The unlikely harmony began, as many unexpected insights do, in the quiet corners of my mind. For days, a peculiar duet has been looping in my thoughts, a mash-up of sacred devotion and soulful R&B. The ancient words of St. Ignatius Loyola’s Suscipe prayer – “Whatsoever I have or hold, you have given me. I give it all back to you” – intertwined themselves with the poignant lyrics of John Legend’s ballad, “All of Me”: “I’ll give my all to you. You’re my end and my beginning. Even when I lose I’m winning.” The refrain, “I give you all of me,” echoed from both, creating an unexpected two-part harmony in my soul. In stolen moments, I found myself humming Legend’s melody, then whispering the Suscipe’s powerful offering, “I give it all back to you,” a breath prayer for surrendering control.
This internal soundtrack wasn’t cryptic. The preceding weeks had been a masterclass in letting go, in returning cherished gifts back to the giver, in surrendering what felt deeply entwined with my own identity.
Last Tuesday marked a poignant departure. I watched my eldest son, Mike, embark on a new chapter, his figure receding into the Philadelphia humidity, or perhaps the blur of my unshed tears. He was bound for Ireland, to study at Trinity College Dublin, a world away. The relief was palpable that his course books outweighed the phonetic gymnastics required to pronounce “College of the Holy and Undivided Trinity of Queen Elizabeth.” Then, just days later, Sunday arrived, bringing with it the bittersweet ritual of another goodbye. Seated beside my husband on a low wall outside a California dorm, we listened as our youngest son offered his firm, gentle farewell. I return it all to you, O Lord. This silent invocation, drawn from the Suscipe, resonated deeply. For years, the Suscipe has been my morning ritual, a grounding prayer offered with a cup of tea before the day’s demands. Each morning, I’d offer all that had been entrusted to me, seeking the grace needed for the tasks ahead. A brisk “Amen” would punctuate the prayer, signaling a shift from contemplation to action, from tea cup to to-do list. Yet, the day’s distractions often proved potent. Within half an hour, emails would flood in, the phone would ring, and the quiet strength of both caffeine and grace would fade into the background noise of daily demands.
St. Ignatius Loyola and John Legend
However, the start of this semester, with its familiar rhythm of minor crises – student scheduling puzzles, temperamental classroom technology, the photocopier’s syllabus-induced groans – has amplified the persistent Ignatian-Legend soundtrack. It serves as a constant, gentle reminder of the countless small opportunities each day presents to return to God what has been given. It’s in these moments of surrender, these mini-Suscipe moments, that I’m discovering the myriad ways God’s grace rushes in to meet us. Letting go of the monumental moments of parenting, the leaving-home milestones, has paradoxically sharpened my awareness of the everyday graces. Even when I lose, I’m winning. The unexpected harmony of St. Ignatius and John Legend continues, a reminder that surrender, whether sung in ancient prayer or modern ballad, opens us to the constant, quiet presence of grace.
