On Community: We Take Care of Each Other

I had a beautiful lesson on community this past week. DH was out of town, and I gave myself a concussion. In the days that followed the clunk of the bike rack on my forehead, friends came from every direction to care for me and my family.

Two friends set everything aside on Wednesday... one to take me to the ER, keeping me calm during the three hours it took to get my diagnosis. The other took my kids for the day, keeping them calm, entertained, and fed.

I returned home to phone calls from several other people at the parish, who had either heard about my concussion, or had seen that I was "not quite myself" at mass Wednesday morning.

Pastor emailed me to check on me... he'd gone looking for me at a local hospital, and couldn't find me (we'd gone to a different hospital).

Another friend took all of the kids for three hours (over dinner) on Thursday evening, so I could get my school shopping done at the homeschool convention that was in town this weekend.

After the first afternoon, when word spread around the parking lot at school pickup, my email inbox and voicemail box were full of concern, offers to help, take the kids, make a meal, etc.

Yesterday, Princess' godmother, who lives 1,000 miles away, offered to drop everything and get the next flight out, to help me this week. DH is leaving town again for a week, and I am still not back to "normal" yet.

I am overwhelmed, to say the least. Touched to the deepest part of my heart. So grateful for this community... for my parish, for my family, for the many blessings God has placed in my life.

This afternoon, I was making a meal to bring to a friend whose father died last Monday, and who has had her own struggles this week. BigBro asked what I was doing. I told him that we were going to bring dinner to our friends, because that's what we do: we take care of each other. Just as our friends stepped up to take care of us this week, we do the same for others. That's what it means to live in a community: we take care of each other.

Hardened Heart, Not so Hard Head

On Tuesday this week, I gave myself a concussion. It was such a mindless thing. I borrowed my neighbor's bike rack, so the kids and I could go for a ride on the trail about a mile from our house. He helped me get the rack on the back of the van. Then I opened the van door to dig out the bike pump. My tires needed more air. Ten minutes later, I put the pump back in the van, reached up to close the van door, and pulled hard (I am short, the door is heavy). CLUNK. The bike rack. Right on the top of my forehead. I fell to the ground, clutched my head, and told BigBro that I needed ice and a cloth NOW.

He ran inside. Niece came running out with ice and a cloth, and the announcement that I was bleeding. Our friend was working in the basement. I told Niece, ""If I pass out, go get him out of the basement, immediately."

I didn't pass out. About 10 minutes later, the pain had slowed enough that I could stand up, go inside, get more ice, and lay on the couch. Niece brought me ibuprofen, a big glass of water, and the laptop. I looked up "head injuries," thoughts of Natasha Richardson in my head. DH, of course, is 5 hours away, on a business trip that will last until late Friday night.

About 30 minutes later, I go and look in the mirror. A huge knot. A gash, but not a gaping one. Doesn't appear that I need stitches. The pain is not horrible. I am not dizzy. I think all seems to be well. Well, as well as can be expected when you've just clunked yourself on the head with a metal bike rack.

Wednesday morning, I was awakened with extreme nausea. I've been pregnant 3 times and had numerous bouts with the flu in my life. I've never felt nausea like that. I got up. I was light-headed, a bit dizzy. But it was the Feast of the Annunciation, so I took the kids to 8:15 mass. As the mass went on, I felt worse and worse. I turned around during the Sign of Peace and saw my friend, a nurse. After mass, I filled her in on everything, and asked for her expert advice. She insisted on taking me to the ER. We found another friend to take the kids, and headed to the ER.

A few hours, some anti-nausea meds, and a CT scan later... and I am back home. Diagnosis: concussion, but no bleeding or swelling inside the brain. So, I should heal fine and be back to normal in a few days, or a few weeks. (The Dr was a bit unclear as to how long it would take). And I've found that I am definitely a little "off" these past few days... my thoughts are less coherent, and I am a little slower at everything than I usually am. But so grateful that I will heal, that there was no lasting damage, and that DH will be home tonight.

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But before all this happened, all the way back to last Saturday morning, I had some disturbing revelations during centering prayer. I am used to fighting the demons in my head during centering prayer. The to-do lists. The latest conversations with DH. The millions of little thoughts and ideas that take over the quiet moments. But last Saturday, I found myself fighting the demons in my heart, instead. Emotions welled up. Anger, hardness, lack of forgiveness. I was completely surprised. I let the emotions be there, occasionally returning to my sacred word. Tears came to my eyes.

When our time was up, and Father rang the gong, I sat there, just noticing the level of emotion I'd been experiencing. I left the chapel and got back to my regular life, but the memory of the emotion, and especially of the hardness of my heart -- in specific ways, toward specific people -- stayed with me. I talked a bit about it with DH later that day. I took it to prayer on Sunday.

The "Our Father" during mass on Sunday was hard. "Forgive us our tresspasses, as we forgive others." I know that I have some forgiveness to do. I have some letting go, some turning the cheek, some loving of my enemies.

I had been thinking my Lent was going so well. I had my Lenten disciplines. I had my prayers. I had my (almost) daily masses. I was doing Lent just fine, thank you very much.

Except that I have a lot of work left to do. I am suddenly very grateful that Lent is only half over, that I still have some time to heal the hurts and find ways to offer forgiveness, to soften the hardness and make room for some personal growth. I still have time to get my heart ready for Easter.

Perhaps the Doctor was right after all... it may take a few days or a few weeks... but I will heal.

Mama Bear vs. Pit Bull

I will admit it... when Sarah Palin first told her "hockey mom/pit bull" joke last summer, I laughed. After I'd heard it a few dozen times, though, I would just roll my eyes and make some comment about her needing new material.

Prior to that, I'd never given pit bulls much thought. Then, in September, we got new neighbors. For 8 1/2 years, we'd had a sweet, old lady living next door to us. The 4 ft. high, chain-link fence that separated our properties was the common meeting ground, the sharing of news, flowers, little "gifts" from the kids. As the years went on, she got sicker, and we saw her less. Last spring, she was moved to a nursing home, and an investor bought the house as a rental unit. He spent the summer fixing it up, and the tenants moved in last September. They are a nice couple, with a son just a little younger than BigBro. The boys were fast friends.

The only problem is: they own a pit bull. Last fall, the dog barked and growled every time the kids or I were in the backyard. We talked to the neighbors and the landlord, and everyone agreed that the dog would not be in the yard without one of the adult owners present. Then winter hit, we were in the yard a lot less, and they got lazy about sending the dog out to the yard without an adult escort.

Well, spring is here, and the kids are in the yard again. Over the winter, the neighbors got a pit bull puppy as well. The moderately aggressive pit bull from last fall has become extremely aggressive now, as her mothering instinct kicks in with the puppy present. The barking and growling from across the yard has turned into standing on hind legs, front paws on the top of the 4 ft. fence, head over the fence, teeth bared... even when my kids are all the way on the other side of our yard, and several adults are present in our yard.

Yesterday afternoon, I was in the house, tending to LilBro. Niece, BigBro and Princess were outside in the yard. Our friend (over 6' tall, former Army Ranger) was also present in the yard, doing some work for DH's basement project. The barking was incessant and aggressive. I was trying to help LilBro, but found myself getting more and more keyed up. The aggression in the dog's voice was getting to me on a really primal level. As soon as LilBro was set, I ran outside.

My kids were across the yard, as far from the dog as they could be. Our friend was in the middle of the yard. The dog was standing on hind legs, head over the fence, alternately growling and barking. The Mama Bear in me came out full force. I got in her face, and shouted her down, letting the adrenaline I felt overpower the fear I had inside me.

I looked around my neighbor's yard and saw no one. I glanced at their porch, and saw a man (not my neighbor) standing on the porch, watching the dog bark. He was doing nothing at all to control or call off the dog. He was just watching. I told him this was unacceptable. He was not to have the dog in the yard unattended. He needed to get the dog inside now, because my kids were out playing. He turned and started to walk into the house. I yelled to him, this time, the anger really rising in my voice. He called the dog in, and went inside.

I called the landlord. I called DH. I prayed a bit. I was still keyed up. I couldn't seem to shake the adrenaline. An hour later, DH came home, and spoke with neighbor (who had just received a call from his landlord about the dog). They will be replacing the chain-link fence with a 6' tall privacy fence. DH and I talked for a bit, and then he hugged me. Finally, I felt myself start to relax, the adrenaline faded, and the tension in my neck and shoulders started to release.

After dinner, I went upstairs to pray quietly for a bit. The force of my reaction to that dog's aggression overwhelmed me. It was instinctual. I understand that about the dog, too. She is responding on the same instinctual level... she is just trying to protect that puppy from what she perceives to be a threat.

I am going to be extra-vigilant about outside time until that fence is up. I just hope and pray they get it up quickly.

Change, Change, Change

It seems so incredibly appropriate that today is the first day of Spring! HOORAY! I really could not take one more minute of winter.

The season's change is coinciding with other changes in my life.

-1-

This weekend was supposed to have been my CRHP Retreat weekend. Due to low enrollment, the weekend is being postponed until the fall. This past Tuesday night, I had to step down from my role as the team's Spiritual Director. It was a very emotional evening for me. I've loved the Spiritual Director role. I put a lot of work into each meeting, and really stretched myself in ways I hadn't expected. I find it to be a testament to God's work that this role I had struggled with in the beginning became a touchstone for me.

My team sent me off with a surprise: a book of devotions that they all signed. When the Lay Director handed it to me, I couldn't even speak for about 5 minutes. I just let the tears come. It's hard for me to walk away from this group. This is "dying to self," giving up something that filled me so much (even while taking so much time) so that I can be more present to my family right now.

-2-

We are all settling in with Niece here. We've had a good week so far. It's been busy, and I am still figuring out the whats, wheres, whys and hows of homeschooling Niece. But it's all good. Just incredibly busy.

-3-

Father and I met for Spiritual Direction on Monday night. We spent the bulk of the time talking about Niece and the changes in my family life. Father teaches high school, so he is particularly helpful in dealing with older kids. I'm used to small kids... you know, the kind you can pick up and put in their rooms if all else fails. When I found myself counting to Niece the other day (you know, one....two...), I knew I was in over my head. Fortunately, he had some good tips!

There's more I want to write about spiritual direction, but right now I can't quite get the words together.

-4-

Speaking of words, I have so many words bumping around in my head these days.... articles and blog posts waiting to be written. There's one on Mary that started on the treadmill yesterday morning, which fleshed out a bit more during some quiet, post-dinner prayer time last night. I just need to carve out some time, somehow, to sit with my laptop and actually write. I'm not exactly sure when or how... but I need to do it before it all floats away.


Well, I'm off to enjoy this gorgeous, spring day!

On taking a little break

There is a lot going on in my life right now. (Obvious, if you've been reading this lately). I keep wanting to blog, but there are no words for all of the pieces and bits and flotsam and jetsam that is floating around in my head, my heart, my soul these days.

So, bear with me... I'm not going anywhere long term... but I think I need to take these few days, keep my focus on my family, and let the flotsam and jetsam float around a bit more, before I corral them into what will be likely a whole bunch of posts all at once.

Not unlike my approach to laundry.

The New Normal

It's amazing how quickly we've all gotten used to this new living situation. Granted, Niece was just here for 2 weeks at Christmas, and she lived with us for a month last summer, so she knows what day-to-day life in our family is like. But still, those times, she was a "guest." There was a clear end-date to her stay. Now, she is part of the family, just another one of my kids.

We've all settled in really quickly. Niece into our routine. The kids into having their cousin around. Even DH and I to having another child... an older one, with a later bedtime and different needs. Not that everything is perfect, just that it is... comfortable... right.

There are some really nice fringe benefits of having a pre-teen around. She's a big help getting LilBro snapped into his car seat. She can help me carry the heavy bags of groceries (not just the bread and pretzels) into the house. She keeps me company when DH is out for the evening, or out of town.

It feels so good to be relieved of my CRHP duties, and to have my Bible study and Art History lessons planned for the remaining weeks. I can focus my attention on my family, on our lessons, on our adjustments to Niece's arrival, on Niece - giving her the attention she desperately needs. After so many months of being distracted by responsibilities in the "outside world," it's surprisingly refreshing to be able to focus nearly exclusively on my family.

Somewhere in the past year or so, I lost this. I lost the simple pleasure, the basic joy of focusing on my family. I got caught up in the work, the effort, the bickering, the whining, and the utter exhaustion of it all. I lost the beauty. I lost the peace of focusing on one thing... this most important thing.

An unexpected blessing of adding my niece to our family: I stopped taking my family for granted, and started giving them my full attention again.

And we are all benefiting from that.

How To Convert a Nursery into a Pre-Teen Room in 5 Easy Steps

1. Pray. Especially to St. Anthony... patron Saint of lost items. Tony is awesome at helping find bargains and treasures. This weekend, he helped me find a brand-new, hot pink papasan-styled chair, a lampshade, a mirror, and a dresser at 3 different Goodwill stores, in about an hour and a half.

2. Thank God that you painted the walls in the nursery a cheery yellow four summers ago, thinking the bright color would work for a boy or a girl, and would lighten an otherwise dark room. Hot pink against butter yellow makes a really fun color palette for an 11 year old girl.

3. Add simple accents. We painted the mirror and dresser drawer fronts hot pink, found a hot pink shag rug, and a hot pink bubble curtain at Target.

4. Add Hannah Montana posters, cool pink sheets, and super-soft blankets.

5. Step back and enjoy the sounds of giggling, whispers, and all out laughter that comes with adding another girl to the household.

An Answered Prayer

On Sunday, March 1, I knelt in church and prayed for help. I was beginning a crazy month, a month filled-to-the-brim and mindlessly overscheduled. I never set out to make March so crazy... I just didn't stop and carefully consider that all of my responsibilities would end up converging on each other at one time.

So, that Sunday morning, I knelt down and prayed for help. "Just help me get through these next 31 days, please Lord. I know I did this to myself, but please, please don't let anything else end up on my plate for the next month."

Four hours later, my sister called and asked whether we could take guardianship of my 11 year old niece. Our response was immediate and certain. Of course we would. In the immediacy of the decision, I had a fleeting thought about when this would happen, and how... how... how on earth I would make it happen this month. But the thought was fleeting, and I let it pass without dwelling on it.

The next few days were a flurry of activity, preparation, emotion. Every now and again, I wondered how I would possibly get everything done, take care of all my responsibilities, and still welcome a new family member into our home (physically, emotionally, educationally). Every time the fears welled up, I would pray.

On Tuesday of last week, at our CRHP meeting, I learned that we did not have 8 retreatants signed up after all, but only 4 (maybe 5). Suddenly, our conversation turned from prepping for the weekend to whether or not to hold the weekend. I spoke with our Pastor the next day, and he made the decision... we had one week to reach 10 retreatants, or the weekend would be postponed until the fall.

Initially disappointed, I began to see this potential postponement as a gift. I could certainly use the extra time (and the extra weekend) for my family. Everyone needed me a bit more now than they did before. My kids, because they would be sharing me in the coming months. My niece, because this transition, though welcome, still carries much emotional turmoil for her.

I found a free afternoon and a free evening in the past week, and completed all of the prep for the remaining Bible study sessions. My niece arrived yesterday afternoon. Last night, at the CRHP meeting, we made the difficult decision to postpone the weekend. We did not have enough retreatants to hold the weekend.

This morning, I went to mass, walked on the treadmill, homeschooled Niece, BigBro, and Princess. We had time to make Medieval Almoner bags before lunch. We even have a few minutes of downtime before everyone arrives for the Art History class I am teaching this afternoon.

And I realized that God had answered my prayer from March 1. Not in the way I requested, of course. He didn't ensure that nothing else was added to my plate, not by a long stretch. But He helped clear my plate of the less important responsibilities, making the necessary room for the more important responsiblities.

I was once again reminded that all prayers are answered... in God's way, in God's time, according to God's will.

Tempered, Twisted Steel

Yesterday morning, in his homily, Father quoted a poem by Fr. Gordon Gilsdorf, from the book "Ashes to Easter"

We look for mystic gold
and search for silvered ecstasy;
but saints are made of a
tempered twisted piece of steel

The imagery of this poem caught me off-guard at 6:45 in the morning. I related to it on a visceral level. In so many ways, this poem speaks of me. (Not that I, in any way, mean to imply that I am a saint).

I think of my perfectionism, my constant search for "mystic gold," my striving for that "silvered ecstacy." I think of how often I get frustrated with all that lacks in me.

I look for the same things in my spiritual life. I look for those moments of deep union with God, those glorious consolations He provides from time to time. I want my prayer time to be peaceful, fruitful, focused. I want to see myself growing in holiness, becoming more Christ-like in my thoughts and actions, loving deeper, forgiving more.

But what I see most often resembles twisted steel. I see deep frustrations, quick impatience, and lots of little moments of selfishness. I see prayer time that is interrupted, unfocused, sometimes downright chaotic. I look deeply at myself and see all the places where I am lacking, where I am broken.

I read the poem again.

One little word stands out this time: tempered. The steel is not simply twisted. Not simply malformed. It is tempered. It is strengthened and "toughened." According to Wikipedia, steel is tempered to transform brittle materials into a form that is "strong and ductile." Strong I get. But ductile I look up... here, it refers to malleability, the property of being able to stretch, take on new shapes, but not to the point of fracturing.

I read the poem again.

This time, I focus not on where I am lacking, not on the failure to reach the "mystic gold" and the "silvered ecstacy." Those moments of peace, consolation, achievement are wonderful... but fleeting. My mind lingers over "tempered, twisted piece of steel."

The process of tempering requires heat, delicate balance and control. It is a process that is imposed upon the steel by outside sources. Someone must control the process, must watch over carefully to ensure the balance is met, so that the end result is a strong, useful piece of metal.

I am the twisted piece of steel. I am not doing the tempering. I am not controlling the process, ensuring that a delicate balance is met. But I can see the things that are tempering me. I can see the heat that is applied, the careful combination of experiences and challenges that are uniquely mine.

And I will trust that He who is controlling this process will guide me into a form that is "strong and ductile."

image source

Painting and Peace

I just finished cleaning up from the first of four art history classes I am teaching for homeschooled kids this month. The kids and I spent this morning getting laundry done, the house picked up, finding 27 of the 28 overdue library books (not bad... we're always missing at least one), doing school, last-minute prep for the art class, and sorting out a variety of CRHP issues leftover from last night's meeting. It was a crazy busy morning.

I wasn't sure I knew what I was doing with this art history class. I called it "Squiggles and Dots: Modern Art History for Early Elementary Kids." We started out this week with a study of Impressionism (probably my favorite period), and we'll move through post-Impressionism, Cubism, Surrealism and finally into Abstract Art. I chose this subject to teach last fall, when DH and I were at the art museum, and I commented that I just didn't "get" modern art. He suggested that I teach it... that would be a great way to learn more about it.

I spent about 30 minutes talking with eight 5-8 year olds about art. We looked at examples, talked about lighting and color, subject and design. They were really engaged. I was totally surprised and pleased at how well they listened and responded.

Then we got to work re-creating masterpieces. This week we used watercolor paints and watercolor pencils to fill in black and white drawings of Monet's Water Lilies and Degas' dancers. The kids were all really focused. Their different styles and personalities came out.

As we were all calmly sitting around the dining room table, painting together, talking about color and light, one of the moms asked if she could paint, too. Of course. I always have extra copies. She started painting, a little smile lighting up her face as she mixed colors, blending pencil lines with water, experimenting with shading. She was peaceful, focused, fully present in that moment.

I picked up an extra Degas drawing, loaded a paintbrush with color, and began slowing mixing pinks. I watched the shades swirl together, the paper dry in spots, darkening in color. I took a deep breath.

All is well. Life is crazy busy right now, but all is well, just the same. There is a lot on my plate, but I am not asked to do any more in each exact moment then to be fully present. God has given me twenty-four hours in each day... and the incredible blessings of a wonderful, supportive husband; loving, helpful children; and incredibly giving and loving friends.

There is too much for me to do all by myself. That is painfully clear. But, there is nothing I can't accomplish if I make sure to include God... both directly, through prayer, and also indirectly, by being willing to take the help offered by the many blessings God has placed in my life.

Alone, I get overwhelmed, frustrated, exhausted and despondent. Together, I can take a deep breath, notice the moment, offer up a prayer of gratitude, and I can find peace... knowing that all will unfold as it should.

Open to Life

There is a lot of talk in Catholic circles about being "open to life," about what it means, what it looks like. Often, discussions can get heated, feelings can get hurt. "Open to life" can look like a large family, one with half a dozen or more children. Sometimes "open to life" looks like my bunco friend, mother of 4: one in college, one in high school, a second grader, and a 3 year old. Often "open to life" is nearly invisible, the pain of multiple miscarriages hiding secret desire.

DH and I have spent many hours discussing what "open to life" means for us, for our marriage: what it looks like, how it plays out, how we rectify "our" family plan with God's family plan.

I think we get it wrong more often than we get it right.

I could say that again and again, about so many topics. It's no secret that I am a control freak, that I am prideful, demanding, and have a hard time letting go and trusting God. I think we get it wrong more often than we get it right.

But, for all that "getting it wrong," one way in which DH and I have always defined "open to life" included "open to fostering or adoption." I cannot begin to count the number of conversations we have had in the past nine years in which we've talked about fostering and/or adopting, when the time seemed right, when the kids were a little older.

Eighteen months ago, I began to pray for a fourth child. I desperately wanted a second daughter to round out our little family. Instead, God blessed my dear friend with a beautiful little girl. DH and I were chosen to be her Godparents, and I contented myself with the knowledge that God had provided me with that second daughter. I just didn't have to get up with her in the middle of the night.

God's plan doesn't always look like our plan. Actually, it rarely does.

On Sunday, my sister called. Can my 11 year old niece come and live with us for a while? There are details to be worked out, but there was no hesitation in the answer. Of course. It's not the "traditional" way to grow a family. It wasn't in my plan. It wasn't in my sister's plan. This is not an easy decision for her, but it is the right one for our families at this point in time.

And so, I am learning to step aside and let God lead. I don't get to define what "open to life" means. I don't get to decide what path my family is placed on. My role is one of loving service, of learning to bend my will to His.

My role is accepting that "open to life" is not a state of mind, but a state of heart.

Do I Trust God?

One of the main themes of the Great Adventure Bible Study that I am facilitating is this question: do you trust God? Over and over in salvation history, the program shows the consequences of not trusting God as dire... resulting often in death, destruction, exile, pain, and suffering.

So, it makes sense that this question keeps rattling around in my brain. Today, someone in the group mentioned that question as an answer to one of the workbook questions. I pressed on, "but what does that mean? Is there someone here who can talk more concretely about trusting God?"

The group didn't realize it, but I was actually asking for advice. I think that because they are sitting at tables and I am standing at the podium with the answer book, they've gotten the impression that I know what I am talking about. I don't. I don't actually know what it means to trust God... to really, truly, actually let go and trust that God will take care of me.

But it appears that I will be getting a crash course in trusting God this month. I mentioned last week that March is packed to the gills. A lot of that is my own darn, prideful fault. I accept that. But I really did feel that my plate was full... that adding even just one more tiny little thing (an ear infection, a stomach virus, a flat tire, a bounced check) would set me over the edge.

And then a phone call came yesterday... one that will change not just my life, but my family's life... and for a lot longer than a month. And I am scared. I know that I am not enough for this new role I am being called to take on. I know that I can't do this on my own. I'm just not "enough" to do it alone. I know that the only way this will happen is by God's grace. The only thing I can do is to trust Him... to allow Him to take the reins (for once) and to trust that He will only lead me to that which he provides the strength for me to handle.

So... I sit here tonight and ask myself... can I trust God? Am I willing to place myself in His hands and trust that He will provide?