Home Scribbles

Moving

2011-02-25T08:56:00.002-06:00

After two and a half years, and nearly 500 posts, I am moving! This little space in the internet has been a wonderful home, and I've grown and changed so much in the time I've spent here. But, it is time for something new.

I hope you will stop over and visit me at Seeking the Way. I was able to import the content from homescribbles over there, so it will seem familiar. And, as with me, it is a work in progress... more to be revealed in the coming weeks.

Thank you for walking this stretch of the journey with me. Hope to see you at Seeking the Way.

Peace,
Jen

Witness

2011-02-22T07:42:00.002-06:00

This morning, we celebrate the Feast of the Chair of St. Peter. (I know, I know. DH laughed too). It's a long title for a fairly simple, yet important, feast in the Catholic Church: the institution of the papacy. "On this rock [Peter], I build my Church."

I am a big fan of St. Peter. On so many levels, I get him. He was impulsive and passionate. He spoke without thinking. He was loyal... and fully flawed, giving in to fear when tested. He loved Jesus so deeply, he was unwilling to hear about His impending suffering. He accepted rebuke with consideration.

St. Peter fills me with hope. I see so many of my own flaws and character defects in him. I also see some of my assets in him. I have hope that my faith, though often mottled and weak, can and will continue to deepen, as his did. I hope that, as my relationship with Jesus grows more complete, so will my witness.

I am encouraged because Jesus chose Peter to lead in His immediate absence. Jesus knew Peter inside and out. He knew Peter's flaws. He knew Peter's sins. He knew all the ways Peter had and would continue to disappoint Him. And, still, He chose Peter. Knowing all that He knew, Jesus chose a flawed, passionate man on which to set the foundation for His Church.

And I sit here, thousands of miles away, thousands of years later, flawed and passionate in my own ways. In common, Peter and I have a deep love for Christ and a desire to follow Him. We share impulsive, passionate personalities and the occasional error of speaking before thinking things through.

I am encouraged that Jesus chose Peter. I believe He is choosing me, too. Not in the same way, of course, but choosing me all the same. And you. He is choosing you. Each of us, if we have had the privilege of knowing Him, is chosen to be a witness for Him.

It was hard for Peter to witness for Christ. None of the "powers that be" wanted to hear of Him. The message of Christ was countercultural and frightening to many of the day.

Two thousand years, and it's not all that different. Christ's message is still countercultural. Sometimes, in my lovely little Catholic world here in very-Catholic St. Louis, I forget that. I forget just how countercultural it is to declare "love your enemies" and "forgive others, yes all of them" in our secular-humanist, narcissistic American culture. On Sunday night, I got a reminder.

The challenge I see today, on this Feast of the Chair of St. Peter, is to ask myself how I am witnessing to the love and mercy of Jesus Christ. Am I reflecting Christ to others, by what I do and say, by how I live? I wear a cross around my neck every day, an outward sign of the faith I profess. How well do my actions profess my faith? Would someone know Christ by spending time with me?

As St. Peter proved, Jesus does not require perfection in his followers, even in those chosen to lead. He does, however, ask us to love, to love deeply, fully, and without condition, and to extend that love not just to God and our friends, but to all: the poor, the undesirable, and those whom we find to be filled with evil intention.

On your feast day, and every day, St. Peter, pray for us.

A Success I Need to Remember

2011-02-18T05:15:00.002-06:00

If you've been reading me lately, you know I've been struggling with my self-image. Last Monday night, I curled up on the couch with DH, and he laid it out for me plainly. Here are the areas where you could use some work. But, make no mistake, Jen, here are the areas where you really are "that good."

At the time, I smiled. For the first time in a while, I was actually able to hear what he was saying. I really could hear the good and not just the bad.

But, last night, I got to see what DH was saying on Monday night. And I got to see it on the face of my former Pastor.

Last night, I did a presentation on the new Roman Missal for my Pastor's new liturgy committee. When he hired me to do this work for him, he told me he believed in me. When we met to discuss the details of the project in early January, and I handed him a multi-page proposal, he said he was impressed, but not surprised.

Last night, I surprised him. I didn't realize it at the time. I just showed up early to set up my laptop and projector, made small talk with the committee members as they arrived, and then presented the information to the group. I just answered their questions and concerns, sharing my thoughts and understanding of the material. I commiserated. I explained. I encouraged. In other words, I did what I was contracted to do. And, when I was done, I sat down and listened to the remaining items on the meeting agenda, generally pleased with how the presentation had gone.

After the meeting, Pastor offered to walk me out to the car. On the way, he gushed. (And, let me be clear, Pastor is not a gusher). He told me he was impressed. He was pleased. He knew I would do a fine job, but I had gone way beyond his expectations. I had surprised him.

We stood in the parking lot outside the church, and I met his eyes. I smiled; I said, "I impressed you." He returned the smile. "You did. I knew you would be good. I just didn't know you'd be that good." DH's words.

Of course, it was easy for me to be that good; I was talking about my faith, and I am passionate about my faith. Still, after the rough few months my self-image has had, after all the frustrations and self-recriminations I have suffered, it does feel good to have knocked that one out of the park.

It's been a long time since I've had a "professional" life to speak of, and certainly since I've considered myself to be a "professional." Don't get me wrong. I love my life. I love being home with my kids, and consider every day to be a real blessing. But, it also feels really great to have the chance to exercise my mental and professional muscles again.

As I continue to come to terms with those parts of me I don't like and want to change, it is nice to have the opportunity to recognize some of the talents, abilities, and assets I do have. Seeing the good as well as the bad is helping me paint a more whole picture of the woman in the mirror.

I'm getting there.... one day at a time.

Small Things - Big Blessings

2011-02-17T07:13:00.003-06:00

In the midst of this crazy week, and while fighting a pretty wicked cold, I am noticing some of the small ways God is making Himself known to me.

homemade gifts and notes of love from those who live in the deepest parts of my heart

gentle, compassionate acceptance and encouragement in spiritual direction

gathering of homeschool friends and valentine boxes overflowing

filling two large bags at the teacher recycling store in exchange for one paper coupon

a cup of tea and an hour with a dear friend

birthday smiles on a princess' face

homemade cinnamon rolls

warm, spring-like days (no coats necessary!)

time with a new friend

a reliable babysitter

an hour of peace and quiet this morning, for prayer, thanksgiving, and preparation for another busy day

this life... in all its challenging, crazy, and demanding ways, this life is the greatest gift of all

i thank you God for most this amazing day

- e.e. cummings

Words

2011-02-12T10:00:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking a lot about words these days, about what we say, why we say it, and the impact we can have by combining a particular set of consonants and vowels in a particular way.

I am knee-deep in the preparation for a Lent-full of programming on the new translation of the mass. Words. Lex orandi lex credendi. The words we pray are the words we believe.

It's fascinating, in an anthropological sort of way, that one can get so attached to a particular arrangement of vowels and consonants. And yet, we do.

I think of the words I love to hear: I love you. Mom. Honey, I'm home. My love. And I think about the words I love but need to give up starting November 27: And also with you. I am not worthy to receive you.

What may simply be interesting from an outside-looking-in, anthropological way is a very different experience from the inside-out. Words matter. They matter precisely because of the ideas, the concepts, and the emotions they express.

I think of the very first time I told DH that I loved him. I can picture exactly where we were, exactly how he looked, what the lighting was at that time of the day. I remember the words he used when he asked me to marry him. And both times I stood before God to promise my life to DH, those words, I remember.

But, it's not just the intentionally life-changing words that matter. Even the little words make a difference. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse, but make a difference, they do.

As someone who talks quickly, who talks loud, and who talks a lot, I need to pay more attention to my words. I need to remember the importance and power they have. We can use words to build up or to tear down. We can use words to draw closer or to draw dividing lines.

God used His Word to reconcile us, to bring us back into one-ness with Him.

How am I using my words?

A Clearer View

2011-02-11T08:45:00.004-06:00

One of the more interesting, challenging, and frustrating parts of this journey through the 12 steps is the realization that this mirror I've been looking in is just not "right."

First, I had to want to look in the mirror. That took a while. And some prayer. Lots of waltzing through steps 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3.

Then, I had to spend some time clearing it off. It was covered over with fog, dirt, and smudges. It took more time. It took some prayer, some reflection, some guided journaling to begin the process of cleaning off the smudges and seeing the image beneath. Steps 4 and 5.

Where I am sitting now, hovering here in steps 6 & 7, I am noticing that the mirror, while cleaner and easier to see, doesn't offer an exact reflection. The image is distorted. Perhaps, not as dramatically as a fun-house mirror, but certainly, I am not getting an accurate reflection.

The cleaning and clearing process of steps 4 and 5 brought forth a much deeper understanding of the person I was, the coping mechanisms I internalized until they became personality features, and the habits and patterns I've adopted in my adulthood. I spent time on both the bad and the good. And, at the end of it all, I thought I had a better picture of who I really am.

Except, I couldn't seem to rectify the disparate images. Which "Jen" am I? I asked, I begged, in prayer, of my sponsor, of my most trusted friends.

This morning, as I sat in my bedroom and prayed, I thought about all the ways in the past week I've heard the same message: that I am capable, reliable, strong, and enthusiastic. My mind immediately countered. No, I'm not. I can't do anything right. I always leave projects unfinished. I remembered telling my SD that exact thing two years ago, and watching him respond in surprise. "Really?" he'd asked. "I've never noticed that about you." My internal response at that time: well, you don't really know me, then.

But, this morning, I didn't let the inner voice have the last word. Maybe I've cleared just enough off the mirror to see that there are plenty of capable, reliable, strong, and enthusiastic parts in that image. Maybe, I am learning to surrender more to God. Whatever the reason, this morning, when I heard the negative inner voice, I responded by asking God to help me know which is correct. Who am I... really?

As I prayed, I remembered hearing "Can't you do anything right?" screamed at me in childhood, in moments I can recognize now as ones of deep pain and frustration. It was never intended to become part of who I am. It was never intended to shape my self-definition or to motivate me to try to do everything right. But, it did. This morning, I saw the genesis of my perfectionism, my self-loathing, and the ridiculously high standards I set for me and only me.

And with that revelation, I pray that the reflection will continue to sharpen, that I might someday see, clearly and accurately, all that I am, and that I might view her with a compassionate, gentle, and loving heart.

Forgiveness

2011-02-08T20:15:00.001-06:00

A few years ago, I wrote about love being an "action verb." It was a theme I was working through in the winter of 2009. I needed to separate "love" from the Valentine's Day hearts-chocolates-and-mushy-card definition to love as it is lived day in and day out in the acts of parenting, marriage and community. In the end, I concluded that love was not an emotion, despite the rhetoric of the month of February. Love was an action. Often, the most loving acts weren't based on feelings at all. (I mean, really, who actually "feels like" getting up at 3 o'clock in the morning to feed a small child again!)

This winter, I am noticing the same connection with forgiveness. As I work through steps 4 and 5, I am seeing, over and over, the people from whom I need to seek forgiveness and the people whom I need to forgive.

And, I am seeing that, often, I am not "feeling" the forgiveness that is needed (either the giving or the asking).

And, maybe, that's ok. For now, at least. Just as I continue to do loving acts whether I "feel like it" or not, I think I need to do the same with forgiving. I need to ask for it. I need to offer it. I need to act and trust that the feelings I'd like to have will follow the actions.

And, as with loving, I need to start with myself.

The Sun Returns

2011-02-02T09:52:00.003-06:00

I am sitting here in our school room, watching the sun glistening on the smooth, white coating in our backyard. It's an illusion, really. It looks so peaceful and pleasant... but it's not. The white is actually 1/4 inch of ice, covered with 3 inches of sleet, now hardened solid, and a shimmer of snow coating to smooth it out. It is slippery!

BigBro and I spent a hour getting the cars cleared off, slipping and sliding our way around each vehicle, chipping away a bit here and there, until we couldn't stand the cold a second longer and hurried inside. In the end, the cars are driveable, though the roads still aren't. That's ok. We can handle one more day. The kids and I are camped out in the school room (praise God for the space heater), DH is set up at the dining table, and we've been fairly successful getting school and work done for the past few days. It's been fun, focusing on just the five of us, and not all of the pulls of the outside world, for a few days anyway.

So, we survived the "major storm" of 2011. The sun has returned, even while it's not actually bringing any warmth. This morning, that silly groundhog did not see his shadow, so we are supposed to have an early spring. I doubt that. But, spring will arrive... sooner or later... of that I am certain.

I'm feeling the same way internally, too. I survived the "major storm" of step 4. It's been a rough few weeks, cooped up with my own demons and emotions. But, today, the sun is shining again. I've still got a lot of work to do. I can't let myself get fooled by the serene outer image... it is still slippery and treacherous. But, for now, I am basking in the sun, enjoying the serenity of the moment, the tiny glimpse of the long-term serenity I am seeking.

Why I Married My Husband

2011-01-31T19:57:00.002-06:00

So, here I am, stuck in the house with three over-active kids because of an ice storm (and impending snow/sleet storm). I'm angsty and working through all sorts of emotional demons. And my husband sends BigBro in to the school room, where I am buried in the computer screen, to ask me to help judge Dance Idol.

I agree, mostly out of curiosity than actual desire to leave my angsty self behind.

He has the tv turned to the 80s rock channel, and the kids are taking turns dancing and lip synching to the songs. We have to rate them on creativity, dance moves, and rhythm. It was hysterical. I was laughing so hard, my side ached.

Surprisingly (or not!), each of the kids ended up winning a round.

Then we all got into it, dancing to "Promises, Promises" altogether.

Finally, a slow song came on, DH sent the kids up to get ready for bed, while he moved me around the dance floor.

And, that, my friends, is why I married him.

What is Real?

2011-01-30T05:15:00.005-06:00

When I was a kid, one of my favorite books was The Velveteen Rabbit. In it, the Skin Horse explains "real" to the little stuffed bunny in the nursery. "Real isn't how you are made. It's a thing that happens to you."

One of the areas I've been struggling with in the past few weeks is my authenticity. Digging deep into the recesses of my memories and experiences, I've unearthed this frightened little girl who is just crying out to be loved, completely loved and accepted, for just who she is. Not for what she does. Not for the promise someone sees in her. Not because she looks a certain way, acts a certain way, dresses a certain way. Just for being herself.

As I look at the layers and layers this girl has wrapped over the fear and hurt, I found myself critical of her. Look at all the falseness. Look at all the pretension. Look at all the lies she wrapped herself in. This person standing here now isn't real at all. She's just layers upon layers of dishonesty, covering up a scared, lonely child.

Wow. No wonder there have been a lot of tears this week. That's a pretty bleak self-image.

But, maybe I've been thinking about this the wrong way.

Perhaps it doesn't matter whether the reason for a particular layer was fear, hurt, and anxiety, or whether it was joy, service, and love. Perhaps it's just enough that I acted, no matter the motivation. Perhaps it's ok that the change of heart followed my actions rather than my heart urging the action.

Here's an example of what I mean. A little over 2 years ago, BigBro and I started volunteering at the Food Pantry. Immediately, I was uncomfortable. I mean, really uncomfortable. I didn't want to be there. Oh, I cared about the poor. I was willing to collect food for the pantry, and write a check, and even to help with a fundraiser. I wanted to raise children who cared about the poor. But, I didn't actually want to spend time with the poor.

So, when BigBro pressured me into volunteering, I was secretly hoping we would be turned down. We were welcomed, instead. He was excited and positive every time our shift came around. I was nervous and uncomfortable. For nearly a year, I went to that pantry every single month with a feeling of dread in my stomach. I really didn't enjoy it. I was doing it only because I thought teaching my son Christian values was more important than feeling comfortable.

For the first year, I volunteered as a shopper assistant, which meant that I accompanied a client around the pantry, explained the limits they were welcome to have in each food category, and helped them fill their cart. It meant making small talk with people who were occasionally unfriendly, sad, hostile, smelly, and dirty. It meant recognizing need right in front of me. It meant swallowing my own discomfort and trying to make each person feel welcomed and cared-for, for even just a few minutes in their week.

I hated it.

After a year, the pantry management asked me to begin training to do interviews. This meant that, instead of accompanying clients through the pantry, I would sit down with them and delve into their personal lives. I wasn't really sure I wanted to do this, but it meant that I would have less contact with the clients, seeing just a few per shift versus the 8-10 I normally saw, so I agreed.

Not exactly the motivations of Mother Teresa, huh?

Doing interviews was worse than being a shopper assistant. Way worse. As an assistant, I didn't necessarily get to know the clients. Often, we made small talk about the weather or their kids' ages. In the interviews, I got to hear their real stories. The lost jobs. The foreclosure notices. The illnesses. Suddenly, poor didn't just have a face, it had a name and a story.

I started coming home from there in tears, carrying their pain with me.

I didn't like the way the person who was training me treated the clients. She was rude, harsh, unfriendly. I was embarrassed to be sitting next to her, and often tried to make up for her rude behavior by being extra-nice. As soon as I'd been "trained" enough, it was my turn to sit behind the desk. The first thing I did was smile, shake hands with the client, and introduce myself. (Kinda basic, huh? But the other woman never did it).

And as time went by, as I got to know our clients as individuals, rather than a class of people, I stopped dreading my pantry shifts. I got more involved in the back-end running of the pantry. I started stopping by during other shifts to say hello or check in and see if they needed anything from me.

This past Thursday, we were short several volunteers and had a double-load because snow the week before had closed the pantry. We saw twice as many clients as we usually do. I had to do double-duty, helping out as both a shopper assistant and conducting interviews.

And I was loving every minute of it.

I was smiling, friendly, and outgoing. I shook hands, introduced myself, and cracked jokes with every client. I even got a laugh from the sullen teenager who always shops for her non-English-speaking parents.

But, here's the amazing part: I really loved what I was doing. I loved being a part of the pantry. I loved being with our clients. I loved that we were able to meet the extra need, despite being short-staffed and over-crowded. I didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable at all. My desire to be a part of this pantry, to serve these clients, and to spend my Thursday night there was real.

So, getting back to my authenticity struggle. I spent much of this week looking at my life with the wrong set of glasses, I think. I saw my food pantry experience as an example of dishonesty because I didn't want to be there, but pretended that I did. Whenever I remembered acting in a way opposite to how I felt, I labeled it "dishonest" or "inauthentic." Maybe that's not a fair characterization.

"Real isn't how you are made. It's a thing that happens to you." I may not have been "made" self-confident, strong, and self-loving. Perhaps my childhood experiences help make me awkward, self-doubting, and scared. But, that's not how I've let myself be defined throughout my adulthood. I've "faked it" until I could do it for real. In the pantry, in college, and throughout my adult life, I can name numerous times when I "acted as if" I felt what I was supposed to be feeling. Most of the time, the feelings I wanted to have followed, in their own way and time.

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But, these things don't matter at all because once you are Real, you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand. Once you are Real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

"The rabbit sighed. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him."

Me, too, little rabbit. Me, too.

Wrestling with Alligators

2011-01-29T05:15:00.001-06:00

The first question that comes to mind when I consider wrestling alligators is "why?" Why on earth would anyone try to wrestle something as big, as strong, as deadly, and with as many large, sharp teeth as an alligator?

The answer, of course, is, you don't actually want to wrestle the alligator. You have no other choice.

Last fall, in Orlando, we fed alligators. We stood on a deck about 10 feet above the gators and lowered fishing poles with hot dog pieces down to the waiting reptiles. Once or twice, a gator got a hold of one of the poles and clamped down. BigBro tried to pull back against the gator and ended up being thrown back against the building 6 feet away, the strength of the gator so outmatched him.

I think of this today because it sums up how I am feeling at the end of this very emotionally raw and revealing week. These memories, revelations, and inventory items bite with the sharp sting of a gator's incisors. Truthfully, I just want to give up and be done with it already.

The problem? I seem to have fallen into the alligator pit. The only way out is through the gators. Giving in to them is just not an option.

So, I press on. I fight. I wrestle. I bandage my wounds and focus on the next round.

Skilled alligator wrestlers know the tricks: stay calm and you will maintain control. Don't let the little nicks get to you. Focus on the goal.

Good advice, whether the alligators are physical or emotional.

Surrender

2011-01-28T09:07:00.003-06:00

A few weeks ago, I read this in one of my recovery books: "I become teachable when I surrender." A few days later, someone at the meeting said the same thing: "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear."

Surrender is hard for me. I like to be in control. I like to be the decision-maker. I like to know exactly what is going to happen when and where. Surrender is definitely not a natural state for me.

But, the more I surrender, my will to God's, my pride in confession, my stubbornness for flexibility, the greater the peace I seem to find.

When I am willing to surrender, to be humbled, to humble myself, it is then that I become teachable.

Finding Jesus

2011-01-27T07:42:00.003-06:00

One of the more interesting things I'm noticing as I pray with my Step 4 Inventory is all that is being revealed to me in the process. I am seeing myself more clearly, almost as though I'd been looking at a mirror smudged and fogged-over for years, and I've finally taken a few swipes with a cloth and some Windex. There are still some smudges there. Still some more spraying and wiping to do. But, already, the view is much clearer.

This morning, I awoke about 30 minutes before the alarm. In the quiet stillness of early morning, I began to pray, and quickly saw a different view of myself. I tried to make some mental notes. There are things that need to be added to my list, things that need to be brought to God and others for forgiveness. But this view was not all bad. In fact, there were some beautiful features that I had never noticed before. There is much goodness and light inside me; I cannot allow the process of entering the darkness to keep me from seeing the light.

Later, after mass, I checked my emails and read the posts waiting in my blog reader. Jeff from "Journey in Faith" has been doing a wonderful series on healing in response to a question I posted a week or so ago. I highly recommend reading it. But, this morning, he included a small suggestion which struck a real chord with me. He encourages us, when listening to someone talk about a painful experience, to look for Jesus' presence in the experience.

For all my praying, I had never considered looking at my inventory with an eye for Jesus' presence, but that is exactly where I believe I need to go with it next.

God is good, and His messages abound, if we only take the time to open ourselves to hear (or read) them.

Broken Open

2011-01-26T07:41:00.003-06:00

Two weeks ago, I spoke at my ACA meeting, breaking both my silence and the protective covering I'd kept neatly in place over my heart for the past 38 years in one draining evening. The next morning, I tried to capture the rawness of the experience in words. I couldn't talk about it with anyone. My SD got a quick response as I ducked out the door after morning mass: "The physicality of the emotional pain keeps surprising me." My sponsor/friend got "I can't talk. Just read my blog." And that was about the extent of the discussion I've been able to give to the experience.

But, through it all, I kept praying for the strength to allow myself to work through the pain, and not to mask it again. When the emotional pain presented itself as an actual, physical ache, I prayed for strength. When the busyness of life brought me a calming numbness, I prayed for the ache to return, for the grace and strength not to hide in the dailiness of life, but to make the time to deal with this. Now. Not later.

Last week, I heard a surprising answer in prayer. I heard the nudge that it was time to consider moving on to step 4: making a searching and fearless moral inventory of my life. The "dreaded" step 4, which I had not given much attention since I'd started back with the 12 steps in the beginning of November. The same step 4 that I'd so cavalierly passed off as "no big deal" to some other people at the ACA meeting weeks earlier. I'm a Catholic, I told them. I do an examination of conscience and go to confession on a regular basis. It's an important part of my faith life. I'm not scared of step 4.

Yeah, right. I was so terrified of a "real" step 4 that I couldn't even think about reading ahead in any of my recovery books.

So, the response in prayer surprised me. I took out my journal, made a few notes, and went to sleep. When I woke the next morning, I felt a calm about step 4, a readiness. I'd been praying to use the brokenness from my talk for some growth. This seemed the best way to do that.

I downloaded a 20 page inventory, filled with more than 200 questions from my childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. The instructions said to write, write, write. Answer every single question, even if the only answer is "this doesn't apply to me." I filled more than 75 pages of notebook paper. I cried. I prayed. A lot of both, actually.

Yesterday, I sat down with the pages. I read through it all, and organized it into themes, ideas, and experiences. It's pretty incredible, actually. Who I am: the good, the bad, and the horrendous, all on a stack of notebook paper, tucked into a binder, hidden in my bedroom.

The final question in the inventory is this one: "Am I ready to forgive myself?" I answered that one with a prayer, because I'm not yet ready to take that step, but I know the One who can lead me to readiness.

Step 5 is looming above me: admitted to God, myself and another human being the exact nature of my wrongs. I thought step 4 was scary. Step 5 is a nightmare. I have a wonderful confessor who has already heard a significant percentage of my inventory and who has a lot of positive experience with the 12 steps. And, still, it terrifies me.

So, for now, I am going to pray with my list. I'm going to hold it in my hands -- a physical representation of all the emotional/mental/spiritual pain -- and ask God to show me how to forgive that woman, how to feel compassion for her, how to love her the way He does.

Be At Peace

2011-01-24T07:12:00.002-06:00

Today, the feast of St. Francis de Sales, I share a prayer of his entitled, "Be at Peace:"

Do not look forward in fear to the changes in life;

rather, look to them with full hope that as they arise,

God, Whose very own you are,

will lead you safely through all things;

and when you cannot stand it,God will carry you in His arms.

Do not fear what may happen tomorrow;

the same understanding Father who cares for

you today will take care of you then and every day.
He will either shield you from suffering

or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.

Be at peace, and put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginations.

Happy Feast Day. St. Francis de Sales, pray for us.

Anything But "Ordinary Time"

2011-01-15T12:31:00.003-06:00

I've got several unfinished posts from earlier this week, trying to get my thoughts organized around this time of the year. This morning, I gave up. I kept hoping to tie my thoughts into our return to the liturgical season of "Ordinary Time," but it's just not happening.

Right now, my house may appear to be "ordinary," but my life is not ordinary in the least.

I'm juggling four big projects, in addition to my usual duties as mom, wife, teacher, housekeeper.

First, the recovery stuff. This week was a good one for breaking through in that area. I need to make quiet time for prayer, journaling, and meditating a regular part of my week, so that I can continue to see improvement.

Second, I am doing some development work for the food pantry where BigBro and I volunteer every month. I've promised them a commitment of 2 hours each week, and even have the time set aside: piano lessons. I am here in the house, anyway. The kids are otherwise occupied. Seems like a good time to designate for pantry work.

This week, I had a good start. I emailed a contact at the local paper, hoping for some free publicity in the form of an article. He went way beyond. He agreed to the article. Then, he set up a February food drive in his office to benefit our pantry. The next day, he called to offer me a sizable donation from another community organization in which he serves. He dropped off the check on Friday afternoon, and I had the absolute delight of delivering it to the pantry this morning. (With the caveat not to expect such magic every single week, of course!)

Third, I am running another women's retreat at Vision of Peace in the end of March. I am really excited about this retreat. I've been meditating, writing, and praying about the topic for over a year now. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out in a retreat format. And, I'm incorporating a lot more music, guided meditations, and quiet prayer sequences into the organized sessions. This will be my third retreat at Vision of Peace... each one teaches me so much. I can't wait to see what I learn from this one.

And, the buzz on the retreat is exciting, too! After only a week of advertising it, there are only 2 spaces left. I have some returning retreatants and some new retreatants, an eclectic mix of women that should enhance the whole retreat weekend for everyone!

Finally, I have committed to do some contract work for my former pastor in his new parish. We met yesterday to lay out a plan that will keep me busy through all of 2011. I am really excited about this. I will be writing, designing and giving presentations, offering half-days of reflection, and coordinating voluteers and other resources. It is an incredible opportunity to stretch myself personally and professionally.

So, here I am, at the end of the first week in Ordinary Time, feeling anything but. I am excited, energized, challenged, and looking at a large pile of commitments. I was awake in the middle of the night, mind racing with possibilities. All is good. Some is harder than others, some more work, some more stress, but all is good.

I can't think of a better place to start Ordinary Time.

Harden Not Your Heart

2011-01-13T07:21:00.002-06:00

Last night, I was the speaker at my ACA meeting. I really struggled with what to say. I signed up to speak several weeks ago, because I was feeling so disconnected and lost within the group. I thought that if I spoke up a bit more, I might feel "known" and a part of the group.

On Monday night, in spiritual direction, I talked about the ideas I'd jotted down for my talk. My SD challenged me to go deeper, not to hide behind niceties, but to be "rigorously" honest in all that I say. I went home and re-wrote my talk.

The next day, I shared it with a close friend. She asked some good questions and made some astute observations. I edited again.

Yesterday, I tried to pretend it wasn't Wednesday. All day, I found other things to occupy my hands and my mind so that I wasn't thinking about the talk. After dinner, DH took the kids to basketball practice. I took a shower, prayed for a while, and left for the meeting earlier than usual. I was very nervous.

Before the meeting, I talked privately with the woman who was chairing the meeting for me. She told me to throw out my notes and just let God speak through me. Not what I needed to hear 5 minutes before speaking. I can do public speaking. I do it fairly often, and actually enjoy it, but I like to feel prepared. And, usually, my public speaking opportunities don't find me baring my soul to near-strangers. Throw out my notes? How 'bout we ramp up that nervous stomach I'd been fighting all day?

To my surprise, I ended up doing just that. I stuck, more or less, with the themes of my written talk, but I spoke from my heart. I shared my hurt, my pain, and especially my anger. I cried. I pray I didn't scare the two new people at the meeting. And, the whole thing was over in about 15 minutes.

Then, the hard part started. After the speaker, there's about 45 minutes of "open sharing" when people can say whatever is on their mind. They usually do just that, perhaps making a comment or two on the talk, but mostly just sharing what they need to share that week. I had fully expected that, once my talk was done, I'd be out of the "hot seat" and able to just sit back and be quiet for the rest of the meeting. I'd earned that, at least, right?

Apparently I had not. Last night was an exception. The sharing time was solely focused on me. All but 2 people in the room spoke up, directly to me, and responded to what I had said. They were welcoming, encouraging, thanked me for being so brave and honest, shared some similarity or piece of hope with me. It was hard. It was humbling. I was touched by the kindness and love, and simultaneously ached with the pain of being ripped open. I kept looking at the clock, begging the minute hand to move faster, so I could slip back into relative anonymity.

When the meeting finally ended, I spent 30 minutes being enveloped by hugs and supportive words, one person after another. It was wonderful. And difficult. I was feeling completely broken-open. I was drained. I wanted to go home, hug DH, and go to sleep, but everyone wanted to talk with me.

Finally, I bundled up and headed out to the car. Once I was alone, I took a long, deep breath. As I let it out, I became aware of this ache in my chest -- a deep, physical pain. I took another deep breath. Tears spilled onto my cheeks, and I let myself rest in the pain. I imagined my heart encased in a hard plastic, which I had cracked open with public honesty. Oh, did it hurt.

The physical pain surprises me. This morning, I woke with the ache. I woke into prayer, begging God to give me the strength to work through this pain, and not give in to the desire to mend the plastic covering and bury the feelings once again. I bundled up and went to mass.

The first reading, from Hebrews: "Harden not your hearts." The psalm: "Harden not your hearts." The homily: ways we can keep our hearts soft and open to the will of God.

I so rarely get such clear direction from God. I can't imagine His will in this matter could be more plain if He'd shown up as a burning bush with two stone tablets.

And, it begs the question, can I do it? Can I follow His will in this, harden not my heart, and work through the pain instead of repressing it? Or will fear get in the way?

Incline my heart according to your will, o Lord.

Breathe

2011-01-10T08:51:00.005-06:00

“The letters of the name of God in Hebrew… are infrequently pronounced Yahweh. But in truth they are inutterable….

This word {YHWY} is the sound of breathing.

The holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator, is the sound of your own breathing. That these letters are unpronounceable is no accident. Just as it is no accident that they are also the root letters of the Hebrew verb ‘to be’… God’s name is name of Being itself.”

~Rabbi Lawrence Kushner

This morning, cold, dreary, wintry and gray, the first morning of Ordinary Time, take a moment and breathe. Become aware of your breath.

Become aware of His Presence with you.

The holiest name in the world is the sound of your own breathing.

Breathe aware = prayer.

Ultrasounds and God

2011-01-06T07:20:00.005-06:00

A few months ago, I started a list in my journal, a place where I recorded "mystical moments." I wanted a record of those glimpses I've had of God in my life: answered prayers, physical connections, intense experiences surrounding the Sacraments. I needed something concrete I could turn to when I wasn't feeling His Presence, when it seemed my prayers were going unanswered, when I felt alone.

Once I got started, the list filled quickly. Lately, I've been noticing that God uses so many different ways to reach out to me. Often, I will hear an answer to a prayer in in a song lyric, a scripture passage, a word from a friend, or even a blog post.

I need my list because I am weak. Too often, I give in to the temptation to doubt that God really does care for me and my needs. Too often, I fail to give over my anxieties to him. I forget that I need to "let go and let God" and instead insist on clinging to the false hope that I am in control.

Sometimes, my worldly intellect will tell me it is foolish to believe in this "God" I cannot see, cannot hear, and can only occasionally glimpse. My heart always counters with, "but God exists... I know it even if I can't see Him or hear Him. I know."

Yesterday, I came across the most beautiful explanation of the knowing I have in my heart. I had never considered God in this way, and now I can't think of any better explanation. Jeff, at Journey in Faith, is awaiting the birth of his third child next summer. He and his wife cannot see this child growing within her. They cannot hear his voice. They can only feel his movements occasionally. But, they know that he is in there.

Recently, they got to see some glimpses of their son through an ultrasound. Jeff writes: "I saw a foot. I saw a hand. A couple times, briefly, I saw his face. The face! It was like he was looking right at us. It felt that way. Even though he cannot see us at all. For a moment, gazing at the screen, if felt like we were looking right at each other."

Then he makes the connection I needed to read:

"I trust there is a God who is here with us. Like this baby, right now I cannot see God. I cannot hear God. I catch glimpses of God. Glimpses which are distorted and incomplete. My own imagination supplies details which are inaccurate. Like this baby, some day I will see Him face to face. Like this baby, the actual encounter will be far superior to the blurry photo on an ultrasound screen. Until that face to face moment, I wait. I prepare. I do the things necessary to get ready for the day. I long to see the baby. I long to see God. The hunger is love. Love is the goal and final destination. I hope. I pray. I wait, anxiously."

I, too, have looked at ultrasound images of three different children. I have hung those blurry pictures on my computer monitor and the refrigerator. I've gazed for hours at the grainy reminders of the life growing within me. I've wondered what fingers and toes will look like, whose nose will appear, what color eyes will be. And, all three times, the experience of holding my child, of caressing tiny fingernails, of kissing closed eyes and touching downy hair was so much more than I had imagined it would be during those long months of belly-rubbing and dreaming.

And so, with God. I cling to my list, my "ultrasound photos," if you will. It gives me a blurred image of a Creator so loving and compassionate as to enter into our existence, to become one with us. I read scripture. I pray. I do what I can to remain open and trusting, welcoming Him into my little life.

Until that day when I am birthed into His loving arms.

Without Counting the Cost

2011-01-03T05:15:00.002-06:00

During Advent this year, I kept feeling the call to give without counting the cost. I felt this in all sorts of ways: the obvious (charitable giving) and the less obvious (giving emotionally to those from whom I expect no real response). On more than one occasion, I remarked to DH that I was feeling a real pull -- a calling, even -- to give of myself, more and deeper, expecting nothing in return, surrendering my ego and my will.

Advent was so busy, and Christmas even more so, that I never had the time to sit quietly with this call, to ponder it, to pray with it and through it. I just tried my best to honor it.

And so, here I am, at the beginning of another calendar year. 2011. DH explained New Year's Resolutions to the kids, encouraged them to make some, and listed off his own. He turned to me. "I haven't decided, yet," I answered.

Yesterday morning, after mass, I was handling a few last-minute details for LilBro's birthday party. Amidst the running around, I heard the call again. "Give, without counting the cost." I know that this wasn't some end-of-the-year, write-the-check-for-the-tax-refund type of calling. There is something more here, something I need to spend some time ferreting out, delving into. God is speaking. I need to pay heed.

So, instead of a list of resolutions for this new year, I am embracing a sentence. I don't know where or how this will play out, or what impact this choice will have on my year. I hope to blog about it, as I go along.

But, for now, at the beginning of January, I will take a page from the Blessed Mother. I will ponder this thing in my heart.

Give, without counting the cost.

2010 in Review

2010-12-29T10:58:00.005-06:00

Last night, DH and I went out to celebrate "New Year's." We've started going out on the 30th instead of the 31st because it's easier to get a sitter, the restaurants have less expensive (and better!) food choices, and it's nowhere near as crowded. It works for us. Last night, over hummus and saganaki, we had our annual "where were we a year ago" conversation.

Mostly, we remarked at how quickly 2010 had gone. In so many ways, this year didn't stand out as much as blur by. Here are some highlights and some lessons learned along the way.

Ordinary Time: In January, I organized an adult event at my parish, "Spirituality on Tap." The speaker talked about the importance of noticing the blessings in the ordinary living of life. Most of 2010 consisted of Ordinary Time: art class, spelling bees, soccer/baseball/t-ball/basketball practices, homeschool activities, playdates, date nights. Only a few "big" events stand out from our year. It is in all of these little, ordinary moments where we live, love, grow and become the people God intends us to be.

Extraordinary Moments: We had some really special moments this year, too! BigBro celebrated his First Holy Communion in May. We traveled to North Carolina to be with my Dad on his 70th birthday (and then I flew to New Jersey and back in one crazy day, to be part of the party my sisters threw a week later). We had the vacation of a lifetime in early September: two weeks in Orlando.

Flexibility: For 9 1/2 years, DH and I planned a family trip to Hawaii to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. We saved, squirreling aside money every single year, talking and dreaming about this trip. In January 2010, we realized that several unexpected expenses in late 2009 made this dream unlikely. We mourned the loss of the dream for about 15 minutes, and then set about planning a different celebratory trip. We ended up spending 2 weeks in Orlando with my parents and my cousin. We didn't get the romantic adventure we'd hoped for. Instead, we got to see Princess' eyes light up as she met Cinderella. We got to see LilBro face-to-face with "Shampu" (the killer whales at Sea World). We got to drink butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, walk through Hogwarts castle, and ride into the Harry Potter movies. And, on September 16, as we clicked our margarita glasses in celebration, all that really mattered to me was that we were together.

Faith: This year had its trying moments, too. October was one of the tougher months for me. DH was recovering from a knee procedure which made him nearly lame for several weeks. And, just as he started to recover, he left us for 2.5 weeks of non-stop travel. My dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer. My sisters had health struggles, diagnoses, treatments. Through it all, I learned to lean even more on my God, who is all good and loving.

Good Changes: In February, we made the decision to sell the above-ground pool in our backyard and join the local swim club down the street. We waited until the weather thawed, put an ad on Craigslist, and a week later had a large round mud-pile where there was once a pool. The grass seed took hold quickly. DH and a friend turned the old deck into a fort for the kids. I wrote a check to the swim club. We waited. In late May, we wandered over there after church, still dressed in our Sunday best. As soon as we stepped inside the wooden screen door, DH smiled. He took a deep breath and declared that he was back in 1967, at his cousin's pool club. We spent nearly every single day this past summer at that club. The kids all learned to swim... independently and well. BigBro and Princess mastered diving off the board. We got to know new friends and deepened old friendships. It was, without a doubt, the best decision DH and I have made for our family in an entertainment realm. I sit here today, looking out at the gray skies and wet ground, and cannot wait until we are back there again... sitting poolside, slurping ice pops, jumping cannonballs, and soaking up another fun summer at the club.

Personal Growth: This year, I continued to struggle to find the balance I need in my life. That struggle, and the subsequent prayer, led me to attend a retreat in April (and to schedule a retreat at the same place for October 2011). I made quite a few trips to Vision of Peace, and on more than one occasion, got to stay for 2 nights... enough time to feel ready to come back to the chaos. I took a blogging break for the month of July and found a better balance in my online life as a result. I kept on running, even when a foot injury caused me to lose some training time. I started working the 12 steps and attending al-anon meetings. I took 3 classes and a workshop toward ministry certification, and committed to some pastoral work in 2011.

*****

Twenty years ago, in June 1990, I graduated from high school. That August, I left my parents' home, moved into a dorm room in Delaware, and started this journey into adulthood. It continues to surprise me, this journey we call "life."

I used to think I was a mound of clay, to be formed into some sort of vessel... useful and beautiful. Today, I think I am, instead, a block of stone, slowly chipping away here and there, sometimes large chunks, sometimes small bits and pieces. I am still creating something beautiful, but not quickly and all-at-once as on a potter's wheel. Instead, I am being revealed, little-by-little, over time. Sometimes my hand slips and there is a big gash. I am learning to smooth those rough edges and incorporate the gashes of life into the changed design.

I don't know what the final sculpture will look like, but I am sure 2011 will reveal some more.

What to Expect from the Unexpected

2010-12-23T07:15:00.007-06:00

This week, my thoughts (and our Gospel readings) have been filled with Elizabeth and Mary. On Tuesday afternoon, at Vision of Peace, I had the immense pleasure of celebrating mass with Fr. Bob, truly one of the most Spirit-filled persons I have ever met. He challenged me, during his homily, to dig deeper, to ponder those months Mary and Elizabeth spent together, to consider the little conversations they shared, both expecting the unexpected.

Elizabeth and Zechariah were older, settled in their lives. They had likely made peace, long ago, with the fact that they were childless. I can imagine that they had their routines in place. Their life was a tidy one, simple and neat, ordinary and predictable.

I am always surprised at how harshly the angel treats Zechariah's questions. Gabriel is so much more understanding when Mary questions him. But, I wasn't there, and maybe there was a tone in his voice, or a tilt to his head, that displayed disbelief rather than wonder and confusion.

I try to imagine Elizabeth's response. Her husband is suddenly both deaf and mute. We know he can write, so I'm sure he must have written the whole story for her. I'm certain she wants to believe him, but it all seems so strange. How can I bear a child at this late age? How will I raise this child? What if we don't live long enough to see the child to adulthood? Do I have the energy and stamina to chase a toddler at this stage in the game?

I wonder if Elizabeth ever thought, especially after Mary shared her story of Gabriel's asking for her cooperation, "why didn't I get a choice?"

I imagine Mary and Elizabeth, sitting on the front steps of Elizabeth's house, late afternoon, burgeoning bellies. I hear their talk: the aches and pains of late pregnancy, Mary's long journey back to Nazareth, what to prepare for dinner that night. And, through it all, a wonder and a trust in this God who has given these two women unexpected pregnancies. What a comfort they must have been to each other! Both of them together, surprised by the power of God and the miracle of the lives growing within them.

I wonder what Elizabeth felt as she held her tiny newborn son, this unexpected child of her older years. Was she overwhelmed with fear and doubt? How could she be enough, do enough, raise this child to be who God intended? Or, was she calm, joy-filled and sure that the Lord had everything in hand, that it was all going to unfold according to His divine plan?

This morning, we heard that the word of John's birth, and Zechariah's miraculous recovery, spread through the hill country of Judea. “What, then, will this child be? For surely the hand of the Lord was with him.” (Lk. 1:66)

It was right that the people throughout Judea 2,000 years ago asked this question, for surely the hand of God was with John the Baptist.

And, just a surely, the hand of God is with us today. What, then, will our lives be?

A Facebook Nativity

2010-12-22T15:00:00.002-06:00

There are several of these making the rounds this year. This one was my favorite. Almost good enough to convince me to get a FB account.

Merry Christmas!

Odds and Ends

2010-12-16T18:45:00.003-06:00

** Advent is almost over. How did that happen already? But, it's true. One week from tomorrow is Christmas Eve. (Boy, I wish Lent would go so quickly. Maybe I should start sending out Easter gifts and Easter cards and see how that affects my feeling that Lent is never going to end).

** Today, I had a wonderful phone call. I heard from the director of the institute where I took two classes this fall. I had written a long, detailed, factual but frustrated letter evaluating the one course I greatly disliked. He called to apologize for my having such a negative experience, and for the failings of his instructor. I was surprised, touched, gratified. It was a truly wonderful experience, to be heard, and to have my concerns meet concern in return.

And then he offered to give me full credit toward another class of my choosing. Truly, I'd never considered that. It wasn't something I would have asked for. But, I will gladly take a free class. I am happy just having been heard. The free class was the cherry on top!

** I am almost there. The boxes were shipped to the coast yesterday. The cards were mailed today. I have the final teacher gifts to wrap tonight, in time for the kids' last day of enrichment classes. Tomorrow, LilBro and I will finish up the lingering bits of shopping while the others are in class. Saturday night is our annual Christmas party; this year, we've opted to trade in the chaotic 80+ guest open house style for a much more intimate adults-only soiree. Excluding kids meant some good friends are unable to join us, but I am finding myself looking so forward to a quieter, more peace-filled, gentler Christmas party. Without dozens of young kids running around, I can light a lot more candles, set some music in the background, and plan to sit down and visit with my guests (shocker!) for a while. If it turns out even 1/4 as good as I am imagining it, the no-kids party will be our new holiday tradition.

** Yesterday, my good friend asked how my Advent was going, and I almost said, "what Advent?" It's been so chaotic, with so many different balls in the air, that I've hardly had time to consider Advent beyond a few small posts. But, that's ok. I am still praying. God is with me, and I am anticipating a quieter Christmas Eve this year, time to sit by the fire, watch the tree, and count my blessings. And, I am escaping, once again, to Vision of Peace, for a few days at the beginning of next week. I have some work to get done, projects needing attention. But, I also plan to sit, to be still in the chapel and soak up the Divine Presence in the Blessed Sacrament. I plan to welcome Emmanuel in my own little way, so that by the time the Christ Child joins us at mass on Friday evening, I will be present, in the moment. Even if the rest of my Advent was less than I would have liked.

** What about you? As Advent begins to wind down, how are you preparing your heart to greet Jesus Christ? What is standing in your way?

My Six Year Old Teachers

2010-12-15T07:15:00.001-06:00

I know I'm not alone in saying that my children are helping to make me a better person. Parenting forces one to let go of selfishness, personal agendas, and even dignity. (Who hasn't felt their last shred of dignity flee in the face of a public tantrum by a little person in their care?) My kids continue to challenge me to be more loving and caring, to live our Christian values, to reach outside my comfort zone over and over again.

Two years ago, then-six-year-old BigBro insisted that we were "not doing enough" when we made monetary and food donations to our local pantry. "There has to be more we can do, Mom. We have to help feed people who are hungry. We have to." His persistance forced me out of my general complacency. I made some calls, approached the pantry leadership, and stated my case for an exception to their volunteer age restrictions. A few weeks later, BigBro and I started volunteering at the food pantry. It is now one of the highlights of our month, a deep connection between the two of us, and the pantry has become our family's "pet project."

One month ago, six year old Princess asked me why we are the ones who get presents, when Christmas is Jesus' birthday. It didn't seem fair, to her. "Good point," I said. "What do you think Jesus would want for his birthday?" She thought about it for a few minutes, and then said that she thought Jesus would want us to take care of someone who didn't have anyone to help them.

Who needs a printed examination of conscience when I am surrounded by living, breathing ones?

We've made the decision, this year, to scale back on our own family's gifts in favor of adopting a family with real need. The kids really got into it, discussing ideas for gifts and meals, anxious to show this family the love of Christ. I find myself continually awed by their kindness, their concern, and their general giddiness for these people we've yet to meet.

This morning, we get to deliver Jesus' birthday presents. I woke early, and spent some still-dark time in prayer. How grateful I am for this family we are meeting today! They have given me -- given us -- the best gift this season: a reminder of what and Who we are about. I am touched by the humility and trust they have shown us, allowing us to be a part of their Christmas this year. I am awed by the generosity and enthusiasm of my children, anxious for their own Christmas surprises, and still so joy-filled about sharing Christmas with strangers. I am challenged by it all.

Where am I being called to humility and trust?

How can I be more generous, more enthusiastic?

Do I approach each day joy-filled, despite my own anxieties?

My six-year old teachers are so much wiser in the Way than I am. I have much to learn, so far still to go on this path.

And one more six-year old to come on the horizon....

Just a Little More...

2010-12-11T05:15:00.004-06:00

Imagine for a moment that you are very powerful. Perhaps you run a multi-billion-dollar corporation. Perhaps you are the king of a small, weathy nation. Perhaps you are a great military general. Hundreds, thousands of people do as you say when you say. If you wish it, it is done.

Got the image in your mind?

What do you suppose your home life is like? Would you live in a large home, fully appointed with all of the best? Would you eat delicious foods prepared by a personal chef? Watch the latest movies in your state-of-the-art home theater? What comforts would become "necessities?" What things could you imagine you would never have to live without again?

I know that, for me, money often equals security. I am always thinking that if we had just a little more, then I could relax. I could stop worrying. I could give away more. I could affect great change in favor of the poor, the unrepresented, the lost. If I only had a little more money....

Imagine what I could do with a lot more, I tell myself.

But, lately, as I consider the Incarnation, I wonder about the choice God made when He took on human flesh. He could have come to earth in a blaze of glory, conquering armies with a swipe of His hand, and setting up in the most extravagant palace ever known.

He could have waited until our current digital age, first alerting the media, and ensuring that the 24-hour news cycle covered nothing but His coming for weeks on end. YouTube videos of the event would be passed around in a virulent email frenzy.

He could have made His coming about power and glory and greatness and worship and fear.

Instead, He was poor. Weak. A helpless infant born to ordinary parents, unable even to find adequate shelter for him.

Why make the choice He made? Why come quietly, in the dark night, into a time and place where word traveled slowly, painstakingly?

Why choose to be poor? A helpless child?

Why choose to be cold and uncomfortable? To enter into an existence which is hard, by any standards?

Perhaps the truth is that physical comfort is not all that important.

Perhaps physical comfort is what gets in the way of what is really important. I find myself wishing for just a little more, imagining that I will somehow garner security/peace/joy in an extra few dollars, or a family vacation, or ....

Perhaps I have all that I need, and then some. Perhaps I am not supposed to be seeking my own comfort, seeking just a little more and instead am supposed to be seeking to ensure that more people have just enough.

Imagine, again, the above scenario. You have money, power, and influence. You can change the world. By your word, you can make it so.

And, instead of glorifying yourself, you spent your time caring for the poor, the lost, the lonely, the sick, and the dying.

And, in the end, you were persecuted, tortured and killed for doing so.

And, still, your example meant nothing. Your birthday became an excuse for people to seek just a little more, to celebrate comfort over peace, to elevate self over others.

Imagine.

Thoughts on the Incarnation

2010-12-09T19:12:00.003-06:00

It's Advent.

It's dark at 4:30pm.

Our purple candle and wooden Mary-on-donkey are making their nightly journey around the spiral to Bethelem.

We light the candles in the wreath, read the scriptures, place the ornaments on our Jesse tree, and pass out the chocolates from behind the little numbered doors.

We cut down a tree, address cards to faraway friends and family, and listen to music heard only in December.

In so many ways, we prepare our hearts, our home, and our children to celebrate the coming of Christ.

And, this year, I am filled with thoughts of the Incarnation. My mind is filled with images not of a tiny baby in a manger, but of the Creator of the Universe. I consider this Being, this One with no beginning and no end, the One who started it all, and can -- someday, may -- end it all.

What is it about this One that He chose to put on human flesh? Why leave the perfection and peace of Heaven to walk among us, the dirty, dusty, cold, sad, hardened, weak and broken?

I know all of the usual answers to these questions: love, reconciliation, peace, longing for one-ness with us.

But, this year, I can't resist asking why? Were we worth it? Are we worth it?

In His place, would I choose the same thing? Would I choose to leave perfection and peace, to set aside my own comfort and agenda for another?

Hmmm... it's probably a very good thing that I am not the Creator of the Universe.

In Gratitude

2010-11-24T05:32:00.002-06:00

This year, in particular, I am thankful for:

Life: my life, this broken-healing-imperfect-but-getting-stronger life, my body and soul united life, breathing in and out every day, what a gift this life is!
Family: my parents, grandparents and those who came before; my sisters, niece and nephews; cousins, aunts, and uncles; my in-laws, by marriage and by heart; and especially my three children and my husband-best friend-lover-partner-soul mate
Abundance: of food, of clothing, of heat in the winter and cool in the summer, of books to read, of music to hear, of space to be, of creation in all its glory, of money in the bank (even, especially, in those months when there is just enough)
Friendship: old friends who remember when; friends who know me now; bunco friends who teach me, over and over again, to laugh; undiscovered recovery friends; bloggy and online friends; heart-and-soul friends; praying friends
Faith: the Light in my darkness, the example of others, saints known and unknown, worship together, worship alone, Sacred Scripture, inspiring words, music (!), prayer, silence and stillness

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. (Ps. 150:6)

What about you? How is your cup overflowing this year?

Take Care of Yourself

2010-11-22T17:27:00.004-06:00

Last night, before bed, I was reading in one of the stack of al-anon books I got from half dot com (oh, how I love that website for inexpensive used books!!!). These sentences jumped out at me: Take care of yourself. You are worth it!

This morning, I got up with the alarm and went to mass/prayer. Then I came home, noted that the final for my last class was, in fact, available to take, and wandered upstairs to change into my running gear. DH is on vacation this week, so I am able to run, solo, on the trail.

This morning, I noticed the bareness of the trees. Only last week there were more leaves than limbs as I ran through the woods. Today, only a few stubborn leaves still clung to the branches. I ran steadily, in the morning quiet, not really focusing on any one thought or prayer, just doing my best to be present in the moment. In and out, I breathed. Songs led one into another as I ran along, smiling and greeting the other early-morning walkers and runners on the path.

Somewhere along the return-half of the trip, my mind remembered the sentences I'd copied into my notebook last night. Take care of yourself. You're worth it. What necessary and important advice. Somehow, instinctively, I knew to do that a few weeks ago. I knew, as I started this process of recovery, that my emotions would be raw and tender, and that I had better take good care of my body and spiritual life if I were to be able to handle all that this process will dredge up.

A few years ago, I would never have thought of running as a way to take care of myself. What a gift it is that I've developed this habit... that I now need to run, to care for myself and to make the demons more manageable. I've also been doing my best to eat healthy, nutritious foods and to avoid the sugar which makes me a little crazy under "normal" circumstances. And, of course, I've been very faithful in attending to my prayer life.

Before I'd even read those sentences, I knew instinctively to take care of myself during this difficult time. I'm not sure where or how I knew that, but I always credit God when I'm unsure of the source.

So, I wonder, do you know how important it is to take care of yourself when you are experiencing an unusual amount of stress in one part of your life-- physical, through illness; emotional, through loss, grief, recovery, etc; or spiritual, through a dry spell or "dark night?"

We are both body and spirit. When one part is hurting, it is critical that we care for the other part, and in the process, hopefully, find healing.

Building the Foundation - Part 2

2010-11-18T07:46:00.006-06:00

Six years ago, my husband and I decided to add more living space onto our existing house rather than move to a new one. That decision was followed by months of planning: loans, architects, endless trips to the home improvement stores, meetings with contractors. Finally, we had a plan, a contractor, and a loan. We were ready to start.

That first morning in mid-March, just shy of BigBro's 3rd birthday, I stood in the furthest part of our backyard with BigBro and just-turned-one Princess. We watched as the backhoe and jackhammers tore apart the small screened porch, broke up the shallow concrete pad, and began digging the foundation for our two-story addition.

Over the next few months, we had limited use of our backyard; more often than not, it was a storage ground for the next stage of materials. I watched the ballet of construction equipment, workers and supplies arrive, unload, and construct. There were moments in the midst of it all when I could not see the end result. All of this mess, all of these boards and nails and bits and pieces were going to become four rooms with a roof and plumbing, heating and cooling?

The day came when no further work could be done outside of our home. They would have to break into the existing house in order to tie the rooms together. That meant cutting into our roof, tearing down the outside walls, and slicing through eleven inches of brick. It was dirty, dusty, and loud work.

These days, you would hardly know those rooms were an addition. The carpet has been stained by five years of coming and going. Paint is starting to chip on the walls. The furniture is showing the wear and tear of three young children and two cats. We call the main lower room our "family" room; it is certainly that. We spend most of our time together in that room, playing, entertaining, living, and loving. You can sit in that room and never know that there was once a gaping hole between this room and the kitchen, with raw, rough, exposed bricks. You can go into the boys' bedroom and never see the big holes in the roof of our former master, never know the little bird who got in one night, waking us with its chirping at 2am.

All of the wounds we inflicted on this house, in the name of progress and more space, have been healed. We no longer live in a home with a "new" part and an "old" part; both parts have blended together, dust and clutter and spills and laughter moving freely from one place to another.

I take comfort in that. Right now, my heart is back in the winter of 2005. I've made the decision: to begin the recovery process. My General Contractor -- the Holy Spirit -- has ordered loads of materials to be dropped at the work site: prayer, mass, running, meetings, journaling, blogging, friends, DH, spiritual direction.

Some mornings, I look at all these raw materials and wonder how on earth they will ever come together to make something whole, to make me whole.

Building the Foundation - Part 1

2010-11-16T13:00:00.000-06:00

I had stopped running regularly. I suffered a stress fracture in my right foot over the summer, and once that had healed, I was out of my running routine. I kept trying to get back to it, but honestly, I've only been fitting in a run about once a week for the past 2 months.

Until last week, that is. After I went to the first ACA meeting, and began to realize that this was not going to be some quick and painless process, my morning routine of prayer and running became much more important. Suddenly, I needed to get up early and attend mass much more than I needed sleep. Suddenly, I needed to run until my head gave up and gave over to my body again.

I was greatly helped by the unseasonably warm temperatures and our relaxed-school schedule last week. I just took the kids with me over to the trail, and we all ran together. It felt so good to be running again, to push my body, to let the physical aches overtake the emotional ones, even just for a little while.

It felt so good that I set the alarm very early on Saturday morning, even though the weather had turned much colder overnight and I had to be at a conference at 9am. I do not like the cold, but I needed to run. I needed to be out in God's creation, pushing myself past the pain.

So, I bundled up, slipped on a headband for my ears and gloves for my hands, filled my water bottle, and headed to the trail. It had rained overnight. The ground was wet and covered with freshly fallen leaves. A mist hung in the trees, rain-darkened trunks contrasting with the bright yellow and orange leaves still clinging to the branches.

I was alone on the trail. My breath appeared before me, momentarily visible, as I ran in the morning stillness: slow, steady, letting the initial stiffness of my muscles be replaced by warm fluidity and, eventually, by the ache of fatigue.

I prayed my way along that trail, asking for guidance from the Holy Spirit. As I turned around to head back toward the car, my mind began to categorize all of the tools I have in place to support me during this process: my morning prayer and mass routine, my prayer life in general, running, my husband and close friends, my Spiritual Director. It was as though God had been leading me here, slowly building the foundation I would need to be willing to step onto the path toward healing. None of these things appeared overnight. Every one of them was a slow, lengthy process, in and of itself. It took time and persistence to develop my prayer life, my exercise routine, my support network.

I didn't reach this place quickly or on my own. I'm not going to get through it quickly or on my own, either. And, I'm ok with that. Before I even knew to ask for it, the Holy Spirit was providing the guidance and assistance he knew I would need. What more can I ask for than his continued guidance?

The First Time

2010-11-14T18:37:00.007-06:00

**** Here's your fair warning: this space might get a little sketchy for awhile. I think better with my fingers on a keyboard, and am sorting through much muck and mush right now. If watching me slowing treading my way through some twelve-step stuff isn't your thing, this might be a good time to take a break from the blog-reading. On the other hand, if you are up to it, feel free to jump in with support and positive comments whenever you can. Thanks! ****

"Hello. My name is Jen."

In unison, "Hi, Jen."

(They actually do that; it takes a little getting used to... I almost laughed out loud the first time, except that I was too nervous to do little more than cling to my kleenex and pull my coat tighter around my shoulders).

I was 26 years old the first time I admitted to myself that my mother had a problem with alcohol.

It was another ten years before I could say that aloud to someone other than my husband, and even then, only among my closest of inner circles.

It is only in the past eighteen months that I've been able to use the word "alcoholic" to describe the behaviors, and to ascribe to myself the title, "adult child of an alcoholic."

For the past year or so, I've done everything I can to avoid going to a meeting, sitting on a hard chair in a circle, hands stuffed full of kleenex. I've read books. I've tried stepping on my own. I've prayed. I've cried. I've screamed... a lot. I've shut down, particularly when challenged by my Spiritual Director to go deeper. I've spoken with other people about their twelve step experiences, and every time walked away more certain than ever that I would never go there, never sit in a circle in some nondescript meeting room, look into the faces of strangers and see myself. Never.

I convinced myself that I didn't need the meetings and the steps. I had read the books... several times. I understood the concepts. I was fine. I would just avoid her when she was drinking and everything else would be just fine.

And then my dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer.

I found myself filled with a rage that I could not explain. No one was safe: friend, foe, stranger, and most especially, my family. DH and the kids bore the brunt of this uncontrolled rage. I spent most of the month of October in a barely-concealed eggshell, about to crack open at any moment. And crack open I did, over and over and over again.

In the beginning of November, I sat in my Spiritual Director's office, burdened by guilt and shame, bent-over by the weight of the rage, the hurt, the fear of the previous month. I couldn't name the source of all my sin. I just knew that it had started about the time of Dad's diagnosis, and I was completely powerless over it.

I opened my mouth and let the torrents flow. All of the pain and sin and worry and anger of the previous month spilled out of me, mixing and mingling with tears. Finally, I whispered, "I don't know what to do. I am so angry. Help me?"

Praise God for the compassion and truth I heard that night.

For the first time, I allowed myself to consider going to a meeting, though I wasn't yet ready to say it to anyone. Later that night, I did a little internet search for meetings in our area. At bedtime, I snuggled close to DH and asked if he would be ok with me making time in our schedule for some adult children of alcoholics meetings. Friday night came and I waffled. I didn't have to go to the meeting. I could just sleep in. I sat in the library at Vision of Peace, warmed by the heat of the fire in the fireplace, crocheting and listening to music.

And I knew. I knew that I needed to go, and that if I didn't go in the morning, I would continue to make excuses. I had hit rock bottom. It might not have looked like it from the outside. In fact, I'm sure had you watched me in the library that night, I would have appeared calm, relaxed, in control. Only I knew how many times I had to set aside the yarn to wipe my eyes and blow my nose. Only I knew the anguish in my prayers before bed. Only I knew that I could not hold together this shell any longer. The cracks were too big and too broad.

I set the alarm to ring early on Saturday morning. When it went off, I opened the blinds and climbed back under the covers. I watched the sun rising over the Mississippi through the leafless trees and prayed. Then, I got up, showered, and drove to my first meeting.

Onions and Me

2010-11-11T12:54:00.004-06:00

I cook with onions a lot. And, I usually buy my onions in those bulk bags at the warehouse store, which means that I have gigantic onions, sliced in half, and stored in plastic in my fridge more often than not.

One of my best dishes, one that my family requests often, is homemade French Onion Soup in the crockpot. I love this soup. It is warm, filling, flavorful, and light all at the same time. I lost nearly 20 pounds last winter, in large part because we were filling up on this soup at least once a week.

But, before I get the yummy soup, I first have to peel and slice about 10 pounds of onions and saute them for about thirty minutes. This process is never easy, and always, always leads to, what Princess calls, "juicy eyes." In layman's terms, I cry. I love the taste of onion soup, but the act of cooking it causes me painful tears, and no amount of "kitchen tricks" has ever helped that. And, still, I keep on making the soup, because the end product is so worth the pain and suffering that goes into it.

What does all of this have to do with anything?

I'm going through my own sort of onion-soup processing these days. For the past few years, I've alternated between trying to work through a whole slew of emotional sludge and stuffing it all in a drawer, to be ignored indefinitely. Of course, the "ignore it indefinitely" option, while easier in the short run, has its pitfalls. Sooner or later, that drawer just won't stay closed, and out pops all the stuff that I've been cramming in there for 38 years. What a mess that makes!

Which leads me here. At the beginning. Step one, you might even call it. Admit that I am powerless over the stuff.

A very wise, very dear friend said to me recently, "When it finally hurts enough, you'll go to a meeting. Have you gotten there yet? Does it hurt enough yet?" Though I could not say it aloud, the answer in my heart was, "yes."

So, I did it. I went to a meeting. I made that first, deep slice into the onion. The tears fell. Some of the papery husk hit the floor, but most of it remained on the onion, clinging fast.

I keep reminding myself that the onion soup is worth it. Push through the slicing and sauteeing. Wipe the tears and keep going.

It will be worth it in the end.

Right?

Highly Specified Career Path

2010-11-09T12:14:00.002-06:00

Four year old at lunch table: "Mom, did you know I'm gonna be a builder when I grow up?"

"What are you going to build?"

With confidence, "Theme Parks."

He then spends the next ten minutes, between bites of grilled cheese, describing in great detail the various rides and attractions in his first big project.

Unfortunately, due to the proprietary nature of the subject, I am not free to disclose his plans... but let me just say this, it's not going to be just another Six Flags. LilBro's designing some rockin' action-adventure parks. And that's just with his four-year-old brain!

Thoughts on the Priesthood

2010-11-08T08:05:00.004-06:00

Last week, my Sacraments class focused on Holy Orders. We had some really heated and lively discussions. This morning, I woke with these thoughts in my head. I shared them with my class, but felt like they might have some use outside the class discussion, too. Peace.

*****

Our Church is very hierarchical. This is not meant as a judgment, just a simple observation. Pope is brother to the bishops, but head of the Church. Bishops are brothers to priests, but leaders of their dioceses. And so on. The hierarchy is even noticeable at Sunday mass. Priests and Deacons, robed in colorful vestments, remain nearly exclusively separate from the laity, elevated in the sanctuary.

One of the priests in our parish has a regular habit of praying in the sanctuary prior to celebrating mass on Sunday mornings. He arrives early in the sacristy, puts on his vestments, and then sits in one of the altar server's chairs in the side of the sanctuary and prays for a few minutes before mass begins. I always like when he's up there as we enter the church, or if he comes out into the sanctuary while we are kneeling in silent prayer before mass. The church seems quieter those mornings, as if Father's prayerful presence reminds those interested in pre-mass chatter where their focus should be.

Yesterday morning, we arrived at our "regular" pew early, and I knelt in prayer. Several minutes later, I sat back in the pew, my four year old climbed into my lap, and I looked up at the sanctuary. Father was there, but not in his usual chair. He was kneeling, head bowed, in deep, private prayer. I was moved by the humility in his position, the honesty with which he carried out his private prayer in a public forum.

That Father is a prayerful man, I already knew. He and I have prayed together often, and in many different circumstances. However, rarely have I seen him kneel in prayer. It brought to mind the picture in the Cathedral Basilica of Pope John Paul II praying on his knees during his visit here in 1999. I am always moved when I see our Church leaders, whether Deacons and Priests or Bishops and Popes, or even those well-known lay leaders (parish council members, lectors, etc), kneeling before our Lord. It reminds me that every one of us is but a beloved child of God, a fallen sinner in need of our Savior.

Our Church has been under attack from the beginning, though the cultural and media attacks in the past decade seem stronger than ever. We've had some lively discussions on the current Church makeup in this class. I am heartened and encouraged, though, because through it all, God keeps calling us all back to Him, and keeps providing what we need to move forward as His Church. Despite the scandals and challenges of the previous few decades, despite the growing secularization of our culture, we find many humble and honest examples of Holy Orders in our daily lives. I would bet that every person in this class knows at least one priest or deacon who is living this life of service in an honorable, humble, and Christian way. I am blessed by the presence of several loving, honest and committed seminarians, deacons, and priests in my life, men who continue to encourage me along this same path they are traveling... so that one day we all might hear, "welcome, my good and faithful servant."

The Long-Anticipated Escape

2010-11-05T08:16:00.005-05:00

Today, after I drop the kids at their homeschool classes, run a few small errands, and make a quick stop at the house, I am escaping.

Escaping here:

It's cold today, with highs only expected in the mid-40s. I don't much like the cold. We've had a warm, pretty fall, and I was hoping for that to hold through this weekend. But, today, my nice long day in Pevely, MO, it will be cold.

At first, I was a little disappointed. I'd dreamed of climbing down to the Mississippi's edge, curling up in the base of the fallen tree under the boughs of colored leaves, and resting in God's creation.

But, right now, as I sit chilled in my school room with icy hands, I've made peace with the weather.

My plans now: to sit by the fire in the library, crocheting Christmas gifts and listening to quiet music on the radio, while gentle Gracie stretches out at my feet.

May your weekend plans include some time to be quiet and notice the Goodness of our Lord, too.

Online Classes, Humilty, and Me

2010-11-04T12:48:00.002-05:00

Other than bragging a bit about my mid-term grade last week, I've been mostly quiet in this space when it comes to the two classes I am taking online this fall. The one class is fine, quite lovely most of the time. I've developed a posting/board checking schedule that keeps me sane, and do my best to get the book-work for that class done early in the week, so the pressure is off.

The other class, however, is a huge disappointment. The textbook is filled with opinion presented as fact and a serious lack of source material. The online articles were obviously either cut-and-pasted from other sources and/or never proofread. And, most disappointing, the teacher is notably absent, nearly all of the time. We are required to post only twice each week, once on a board explaining a "practical application" of the week's readings and once asking or responding to a question on the material. He refuses to comment on any post or respond to any question in the current week, and often allows two or more weeks to go by before responding to questions. As it stands right now, at the end of week 7, there are unanswered posts from week 5 and more than 8 specific, unanswered questions from week 6. He has not posted any comments in more than 10 days.

I contacted the teacher privately to express my concerns, and was told, quite plainly, that my concerns were not his, the "proper venue" was the end-of-semester evaluation, and if I didn't like it, please drop the course.

I'm not sure that I've responded to all of this in the most appropriate way. I think, for the most part, I've been true to who I am, and I am trying my best to be charitable and Christian in my actions online. But, mostly, I feel angry and cheated. I paid for a class, and received instead, a poorly organized and poorly run discussion group. Honestly, I could have just joined a discussion group at my parish, had a better time, and learned more. And kept the tuition costs in our savings account.

Being who I am, I can't just go quietly into the cyber-equivalent of a dark night. I post frequently and honestly. I challenge the materials we are reading. I quote church documents and recap church history. I am, unequivocally, the most outspoken and forthright of the students in this class, at least as evidenced by my posts.

And an unfortunate side-effect of this is that I am growing even more prideful. Pride is already one of my major sin areas, but this class is exacerbating my prideful tendencies. I think that, in some ways, the online environment enables me in this. In a classroom setting, I would not always have the answers. It's easier to have the answers when you have ready access to a Google search bar, and the time to find the sources you need to support your position. In a classroom, I might think that it is appropriate for the laity to receive the Eucharist in both species, for example. Online, I am able to do a few hours of research and write a persuasive argument in favor of the practice.

I think what I am trying to say is this: online, I look smarter, better educated, and more put-together than I really am. And, even more disturbingly, I think I am starting to believe that.

I took this class to learn, not because I thought I knew it all already. And yet, as the class has gone along, my attitude is changing from "what can I learn from this material" to "is there anything I didn't already know."

I'm not really sure what the solution is. I can't stop posting, and I'm not willing to drop a class two weeks from the finish line. I've got some recourse as far as the academic institution goes, in the form of a lengthy and well-documented course evaluation, which I am writing as we go along. But, the bigger concern I have is for my soul. How do I keep my active participation (which is the only means for me to learn in this class) and not continue to grow ever more prideful? Is there a way for me to incorporate some humility into this experience?

Ready or Not, Advent is Coming....

2010-11-02T13:08:00.005-05:00

Believe it or not, Advent starts in just over 3 weeks.

I know. Take a deep breath. I just did. Actually, go ahead and take another. And another.

I don't have time for much more right now, so here's a repost from last year... ways to make Advent special without making yourself crazy. (I still end up crazy, but when you start out more than halfway there, as I do, it's not hard to get all the way to crazy by mid-December!)

Be at peace, my friends. Take deep breaths and remember: Advent comes once a year. What doesn't get done this year, can wait until next!

********

A little preparation now will ensure that your Advent really is about preparing to greet our Savior... and not preparing to lose your mind once again amidst the wrapping, the shopping, the baking, and the mailing.

1. Begin with a plan. December is a crazy month, filled to the brim. If you begin now, you can plan to include some special events, and to celebrate the special feasts. This is the time to mark off space in your calendar for the important family events: cutting down the Christmas tree, taking a Christmas portrait, caroling, attending a Tree Lighting Ceremony, visiting a light display, seeing a performance of "The Nutcracker," etc.

Take the time to think about what really matters to you and your spouse. Prioritize the events, activities and memories you want to make with your children. Then spend an evening online, locating dates and times, ordering tickets (if necessary), and plugging these activities into your family calendar.

2. Don't Forget Your Faith. December is chock full of special days to celebrate: St. Nicholas, St. Lucia, the Immaculate Conception, Our Lady of Guadalupe, St. Juan Diego. Some parishes pray a Christmas Novena or sing the O Antiphons. Opportunities to explore the richness of our faith abound during Advent.

Again, making a plan is key. Discuss which feasts will work for your family this year, put them on the calendar, and make note of any preparations you need to make in advance (ie, shoring up treats from St Nick or supplies for St Lucy's bread).

3. Keep your eyes on the prize. Remember what this season is really about, and start planning your own Advent practice. Perhaps you will decide to spend 10 minutes every morning reading scripture. Or you'll add a Rosary to your morning commute. Maybe you want to try getting to daily mass one morning a week during Advent, or you need to (finally) get to the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

The time to consider your spiritual commitment to Advent is now. Give it some thought, some prayer. Don't try to make major changes during this already busy time, but do consider making some small change or addition to help keep your heart and mind focused on Christ this year.

4. Do NOT even try to do it all. You are hereby forbidden from attempting to do it all. You may not do every activity, craft, spiritual suggestion, and prayer practice that you see here (or anywhere else). This is not the year to make yourself crazy. That's the whole point of the plan: choose what sounds best for your family this year.

There's always next year to make the homemade gingerbread model of Notre Dame while singing "O Christmas Tree" in German with your five year old. Trust me. Next year, Advent will pop up right after Thanksgiving, and you are welcome to try it all then. This year, we are going to take it easy, make a plan, and keep our hearts rightly focused. Nothing else matters.

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

2010-10-27T14:30:00.003-05:00

That BigBro and I have a very similar personality has always been plain to me. It's why we bump heads so much. But this morning, I had to laugh at how much we are alike.

BigBro is studying words for the spelling bee in January. He's won his grade-level for the past two years, and is hoping to be competitive in the "spell-off" this year against all the grade-level winners. Last year, he came in second in the spell-off, which was enough to whet his appetite for the chance to go to the regional competition. So, I printed off the words, and we are making our way through the grade categories, him spelling, me circling the ones he misses, so that we can make a specific study list.

Every single time he misspelled a word, he got frustrated with himself, and with me. He likes perfection, and expects it in himself.

I'm the same way.

I took the mid-term for my class in Liturgy and the Sacraments yesterday. It took me just over 90 minutes to complete 60 T/F questions. (I hate T/F questions... not at all designed to check knowledge, but to trip you up). As soon as I was done, the computer graded my test and shot back the grade: 59/60.

I was pleased, but bothered by the one I'd missed. It wasn't even one that I'd marked to double-check. I was certain the answer to that one was false. But, I was also exhausted, and DH was returning with the children in 20 minutes, so I turned off the computer.

This morning, I went back in to view the test again, and re-read the question I'd missed. It had to be false. There was no way it was true. I spent nearly 40 minutes going through course documents very carefully, and sure enough, I found the support I needed for my answer. I emailed my teacher, who responded quickly that it was an error, and he would fix my grade.

There was a little "happy" dance over here.

And a little more patience with my perfection-seeking son.

Yes Mom

2010-10-25T18:09:00.002-05:00

For me, one of the unfortunate side-effects of being a parent is the number of times I have to say "no" or otherwise respond negatively toward my children.

"No, you may not have soda with your dinner."
"No, we can't 'pretend' we did school today."
"Stop it."
"Cut it out."
"Quit fighting/whining/talking back/being disrespectful/kicking my seat/hitting your sister/etc."

I could go on. You probably could, too. It's not that I want to respond negatively toward my children; it just seems to be a side-effect of parenting.

So, lately, I've been trying to consider my "no's." Am I saying "no" out of necessity (no, you can't eat candy for breakfast) or out of convenience (no, we can't stay at the playground for ten more minutes)? I've been trying to choose to say "yes" when I can. In the past month, I've said yes many more times than usual:

"Yes, we can go to the museum."
"Yes, we can pick apples."
"Yes, we can watch a movie and eat pizza in the family room."
"Yes, we can bake a pie."
"Yes, I can make butterbeer for trunk-or-treat." (Which, by the way, was an absolute hit and completely exhausting at the same time).

The side-effect of all my "yes's" is a little more acceptance of the "no's." There's still some grumbling. The sibling fights haven't stopped. But, there's a lot more laughter going on around here. And, I am enjoying my kids so much more.

Yes, I definitely prefer being a "Yes Mom."

Communion

2010-10-21T07:56:00.002-05:00

DH is home for a day and a half between trips, so I was able to attend Morning Prayer and mass today. I am having a weird sort of allergic reaction to something in the air this month, and either the allergy or the medication is making me more tired than usual. Despite going to bed on time last night, I dozed off for a moment as I sat on the couch in the Deacon's office, waiting for Father and Deacon to arrive for prayer. I was groggy as I wandered back down the hall to the chapel. I almost fell asleep when I closed my eyes to pray silently in the few moments before mass started.

I did not fully awaken until about halfway through the mass, when we stood to pray the prayers of the faithful. I noticed, then, that the woman who'd recently had surgery for breast cancer was back in her regular seat. Another woman prayed for a fellow daily mass goer who has begun treatment for bladder cancer. I prayed for my dad. The kids' piano teacher is ill, nothing serious but ill enough that he canceled lessons yesterday. He was present today, but careful not to shake hands or receive from the chalice.

I realized this morning, sometime between the blessing of our offering and the hugs at the Sign of Peace that there are two holy communions in this tiny chapel every morning. As much as I am strengthened and filled with peace from the Holy Communion of the Blessed Sacrament, I need the holy communion of my neighbors, too. Praying for each other, noting absences with prayer and presences with hugs, this morning mass community is my strength and encouragement. Christ is as present and alive within and among us as He is in the Eucharist.

The Eucharistic Prayer Father prays most mornings is EPII. Within it, I hear these words: "May all of us who share in the body and blood of Christ be brought together in unity by the Holy Spirit." This morning, I heard those words more clearly, and felt the effects more fully, than ever before.

Surprisingly Profound

2010-10-19T08:10:00.003-05:00

DH is out of town this week. Very early yesterday morning, LilBro crawled into bed with me and snuggled close. Since I can't get up for Morning Prayer and mass, I slept in, waking slowly as the sun crept in around the edges of the shades shortly after 7am.

LilBro was tucked in close, elbows and knees jutting into my sides. He was awake, but still. When he noticed my eyes fluttering open, he began to speak, quickly and with purpose.

"Mom, you remember when Jesus came down from Heaven and took Mary up to Heaven?"

"Mmm hmmm." Not quite awake yet. Is he talking about the Assumption? Where did that come from? The last time I remember talking about that was in August.

"Well, all those people were calling out, 'Jesus, come back! Come back, Jesus!' They didn't want Jesus to leave them. But they didn't know that Jesus is in their hearts. Then they wouldn't have to yell for Jesus to come back, because He's always with us in our hearts."

Awake now, I squeezed him close and kissed the top of his head. "What do you think we should do about that?"

"We could tell them about Jesus. We could tell people that Jesus lives in our hearts. Lots of people don't know that."

I agreed. We could tell people. But, I was still curious. Why this topic at 7am on a Monday morning in mid-October? "What made you think of that today?" I asked him.

He looked at me. Light blue eyes find mine. "I don't know, Mommy."

I wonder.

LilBro is delightful. He says funny little things and has a really active and engaged imagination. But, theology is not his forte. He is bored and squirmy during mass (though at least he stays quiet), and he doesn't often speak about God or prayer. Princess, now there's my budding theologian, with a deep, daily relationship with Jesus. But, maybe I underestimate LilBro's connection with the Lord. Maybe there's more there than he shares with me.

Or maybe, the Spirit used my son to remind me of the Presence of our Lord in our hearts at all times, as a comfort, a consolation, and a reminder this early Monday morning, when my own heart was heavy with worry for my dad and missing my husband.

I wonder.

This Morning's Wisdom

2010-10-15T07:12:00.001-05:00

From St. Teresa of Avila, on her feast day:

Let nothing disturb you,

Let nothing frighten you,

All things are passing away:

God never changes.

Patience obtains all things.

Whoever has God lacks nothing;

God alone suffices.

~St. Teresa of Avila

St. Teresa, pray for us.

Why Worship God

2010-10-14T07:28:00.003-05:00

One of the two online classes I am taking this fall is on Part IV of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Part IV focuses on Christian Prayer and Spirituality. In class these past few weeks, we've been learning about the different forms of prayer: petitions, intercessions, thanksgiving, blessing, praise.

Praise is the form of prayer which has captured my heart these days. For a while now, the music I've preferred are songs of praise. My ipod is filled with them. My car radio tuned only to the Christian rock station. No matter how my day is going, there is a soundtrack of praise.

And it is making a very big difference in my life.

Last week, I listened to a Christian musician talking about the inspiration for one of her songs. She pointed out that we praise God not so that he will heal us or bless us in some way. We praise God because He is the Creator of the Universe. He is worthy of our praise.

I nodded and cried out, "You got it, sister!" That's exactly why we praise God. Prayer isn't some magic formula. Being Catholic isn't some magic potion. I don't take three teaspoons of confession and two tablespoons of the Eucharist, mix in 17 rosaries and get eternal life. It doesn't work like that at all.

God is, first and foremost, about relationship. The Holy Trinity is the perfect example to us of a loving, trusting, symbiotic relationship. It is the unity that we long for from the moment of our birth. God created it all; He created us. He created us out of love and in His loving image. We are meant to love first and foremost. And what better way to love our Creator than in praising all that He has created?

This has been a rough week. I've certainly spent some time in petitionary and intercessory prayer. But, I've found the most peace and the most comfort in prayers of praise. God is the same God today whom He was on Tuesday. No matter what happens in the coming days and weeks, God will continue to be God. He will continue to be ever-present and all-loving.

And I will continue to praise Him.

"Daddy"

2010-10-13T07:52:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, I learned that my father has kidney cancer. We are waiting to find out the extent of the disease. Has it spread beyond his kidney? What are the best treatment options? Which doctors should he listen to? The questions keep coming faster than I could hope to type them.

I spoke with my sister who works in the medical field. She's done a lot of research on his particular type of cancer. She is full of questions for doctors and information about different treatment options. She sees this as a challenge to meet head-on. I managed only one Google search: kidney cancer survival rates. The information made me turn off the computer, run up to my bedroom, and fling myself on the bed for a good cry.

My father is not just my father. He is the only grandfather my children, my niece and my nephews have. My sister and I both married men whose fathers have died. My niece has no contact with her father's family. If you know me at all, you know that my grandfather was one of the most important people in my life, until his death (cancer, must be in the genes) when I was 19. BigBro is named for him. Rarely a day goes by that I don't miss him. I do not want the same emptiness for my children. I am not ready to lose my Dad.

So, yesterday afternoon, I had my cry. Then I dried my tears and got to work gathering my prayer friends to help me. My sister is going to fight this with science. I'll fight with prayer.

Later, DH took all of the children to LilBro's soccer practice so that I could have some quiet. I couldn't focus. I couldn't be still. I needed to pray, but I couldn't. I was meeting a friend for mass at 7pm. It was only 6:15, but I left anyway. I drove over to church, parked, and walked into the dusk-darkened chapel. I fell to my knees and began to sob. I knelt there, letting my sorrow take over.

Minutes went by. I was drenched and sweaty. My knees and calves ached. My chest heaved. I felt this sharp pain in my heart, a true heart-ache. In my anguish, I cried out, "Daddy, help me!"

I have never done that before. Never. I have never called the Creator of the Universe "Daddy." This is not my style of prayer, not a representation of the relationship I have had with God. Yet, there it was. I cried out to God from this place deep inside me, in an act of complete surrender. I called him "Daddy." I took on the role of helpless and hurting child, reaching out for comfort from Daddy.

In that moment, without any forethought or consideration, I changed the terms of our relationship. For the first time ever, I believe, I gave myself completely to God, fully trusting in Him.

A while passed. I heard the outer door opening, footsteps in the hall. Slowly, I stood, wandered out to the bathroom to wash my face, and back into the chapel. This time, I turned on the lights, picked up my prayer book, and knelt in a kneeler. I prayed Evening Prayer, pausing often to wipe some tears or blow my nose.

Mass started. I was calm now. My face, still tear-stained. But, I was calm. Paul's words to the Galatians washed over me: "only faith working through love." Faith. Love.

We reached the preparation of the gifts and our Pastor quietly prayed, "Blessed are you, Lord, God of all creation. Through your goodness we have this bread to offer, which earth has given and human hands have made. It will become for us the bread of life." We responded, "Blessed be God forever," and the tears began to fall again, silently.

Blessed be God forever. It felt so right to pray those words.

No matter what happens. Whether they find cancer riddled throughout his body or it is self-contained and easily removable, blessed be God forever. Whether my six year old gets to dance with her grandfather at her wedding or not, blessed be God forever. No matter what happens in my life, blessed be God forever.

When I cried out to Him from the depths of my pain, when I dared to call Him "Daddy," I changed our relationship. I surrendered to Him. I let go of any pretense of control to which I'd clung.

And the only response that feels right to me now is praise. Blessed be God forever. Blessed be He who is, and always was, and always shall be. Blessed be the Lord of all.

Blessed be I AM, even, maybe especially, on those days when I am most aware of all that I am not.

More Food Pantry Thoughts

2010-10-01T05:15:00.003-05:00

The food pantry has remained at the top of my thoughts this past week, which is unusual for me. I mean, I get a lot from my monthly shift, but typically I serve my time and then forget about it until it pops up on the calendar again next month.

But, there's a trend in the clients we are seeing that rattles me a bit. And, maybe, God is calling me to do more. I don't know.

When I started at the pantry two years ago, I was a "Shopper Assistant." Our pantry is unique in that our clients "shop" for their food. The Shopper Assistant walks alongside the client, and lets them know how many cans of veggies, for example, that they can have (based on their need and size of family). The clients choose which items they want. So, if you don't like peas, you don't take any peas. As I understand it, many pantries have set boxes of items that they provide their clients, and you pretty much take what you get. I like that our pantry allows people to choose what they get, and, I assume, it generates less waste of good food.

As a shopper assistant, I got to know many of the clients pretty well. Many were what I had expected when I signed on to volunteer at the pantry: the very poor, the unemployed, recovering drug addicts, alcoholics. Sometimes we shopped together over small talk. Often, the client needed a compassionate ear as much as a good meal. I heard about sick spouses, struggles with the emergency medical system, fears of the heat (or A/C) being shut off.

When I started doing intake and recertification interviews last fall, I got even more of the story. In order to determine the right level for each client, we need the full picture of their financial situation, and often get much more along with that. Again, many of these people need someone to hear them out. So many are ignored, unseen, or shuttled between one bureaucratic organization or another.

The disturbing trend I've watched this past year is the change in some of our clientele. We haven't lost our original clients; we've added a new segment of clients who, until recently, would have called themselves "middle class." Last week, I sat with a married couple, parents of four, who were comfortably middle class until she lost her job in June and he lost his in August. They used the last of their savings to cover their September expenses, and were facing October with no way to pay the mortgage and utilities, or to buy food. As we took their information, my co-worker spoke about resources to help them with Christmas gifts for their kids, and warned them to sign up early, preferably in October. The woman began to cry. "You mean, like the Giving Tree?" she asked. "I always adopt a family through my job, every year." She broke down. "How did this happen? I'm supposed to be the one buying the gifts, not the one receiving them."

That's why I can't let go of the pantry this month.

It's not just this couple. It's that every month brings us several couples, just like this. These people are not very much different than I am. Two years ago, my husband's company was bought by another and thousands lost their jobs. He's held on through several cutbacks, but we never know when the next one might be. I wonder how many months of unemployment it would take before I would be sitting on the other side of that desk, asking the same question.

This recession is a bad one. I've watched some of my friends dealing with job losses, incomes cut in half, some of the same worries and fears as our clients. I don't care what the media and pundits say; economic recovery is still a long way off. There are way too many people unemployed or underemployed, and lack of medical insurance is widespread among a segment of the population previously covered. As a society, we are precariously perched on a ledge.

Before she left the pantry with a cart full of food, I stopped her, and let her know I'd keep them in my prayers. She looked me in the eye and said, "I never thought this would be me." I held her gaze. "There's prayer in this, too, you know," I told her. "There's prayer in accepting help when you need it. Your turn to be on this side will come again. I know it. And, when it does, we'll be here, ready for your help."

I think that's what's haunting me this week. It takes great humility to admit that you need help, that you can't do it on your own. I think that, maybe, it's even harder to admit you need the help when you are used to being in the "helper" position. I am graced by the humility our clients show, by the trust the give to us.

I wonder, would I be so humble in their shoes? Would I be willing to accept the help offered, and to offer my humility as prayer to God?

*******************************************

Many food pantries are operating with shortages this year, due to an increase in need and a decrease in donations. If you are in a position to help in any way (food, money, time), please call your local pantry. And please keep those in need of food assistance in your prayers. Thank you!

Why I Love Our Writing Program

2010-09-30T10:55:00.005-05:00

After three years of struggling to help my creative son get his thoughts organized and on paper (and after several unsuccessful programs), we are having a lot of success using the Writing Strands series. He loves the candor and humor of the program. The author speaks directly to the student in a casual, kid-speak sort of way. BigBro loves that. He no longer complains about writing assignments. I love that.

But the absolute best part is that BigBro is learning while having fun, and has really let some of his creativity fly. His latest example, from this morning, is here: (I let him type his writing assignments in Word; this is copied directly from there)

*****************************************

The Duck-a-Puss

There once was a kitten who was raised by a mother duck. The kitten was named Snuffles, and it acted like a duck.

One day, when the ducks were going to swim in a pond, Snuffles was waddling (or at least trying to waddle) behind the other ducklings, and kept falling over. Now Snuffles was getting very annoyed by this. When they finally got to the pond, Snuffles was tired. Where did the ducks go? Yipes! They’re in the pond! Snuffles was scared to go in the pond. What would he do? Wait?

Finally, the ducks got out of the pond, and they walked home. When they got home, it was dinner time. Yuck! Snuffles hated the seaweed they ate but he was a duck-a-puss anyway.

Wait! What was that? It ran into a hole. It looked like a furry chicken. He asked duckling mom and she said it was a MOUSE!

He just had to chase it. He slipped out of the house and peeked into the hole. This is what happened next: he heard a shriek, “EEEK”, and saw a brown blur shoot past him, and he chased it. The other ducklings watched in amazement, as Snuffles thought, “this is what I want to be.”

Unseen Angels

2010-09-25T08:29:00.003-05:00

Last Thursday night, I worked my monthly shift at the Food Pantry. This pantry has my heart. It challenges me, every single month. I come home and cry after every single shift. And I don't ever want to give it up. My pantry shifts make me a better person.

For about a year now, the pantry managers have been training me to do the intake and recertification interviews for our clients. For several months, I just observed the interviews. For the past few months, I've been running them, always with a helper in the room to guide me, and to fill in any information I miss. Since I only do this once a month, the learning curve has been steep for me.

This past Thursday, I was sitting in the small office when a volunteer from another organization came in and asked for an emergency box of food to bring to a woman, sick herself and home with three sick children and no food at all in her house. I sat and listened. The pantry managers and this volunteer swapped pertinent information and experiences with other organizations, and within a few minutes, the man was on his way with a box of food for the woman and her family.

I realized, as I sat there, that these men, aging and worn down a bit from decades upon decades of living, were angels... messengers for the Lord. They were not spending their "golden years" traveling the globe, or sitting on the beach, or even sitting on their front porches with the newspaper. They were feeding the poor. Literally. I couldn't begin to count the hours each week that these men dedicated to caring for those with less. I was humbled to be in their presence. I am humbled that they allow me to play even my small part in their work... humbled further that they are so grateful for my help every month.

Today, on the feast of St. Vincent de Paul, who himself worked tirelessly for the poor, I am pausing to praise God for all the unseen angels he places among us, to guide us, to show us how to love better, and to bring us ever closer to Him through His work. St. Vincent de Paul, pray for us... and, most especially, pray for the poor and those who serve the poor.

Guest Post: Vacuuming Through the Middle of the Room

2010-09-22T13:56:00.003-05:00

My friend, Arianne, wrote this reflection recently. I was so inspired by it that I asked her permission to share it here. (Please note: this is a stock photo, not an actual look at Arianne's house).

*****

I just finished vacuuming my upstairs. I had only about five minutes to devote to this task. Not nearly long enough to carefully pick up each room or move furniture so I could get under it. No, only enough time to plug the machine in and run it through the middle of each room. I only hit the really dirty part, the part where everybody walks every day. Then I had to unplug the vacuum cleaner and put it away, in order to move on to the next place I had to be.

I absolutely hate cleaning this way. I find it completely unsatisfying. My obsessive compulsive and perfectionist tendencies would much prefer to wait, weeks if necessary, until I have time to thoroughly clean to even bother getting the vacuum cleaner out. I can step over the dirt for quite a while thinking about how nice it will look when I vacuum every square inch of it. Twice. And then wash the baseboards next to it. That kind of cleaning I can get in to. The kind where you totally scrub a room from top to bottom, and when you’re done, the room is perfect, and beautiful. Now that feels like an accomplishment! Vacuuming through the middle feels slap-dash, not up to standard; it’s like admitting failure before I have even started.

This, of course, is a trap. And I fall into it regularly in more areas than housecleaning. If I were to give in to this impulse and only clean when I have four uninterrupted hours to devote to a room, I would be living in a very dirty house! Yet how easy it is for me to dismiss my 2 minute break in the day as “not enough time” to pray. I want to pray “right,” at the time and place most conducive, and with enough time to get into it, with the books I think have the right inspiration, maybe even a candle. And so days go by, where the subtle calls go unanswered by me, because, while I want to respond, I just don’t think there’s enough time, or the ideal situation, in which to do it right. In the midst of this continual postponement of my prayer life, I can become so fixated on the time when I will be able to “get away” for an hour or a day to intentionally devote time and place to God, that I pass up all the smaller chances to be in touch with God’s grace every day.

And so I have come to realize that it can be an act of great humility for me to vacuum only the middle of the room. In order to do so I must admit that, much as I dislike it, it is all I am able to do right then, and cleaning even part of the rug is worthwhile. Likewise, it takes a great deal of humility for me to pray for 30 seconds, while unloading the groceries. Acknowledging that I am tired, and distracted, and that right now I really need God, even though I don’t have the time or energy to compose a complete thought, requires me to accept that my God is a God with so much love and compassion that He loves me even when I show up sweaty, incoherent, and briefly. And that, if I do, He will seek me out again and again, in other perfect and imperfect moments, when I will, by His grace, also realize I need Him, and find Him there waiting for me.

The Many Faces of Jen

2010-09-20T07:28:00.003-05:00

Me, marking our spot in the parking garage at Universal Studios on our 10th anniversary

This fall, I am wearing so many different faces that DH thought it necessary to provide a visual. (With deep apologies to Andy Warhol!)

As usual, I am mother/wife/housekeeper/etc. That role I know how to do (mostly).

And, I am teacher. This role, I am really getting into my groove (finally).

I am also volunteer. I can't figure out exactly how that role ballooned so big this fall, but it did... and I'm pretty sure I've been practicing saying "no," too.

Finally, I am student. I am taking two classes online this semester, working toward certification in ministry. I took one 2-week class this summer. It was intense, and then it was over. I had signed up for one online class and one in-person class for this fall. While we were away, I learned that my in-person class was canceled. I replaced it with the second online class. Both classes started last week, and I am a bit overwhelmed by the whole experience right now. I don't know how to manage my time well. There are reading assignments and posting requirements. When and how often should I be posting/checking discussion boards? Traditional classes are so much easier... do the readings/assignments and show up for class. DH (who teaches online as well as in the classroom) keeps telling me that I will learn more. I suppose. For now, I don't have any "groove" at all ... or even a plan for how/when to fit my classwork and online time into my life.

Anyone out there with online class experience, please jump in with suggestions!

So, dear friends, if my blogging is sporadic this fall, know that it's because one of these many faces is running the show.

My Favorite Things

2010-09-15T06:50:00.015-05:00

This is really a magical vacation in so many ways, and I am so grateful for all of it. But I want to pause and remember some of the really special moments that have occurred:

- Seeing a rainbow from the airplane and LilBro's exclamation: "AWESOME!"

- Having enough time that we spent the first two days just bumming around... at the pool, playing minigolf, sleeping in, and vegging out

- The anticipation and excitement as we planned out the first week of theme park fun

- The catch in my throat as we turned the corner at Islands of Adventure and Hogsmeade came into sight. There are a few book series which have captured me whole (Laura Ingalls Wilder, Anne of Green Gables, Harry Potter). To be able to walk inside the world of the books was just, well... incredible. A true dream come true for me.

- Every minute of the "Forbidden Journey" ride... from the moment we entered the grounds of Hogwarts castle until we left. Just being able to walk into Dumbledore's office, to walk through Prof Sprout's greenhouses, to stand in the Gryffindor Common Room, to talk to the Fat Lady portrait, in every possible way, I was "in" the world of Harry Potter. I have never had a ride experience like this.

- Tasting butterbeer. Imagine drinking a sugar cookie. Creamy and frothy on top, cool, smooth and bubbly below. Just perfect.

- Princess' face as we whirled around and through her favorite ride, "The Cat in the Hat," over and over and over again. She never tired of this... and the joy, anticipation and glee never left her face.

- Watching LilBro watch the Shamu show at Sea World. I don't know when or how he became so attached to the killer whales, but he did. And to see them in person was the highlight of the trip for him.

- Getting soaked (and I mean soaked down to the skin) by Shamu. Sitting in the front row was a definite "bucket list" item. Once in a lifetime (cause I won't EVER do it again!)

- Seeing the same show again, a week later, from a much drier position in the stands. WOW! And LilBro was just as excited this time, too!

- Spending an entire day (almost 14 hours) at the Magic Kingdom.

- The experience of all the Cast Members at the Magic Kingdom. I still maintain that they charge way too much for a theme park admission, but every single person we met that day seemed to understand that this was a "once in a lifetime" experience... and made sure that it was perfect in nearly every way.

- Standing in the crowd on Main Street for the fireworks show over Cinderella's Castle.

- Princess' face when she met Cinderella.

- LilBro's kiss from Princess Aurora. "Mom, does it mean that I'm a prince now that I've been kissed by a princess?"

- Our visit to the Kennedy Space Center: wow, have they changed this place since I was last there in the early 80s!

- Walking inside the Space Shuttle Explorer

- The Launch Simulator... the closest I will EVER get to launching into space... oh, man, I wish I could go again!

- Watching all three of my kids get very excited about studying LOTS of science if it might mean working for NASA someday (we'll see if it sticks, but the excitement's there for now!)

- Having a little quiet time this morning, the day before our 10th wedding anniversary, to pause, reflect, and be thankful for the past 10 years... and to look forward to the next decades. I truly am blessed to have married my very best friend.

Royal Meetings... and Other Such Things

2010-09-14T08:01:00.016-05:00

Princess, meet Princess:

Sharing secrets:

A Dream Come True:

LilBro had his Princess moment, too:

"And, Mom, did you know that Aurora's a real princess! She's not just some lady in a costume!"

What's a visit to Disney without a hug from the Mice?

*****

A few days later... back at Dr. Seuss Land at Universal:

Thing 1 and Thing 2 and Kid 1 and Kid 2 and Kid 3

That Sam-I-Am, that Sam-I-Am, we do so like that Sam-I-Am

SKIPPER!!!!

And our budding thespian:

Phew... the bird didn't leave BigBro any "presents"

Princess was a good little girl, and always very curious.

Sounds like someone else we know.

Making Dreams Come True

2010-09-08T21:16:00.009-05:00

We are having so much fun turning our kids' biggest fantasies into realities....

Feeding the alligators

Who knew they like hot dogs, too?

Chatting with the Conductor at the Hogwarts' Express

About to enter Hogwarts Castle

On our way to Dumbledore's Office

MMMMMMM..... Butterbeer is even better in real life!

LilBro meeting his hero... "Shampu"

And seeing the real thing in action!

Up next... a Princess gets inside her dream castle.

Oh, I can not wait!

This is Gonna Be So Awesome!

2010-09-04T12:27:00.002-05:00

In about 3 hours, we will take off for a two-week family vacation! The kids have never flown before (well, Princess did, once, a few years back). And our destination (Orlando) is a dream-come-true for our three kids, DH and me.

The excitement is palpable. BigBro and I were up at 5 am. There is much jumping and bouncing of excited little people.

And, me, too, if I am going to be honest.

Spiritual Attacks

2010-08-27T22:42:00.003-05:00

If you're a semi-regular reader, you've noticed that I haven't been posting much, since my return from the blogging break a month ago. And the little that I have posted has been mostly about my kids.

It's not, at all, that I have nothing to say in the area of faith, spirituality, prayer, etc. In fact, I have much to say, have several incomplete posts, many rambling pages in my journal. I have just not had the heart to finish my thoughts. I've been struggling with the Evil One in many ways... and the two strongest hits he's been taking with me are 1) in my ability to express my thoughts with any conviction and 2) in my desire/interest/confidence to move forward on any faith-based ideas I might have.

This afternoon, this gorgeous, not a cloud in the sky, no humidity, no pressures, just a nice afternoon with my kids, I hit the wall. I sat there, in the glory of His amazing Creation, and instead of noticing the beauty, I wondered if any of it mattered even the smallest bit. I doubted... deep and strong.

And almost immediately, I knew that I was facing the Evil One. I prayed for strength. I bristled, listening to the Christian rock song playing on the radio, for the first time finding myself annoyed at (rather than lifted up by) the message of hope. And then I heard the d.j. between songs talking about Truth. I remembered the words of my Spiritual Director on Wednesday night: God is both absolute Love and absolute Truth. Somehow, I was able to shake off the doubts and breathe deeply.

I went home, had a picnic on the family room floor with my two younger kids (BigBro and DH are camping), and prayed a bit more. Then, I spent my evening making two strong commitments to the Lord: 1) I scheduled the next retreat I will run at Vision of Peace for Lent 2011 and 2) I spent three hours fleshing out a program that is very near and dear to my heart, and for which I have a deadline of next Friday.

And the part of it all that amazes me the absolute most: how easy it all was. Both of those things had been such stumbling blocks for me; I had been weighed down by my own inner demons. As soon as I made the commitment to the Lord, all the weight lifted off my shoulders, the ideas flowed freely, and I've felt the presence of the Holy Spirit with me throughout this entire evening.

I always forget how easy it is to get lost along this path. I think, sometimes, because I pray regularly, attend mass often, and live my faith life as best as I can, that I think I'm immune to spiritual attacks. Oh, how wrong I can be! And yet, the answer, over and over and over again is to turn back to Him, to find my strength in Him, and to trust that He is in all things, of all things, and with me always.

Overheard

2010-08-27T08:53:00.002-05:00

Princess to LilBro: "Want me to read this to you?"

LilBro: "Sure!"

Ahhh... watching her confidence as a reader grow... watching my children enjoying each other's company... watching them learn and change and challenge...

Does it really get any better than this?

I'm Sure There's A Homily in Here Somewhere

2010-08-17T07:02:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, I had to run a few errands and then drop LilBro at his friend's house for a playdate. We're driving along and he says, "Mom, I'm thinking of someone. You have to guess who it is." Well, I spend about 2 minutes guessing all sorts of people in his life. I try to give up, but he won't let me. Then he says, "It starts with 'G'." So, I guess, "Grammy, Gramma Bee." BigBro jumps in with "God."

"That's right!" he yells. "It's God. I'm thinking of God right now."

My heart melts a bit. How sweet! We're running errands, and my four year old is thinking about God. Wow. I must really be doing something right.

I ask him, "What are you thinking about God?"

"I'm thinking that God would get me to my friend's house a lot faster than you are."

Worth Remembering

2010-08-05T05:15:00.001-05:00

Yesterday morning, at the pool, LilBro swam up to me, grabbed hold of my shoulders and said,

"Mom, you are the wub-we-est thing ever." (translation: loveliest)

Awwww.

Smells, Bells and Yells

2010-08-04T05:15:00.000-05:00

Among the things I love most about being Catholic (the Eucharist, Confession, mass!) are the rituals we've developed over 2 millennia, ways of worshipping, of celebrating, of sharing sorrow, of joining together as a community. I love the pageantry inherent in a religion where the higher up you go in the leadership, the more flamboyantly you dress.

It's not just the extravagant vestments and gilded trim that attract my eye. I love what all the pageantry says about our worship: this is sacred, this is special, this is not "just another moment" in time. We are worshipping the Creator of the Universe, I Am Who Am, He Who always was and always will be.

My favorite masses include incense wafting high into the rafters, holy water sprinkled on the congregation, lots of bows and songs praising our God. I love intricately embroidered vestments and altar servers dressed in cassocks and surplices. I love the ways we Catholics mark our worship time as different, as sacred. I love that we dress differently, that we chant (sometimes in Latin), that we bow and kneel and stand and sit. I get caught up in it all; I lose "me" amidst the smells, the bells and the yells. My ego slips away, for just a little while, and my focus is solely on Him.

I know that not everybody will agree. My husband gets annoyed with the pageantry, thinking we spend too much focus on outward and not enough inward. The incense always makes Princess sneeze. But, I love it all the same.

I was away from the faith for about 10 years. Between college and BigBro's birth, you rarely caught me inside a church unless I was attending a wedding or funeral. When I was pregnant with BigBro and we began shopping for a parish to call our own, I took great comfort in the ritual of the mass. It was exactly the same as it had been the last time I'd attended... ten years earlier. I remember crying during the Nicene Creed, when I realized that I not only remembered the words, but still believed them.

Our mass is set to change at the end of next year. There are a lot of strong feelings, both pro and con, as we prepare for those changes. Me? I'm mostly excited. For a while, at least, we're all going to have to pay a lot more attention. There will be no rote chanting of prayers, no mind-wandering during the creed.

And, maybe, when we set aside the labels we place on one another and let the words of the prayers wash over us, we'll remember once more exactly why we celebrate the Eucharist: we "do this in memory of" Him.

There is No Pain So Great...

2010-08-02T08:12:00.003-05:00

Last week, I had the opportunity to get two days of peace and quiet. For the most part, our summer has been very busy, very filled with laughter and fun, and very loud. Three (often four or five) kids at a time, afternoons at the crowded pool, later bedtimes, and lots of activity has marked our summer of 2010. Oh, and DH's weekends away.

So, last week, I managed two days of much-needed peace and quiet. It started out right... with spiritual direction, some time in prayer, confession, and a massage (oh, yes... I am more than just spiritual!). I was carrying some heavy weight on my heart as I started out that morning, careful to guard the dressings on my wounds, certain that removing even just one layer would cause debilitating pain. A few hours later, heavy-hearted and stomach-knotted, sitting in the quiet cool of the church, I heard a gentle, almost-chiding voice from deep in my brain:

"Don't you know that there's no pain so great I can't bear it?"

And I broke open, let the tears fall, let the grace rain down on me, and... I survived. The pain was manageable. In fact, it wasn't even the least debilitating, once I let my sweet Lord into it.

And the peace that followed, the productive "nothingness" of reading novels, sleeping late, a gentle early-morning run on the golf course, even the sneaking home to finish prepping the school room... well, there was a grace to all of that, too.

So, my friends, as I slowly ease back into the world of blogging, I'll be considering some of what I've learned this summer, on my blogging break. And the first lesson is this: there is no pain so great that I can't take it to the Lord.

The Blessing of a Break

2010-06-25T08:05:00.003-05:00

I am going to be taking a break from blogging, and I wanted to post this last blessing before my break: the blessing of clarity through prayer and spiritual direction.

In the past three years, spiritual direction has brought me to, and through, places I'd never even imagined existed inside me. It's a journey, and I am so deeply grateful for the process, for the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and for the patience, compassion and insight of my director. If you've ever considered spiritual direction, or think you might be interested in it, I highly encourage you to try it out.

As for the break: Yesterday, my director and I took a wonderful, long walk in the morning sunshine. Our conversation went in many directions, much more than usual. And there were many bullets that came from those conversations... hitting me squarely between the eyes and in the center of my chest.

This morning, I woke early and spent a long time in prayer. And I've come to the realization that I need to set aside the next month for quiet and contemplation... as much as is possible for a busy mother of 3. This means getting rid of the excess "noise" in my life, including blogging (mine and others).

So, dear friends, I thank you for walking alongside me on this journey. I may be back in August, depending on what, where and how God leads me through this break. I am still reachable by email, but even that will be less frequent, as I am going to be turning the computer off during the day, through this period of "quiet."

May God continue to shower you with blessings, and may you feel His Presence in your darker moments.

Peace.

My Daily Dose

2010-06-24T05:15:00.007-05:00

Several years ago, when I was overwhelmed by the day-to-day mothering and homeschooling of three children 5 and under and a husband who traveled frequently, I started setting aside Tuesday nights (when DH was in town) for me. I always went first to 7pm mass, a quiet, simple mass in the tiny chapel. Then, I would meet a friend or wander in the bookstore, soak up adult conversation or silence, and return home a little more sane and capable.

And then BigBro's Kindergarten fall hit, our activities ramped up, and Tuesday nights meant soccer practice and Scout meetings and there was no way I could escape to the quiet of the chapel for mass.

So, I did what I had previously thought completely unthinkable: I began getting up very early a few mornings each week, to attend mass before DH left for work. At first, I could manage only 1 or 2 mornings each week. I still had a toddler, who often slept with us, and I desperately needed to sleep when I could.

Over the next six months, morning mass became more and more important for me. I noticed a difference in me on the days I ~~dragged myself out of bed~~ made the effort to attend. And, slowly, over time, daily mass became... well, daily.

Summer came along, and I lost the 6:30 mass at my home parish. A refugee, I tried several nearby churches, finally settling on one about 2 miles from my house. It wasn't the same, and yet, it was.

I am now on my third summer at this other parish, and I noticed last week, with a little jump in my heart, just how encouraged I am by this faith community. I know only a few people by name, but I do recognize most, and I am recognized by most. I am comforted and encouraged by the presence of the same folks, sitting in the same spots, as last year. There is something about their faith and dedication that strengthens mine.

I admire the people I know who are able to maintain a deep, daily prayer life on their own. I know several folks who wake early for prayer and exercise before work. I know others who keep sacred a daily walk and rosary. Left to my own devices, I seem to flounder. I need the external discipline of mass. I need the community of faith as much as I need the pockets of quiet that Father so brilliantly stretches out in a 27 minute mass.

I started out attending Tuesday mass, looking for a little peace in my life. In the past few years, I've learned that I am strengthened as much by these small faith communities as I am by the Eucharist and prayer. In order to maintain my mental and spiritual health, I need my daily dose, amidst a community of fellow travelers on this path.

Jewish Rock, Christian Rock, and Lessons in the Air

2010-06-22T08:58:00.007-05:00

So, I spent Saturday traveling from St Louis to New Jersey and back. Imagine the most touching Mastercard commerical combined with a three-tissue Hallmark commercial, and you have my Saturday. My Dad was touched, I got to see cousins I haven't seen in years (and meet new spouses/children), and had a nice, long chat with my grandfather. It was a whirlwind of an afternoon, but the travel time gave me plenty of quiet space in which to think, pray, and just be. So, while I arrived home both excited and exhausted, I also felt renewed by all the solitude I'd had.

In an effort to travel as lightly as possible, I carried only my purse, which meant I did not even bring a book, just a small notebook, my ipod, camera, and wallet. I decided to approach my time waiting in the airport and on the plane as "retreat" time... and fill it with prayer, praise music, and contemplation rather than filling the time with some sort of "entertainment."

Saturday morning, I arrived at the departure gate around 6:15 am, settled into a seat, and turned on a podcast I'd downloaded the day before. Sitting across from me were several guys who looked to be in their late-20s, looking at "Star Wars" magazines and giving off a very "World of Warcraft" vibe. (Yes, I judged them. Wrong, I know). I said a small prayer that none of them were my seatmate.

In a day that can only be described as divinely ordained, one of the men was, of course, seated in 13C. I nodded hello, turned up my ipod, and stared out the window. (Please don't mention the irony that I was listening to Christian rock on my ipod... I know, it is shameful).

We had almost no interaction throughout most of the flight, though I did share my outrageously expensive almonds with him (urged on by the message of Jesus Christ playing in my ears). With about 20 minutes left on the flight, the attendants made us turn off our electronic devices. I reluctantly pulled the earbuds from my now-tender ears; he turned off his movie and stored his laptop. In the awkward silence that settled on us, I thought, "come on, Jen, actually act on all that Christian stuff you keep talking about, and be friendly."

So, I asked where he was headed. And spent the next 20 minutes absolutely delighted and fascinated. He is the drummer for the Rick Recht band, the most popular Jewish rock band in the nation, and was traveling with the band for a series of shows that weekend.

"Ummm, I don't mean to be rude, but I've never heard of Jewish rock."

He explained that most people have not heard of Jewish rock, that it is where Christian rock was about 20 years ago, a niche market, but growing. His band is very popular, he travels about 300 days per year, and is able to make a living doing what he loves (drumming).

He was a very nice man, gentle and enthusiastic about his career, friendly and easy-going. I immediately regretted all of the judgments I'd made about him, based on his appearance and his choice of leisure activities. We had a pleasant conversation, wished each other luck, and went on our way.

This morning, I had a chance to look up the Rick Recht band, and was amazed to see that they have 7 albums, and seem to have a significant YouTube following. In iTunes, I listened to samples of some of their songs, noting the similarities and differences between Christian and Jewish rock.

And then I came across this song:

I have this same song in a Christian rock version, and it's one that the kids and I both love. It usually gets a "play that one again, Mom" when it comes on the CD rotation in the car.

And, I think, it's the perfect reminder to me... that we may choose Star Wars magazines and World of Warcraft over mom-blogs and Catholic podcasts, we may worship in different languages, different buildings, or with different prayers, but we all bow before the same God.

And holy, holy, holy is the Lord, God Almighty.

Happy Father's Day

2010-06-20T08:13:00.003-05:00

to this man, who held me first...

and to this man, who holds me forever...

Blessings of the Week - vol. 59

2010-06-19T05:15:00.000-05:00

-1-

Being Home Again. We've done very little for the remainder of this week, after our long trip home from NC. Just the basics: laundry, groceries, bills, and lots of time at the pool. It's been a real blessing to ease back into home life slowly.

-2-

Pool Confidence. In the past few weeks, Princess has really taken off as a strong swimmer, BigBro has learned the crawl stroke, and LilBro has gone from terrified to swimming without flotation assistance (though he needs me close by... he's not very strong yet). What a joy it's been to watch the three of them developing more confidence and strength in the water. And... this week, Princess and LilBro braved the "big slide" at the pool. We have a new reason that we never get out of there on time. I'll take that blessing!

-3-

Air Travel. I am spending today traveling. It was a crazy idea, but the blessing of living in this amazing country made it possible. My sisters are throwing a surprise party for my dad in NJ today. A big crowd is planning to gather at their house... 1,000 miles from my home in St Louis. As much as I'd love for my whole family to be there, it's just not possible for us. But, I'm going, all the same. It's one crazy day (7:30 am flight from STL, 7:30 pm flight home), but Dad's worth it. And I thank God for the blessings of air travel and this great country, which make this crazy idea even possible.

*****

Please join me in praising the Lord today; our lives are so deeply blessed!

Our New Pastor

2010-06-18T08:53:00.002-05:00

I met our new pastor this morning. DH didn't have to be in to work until 9am, which meant I could attend 7:30 mass.

After all the recon I've done, I've been feeling pretty excited about meeting him. No one has said anything but the most encouraging and positive things about him.

And....

They were absolutely right. If first impressions bear out, he is a gentle, quiet man, self-deprecating and funny. And, as a major bonus, he gave an awesome homily, taking a complicated and confusing reading from 2 Kings and making it relevant to our lives today.

I look forward to getting to know him better.

Tools of the Trade

2010-06-17T05:15:00.000-05:00

There was a time in my mothering career when I had baby wipes in every possible location: my purse, the car, the diaper bag, and throughout the house. Baby wipes could eliminate sticky fingers, erase spit-up drips from my shoulders, and of course, clean up the inevitable baby and toddler messes.

Baby wipes were completely indispensible.

Lately, I’ve noticed that I have a new indispensable tool in my box: Krazy Glue. This tiny tube fixes toys, games, wheels on matchbox cars, and any other myriad of “oops” created in a household with two young, active boys. I am on my third tube this year. There are days I would not get through without this trusty little tube of gluey-goodness.

But of all the tools that help me in the raising and rearing of three children, none is more valuable than the Sacrament of Confession.

I’m pretty all-powerful as mom. (At least, I am these days; I’m sure the teen years will take care of that). Seriously, though, I have the bulk of the power in the relationships with my children. I decide when we will eat, and for the most part, what we will eat. I assign the school work and the re-dos when it isn’t done well enough. I am the last word on play dates, activities, chores and outings. These three little people spend a lot of their day working on my agenda.

So, it’s particularly important for me to take time, regularly, to step back, look directly at my life, and humbly ask forgiveness for all the times I misuse this power.

I do a short examination of conscience every night before bed, looking back over my day, what worked, what didn’t. But this quiet conversation with God in the privacy of my mind isn’t quite enough for me. It’s like trying to cut fabric with safety scissors: the job may get done, but not as well as with a good pair of Fiskers. I need the Sacrament to get the full benefit.

My regular confessor is also my friend. He comes over for dinner once a month. We compete on trivia teams together. He’s seen me on good days, bad days, and lots of ordinary days. He knows me nearly as well as my husband, and certainly better than anyone else.

It is extremely hard to sit with him and name all of my wrongs. Humbling doesn’t quite cover the emotion. And yet, I do it, every single month, because I need it. Without the Sacrament, I know my mothering would be so much less than it is. I know that my ego, my agenda, and my controlling personality would reign supreme. I need to be humbled. I need to recall my failures, and to recognize my great need for mercy, compassion, and forgiveness.

Like any trusty tool, Confession surprises me with its usefulness. It doesn’t just fix the obvious problem (my sinfulness); it shows me how to be a better mother. By humbling myself, I learn to be gentler with my children when they make the wrong choices. Because I’ve received God’s mercy and compassion, I am reminded to treat my children with mercy and compassion. In learning to apologize well and often to God, I am learning the importance of apologizing well and often to my children.

I can foresee a time in my future when the tube of Krazy Glue will dry out before I can use it all. Like the baby wipes, this tool will serve its time, and be replaced by something else. But I cannot see any time in my life when the Sacrament of Confession will have lost its usefulness to me. This is one tool that has a permanent spot in my toolbox.

Poetry Tuesday - vol. 2

2010-06-15T05:15:00.004-05:00

By way of explaining some of the poetry I am writing lately:

These Days

These days,

long, sun-drenched,

smelling of sunscreen, salt, chlorine, sweat;

These days,

baseball caps, swim shirts,

sand-squishing toes and

cannon-balling clear blue;

These days,

I paint

not in oil or watercolor,

moments forever on canvas.

I paint words,

nouns and verbs and

oh, so many adjectives,

Aching to capture,

to hold,

to preserve forever

these days.

From the road

2010-06-14T14:49:00.000-05:00

Well we are about 90 miles from home. This is always the worst part of the trip,
when each of us is done and we just want to be home.

We hit a major delay a few hours back. Thank God for the iPhone
which helped us navigate an alternate route, or we'd still be sitting
in traffic.

The visit with my parents was a good one. The kids did lots of neat
stuff. Princess swam out deep in the ocean. LilBro learned to swim
without flotation aid. BigBro learned the mechanics of the crawl stroke
though he needs some more practice.

Did you figure out we spent the week in our swimsuits? We had 3
days at the beach and 3 in the pool, plus a visit to the amusement
park. Dad's birthday was nice. I'm so happy that we were able to
celebrate this milestone with him.

And now I am looking forward to crossing the Mississippi river, driving
the 8 remaining miles to our home, and stretching out on the couch.

Peace.

Exercise as Prayer

2010-06-10T05:15:00.004-05:00

To understand where I am going with this week's Theology Thursday, you first need to know that I have hated exercise, in nearly any form, for all of my adult life. I could tolerate swimming laps, but after my kids were born, stopping by the health club to swim a few dozen laps meant dealing with childcare hassles. The winter that BigBro was 2 and Princess was a baby, I managed the hassles, but spent more time in the pediatrician's office with sick kids than in the pool. Since LilBro's birth, I refused to consider any form of exercise that meant leaving my kids in a germ-filled health club "daycare" room.

Three years ago, I came to the revelation that not caring for my body was a sin. It set a bad example for my kids, didn't show proper respect for my body as a temple of the Holy Spirit, and would likely lead to preventable illnesses and early death.

And so began my trip on the merry-go-round of misery. I would ignore any thoughts of exercise for the entire month. The night before my Spiritual Direction meeting, I would look over an examination of conscience and note that I'm not taking proper care of myself. I would confess the sin. Father would assign me an open-ended penance, something like: "get 30 minutes of exercise 3-4 times per week." I'd comply for a week or two, miss a few days, and lose my focus.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Occasionally, I'd string together a month or two of reasonably frequent exercise before giving up. It didn't matter, though. Over and over again, I would find myself not-exercising, with plenty of "good" reasons why I didn't/couldn't/wouldn't/shouldn't.

In May 2009, I sat in Father's office. I'd stopped exercising again, and had no desire to do it. None at all. "And please don't assign me the penance of exercising, because I won't do it. I know that right now; I won't do it. And then I'll have the sin of not doing my penance on my conscience, too. Please," I begged.

Father ~~took pity on me~~ offered this penance instead: pray for the desire to care for yourself as a beloved child of God.

I felt like I'd won the jackpot. All I have to do for my penance is pray? No laps around the neighborhood? No early-morning walks? Just some prayers? Yee-haw!

Well, those of you who read my blog regularly know how that worked out. But you may not know exactly how I got from there to here.

I prayed my penance faithfully. About three weeks into it, I was kneeling in the pew at my "summer parish," after receiving the Eucharist one Thursday morning. Suddenly, in the deep recesses of my head were the words, "you need to start running." I dismissed the thought. I don't run. Ever. For any reason.

But it stayed with me, nonetheless. And, being the lazy person I am, I rationalized. I could run for 15 minutes and get the same workout as walking for 45. Hmmmmm. Maybe running would work after all. But not today. No one starts a new workout on a Thursday. Monday. Yeah, Monday I'll start running.

And I did. Slowly at first, running for a minute and walking for a minute. I'd been doing it for about 2 weeks before I even mentioned it to DH.

Very quickly, I realized that if I were going to run, I needed to pray. Prayer was not an option. This running idea did not come from me; the only way I'd succeed was to turn it all over to God. So, as my muscles and lungs strengthened, so did my prayer life.

It's been a year now since I started running. I've learned a lot about the sport. I've run two races. I've read books and websites. I'm on my second pair of running shoes. And I pray before, during, and especially after my runs.

Running opens me up to God in a way few activities do. It drains me of my ego, wears me out, and leaves me panting and sweaty, fully aware of just how strong I'm not, just how "together" I'm not, just how much I do, in fact, need a Savior.

Every time I finish a run, whether a short 1-miler or a longer run, whether on the treadmill, on the trail, or around the track, I stop, stretch, and pray.

In that prayer time, I am open, spent, ego-less. All of the "monkey voices" in my head, all of my wants have been huffed and puffed right out of me. All that is left is an aching desire for God... a deep, gaping hole in my soul that longs to be filled by Him.

I stretch. I sit. I breathe deeply. "Lord," I pray. "I am yours."

Blessings of the Week - vol. 58

2010-06-05T05:15:00.001-05:00

-1-

Family Vacation! Today, we head out to visit my parents in North Carolina, to celebrate my dad's 70th birthday, and to get our fill of sand squishing between our toes. Praise God for the blessing of family time... and for family who live near the ocean.

-2-

The Kids' Circus Performance. This week, our older two kids performed a circus act during a local Young Artists' Talent Night. When I signed them up for Circus class last fall, it was the class that fit my schedule and our budget. I have been thrilled with the skills and the confidence they've gained through this class. But nothing prepared me for the utter joy of watching them perform a goofy, well-coordinated clown-baseball game on Thursday night.

-3-

Traveling Lighter. It is getting easier as the kids get older. Usually, I spend the week before long car trips running around at night to gather all sorts of treats and surprises. This time, we made a stop at the grocery store, together, to pick out snacks, a stop at the library, together, to pick up some new books, and at Game Stop, together, to get a few new-used video games for their players. We made sure everything was well charged, and each child helped pack his/her own backpack. All I had left to do was clothes and toiletries. It really is getting easier... and that is a wonderful blessing!

*****

Please join my prayers this summer morning, sending forth praise in honor of He Who created it all!

Do You "Tweet" God?

2010-06-03T05:15:00.009-05:00

I am starting this new feature, something I am calling "Theology Thursday" - a fancy name for a simple subject: this is no Summa Theologica, just a weekly post showing how I try to live my faith, day in and day out.

*****

When I got my first email address as a college student in 1991, I was thrilled with how easy it was to keep in touch with my friends across campus and across the country. I had near-instant communication that no one could overhear. Who could have imagined technology getting better than that?

Fast forward 20 years, and we've taken "keeping in touch" to heights nearing the summit of Mt. Everest. With iPhones and Facebook, Instant Messaging and Twitter, we know what our friends and family -- and what their friends and family -- are up to, every minute of the day.

But, I wonder.

We spend so much time keeping connected to each other, updating each other on the smallest of achievements (bought groceries, drinking a glass of iced tea, homework done!). Do we spend the same time keeping connected to God?

As we've learned from Facebook and Twitter, a lot of communication can happen in a few words. But you have to post (or tweet) for that communication to happen.

The same is true with God. It's not enough for me to get my hour of worship once a week. To have a real relationship with God, I need to keep in touch with the Him throughout my days. It doesn't need to be lengthy. It doesn't need to take hours. Help me, Lord. Guide my heart, please. Jesus, be with me.

Some days, I get a longer time to sit quietly in prayer. I think of those moments as email messages to a dear friend. But, I am learning that there is great value in the short "tweet"-like prayers throughout my day. A quick "help me be patient, Lord" when I hear a crash and scream from the other room. A Hail Mary when an ambulance passes by. Pausing in the midst of preparing dinner to offer thanks for the food I am preparing, and a blessing on those who don't have dinner that night.

These shorter prayers, interspersed throughout my days, have brought me closer to God, and helped me to see Him as readily accessible. He is not some distant god sitting on top of Mt. Olympus, waiting to catch me sinning. He's right here with me in the muck and the mess and the craziness of parenting and teaching and living.

On the days when I "tweet" God, when I turn my heart and mind to the Lord in short bursts, everything seems just a little more manageable, and I feel just a little less crazy.

Who ever could have imagined that a short, simple form of communication could be so powerful?

Little Treasures

2010-06-02T19:10:00.002-05:00

This week, DH's work schedule is a bit crazy; he's working second shift two days and his usual hours the remaining days. Between that and the holiday on Monday, I am constantly confused as to what day it is.

But, there was a small gift in the midst of all this. We are heading out of town for the next two weekends, and will miss the final masses with our beloved Pastor. We were all a little bummed about that, but DH found a nice solution.

This morning, we all attended the 8:15 am mass as a family (calling ahead first to ensure that Pastor was, indeed, celebrating this mass). After mass, we spent about 40 minutes in Pastor's office, visiting with him, discussing his summer plans, and setting a date for our next get-together.

It was a simple morning, but such a nice way for us, as a family, to have a private good-bye with Pastor. (Or at least, a private "see you around," as the case will be).

Poetry Tuesday

2010-06-01T08:30:00.000-05:00

I have some ideas for regular features on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It may take me a little while to get into the routine, but I'll at least give it a try. Summer is a good time to try something new.

So, here's the first... an original poem on a Tuesday morning:

At Six

Skinny legs and not-quite bangs

An army of freckles march across her cheeks;

face off on her nose

Big smile, perfect tiny teeth,

though hopeful wiggles dream of

under-pillow treats

She stands on the edge,

considers the depths

Her eyes lock with mine

"Are you watching?" they ask

A nod and a giggle and she's gone

Plunging down, out of sight,

only to emerge seconds later

victorious

glorious

glistening in the summer sun

Let Us Remember

2010-05-31T05:15:00.001-05:00

what today is really about:

Yesterday, the kids got their chance to help honor some of our veterans:

Lord, we thank you for those who served, and who serve today, that we may walk freely in this land. Please protect them, bring comfort to their families, and help us all to remember that our freedom does not come freely... it is a gift given to us by those who trod this selfless path.

May you have a blessed Memorial Day!

Blessings of the Week - vol. 57

2010-05-29T05:15:00.001-05:00

-1-

Marriage and More. After a six month hiatus, and a shift in several couples, our Marriage and More group is meeting regularly again. What a huge blessing this group is to our marriage and to our lives. We met again last night, and I had to call the sitter and ask her if she'd mind us being later than planned... and still we had to drag ourselves away from the group. The laughter, the sharing, the stress relief of knowing we are not alone... all of it blesses us. Praise God for this group in our lives.

-2-

The Pool! After 10 years of pool ownership, we traded in the chemicals and vacuuming for passes to the local swim club. Wow... this is the best decision we have ever made. The pool opened last weekend, and we made it over there 4 days this week. The kids love it. I love it. DH loves it. A blessing through and through.

-3-

Midnight visitors. We're in the midst of a stretch with lots of midnight visitors, usually of the LilBro variety, but occasionally one of his sibs, too. Two years ago, not a night went by that Princess didn't slip between us sometime after midnight. She became quite the stealth expert, oftentimes going unnoticed until dawn. And then, as quickly as it had started, it was done. She rarely appears in our bed nowadays.

LilBro started to come in, quite noisily, about a month ago. He makes it to us about 4 nights a week right now, and we are cherishing these nights... restless sleeper though he is. The other night, BigBro woke me, feeling ill. A short time later, LilBro came barrelling through our door. I jumped out of bed and asked him what he needed. "To sleep with you," he mumbled. "Why? Are you ok? Why do you want to sleep with me?" I asked, still on high-alert after BigBro's illness. "I just want to sleep with you," he whined, as he climbed over me and then attached himself to my back.

We're not sleeping as soundly, but I won't trade these late-night cuddles for sound sleep. I know how quickly the time is going, and am cherishing this blessing while it lasts.

*****

Won't you join me, this Memorial Day weekend, in praising God for all your blessings, and remembering all those who gave their lives in service to another?

Connections

2010-05-28T05:15:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, I had an email from my favorite college professor. I had read in the alumni newsletter that he'd received the "Excellence in Teaching Award" for the third time (a University record!), and had sent him a congratulatory email. The response I received touched my heart and brought tears to my eyes. Even though it had been nearly 20 years since I'd first sat in his classroom, he remembered me, with fondness and in exacting detail. I laughed at his strongest memories of me, the way that he recalled my thesis topic, the moment we shared on a street corner in Italy, after learning of the death of Justice Thurgood Marshall. I am humbled and awed at a connection that has remained after nearly 2 decades of time and distance.

Earlier in the day, we had the wonderful privilege of joining a gentleman from church on a romp through his childhood town. He drove us to the tiny church where he received his first Holy Communion as an eight year old boy. He shared stories from his childhood, stories from the years he spent raising eight children, and stories of falling in love with his wife of 50+ years. All the while, he drove, pointing out landmarks, filling the empty windows with real people who lived and died in this tiny farm town half a century ago.

We ended up at the farm where he was raised. More stories spilled forth as we rambled through grass shoulder-high to the kids, finally arriving at the cabin built by the hands of his children. My children climbed into the loft, giggles raining down on us. He led them on an expedition in search of the outhouse while I curled up on the porch swing, pond-gazing, deep-breathing, and prayer-offering. "Oh, I could stay right here forever," I told him when he returned with my kids, all smiles and laughter about the non-portable porto-potty.

Later, as I nestled next to DH and shared all the little moments of this day of connections, my eyes filled once more. My grandfather was just this sort of man. He would walk me through his neighborhood, one story after another. We'd sit on park benches, watching boats on the Hudson River, and I'd hear about childhood in Ireland, his mother, 11 siblings, the priests and teachers. Grandpa loved to share his stories with me; I could never get enough of them. In the end, I knew him because I knew his history.

He's been gone 19 years this August. From that point onward, I'll have lived longer without him than with him. Not a day goes by that I don't miss him. And I keep sharing his stories with my children, especially BigBro (his namesake), so that he will continue to be known.

Last night, on the couch with the man Grandpa never met (but would have loved), I remembered the stories. There were tears in my eyes, for the missing him and for the sharing and the knowing and the connecting that I had been gifted with that day. My friend is a very different person than my grandfather, but they have that one common trait: they shall be known by their stories. In sharing with me, opening the book of himself for us, it was almost as if, for a little while, Grandpa were here again.

All of these connections - my grandfather long gone to Heaven, my friend from morning mass, my old college professor - were bumping around in my head and my prayers last night and again this morning, when I read this on a blog I've been reading lately:

"Young and old, alive and dead, today I felt and knew the Communion of Saints through you in a poignant way. And I am grateful. Thank you God for family and friends."
-Priest-in-the-Middle

Yep. That pretty much sums it up for me.

Rhythms

2010-05-26T07:27:00.007-05:00

We are in the process of switching gears around here, from our ultra-busy school year (and out-of-control, crazy spring) to our more laid-back summer schedule.

And it's not just my family that's switching gears.

This week, we returned to Ordinary Time in the Church. I've found the green stoles, like the grass in early spring, to be refreshing for my eyes. The antiphons and readings in the Divine Office strike me as inspired and new, after 14 weeks of Lenten and Easter prayers.

In another week and a half, my parish moves to its summer mass schedule, which means I lose my routine of Morning Prayer and mass at "home." The summer schedule places mass too late for me to go solo (DH has to get to work) and too early to ~~drag~~ bring the children. Usually, I complain long and loud about that change.

This year, I'm ok with it. Actually, I'm even looking forward to the change, to sleeping just a little later each morning, and to the way the sunlight shines through the stained glass windows behind the altar at this other church. It always lifts my spirits.

I've been thinking about the rhythms of life lately. Here we are again, at the beginning of a new season: formal school work done, t-ball starting, summer weather and long afternoons at the pool. I need this break. The kids need it. We need to slow down, take some deep breaths, relax and let go for a little while. I know that in a few months, ~~we'll~~ I'll be itching to get back to our routine.

But, for now, the change is welcome.

And it's the same with the Church. I was ready to return to Ordinary Time. We've been anchoring our family in the liturgical calendar for a few years now, but it wasn't until I started praying the Liturgy of the Hours last fall that I've really started to understand the seasons, particularly Ordinary Time.

Just as summer is defined not just as what it isn't (school year, lots of activities) but by what it is (swimming, lazy mornings, family vacations), so, too, with Ordinary Time. It isn't Advent, Christmas, Lent or Easter. It isn't a time of preparation or celebration, but it's special just the same. Ordinary Time is the day-to-day ministry of Jesus. It was in Ordinary Time where Jesus taught the masses, healed the sick and dying, and performed many of His miracles. It is in Ordinary Time where most of our living occurs.

It's our chance to take a deep breath, relax into the Word, and let the teachings of Jesus flow through us and into our lives.

Right here, at the beginning of our summer break, at the beginning of Ordinary Time, I am welcoming this new rhythm. I need the quieter times to balance out the pace of the busy times. I need to slow down, enjoy my children without agendas or time tables, and practice being present right now.

The rhythms of the church, and the rhythms of my life, encourage me to do just that.

Blessings of the Week - vol. 56

2010-05-23T07:06:00.003-05:00

It was another blur of a week; I'm pausing now to give thanks to Him Who made it all possible.

-1-

Meeting Louis Sachar. On Thursday night, I took BigBro to the library to meet author Louis Sachar. We spent an hour and a half in a conference room, filled past capacity with mostly boys ages 8-14, all buzzing with excitement. He read from his latest novel, and then spent 40 minutes answering questions from the crowd (including BigBro!). Afterwards, we stood in line to have him sign BigBro's books and snap a quick picture of them together. On the way home, BigBro spilled over with enthusiasm, for the new books in his hand, for the inspiration of meeting a favorite author, and for the craft of writing itself.

-2-

Quiet Prayer/ Centering Prayer. There is a lot of flux in my life right now. Much change is happening, for me personally, in my parish, in my family, and at DH's job. I've been feeling generally anxious much of the time. But, I keep returning to the quiet/centering prayer that's become my mainstay these past few months... and I keep finding a place of peace. There is a big blessing in this: in returning again and again to the awareness of He Who always was and always shall be steadfast, true, compassionate, merciful, and loving.

-3-

T-ball season. I know I referenced it on Friday, but t-ball season really is my favorite time of the year. I think it's a combination of things. First, there's no competition. It's all about encouragement and fun for the kids. There are no scores, no outs. Every kids bats every inning. Every kid runs the bases. It's just plain fun for the 4-6 year olds.

Second, I love the location. Even when I have two simultaneous games to watch, they are side-by-side on the same field. I can stand at one game and watch the other. Yes, it's easier when they play each other, and I get to sit down. But, I don't mind running back and forth along the sidelines. It gives me a chance to catch up with more parents.

Which brings me to my third favorite thing. We aren't a "school" family, but because the parish is where my kids get most of their "socialization," I know a lot of the school parents, but rarely get to see them. I love all the time I get to spend chatting with so many different parents, all in the same span of time.

Encouragement, family and community all in one place: if that's not the definition of a blessing, I don't know what is.

*****

Won't you pause this Sunday morning, in praise and awe of Him Who is All Good and Loving?

Friday Thoughts

2010-05-21T12:24:00.004-05:00

I don't usually do these Friday round-up posts, but I have 2 unfinished blog posts that require more time and attention before publishing, a bunch of random thoughts bouncing in my head, and a deep need to write. There's an "official" Friday Quick Takes at Conversion Diary. Feel free to head over there and read more organized thoughts than these.

-1-

Even though it feels like whining (probably because it is whining), I am getting very tired of people I care about leaving. I was still wallowing in the misery of Pastor's move when my dear friend told me yesterday that her move is imminent. Let me just say this: this "people I care about moving away" thing stinks... and it needs to stop. Now.

-2-

My first love is getting married in about 2 weeks. Ours was a college romance. It lasted only a school year, but messed with my heart so much that I never let another man get close to my heart for 4 years. Two years ago, I looked him up on the internet. We reconnected and have been emailing regularly ever since. I wish I could be there for his big day, but we have a family trip to see my parents scheduled at the same time. Still, it's so very cool to know that he's happy. (And he's gotten much better about taking unsolicited advice from me!).

-3-

T-ball season started this week. Princess and LilBro had simultaneous games on side-by-side fields. I spent the hour running back and forth between the games, trying not to miss an at-bat, yelling encouragment as I went, and chatting up the parents on the sidelines. I love t-ball season. It encompasses all that is good, holy, and just plain fun about my parish community.

-4-

I taught BigBro how to mow the lawn this week. He was looking for a way to earn some extra cash. DH and I weren't sure 8 was quite old enough, but figured we'd give it a try. I gave him a lecture on safety features, got him started, and followed along as he did most of the yard. I finally stepped away for the last patch of grass, which is when I snapped this picture. When all was said and done, he was proud of his effort, we were thrilled to have the chore done, and all agreed that our negotiated price was fair.

This morning, he noted that the grass will need mowing again soon... either Sunday or Monday. Cha-ching!

-5-

Earlier this week, DH and Princess were talking about how she could be anything she wants when she grows up. She thought about it, and then said that she'd like to be a priest, like Father. DH didn't tell her that was the one thing she couldn't be. He deferred that talk to me. (We don't call her his Princess for nothing!)

The next morning, she told me, somewhat shyly, that she was thinking she'd like to be a priest when she grows up. I took a deep breath, and then told her that, while she could do nearly anything she wanted, she would not be able to be a Catholic priest. "Why not?" she asked. "Well, the Catholic Church doesn't make women priests," I hoped the statement would suffice. "But, why, Mommy? I love Jesus, just like Father does. Why can't I be a priest, too?"

Well, to be honest, this is one of those areas for me where I am practicing quiet obedience, so the only answers I had were either snarky or "just because," neither of which seemed appropriate for my six year old's serious question.

So, I deferred. "You know what?" I told her. "That would be a perfect question to ask Father. I'm sure he could answer it much better than I can." (Note to self: be sure to give him a heads-up the question is coming).

What would you tell my six year old daughter, if she asked you this question?

-6-

We officially started our summer break this week. Instead of making a big deal about it, I just let it all slide. We were going to push through next week, but really, I'm burned out. The kids are burned out. We've more than completed our requirements for the year. It was time to call it done.

Not that we've had a quiet moment to revel in the "freedom" yet... but, soon, I hope!

-7-

You see, this is why I don't do these kinds of posts regularly. Not only is it bad for my Mommy-brain to write as disjointedly as I think, but I can never come up with 7 items.

-8-

Edited to add: I just remembered. I wanted to mention that last night I took BigBro to hear author Louis Sachar (famous for his award winning YA novel, Holes) speak at the library. BigBro got to ask him a question. He bought some of his books (with his mowing cash), and even met him during the book signing. I'd post the picture of BigBro and Mr. Sachar, but we are late for the Circus performance.

It was totally cool for me to watch my son confidently asking questions of a relatively famous person, chatting up the older kids in the audience, and shaking hands with him. I didn't meet a published author until I was in college. How awesome for my son to get to do this at 8.

The Start of a New Era!

2010-05-19T15:09:00.003-05:00

Whoo-Hoo! Go BigBro!

Altering Words

2010-05-17T08:09:00.008-05:00

In the past two weekends, I have devoured two different books, and I have to share them with you. Please note: these are not requested reviews; I have gotten nothing for these books, and purchased them on my own. But, both of these very different books have really altered my thinking, and I hope you will consider reading them, too.

*****

Two weekends ago, I read "Born to Run" by Christopher MacDougall. I first heard about this book a few months ago, from someone I considered a bit "on the fringe" and dismissed it pretty quickly as "not my thing." Then, I started reading more about barefoot running, started running barefoot on my treadmill, and bought a pair of FiveFingers. As my relationship with running started to change, I came across recommendations of this book again and again, and requested it from the library.

I sat down on Friday afternoon to start the book, still not sure that a book about a tribe of native peoples in the valleys of central Mexico was my thing.

This book was so much more than some anthropolgical tome. It was a first-hand account of a man in his 40s who wanted to love running, but found it to be occasionally painful, occasionally torturesome, and in all likelihood something that he would not be able to do the rest of his life. (Oh, how I could relate!) Then, he found himself reading an article about the Tarahumara in Mexico, who run long distances (and I mean 40 + miles) over rough terrain, wearing little more than sandals on their feet... running like this from childhood well into old age.

The writing was fluid and engaging. I was hooked, so much so that I read more before falling asleep that night. Then, when I woke to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, I grabbed the book and slipped into the guest room to read "just a little more" before going back to sleep. I love to read, but I also love to sleep; if I am foregoing sleep for reading, you know the story is compelling.

"Born to Run" follows MacDougall's journey to find the Tarahumara in Mexico and his unlikely friendship with a man known as Blanco Caballo. It gave me a look into the ultramarathon movement in America, a biological and evolutionary understanding of human anatomy in relation to running, and a history of Nike and the development of the "running shoe." The book talks about barefoot running, but is not an overall endorsement of any particular running "style."

More than anything else, this book encouraged me. I love running, particularly now that I've changed my gait to a gentler and more natural one, eliminating the occasional pain and stiffness I used to experience. I had bought into the idea that running was going to (eventually) ruin my knees and I'd have to give it up at some point. I'd convinced myself that starting to run at 37 was a ridiculous idea. Running is for teenagers with lean bodies and long legs. This book showed me that I was dead wrong. We evolved to run; it was our primary means of survival. We evolved to run long distances, not necessarily quickly, but with endurance. And, when we run on strengthened feet, using our achilles tendon, arches, and calf muscles as they were designed to be used, we can run for a lifetime without debilitating injuries.

I finished this book fairly certain that I won't be joining in on any of those ultramarathons, going 100 miles through Death Valley in August, but I am sure that I am going to keep on running. Even if running isn't your thing, this book is a fascinating read! The story will capture your imagination, and you, too, will be encouraged by the good that can happen when people with very different lives and agendas come together in a spirit of friendship and fun.

*****

This second book, which I read this past weekend, is also a personal memoir, but of a completely different experience. I could not recommend this book more highly; it changed how I look at life, how I experience God in my life and how I consider my prayer life.

"I Will Carry You" by Angie Smith is the story of her fourth daughter, Audrey Caroline. At her 18 week ultrasound, Angie and her husband, Todd, learned that Audrey Caroline had multiple conditions making her "incompatible with life." Faced with the uncertainty of the remaining pregnancy, they turned to God, and found strength in Him. She started a blog to process through this experience with others, and from that blog grew this book.

Yes, this is a difficult story to read. Her beautiful daughter was born alive, but lived only a few hours. Yet, the love, the fullness of life, that they shared in those last few months of pregnancy and those precious few hours in the hospital room with her!

Angie Smith weaves scripture throughout her story. Using the psalms, Old Testament stories, and especially the New Testament account of Lazarus' rising from the dead, Angie shows how her faith gave her the strength to trust in the Lord, even when all of "modern medicine" told her there was no hope.

I know what you're thinking; there's no way I want to read this story. It's too sad. And it is sad. I needed half a box of tissues to get through it. But, it's not a desperate sad. It's a hope-filled, trusting, hope-FULL sad. Angie knows that she and Audrey Caroline are apart only for a while; someday, they will be together again, forever.

I've noticed that I am praying differently now that I've read this book. I approach the Lord with more humility and trust. Her example opened some tightly-closed doors deep in my heart. I am encouraged by her deep and abiding faith in our all-loving God. I am heartened by her willingness to release control and do her best to live God's will. I am inspired by her strength; Angie Smith walked through the darkest forest I can imagine, holding only to her Father's hand, and came out the other side, stronger and more sure of His love.

I am hoping you will open yourself to reading Audrey Caroline's story. I guarantee you will be changed for the better by doing so.

*****

Both of these books have altered the way I see the world. It's not often that I can say that about a book; even more rare that I can say it about 2 books at the same time. When writing does that, when it changes how I think, how I exercise, how I pray, it must be shared. Enjoy!

Feeling Sad

2010-05-16T03:58:00.004-05:00

We learned yesterday that our Pastor is being moved to a parish in the outskirts of our Archdiocese, nearly an hour's drive from here.

He's been with us 8 years, so we shouldn't have been surprised. One of the things I like least about this Archdiocese is the constant moving of priests. I grew up in a diocese (on the east coast) that did not have this policy, and consequently, with the same priest my entire childhood. There are good and bad parts to that policy, of course, but when you really love your pastor, when he's truly a good and holy man, when you can trust him and his counsel, the moving-around part is more bad than good.

I held it together pretty well when I heard the news. It was, actually, the second piece of bad news for the day, and I had just met up with DH back at the church (him, wet from the parish golf tournament in non-stop rain; me, knotted stomach from bad news #1 that I could not discuss with him on the phone). A friend whispered the "rumor" to me on the way into the building. Downstairs, the whole place was buzzing with it. I asked one of the office staff if it were true. When she nodded, red-eyed and tear-splotched, I muttered a curse word. Someone nearby responded, "that's not a nice word, but it does sum up how I feel." I apologized for the word, but not the emotion.

Pastor showed up a few hours later. DH and I got a few minutes alone with him. He, blessed man that he is, unknotted my stomach regarding bad news #1, and commiserated with us on bad news #2. And he raved about his replacement, which was very gracious of him. New Pastor will have some very loved shoes to fill. I need to remember that as I pray for him in his new role as our pastor. He is leaving a parish where he's been pastor for 13 years... I'm sure there's mourning over there, too. (At least, I hope so. Not so sure I'd want the pastor whose going-away party was a celebration by parishioners after he left).

What breaks my heart the most (and really, it's already broken by the thought of his leaving), is that he will be so far away. He's a regular at our house for dinner. We email each other articles that the other would like. He and DH like to go to the movies together. He's so much more than our pastor. He's our friend. And, so, we'd been preparing ourselves a bit for his eventual transfer, but always with a thought that he'd be nearby. We live in a section of the Archdiocese that is inundated with Catholic Churches. I can throw a ball from my street corner and break stained glass in 5 different Catholic Churches. (Ok, I can't really do that. As DH would tell you, I throw "like a girl." But my point stands. There are a whole bunch of Catholic Churches within a really short drive of here... many of which could use the financial acumen and holy leadership that our pastor has displayed). Why, why, why does he have to be moved so far away???? I looked it up on the map, and he's going to be one exit further than the tourist-site I haven't taken the kids to in 3 years simply because it's just so darn far away.

Which is so totally St. Louis of me.

I grew up in New Jersey, about an hour from New York, and hour and a half from Philadelphia. I went to college in Delaware, an hour from Philly and Baltimore, two hours from DC. I thought nothing about driving an hour or two in any direction at nearly any time. Sometimes, I'd drive to Baltimore for the afternoon, sit on the grass by the Inner Harbor and people-watch, grab a crab cake to-go at Phillips and drive back to campus. An hour drive was nothing.

And then I moved to St. Louis, and everything I needed or wanted was 20 minutes or less. And then, I got very involved in my parish, made good friends in the area, and found that we rarely spent more than 15 minutes driving anywhere. The 30 minutes to my mother-in-law's once a month started to seem long.

So, it looks like I'll have to go back to my roots. I still have some Jersey in me (I drive DH crazy because I refuse to refer to exits by their names; I go by numbers); I can make the trek out there to catch up with my friend.

In the meantime, I'll try to focus on the blessing he will be to that parish community, school, and town. It really is selfish of me to want to keep him here. Someone as in love with the Lord as he is, who lives his faith with quiet strength and deep hope, shouldn't be kept in one quiet little parish. I'm sure the folks in Tarsus, in Phillippia, and throughout Asia Minor felt similarly about St. Paul. They must have reveled in his inspiring leadership while he was with them, and mourned his loss when he moved on. But, he had work to do -- important work, growing Christ's Church -- and he needed to move on in order to do that.

My humble and gentle Pastor would blanche at being compared to St. Paul, but this little blog is my space, so I get to publish it anyway.

May you feel Christ's presence with you as you go, dear friend, and may the Holy Spirit guide you in leading your new parish.

Blessings of the Week - vol. 55

2010-05-15T05:15:00.001-05:00

-1-

A Wonderful Mother's Day. Last weekend, we had a wonderful afternoon with DH's family, talking and connecting in a way we rarely seem to do. It was a real blessing to have all of his sibs and their spouses together, the kids all happily occupied with each other, and time for everyone to sit and talk with each other.

-2-

Being in a position to help. Last week, my friend's mother died suddenly. I felt helpless in the face of his grief, but offered help anyway. A few days later, he called and asked if I could help with some food. Yes. Definitely. Then, a day later, the call for help with child care. Of course. My goodness, anything you need right now. It was such a blessing to be able to help, and a double-blessing that his 2 sons (ages 2 and 8 months) were absolutely delightful. Every one of us enjoyed their spending the day with us.

-3-

My Dear Husband. Today is DH's birthday. I can think of no bigger blessing in my life than my husband. So, I pause this morning, and give thanks for this wonderful man, for my best friend, for my confidante, for my partner in parenting, for my number 1 cheering section. Praise God for you in my life, sweet man. I love you!

*****

Please join me this weekend and take a moment to offer thanks for your blessings.

Shelter in the Storm

2010-05-14T07:15:00.000-05:00

The other night, rumbling thunder and the strobe-flash of lightning filled our bed with midnight visitors. First, Princess, complete with her blankey and stuffed bear, tucked herself between DH and me. An hour later, BigBro slipped in, snuggling close to DH.

The storm ramped up. No one could sleep, so we cuddled together, talking quietly. The wind blew. Hail tinged against the windows. I slipped quietly down the hall to check on LilBro, who slept deeply and calmly, folded in among a menagerie of stuffed friends.

Twenty minutes later, as Princess and I started to doze off, I heard LilBro's cries. Opening the door, I scooped him into a hug, whispering that it was just a storm, that he was safe. Then, I squeezed him in next to me.

As the storm thundered on, still flashing, but less dramatically now, the whispering slowed into steady, rhythmic breaths. Princess snored softly in my right ear. LilBro sighed deeply as he settled on my left side.

I shifted slightly, listening to the now-distant rumble. I thought of the shelter we'd created in our bed that night. Each of our children had awakened, alone and scared, startled by loud noises and flashing lights. They knew exactly where to go for comfort, security, peace.

I breathed deeply, contented. My entire family, the people I loved most in this world, were all together under the same sheets, squeezed into the same small space. I offered a prayer of thanksgiving for this precious gift, for the middle-of-the-night awareness of this moment.

As I lay there listening to the sounds of my sleeping family, I thought of how precious and fleeting this time in our lives is. It is going by so quickly. A few years ago, a bed full of nursing babies and frightened toddlers was the norm. These days, we rarely have a midnight visitor.

And three midnight visitors? That's practically unheard of in our home.

For just over an hour, I laid still, listening to their sleeping sounds, praying in gratitude for this moment, where DH and I are enough, where just our presence brings comfort, peace and security.

Abba, Father, thank You for being my shelter in the storm.

My Little Speed Czar

2010-05-12T05:15:00.002-05:00

The other day, Princess asked BigBro to switch places in the minivan and BigBro refused. "I need to sit right here," he said, "so I can watch the speedometer."

While Princess accepted this explanation, I groaned inwardly. Uh oh. That little "incident" from last week? It wasn't going away on its own. I was going to have to deal with it.

Here's what happened: we stayed 10 minutes too long at the playground, and then everyone "had to have" a drink from the water fountain. By the time we were all buckled into our seats, I was feeling the stress, certain that we'd never get everything done in the time left in our afternoon.

I'm zipping down the street, going about 12 miles over the speed limit, anxiously checking the clock every thirty seconds. My mind is racing even faster. Can we get it all done? If I go this way, will I save us another minute? If I switch the order of my errands, will we still make it on time to our appointment?

My unrelenting inner monologue was rudely interrupted by the shocked voice of my firstborn. "Mom!" he scolded me. "You're driving ten miles faster than the speed limit! That's not safe!"

He's right. I know he's right. But we're late. Doesn't he get that? Why is he pointing out what I'm doing wrong when he's part of the reason we're running late?

In one of my lesser "mom" moments, I snap at him to be quiet, we're late darn it, and I keep on speeding down the road.

Later that night, after an afternoon in which we did actually get it all done, I thought that perhaps I needed to sit down with BigBro, apologize for snapping, and explain that I'd been wrong to speed that afternoon.

It was a good idea, but not the most appetizing, and so I put it off til the next day. And then, promptly forgot about it, until I overheard that conversation between my children in the van.

In confession on Monday night, with my conscience still pricked by BigBro's comment to Princess, I mentioned the triple-decker sin of unsafe driving, impatient snapping at my son, and setting a bad example. As Father and I discussed the incident, he spoke his assumption that I had already apologized to my son for my poor choices. When I admitted that I had, in fact, not followed through on that, he responded, "Well, that sounds like the perfect penance to me."

Which it was. Of course. There's nothing like the humility that a little accountability brings.

I'm reminded, again, that motherhood will push me (sometimes kicking and screaming) down this path toward holiness. I am not just raising children. I am laying down moral foundations, developing characters, and forming souls.

Every example I set, whether in speeding or in apologizing later for it, is watched, is learned, and may some day be followed.

Speed Czar or not, I'm thankful that I overheard that conversation in the van. It's made me more aware of the example I am setting these days... for a boy who will be sitting in the driving seat before I know it, for his siblings, and for myself.

Sayonara, Queen Mom

2010-05-10T07:32:00.006-05:00

"Mother's Day is a crock," said one mom to me on Saturday morning at our sons' baseball game. "I spend the whole day running around to my mom's and my mother-in-law's. It's not about me at all. I've decided to institute a 'Mother's Week' and maybe they'll treat me right somewhere in there."

I nodded in understanding, and mentioned that we, too, were spending the day with my in-laws.

Oh, how frustrated I used to get with Mother's Day! This was supposed to be my day, my "reward" for all the work I do all year, all the thankless tasks, all the prepared meals, all the washed clothes. My husband would try his best. There would be breakfast in bed, cards from the kids, even gifts. But, before I knew it, my "hour or two" were up, and we were off to celebrate my mother-in-law.

Yes, I was resentful. It struck me as unfair, that she (who is in a much calmer and less demanding stage of motherhood) should get the bulk of the celebrating and attention. It bothered me that I never got any say in how we would spend Mother's Day. No matter what we did in the morning, by early afternoon, we would be en route to my mother-in-law's home.

This year, however, was completely different. And it turned out to be the most wonderful Mother's Day I could ever have imagined.

The logistics of the day didn't change. My time was still crammed into the morning. We still spent the afternoon at my mother-in-law's. Only my attitude changed. Rather than viewing Mother's Day as some sort of "reward" and expecting to be treated like a queen, I saw this day as an opportunity to celebrate the gift of motherhood.

We got up and rushed to get to early mass, at my husband's request. That meant, instead of lolling around waiting for breakfast in bed, I was ironing clothes, tying bows, and combing cowlicks. We got to mass a few minutes early and knelt together in a pew. I prayed in thanksgiving for my family... and for those women who long for motherhood and are struggling with infertility. Right from the start, my heart was focused on the gift of my vocation, the blessing my children are in my life.

Mass was wonderful, a true gift to me. There is no better breakfast on Mother's Day (or any day) than the Eucharist. After we arrived home and I had spoken with my mom, the kids were bursting with surprises: a balloon (accompanied by a cheer), handmade cards, gifts, and ... cake. My birthday cake had been accidentally ruined last week (while DH was out of town). I was surprised with cake for breakfast... the exact cake I'd wanted for my birthday.

We sat around the table, giggling, talking and eating cake at 10 o'clock in the morning. So fun. A short time later, I went for a run, soaking up the quiet, cool spring weather, enjoying the rhythm and the deep calm that running brings me. While I cleaned myself up, the kids straightened the house, and then we headed to my mother-in-law's. The kids played with their cousin. The adults talked, laughed, visited. It was a wonderful, relaxed, laughter-filled afternoon.

Later that night, I laid down next to each of my children, one at a time, and talked with them. I listened. We cuddled. We prayed together. Bedtime took nearly an hour, as we shared and snuggled in the dark.

Before we went to sleep, DH asked me about my day. It was perfect, I told him. Absolutely perfect.

And I think, really, it all came down to this: I stopped focusing on me.

Mother's Day has its place. We all need to pause and recognize the gift that our mothers and mothers-in-law are in our lives. But we mothers also need to pause and recognize the gift that motherhood is in our own lives. And this gift is, ultimately, not about us. I am not a mother because of some special skill, education or training I've had. I am a mother because of these three amazing children I've been given to raise.

Motherhood is a gift from God.

One that should be celebrated.

Blessings of the Week - vol. 54

2010-05-08T05:15:00.002-05:00

After a busy-crazy week last week, I am focusing on the simple blessings this week.

-1-

The boys' room is organized... for now. It's May, and I should have gone through the boys' closet and drawers sooner. They have limited storage space in their room, and were struggling with putting clean clothes away with drawers overflowing still with sweatshirts. This week, we got through all their clothes, sorted by season and size, gave away two big bags of too small clothes, and organized it all again. I know it won't last forever, but, for now, their room is clean and neat, and a blessing to me.

-2-

Thirty Minutes of Volunteer Time. Friday morning, I stopped by the Food Pantry for a short time, after I dropped the kids at school. Last time I was there, I watched the elderly gentleman who runs the pantry struggling with the new computer system. "How can I help you make this easier?" I asked him. He told me what he needed, and I offered to come by while the kids were in school. We both had expected the project to take an hour or two, but it went quickly, and I was done in 30 minutes. He was so grateful for this little bit of help. I was so pleased that such a short commitment made such a big difference.

Once again, I am reminded that, even in the smallest of ways, I can make a difference in the lives of others. You can, too.

-3-

A Lazy Afternoon. The past month or so has been nutty/crazy. This week, after our guests left, I went into major cleaning-organizing mode, washing laundry, sorting, vacuuming, organizing. All of that is good. Friday afternoon, I planned to take the kids for a bike ride. But, after we finished lunch, the kids got involved with a computer game, the skies clouded over and rain sprinkled a bit, and I picked up a library book. I ended up reading, dozing, and cuddling with my kids instead of cramming anything at all into my afternoon.

What a blessing to be quiet for a few hours.

*****

Happy Mother's Day! May your weekend be one in which you notice all the blessings in your life.

Mothering Differently

2010-05-07T12:53:00.005-05:00

About a month ago, I knelt in the chapel between morning prayer and mass, and prayed for my oldest child. He and I were having a hard time getting along. His behavior over the previous few months was increasingly disrespectful, rude, even hurtful toward me, his siblings, and his dad.

My responses weren't much better. So, I prayed for myself, too. I prayed that I might find a way to discipline him with more love and less frustration.

A short time later, a thought entered my head. This thought so countered my own "logic" that I know it was not from me.

When your child is at his least lovable, that's when he needs to feel your love most strongly.

I sat in the chapel, pondering this revelation. Really? I'm supposed to love him more when he's being impossible? How?

It didn't take long for me to find an opportunity. Later that afternoon, I asked BigBro to empty the kitchen trash. He began to whine and complain. I repeated my request. He ramped up, getting disrespectful. My head said, "Send him to his room until he calms down and is able to be respectful." I ignored my head.

Instead, I reached out, put my arms around my son, and pulled him into an embrace. I kissed the top of his head. I told him that I loved him very much.

And then I told him that his disrespectful behavior was hurting me.

I continued to hold him. We stood in the kitchen for several minutes, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

"I love you. You are precious to me." I kept murmuring to him. "Your disrespect hurts me. Please stop. I love you."

After a short time, he looked up at me, tears in his eyes, and apologized. Then, he emptied the trash.

Again and again during the past month, when my son has done or said something hurtful, I've ignored my instinct to send him away (to his room, to another room, just out of my sight). Again and again, I've reached out in love, let my body show him gentleness, care, compassion. Again and again, I spoke honest words to him... and listened as he spoke honest (and not always easy to hear) words back.

The difference is remarkable.

My son is still an eight year old boy. He has undesirable behaviors (don't we all?). He acts out. He's disrespectful at times. But, these situations don't get ramped up. I don't find myself getting worked up into a tizzy of frustration and yelling it all out. It's been a much more peaceful month in our home.

As I went through the month, I noticed other things, too. I touch my younger child so much more than his older siblings. As a preschooler, LilBro is still very cuddly. He climbs all over me, hangs on me, wants to be picked up. We are very physical in our interactions with each other. But, BigBro and I have much fewer physical interactions... a hug here, a kiss at bedtime. Some days, not much more that that.

So, I made another change, too. I started touching my children more. Touch feeds them. It fills them up with my unconditional love and acceptance. I tousled hair as a child walked by me. I reached for hands and squeezed. I put arms around ever-growing shoulders. And, I've made a point of laying on the couch or bed next to each of them, snuggling close and quiet, for a few minutes every single day.

I don't claim to have all the answers. I am so far from a "parenting expert," it's laughable. But, as we approach Mother's Day with a more peaceful, more gentle, more loving family dynamic, I thought I'd share the results of this answered prayer.

May you all have a peaceful and blessed Mother's Day.

Returning to Normal

2010-05-06T07:41:00.002-05:00

Our last houseguests left yesterday afternoon. Today, I am washing sheets, finally tackling the boys' closet/dressers, and vacuuming. I am reclaiming my space.

I love having houseguests. I love the "vacation" mentality of the past few days (particularly, the post-First Communion days). We've gone to the Botanical Garden, for a train ride, out for ice cream. It's been relaxed, fun, and family-centered.

And still... I am happy to be returning to normal, to our usual chaos and mess and busyness. Even, for a few more weeks, to school work.

So, dear friends out there in blogville, I will be back. I want to write about BigBro's First Holy Communion, and my birthday, and a bunch of other things. But, first, I need to get my physical space in order once more. Then, I'll work on my digital space.

Peace.

Blessings of the Week - vol. 53

2010-05-01T05:15:00.002-05:00

-1-

BigBro's First Holy Communion. Today is a very special day for our son... the first time he gets to receive the Eucharist. We've been preparing him for this for months. He's so excited that he had trouble getting to sleep last night. His excitement boosts my faith, too. May he, and all the First Communicants, be strengthened in their faith this morning.

-2-

Family visiting. To help us celebrate BigBro's day, my cousin (Princess' godmother) and my parents came to town. I've been blessed with lots of extra help these past few days, and we're all blessed by the fellowship and fun. And lots of extra laughs and shared memories. What a great visit!

-3-

Our Parish's First Communion Celebrations. Our parish has really done a great job making this Sacrament special for the children. Last weekend, we had a First Communion retreat, a morning of prayer, baking bread, and fun for the children and their parents. Thursday night, after the kids' practice, there was a special, catered dinner for the First Communicants and their parents. It was such a special night... a short prayer service, yummy food, fellowship. This whole week, there have been special prayers and acknowledgments for our young people. What a wonderful blessing... to recognize and celebrate the importance of receiving this Sacrament for the first time.

*****

Please join me, this morning, in offering praise and thanksgiving for our many blessings.

Letter to My Young Friend

2010-04-29T08:21:00.003-05:00

As the Religious Coordinator for our parish's Girl Scout Troops, I am working with three sixth grade girls to help them earn the Marian Medal. These girls have impressed me with their interest, their participation, the questions they ask, and the commitment they are showing. They are neat girls. They fill me with hope for my own kids' adolescences.

A few weeks ago, as we were talking about prayer and how their prayer lives have changed from where they were as second grade First Communicants, one of the girls asked about doubts. "Sometimes, I wonder," she said, "how is it that God always was and always will be?" We talked for a few minutes as a group. Then, she turned her very-serious eyes to me. "It was easier when I was 7. Then, I just believed. Now, I have all these questions, all these doubts."

I remember. I was 13 and asked my religion teacher how we knew, for sure, that God existed. She responded in anger. How dare I ask such a question? Who did I think I was? For a student who never, ever was even scolded in class, this rebuke cut through me. I was devastated. If my legitimate question didn't have a legitimate answer... could there really be no God?

When I found my way back to God, found the answers to my questions and doubts, and finally made peace with that teacher in my heart, I promised that no adolescent would ever get that sort of response from me. Legitimate questions deserve legitimate answers.

That night, at the meeting, I tried to express to my young friend that she was ok, that her questions were appropriate. I tried to answer her as best as I could. But, still, I worried. Several days later, I wrote her a letter. Parts of it are here... for my own edification as much as for hers. The message is one I need to return to often, as well.

When Jesus said that we must be “like children” to come to him, he did not mean that we should have a shallow, childish faith. Rather, we must be open and trusting when we approach him. But, to question our faith, to question the truths we’ve been taught, is actually an important step on your journey from childhood to adulthood. The faith small children have is a real gift, and we should see their trust, their openness, their love, and take an example from it.

But, if you never question your faith, you could reach adulthood and still be in a shallow place… and when the real tests of life come your way (as they will… life is messy, unpredictable, and tests all of us), you might find that your faith is not strong enough to sustain you. However, in the questioning, in the prayer, in the doubts, you will find a true, deep, adult faith… one that will be strong enough to sustain you in the darker times.

So, as you grow and find yourself struggling with the mysteries of our faith, keep asking questions… of your parents, your teachers, priests and deacons and seminarians, even me. But, also make sure that you are taking time to be open to God’s voice. Try sitting in silent prayer with God on a regular basis… even just five minutes a few days per week, try to sit quietly and open yourself to God. I try to do this daily, though I don’t always succeed in that. The challenge in this type of prayer is to let go of the thoughts that invade our minds and just keep returning to a word or image that focuses you on God.

And be sure to spend time with God’s Word. The Bible is a not some dusty, old book written 2,000 years ago. It is a living entity. God is as present in those pages as He is in the Eucharist, or in nature, or in the people we meet. If the version you have causes you to focus on the intricate language and not the message, try different versions. But, spending time with the Word of God is one of the best ways to get a deeper understanding of who God is, who you are, and the depth of God’s magnificent love for you.

I want to be sure you understand this: we are all human, and doubts will invade our hearts and minds from time to time. Doubting is not the same as not believing. Don’t ever think that because you struggle to understand, that you have no faith, no belief.

Sometimes, when I am struggling a bit, I pray this prayer from the Gospel of Mark 9:23-24: “Lord, I do believe; help my unbelief.” I take some comfort in knowing that even those people who had direct, physical encounters with Jesus struggled with unbelief or doubts at times. And, in my experience, this is one prayer that is always answered as I requested.

Thank you, my friend, for all you are doing to strengthen and encourage me on my faith journey. May God bless you.

Three Random Things

2010-04-28T07:36:00.004-05:00

Ok, so a quick, disjointed post this morning, before I get my crazy day under way.

1). I am in LOVE!!!!!! Wanna see a picture of my new sweetie?

Running in these babies is so incredibly AWESOME. I can run faster, longer, and so much easier than in my heavy "running shoes." They are completely comfortable. My running gait is changing, my ankles and calves are strengthening, and I am just giddy whenever I get a chance to slide into these and hit the ground running.

Don't be surprised if I start wearing these around town, too! (Go ahead and laugh... just don't be surprised).

***

2). My kids discovered "Tom and Jerry" a few months ago. I grew up watching that show, so I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled when they added it to the DVR list. I've found that it's easier to work on the computer when T & J is on (as opposed to some other cartoon) because there's no dialogue, only music.

This morning, DH was eating breakfast, I was checking email, and the boys were watching T & J all in the same room. Suddenly DH started laughing. T & J were drunk on bottles of liquor, stretched out on the carpet, listening to LPs. I've caught some episodes where T & J were smoking cigarettes. Rather than having my "mom-dar" on high alert, I just laugh at these cultural discrepancies. My kids know how we feel about cigarettes and alcohol. I'm not worried that a crudely drawn cat and mouse cartoon are more influential than we are.

Interesting commentary on our societal changes, though. DH and I grew up watching cartoon characters get drunk and smoke cigarettes, two things that would never fly in modern-day children's television. But, what do our kids get? Too much emphasis on dating and relationships way too early. Parents portrayed, at best, as foolish and out of touch; at worst, as an enemy to be thwarted. In general, adults are not to be trusted.

You know what? My kids can keep on watching T & J for some time to come. Disney channel and Nickelodeon can keep their "children's programming" for some other family.

***

3) Yesterday morning, Princess joined me for Morning Prayer and mass. She brought along a version of the Stations of the Cross that she had created on her own (complete with her awesome phonetic spelling and drawings!), to share with Father. He emailed me later in the day to thank her for sharing her book, that it had really boosted his faith.

This morning, when I appeared in the office, solo, his disappointment was palpable. "Where's your daughter?" as his neck bent, hopefully, peeking around the corner. "Sleeping." "Oh. So, she's not always up this early?" Again, the hopeful tilt of his voice. "Nope. I have to wake her to go to mass. She needs her sleep, so no more than once a week for her." "Oh."

Nothing like a little dose of humility first thing in the morning.

It's ok, Father. I understand. She really lifts me up, too.

Encouragement

2010-04-27T07:30:00.001-05:00

Ok, so I will admit it publicly, this embarrassing little secret of mine: I love the Duggars. I absolutely love their hokey little show and their genuinely loving family life. What do I love most? Michelle Duggar. She is positive, upbeat, encouraging. In fact, she uses the word "encourage" more than nearly anyone else in my experience.

The first time I watched them was several years ago. I think they only had 14 kids then, and they had a 1-hour special on cable. I was floored. These people were nuts, absolutely, certifiably nuts. But, they also seemed "nice."

It wasn't until last summer that I became a real fan of their show. I don't watch every single episode, but if I am sitting down to watch tv and they are on, I'm watching them.

What started as me wasting 30 minutes gawking at someone with a radically different take on life has become one of my guilty pleasures: spending half an hour watching another Christian family live out the Gospel to the best of their ability. And the core of their Gospel-living is encouragement.

Michelle uses that word, encouragement, all the time. But, she does more than talk. She backs up her talk with action. She encourages her children. The children encourage one another. The Duggar family encourages other families by their actions (outright helping one another) and by their example of living a truly "open-to-life" Christian lifestyle in the public eye.

Before I started watching their show, I never gave much thought to encouragement as a Christian value. In the past eight months, I've considered it often. And I've considered how much it means when I am encouraged in my endeavors, big and small.

Six weeks ago, we sold the above-ground swimming pool that had come with our house a decade ago. We were left with a muddy circle, 24 feet in diameter, in the middle of our backyard, one month from our big First Communion celebration. I immediately went to work, unloading 2,200 pounds of topsoil, fertilizing, seeding, watering twice a day. I was determined to replace the mud with grass before the end of April.

By the grace of Providence, we had several weeks of perfect growing weather. I watered twice a day. Lots of sunshine and warm temperatures, combined with cooler evenings, had seedlings sprouting in less than a week. Now, a month later, I've filled in some bare spots with a second batch of seed, and am pleased to see that we have just a few small patches of bare ground left.

This project was my baby, and I was encouraged by the speed at which the grass grew. But, one night, about two weeks into the growing, DH turned to me, in front of our kids, and told me how proud he was of the yard. "You did it. You did a great job. I'm so proud of you."

I glowed. My husband is a loving, generous man, but much of the stuff I do around the house goes generally unnoticed. I didn't start out on this project to gain his praise, but oh, how his small words of encouragement did give me a boost.

I am thinking of encouragement this morning, as we read about Barnabas in the Acts of the Apostles. How important encouragement was for those early Christians, for the disciples going into strange lands and sharing the Good News of the Risen Jesus Christ. Never sure of the reception they would receive, especially after Stephen's execution, these early followers must have been filled with fear. But they pressed on, proclaiming Jesus as Lord. Barnabas, encouraged by the early conversions in Antioch, joined the disciples there, encouraging them further. And it was there, in Antioch, where the disciples "were first called Christians." (Acts 11:26)

One of the first defining elements of a "Christian" is encouragement. I wonder how many of us, today, consider the importance of encouragement in our own practice of the faith.

Am I encouraging to others around me? Do I inspire others with confidence? Do I promote or advance the Gospel teachings? Do I build others up, leading them closer to the kingdom of Heaven?

Just for today, can I find a way to encourage every person I meet? Including myself.

Blessings of the Week - vol. 52

2010-04-24T06:30:00.003-05:00

Wow! Has it really been an entire year that I've been counting my weekly blessings!

How quickly that time has gone!

-1-

Last Weekend's Retreat. I already blogged here and here about how wonderful my retreat was last weekend, how it filled my reserves to overflowing. The best part: that calm has continued to permeate what was a really crazy week, and will hopefully stay with me a bit longer, as I get through the next two weeks of houseguests, First Communion, Homeschool Project Fair, birthdays, scouting commitments, and anything else that crops up. But, for now, I am grateful that I can still close my eyes and access that deep peace I felt on retreat.

-2-

Volunteering at the Food Pantry. Once a month, BigBro and I serve a shift at our local food pantry. We've done it for about 18 months now, and it took me a while to feel comfortable in this form of service, where we see the real faces of poverty, right here in our neighborhood. Last month, the director of the pantry asked me to begin training on "intake" and "recertifications," which means learning a lot more about the hardships and struggles of our clients than I do when I assist them in shopping.

This week, I sat in on several intake and recert meetings. I barely made it through the meetings without crying. It breaks my heart that there are people struggling so much just to survive... right here in my neighborhood. (In order to qualify for our food pantry, you need proof that you live in our zip code).

This week, I pause and offer thanksgiving for all that I have, and also for the blessing of my shift at the food pantry, that I may never grow complacent in thinking the "poor" live elsewhere or that I can do nothing significant to help. And I offer prayers for all of our clients, that they may feel the presence of Jesus in their trials.

-3-

Barefoot Running. So, in a series of coincidences that seem too ordered to be coincidential, my attitude toward running has taken a shift in the past month, going from tolerated activity to one of pure joy. Several months ago, I heard about the barefoot running movement, but quickly dismissed it as "ridiculous." Well, in the past week, I've been re-introduced to the concept, have done some research, and even tried a few short sessions running barefoot on my treadmill.

I have this to say: wow! Talk about changing the experience of running. There are the biomechanical changes necessary when you find yourself without the extra inches of padding and shock absorption in your heel. But, that's not what I am talking about. I am talking about feeling more involved in the run. Finding out that my feet can "feel" the ground (or treadmill surface) and respond. And, once my soles toughen a little, I can see running longer distances with less effort, because the whole process is so much easier on my knees and ankles.

I know, for those of you who don't run (and maybe some of you that do), this sounds absolutely crazy. Jen's finally gone off the deep end. There are research studies (including one done by Harvard) that show we evolved to run on the soles of our feet, not heel-strike the way we do with fancy running shoes. Studies which show an increase in injuries when wearing running shoes. Even a book that follows an African tribe of barefoot runners. But, I am not talking about studies and books. I am talking about my own experience, and how freeing it was for me, even though I was a bit sceptical at first.

All that being said, I can't see me actually running barefoot anywhere other than the treadmill and maybe, the high school track. I like to zone-out in prayer too much when I am running, and if I'm watching out for pebbles, broken glass, etc while running, I'll lose my prayer time.

Which is why I got myself a pair of these as an early birthday present:

Believe it or not, they are actually really comfortable... and I can't wait to see the reaction I get running around town in them!

*****

Won't you join me in offering praise to the Lord this beautiful spring morning?

Wishing Flowers

2010-04-21T05:15:00.001-05:00

My kids love dandelions. We call them "Wishing Flowers" and they never pass up an opportunity to spread the seed (and send their wishes) out into the great beyond.

Usually, I am very good and "adult" and refrain from joining in the fun blowing the wishing flowers. I've even been known to buy fertilizer for our yard that proclaims to rid our lawn of any and all such "weeds."

But, last Saturday night, while on retreat, I let my inner child run free.

At dinner, one of the women exclaimed over a huge field hidden completely by woods, off the beaten path and through some bushes up on a hill. I had noticed the hill, but hadn't wandered up there. Her enthusiasm piqued my interest. I had to see what made this stretch of land so joyful for her.

I found the spot on the hill, just as she'd described, and slipped between two bushes. I stood at one end of a long, open space, surrounded on all sides by dense forest and breathed deeply. It was gloriously beautiful, private and open at the same time.

The field before me was a sea of wishing flowers.

I walked the distance, maybe 200 yards, slipping into the woods every now and again where the foliage parted to make a little path. Reaching the other side, I turned, looking back at that break in the bushes where I'd first entered this space. My eyes fell on the center of the field, and the hundreds (nay, thousands) of wishing flowers peppering the grass.

Oh, how my kids... especially my daughter... would love this place!

As I stood there on the edge of the field, I began to pray for my kids, one at a time. I plucked a flower, offered a prayer for my older son, and blew the seeds far and wide. I repeated the same for my daughter. Then, for my younger son, my husband, my parents, my sisters, my extended family, my friends. As I moved slowly back across the field, I stayed to the center. I plucked flower after flower, offered prayers and blew.

Reaching that break in the bushes, I turned once more, pausing again to consider the field. My scattering of seed hadn't made even the slightest dent in the sea of dandelions. You wouldn't even know I'd been there, plucking and blowing, praying and scattering.

These wishing flowers - praying flowers - reminded me of an important lesson: often I can't see the impact of my prayers at the time I am praying, just as the evidence of my plucking and scattering will not show for some weeks to come.

But they do matter. Just as those seeds I scattered in that field will take hold and grow even more wishing flowers, my prayers will take hold... likely in ways I cannot even imagine and may never get to see.

And I will never again pass up a wishing flower and the chance to send my prayers out into the beyond. I can think of nothing more "adult" than to do just that.

Well, yes, he's on the list....

2010-04-20T12:09:00.003-05:00

from BigBro's religion text for today:

What would you want to tell the Pope if he were coming to visit your parish?

"My mom wants to meet you."

(Now, presumably, if the Holy Father were visiting our humble little parish, I'd be standing in line IN FRONT of my son.... at least, that would be my plan!)

More on God's Abundant Love

2010-04-19T05:15:00.004-05:00

Last week, I posted some thoughts on God and His Love. Then, I went away on a weekend retreat, at a retreat center chosen because: 1) I'd never been there, 2) it was only about 30 minutes from my house, 3) they had a women's retreat this past weekend, and 4) there was space available.

I had not even considered the retreat theme, which was "Believing is Seeing: Take a Closer Look," before I arrived at the retreat center.

The main thing I've been pondering since my retreat at Vision of Peace last month is God's love. I've prayed about it. We discussed it in Spiritual Direction a few weeks back. It's filled my thoughts, and spilled into my blog.

As I crossed the Mississippi River on Friday afternoon, I was struck by a line from the song "The Altar and the Door" by Casting Crowns drifting out of my CD player. "Lord, I'm trying so hard to stop trying so hard." I hit the replay button. "I'm trying so hard to stop trying so hard."

That's me. Trying so hard. And, in the trying, never succeeding... at least, never to my own satisfaction. And if I am not satisfied with me, then how could God, perfection Himself, be satisfied?

Last Sunday, I was gifted with this revelation about my running: when I run with a goal (i.e., a race), I am miserable. I am 5' 2" tall, nearly 38 years old, and (while I've lost nearly 20 pounds this winter), I'm still carrying about 15 extra pounds around. I am never going to run as quickly as I want. But, if I am running to enjoy the feeling of running, to notice the sun shining through the leaves and shimmering on the grass, to praise God with my body, to reach that opened-up feeling of deep calm, then running is pure joy.

So, as I settled into the retreat, I asked myself this question: where else am I trying so hard? Where else can I change my definition of success?

And everywhere I turned during this weekend, I was reminded of the depth of God's love.

Friday night, during the first conference, one of the presenters said, "Learn to live loved." The meditation sheet handed out Friday night was filled with biblical quotes demonstrating God's abiding love. Saturday morning conference: each one of us is, first and foremost, a beloved child of God. Saturday afternoon, I met one-on-one with one of the presenters for a short time. "Jennifer, go out there and bask in God's love for you" was how he ended our session.

And I did.

I lay on the side of a grassy hill, in the full sunshine, and soaked up the abundance of love that the Lord poured out onto me. I breathed the silence. I found the peace. And then, I heard it, deep inside my head, yet not my own voice: "Let me love you."

Let me love you.

Be open to being loved. Stop trying so hard. Just be. Just be loved.

And so, that is my promise, my gift from the retreat: I am going to let myself be loved. I am going to (try to) accept the love that is freely and wholly given to me. I am going to stop trying so hard to be good enough, fast enough, strong enough, worthy enough... and just be me. Even that totally imperfect, completely fault-ridden, ever-so-slow-and-stumbly me.

Let me love you.

Let me love me, too.

The Results of My Retreat... in Image

2010-04-18T16:33:00.007-05:00

On Friday, my spiritual and energy reserves were:

Or, to put it another way, my reservoir was nearly depleted:

Today, my reservoir flows over with energy, calm, and spiritual graces:

I am back to:

It's been a loooooong time since I've just let go and gone on a retreat, leaving my control-freak (mostly) at home.

What a difference that makes.

I need to make "taking a retreat" a regular part of my life.

Praise God for all His goodness, and the very many ways in which He blesses each of us every single day!

Blessings of the Week - vol.51

2010-04-17T05:15:00.001-05:00

-1-

Retreat! As in, I am on a retreat. As in, I packed a bag and drove to a retreat site, and that is the full extent of the work I am doing this weekend. (Well, external work, at any rate. I'm sure God has some internal work planned). It's been 18 months since I've last gone on retreat. What a HUGE blessing this is!

-2-

Running. Last Sunday, while running around the high school track, I had a bit of an epiphany. I love running... for the awesome feeling it gives me, because I am taking care of myself, because it calms me. But, I hate the completely self-imposed pressure of the race, where I am focused on time and distance and lose all sight of my love of the sport itself. So... I stopped racing. And since then, I've been running every single day, and absolutely LOVING every minute of it. Go figure. Wonder what other perfectionistic tendencies I can give up to bring more pleasure to my life. Food for prayer?

-3-

Spring Weather. This spring weather has been so incredibly awesome for me these past few weeks. Gone is my seasonal depression. Our grass is growing tall where there was just a pile of mud. And I am ever so much more peaceful to be around. Thank God for the seasons!

*****

Please join your prayers of praise with mine this weekend!