Rejoice and be Glad!

Blessed are you, holy are you!

Rejoice and be glad for yours is the kingdom of God!

As a devout Catholic family, we are open to life.  We've always been open to life. Because of God's great grace (and a courageous priest--thank you Fr. Lyle), I will never look back on our years of fertility and wonder if God had more children in mind for us.  We greedily accepted all those that were offered.

But it has certainly gotten more difficult.  Oh, not that we want them less.  If anything, I want them more.  My prayers for the blessing of children have reached a fevered pitch of desperation as I confront the reality of my forties.  Please, Lord, send me more before it's too late!

What has become more difficult is the recognition that this is a fallen world and that all our joy is bittersweet. I offered my labor for a dear friend who had recently confided that she was pregnant again, two years after a heartbreaking stillbirth.  Throughout labor, I was painfully aware that life and death are but a breath apart.  And I was overcome with fear. It was a fear that my friend knew all too well and one that she had faced when she embraced life once again.

A few weeks later came the heartbreaking news that her newest baby would also be born into heaven before she ever held him. As I cradled my newborn and wept for my friend, I wept for myself as well.  Gone was the nonchalant innocence, the notion that if we want a baby, we can have a baby.  In its place is the awe-filled recognition that life on this earth is very precious indeed. And that openness to life--conception, pregnancy and childbirth--is also openness to exquisite pain.

My phone rang several times that night and the next day.  The news of this latest loss rocked the worlds of some very steady, faithful women. We needed each other--we needed to sort the feelings of loss and pain and hopelessness.  And we need to be reminded by each other of faith. Like so many candles lit from a single flame, we consoled each other, we held each other up, even as we mourned the loss of the little row lights that had been snuffed too soon.

I talked with my pastor about it all last Sunday.  And he said to me, in his forthright, blunt, German way, "It's not about you.  It's not about your friend.  It's about the baby. Sometimes women forget that the whole idea is getting a new soul to heaven.  That baby's there. Mission accomplished."  He went on to say that I might not want to be so blunt when I spread the message, but that that really is the bottom line. New souls for heaven.

And with that reality ringing in my ears, I had the holy privelige of bringing another baby before God to be baptized this week. Choosing a date for Karoline's baptism was tedious.  My husband's travel schedule and the priest's schedule and the Holy Day schedules all bumped up against each other.  I ended up with a date two weeks later than I wanted.  I ended up with  All Soul's Day.  And I wasn't thrilled with it. Seemed sort of morbid for a baptism.

But yesterday, in that church, I prayed for those women whose lives and whose stories were so much a part of my pregnancy--for Missey Gray, the homeschooling mother of five who died in childbirth last winter and for Nicole, a dear friend who learned she was dying of cancer as she gave birth to her third baby. And I prayed for Donna, who gave another baby to God. And then, there was Betsy. So much pain mingled with such utter joy. Birth and death, saints and souls, truly life in the Catholic Church. And that water, that holy water, looked to my eyes to be the tears of those mothers who so loved their children. Please God, just grant us the grace sufficient to do your will with these precious souls.

I listened as the dear priest who has baptized all my children reminded my husband and me again that the goal is heaven and that we were solemnly promising to pass on the faith and to educate our children for heaven. Heaven.  No matter whether we hold them for a lifetime or hold them not at all, the goal is to return them to God.

And so yesterday, this precious, precious baby girl became what she is, a child of God.  Please Lord, let me always remember that she was created for heaven.

Empathy

My husband and I were recently discussing a major goal in the raising of children:  the development of empathy.  We want our children to be empathetic.  As a matter of fact, I see empathy as crucial  to maturity.  If a child can't grow to see outside herself and to "feel for someone else,"  she will not be an effective parent or spouse or friend or minister.  You cannot nurture or love or serve without seeking to understand.

Adults who have little or no capacity for empathy are emotionally stuck.  They are children.  They are so self-absorbed that they cannot relate.  And often, they are unaware of this handicap.  Our job as parents is to ensure that our children grow into an awareness of other people and learn to empathize.

Like so many other things, we "teach" empathy by modeling it.  When we empathize, particularly when we are sensitive to our children, they learn to be sensitive to others. And we praise empathy.  When we see a child nurturing a sibling or even a pet, we call it what it is and we encourage more of the same behavior. There are many, many oppoprtunities to develop empathy in a large family.

I've noticed that some children have a natural tendency towards empathy and it takes just a little fine tuning on my part to encourage virtue.  Some children, though, are not as inclined.  We have to talk about empathy more.  We have to point out opportunities to understand and to serve.  And we have to correct self-centered behavior frequently.

Last night, I witnessed such tender empathy that I was inspired by my child.  Nicholas and Stephen are 22 months apart.  But they are nearly the same size.  Stephen, who is older, is actually a bit smaller.  They are inseparable.  And they delight in pretending they are twins. They both have asthma. Nicholas has had a rough road of it lately and has required frequent treatments using a nebulizer.  Last night, as he was holding the mask up to his face, his head began to nod and his eyelids grew heavy.  Stephen noticed, took the mask in his hand, and helped Nicky to put his head on the pillow.  There Stephen sat for twenty minutes more until all the medicine was gone and his best friend in the world slept soundly.

Double Digits!

Mary Beth will turn ten tomorrow.  Since the Loveliness of Babies Fair will be here tomorrow, I thought I'd post her birthday post today. Her brothers call her "Mini Mom" and though it irritates her, it is a fitting nickname.  She is nurturing and competent, quite the lovely big sister.  Still young enough to play with American Girl dolls and pretend to be living in a Little House, she is also showing a maturity that takes my breath away.  Ten years seems such a short time ago!  Mary Beth is a bigtime blogger and she absolutely adores her friends from the Cottage and the Glen.  I laugh with their moms as we watch the second generation of cyber-buddies take shape. My first girl, I do so enjoy her and I'm so thankful for the chance to be a mother to such a dear girl. Happy Birthday, big girl!

Happy Birthday Patrick!

Patrick turns twelve today! Wonder what bundles are in store for him?

Paddy was born on the Feast of the Guardian Angels. And boy, have those angels been good to him! Here's one from the archives to celebrate angels and Patrick:

Patrick was born on a Sunday. Our pastor at the time told us that he looked into the congregation that morning and wondered at our absence. He had a sense that I was in labor and offered that Mass for us. Paddy was born at 11:42—as near as we can tell to the moment the host was consecrated. It is so easy for me to believe that all the angels and saints were rejoicing at that moment and pledging to each other that they would bless this little boy.

The day before he turned two, Patrick was helping my husband fix the computer. He reached over to move the console cover that Mike had removed and, in an instant, cut his chubby fist on the sharp metal cover. He sliced through two tendons and came within millimeters of slitting his wrist. He had complicated microscopic surgery to repair his hand on his birthday: the Feast of the Guardian Angels. He has nearly full function of that hand today, a tribute to the gifted surgeon and his guardian angel.

Now he is nearly seven and he still has an affinity for heart-stopping crises. Last week, Mary Beth came into the kitchen screaming. She had blood on her hands and all she would say was "Paddy! Paddy!" I went to the garage where Patrick stood holding his head, covered in blood. He kept saying, "I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I’m losing too much blood. I'm really scared!" I took comfort in the fact that he was talking. After we mopped him up and Mike put some pressure to a narrow but deep wound in the back of his head, the story unfolded.

He was trying to get a hockey stick from the back of the garage. The stick bumped "that big tool thing" off the hook above Patrick's head. I climbed over all the things we have stored in the garage, following a trail of blood, until I found "that tool thing." A sledgehammer, blunt on one side and axe sharp on the other. A sledgehammer had fallen on my baby’s head! My knees went week and I shook all over. So close…Paddy, recognizing that he was not going to die after all, said, "Mom, I guess you get extra angels if you’re born on their feast day." I guess so.

We believe in guardian angels because Jesus said, "See that you never despise any of these little ones, for I tell you that their angels in heaven are continually in the presence of my Father" (Matthew 18:10). Tradition supports the belief and the Church’s night prayer includes a reference to angels as well: "He has given his angels orders about you, to guard you wherever you go" (Psalms 91:11). One of the first prayers we teach our children is the prayer to our guardian angel.. I try to remember, when I send my children off without me, to send my guardian angel along. He can guard me and the child at the same time.

I must admit that I prayed more fervently to their angels the night after Patrick’s sledgehammer mishap. And I kissed six sweet heads more tenderly. Guardian angels don’t mean that no harm will ever come to us. They simply remind us that His love and protection are with us wherever we are. There is a wealth of both physical and spiritual protection and strength in their presence. They are waiting for us to ask for their assistance. Have you talked to your angel today?

You can barely see the scar in the back of his head.

Happy Birthday, Katie!

Katie turns four today. She wants to have pink and purple cupcakes in the hospital with her new baby. The cupcakes are ready. The baby? Still tucked up tight.