue.

At the end of day, her dad buried the baby in the space above the grave of her mother’s father in the cemetery of her mother’s original parish. So baby Lawrence—named for his maternal grandfather—shares his tombstone and his burial place.

After that, Anastasia’s great sorrow could be seen in her sadness at home. She pushed it down only at school; she didn’t want to share this heavy thing with her classmates, so she didn’t talk about it there. She even managed to keep it from the Sisters. When would she raise her thoughts to his living spirit? She would need time to work through her grief.

Many years later, Anastasia’s mother told her, How we had worried about you that day! And for a time afterward, too, because of the difficulty you had in accepting what had happened. Though we didn’t know why, it was most certainly God’s will. God allowed this to happen for some reason we may never fully understand during this lifetime, but you would not listen.

Those were difficult times for Anastasia but, though she did not understand, she learned to accept and go on. She knew she was changed forever, though, and that this experience would shape her life in some wondrous way.

Anastasia eventually got her baby sister but, sadly, she was stillborn at seven months. The nurses had said, You don’t want to see the baby, do you? Her mother was vehement in her grief, insisting, Yes, of course I want to see her; I need to see her! So the mother and father were shown the dark little body while still in the delivery room. Her father buried the baby in the cemetery. Anastasia learned later that she had been laid to rest at the rear of the church cemetery, in an unkempt plot in unblessed ground, with no marker. Her mother was not happy about that, but Anastasia was not involved except in tending her mother as she recovered.

Anastasia was later blessed with two more wonderful baby brothers. Not only had she learned what a special, wondrous gift, each new baby is but she had also learned that they are God’s creation, and He can give or take them back at any moment. When she was older, she knew that if it would please God, He would entrust to her the care of His little ones. She also knew that it would be a blessing she could neither earn nor deserve; it would be a pure gift, and she would always consider the little ones to be on loan—entrusted to her and her husband’s care for the glory of the Lord.

She was surprised and delighted with a story she read a short time after her devastating experience with loss. The book was a collection of four stories contained within a light-blue hard cover titled Let’s Pretend. Her copy of the book disappeared from her life, but her memory of a special story titled Princess Moonbeam stayed with her. An elderly Chinese couple, who were sad because they had no children, asked the gods for a baby. The god’s daughter, Moonbeam, agreed to go to earth and become their child. The couple was cautioned that the baby really belonged to the gods and would return to them one day. They agreed to accept her on those terms and were extremely happy and grateful to the gods for their temporary gift. They loved and enjoyed the child immensely until it was time for Moonbeam to return to the gods; then they gave her up with grateful hearts for having had such a sublime gift.

This story may have been one of many small gifts of healing for Anastasia, but the hope for more babies to love and nurture, more welcome gifts from God, was certainly the greatest.

A Portrait of Love in Pastels

Anastasia’s mother was advised by her obstetrician to stop nursing Anastasia when she was six months old because she was pregnant with her second baby. Anastasia was then fed warmed, raw cow’s milk from a cup, after which she would lie back down to sleep. Everyone said, She’s a good baby! Her little brother, Andrew, was born prematurely, weighing just three pounds. He was fed every hour, day and night and with an eye-dropper at first. Anastasia had had to be a good baby.

Anastasia’s mother was later advised not to breastfeed her other babies. It was the 1940s, and many women were working for the war cause. And following WWII, women were bombarded with radio commercials, magazine articles, and advertisements praising the benefits of formula. Doctors were quick to recommend it, and bottle-feeding became the socially acceptable thing to do. It was not a good trend. Consequently, Anastasia did not learn about breastfeeding from her mother.

Just before Aaron’s second birthday, Anastasia went with him and their mother to visit her Aunt Dee Dee at her house. This was the aunt who had honored Anastasia by choosing her to be one of two flower girls in her wedding. Anastasia was comfortable at her home because the wedding reception had taken place there when Anastasia was six years old. Your wedding day and wedding dance were lots of fun! Anastasia told her aunt.

They found Aunt Dee Dee nursing her first baby while relaxing in an overstuffed yellow-and-blue tweed chair with a pink receiving blanket over her shoulder. The first thing Anastasia noticed was the soft, pleasant scent of baby powder, familiar because of her own baby brother. The second thing she noticed, seated on the matching ottoman directly in front of her aunt, was that she was observing a pastel picture of love. Anastasia’s eyes were wide in appreciation of this awesome scene. She thought, What a beautiful portrait of motherly love and nurturing. It could only be designed and created by our good and wise God. Though she said nothing, she tucked this memory deep into her heart.

The Miracle of the Keepsake Doll

Anastasia, seven, and Andrew, six, are secretly excited that they have a kind of sideshow with which to entertain their cousins when they come to play. For once, we’ll show them a good time. Not as much fun as being at Nina’s house, of course, Anastasia admits. She can’t get over how many dolls Nina and her sister Louisa have in the basement of their grocery store. I like the way they have classrooms divided by blankets hanging from clotheslines, and a little chair for each of the dolls they teach. She knows it’s partly because there are two girls in the family, but it’s still amazing. Andrew, they must have at least forty dolls, she remonstrated with open arms, as though holding them all at once.

I know that’s what you like at Nina’s house, Andrew replies, but what I like is driving the pedal car down the sidewalk, and all the treats we get to eat from the freezer in the store.

Yes. And all the pop we get to drink, Anastasia adds, sharing her brother’s appreciation for the things they rarely get at home. Only when company comes does their dad buy cases of soda, the remainder of which the children enjoy in the days following until their mother says, Thank goodness that soda is finally gone.

Andrew claps his hands. I can’t wait to see their faces when we show them our surprise. The children recently discovered a really scary thing in the upstairs walk-in closet. It isn’t new to them, because they’ve seen their dad replace rubber bands inside it to please their mother, but it’s the way it lies atop the stack of chenille spreads and quilts on the overhead shelf—over their heads, anyway—that makes it look really creepy. The eyes stare down at them, and the crooked limbs stretch in odd directions, looking all wrong.

Come on, Anastasia calls excitedly to her cousins and to Andrew, let’s go upstairs to play. They follow eagerly, and Andrew laughs to himself because he knows the plan. Nina, six, and Paula, eight, are the kids to impress because he and Anastasia play at their homes. Now he and his sister finally have something to show them. Anastasia thinks, This is going to scare them good.

She leads them all