Holding Grace

I'm not marching today.  The big boys will go off, bundled against the cold. But I will stay home with the wee ones and read stories and sip hot chocolate. Snuggled next to me with Katie on the couch will be a little girl with golden-red curls.  Her name is Grace.  And Grace is a living, breathing tesitmony to the power of prayer and love over the culture of death. 

Three years ago, Gracie was safe inside her very young mother, Emily.  She was what the media call "a crisis pregnancy."  And while there is no doubt that when an unmarried sixteen-year-old is pregnant it is a crisis, Gracie was never in danger.  Emily was living in a culture of love. She sacrificed her senior year in high school, her last chance to be a dancer, her waning days of youthful irresponsibility.  And she became the mother of Grace.

Gracie was born hours after I miscarried.  I was with Emily in the delivery room and I heard God tell me quite emphatically that there are many ways a child can be born into my life. I had no idea at the time how much I'd grow to love that baby.  On that day, I could barely look at her, my own wound was so raw.

Emily chose to raise her baby, with the constant and devoted help of her parents.  I chose to play a very active role.  Emily goes to college locally.  Gracie spends her days with me. It's not all roses.  Emily continues to sacrifice. She works really hard and is a stellar student.  She tries mightily to spend a quantity of quality time with her daughter. She has given up the carefree innocence of unencumbered youth that most teenagers take for granted. (And she's pretty much given up sleep, too.)

But she has given those of us who love this little girl an incredible gift.  What a privelige it is to watch her grow!  What a miracle it is to know how easily she could have been in peril before we even knew her.  Emily has talked about how easily and how often other girls in her Catholic high school chose abortion.  It looked like the easy choice.

But what we know is that Emily's courageous choice saved Gracie's life but it also saved Emily's life. Whatever sacrifices Emily makes, whatever real and heavy burdens she will bear, she will never carry the cross of having had an abortion. She never even considered an abortion.  I think that that is because she grew up in a culture of absolute unconditional love. She was never confused about what a gift a child is, what a gift she is. God had big plans for Emily and He spoke them plainly. I think she was saved by Grace.

How can we create a culture of love?  How we can make sure that the young women in our lives know that they are loved despite their frailties, despite their sins?  How we change the world, change the culture, reclaim life in the darkness of death?

For each of us, this answer will look a little different.  For some of us, it will be obvious.  We will be given the gift of a great opportunity, a chance to be a tangible blessing to a young mother and baby. Gracie is a joy to me.  But, sometimes it is a bittersweet joy.  She is not mine.  These days of holding her close are not forever.  There will be sorrow.  I won't even let myself think of the deep pain it will cause my children when the "Gracie Days" at our house will be over.

But I know that born of that pain will be the indelible lesson that every life, every child is precious.  Born of that pain will be the powerful witness of Emily's example. Because we know Grace, we know the child in the slogan "It's a child, not a choice." And, oh my, is she beautiful!

We can reclaim the culture for love.  We can reclaim it one child, one choice at a time.  I pray for the day when we can all know the love that comes from curling up inside on a cold January day, when there are no more marches to march, when the fight has been won, when we all have the privilege of holding Grace.

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Won't you take a moment or two?

It is well worth taking a few moments today to read The Challenge and Foundations at Castle of the Immaculate. So often, we spend a harried early morning finding collared shirts and matching shoes and checkbooks and envelopes and then we dash out the door and roll out of the van and into the pew. Then for the next hour, we work on keeping them still and quiet. Around us, there are other parents who are genuinely trying to keep children "entertained" with all sorts of playful distractions.  They are well-intentioned, of course.  They don't want their children to be a nuisance to those around them.  But can't we do better?  Can't we bring our children along to a place where they are truly assisting at Holy Mass, instead of merely existing there?

Helen reminds us that it is a continual teaching process that prepares a child, not just a Sunday morning one. Our goal is for a child to "internally engage in what is going on." Throughout the week, we set the stage for a contemplative Sunday.  And, in doing so, we live the Mass every day.

We are a liturgical people--all people are liturgical people.  In a recent conversation with a Baptist who is longing for something she senses is missing, I reflected upon how blessed we are that our Faith embraces all the senses.  Instead of running from the physical aspects of worship, we bring the "smells and bells" of it into our churches and into our homes. Children are particularly sensitive to movement and to sight, sound and touch. They sense the sacred.

Throughout the week, we can remind children that we worship with our whole person, with our whole body. So, on Sunday, it is a treat--the pinnacle of worship--when we are supported in our desire to unite with God with every fiber of our being at the Holy Mass.

So, that wiggly, squiggly active little boy?  The one that won't sit still and must move? Let's see if we can't show him how his body--trained to ride a bike or put a soccer ball upper ninety--can be trained to move and to posture with reverence and a certain degree of skill in order to join more perfectly with God. They can do it. Mass doesn't have to be about goldfish in a cup and coloring books and happy meal toys.  It can be about worship even for--especially for--little poeple.  Don't distract them; disciple them.

The dreaded question

Says the seventh child (the child born just before the digital camera), looking over the row of baby books:  Where's mine, Mommy!?  I can't wait to see all my pictures.Michael and Kari have lots of pictures.

Sigh.  That's because Michael was the first and because MICHAEL took Kari's pictures.  I'm a bad mommy, Katie. There are pictures,here, somewhere.  I will scrapbook, sometime.  I promise, dear girl.

From where I stand

Margaret asked that we post the view from the kitchen sink. This is where I stood this morning, Margaret, and offered prayers for you and your baby. 

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the sunroom is on the other side of the pass-through window:

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The big windows overlook a soccer field in the backyard but I can't get a picture without so much glare you can't see anything.

Many of us on the east coast and in the central and mountain time zones will be in our kitchens with lunchtime duties this morning/afternoon when Margaret goes for a sonogram.  Please pray for her and for her baby as you stand at your sink.