To be in New Jersey

I can count on one hand the number of times this team has lost. They are twelve now and some of them have been playing together since they were four. That's a lot of games, a lot of tournaments, a lot of trophies.My husband and I have often wondered whether Patrick's concept of self was tied up entirely in his exceptional soccer "career."  But we've never been able to test the theory. Last night, they played a team they 'd beaten easily a couple of weeks ago. Last night, they played the biggest game of their young lives. Last night, they lost.

As they left the pitch, heads hung low, they looked so much like the little boys they were a blink or two ago. I wanted to gather them--all of them--into my arms and kiss their tear-stained faces and tell them with certainty that tomorrow would be a better day. But there wasn't enough of me and I didn't have the words and instead I let my own tears fall as we drove home in the dark of night. It's just a game.

I awoke early. It was my duty to rouse Patrick and get him on the road. He's going to spend the weekend in New Jersey with the rest of the Virginia Olympic Development Team (a different team from last night's team). I dreaded waking him. He slept, oblivious to the previous evening's disappointment. As soon as I nudged him, he'd remember.

He staggered from his bed and bent to zip his suitcase, his face crumpling in the lost fight to hold back tears. "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it."

The ring of the phone shattered the early morning silence. Patrick's coach. Aware as he's always been for the last eight years of Patrick's needs and aware as well that Patrick's father was hurtling through the air on the red-eye, he was calling to help Patrick rehearse what to say when the inevitable ribbing began on the bus. I never would have thought to do that. Thank you , God, for Dennis.

In the kitchen after the phone call, I cupped Patrick's face in my hands and I told him how grateful I was to have the chance to tell him that I love him even more today than yesterday.

I handed him off to ride to New Jersey, his face freshly washed with the tears of the night and the morning, alone. (Except for all the coaches and a busload of kids.) Without me.
And all day long, I worried for him, I wanted him, I missed him.

As soon as the wheels hit the ground, Mike called him. He echoed Dennis, unknowingly. They know his soul. They know the heart of this competitor. They "get" him. But Mike ached, too. He went on to work. I went about my very busy day. It's going to be a big weekend; I have so much to do.

Around three, we talked. Mike said he's never wanted to drive up to a soccer event as much as he wants to join Paddy this weekend. Me neither. But we can't.

We can't because Mary Beth has a dance recital Saturday morning and Michael's graduation is Saturday afternoon. We can't because Christian has two divisional basketball games. We can't because on Sunday, at RFK stadium, Michael will receive a scholarship at the D.C. United game. We can't because we are a large family and a whole bunch of great things are happening here this weekend. Things that need both parents. Paddy knows that. Paddy knows he wants this chance at the Regional Olympic Development program. Paddy chose to get on that bus and he lives to compete tomorrow.

I'll spend the weekend missing him. He'll spend the weekend growing up.

The State Cup (Part 1)

It was a beautiful day in Virginia Beach on Saturday and our favorite U-12 team, the United Juniors, took on their rivals, the Knights. They played hard and won, 2-0.  As the game ended, the clouds gathered.

 

Karoline was not her cheerful self, but I was decidedly pleased with the outcome.

The remnants of tropical storm Barry rolled in and drenched the beach throughout the night, sending us packing and driving four hours home without deciding a State Champion. That final game will be played at a yet undecided time and place. One thing is certain, the state champions will have a homeschooler on the team. And it will be a homeschooler whose mom has written a book about Catholic homeschooling. But will it be the attacking midfielder of this book or the goalkeeper of this one? Stay tuned...

Many thanks to my friend Roger for the pictures. I, um, can't find the camera (;-) Bridget).

 

My Dad took some good pictures too, but I'm having trouble uploading...more later, I'm sure.

Who's the Patron Saint of Soccer?

Would you tell him that we're  Patrick is playing the State Cup Final Four this weekend. Big games, big prayers. Please?

I promise to report from the field.

This Weekend

• 13 Soccer games in two different states, three different towns
• 1 basketball game in yet another town
• 2 birthday parties

See  you on Tuesday!

Full of Grace

This May, our reflections on Mary have been quiet ones. We haven't done a whole lot of crafting. We even missed the parish May crowning.  But, the quiet suits me right now. We have talked about how the Blessed Mother was full of grace and we have each been thinking what that means exactly and how we, too, can be filled with grace.

Early in May, I took my scapular medal and my medal of Our Lady of La Leche from the gold chain around my neck. Karoline had been grabbing at it and pulling and I was afraid that one day, the chain would break and the medals would be lost. I also wanted to make something that set off the loveliness of what those medals represent for me. I tinkered with the idea of a beaded necklace on sturdy wire, but settled instead on a small rosary bracelet.  It was simple and suited both my beading skills and the "every day-ness" of my medals. I wanted something I could wear always.

In practice, I can't wear this when I cut raw chicken or make meatloaf. I take it off when I'm scrubbing toilets. But, for the most part, it's with me. The unexpected benefit to having a bracelet instead of a necklace is that now I see my medals all the time. There they are, framed by delicate, lovely, small pearls, and little bits of pink--a constant reminder that Mary was lovely, little, hidden, and joyful. The bracelet reminds me that the goal is to be full of grace.

Mary lived a humble, hidden life in Nazareth. She loved her baby well and filled herself with His being. He grew inside of her and He grew alongside her. She spent the days of His childhood in relative quiet-- Our Lady of La Leche, a gentle woman with a holy baby at her breast. God was with her, all the time.

When I see the medal, often throughout the day, I whisper a prayer: Pray I will be little; pray that I want nothing more than to be with Him as I go about my daily round and I answer the call of my vocation. Let me see your Son in my children. Let me be full of grace.

How can we be filled with the grace of the Holy Spirit? That means that there is nothing in us but the Holy Spirit. If it's all Him, there's nothing left of me. The only thing that stands between me and the perfect indwelling of the Holy Spirit is pride. Pride is being full of me. And the only way to be full of grace is to be humble and little in the arms of Our Lord. I have to empty myself of my pride so that He can pour His grace abundantly into my being. Let go! Let go of the fear, let go of the urge to control it all! St. Therese writes that " sanctity is an interior disposition which makes us humble and little in God's arms, conscious of our weakness and trusting even to audacity in the goodness of our Lord." Can we do that? Can we trust--even to audacity--in God's goodness? We can if we allow ourselves to be filled with grace.

I don't live in Nazareth. Mary didn't have a computer and a telephone. She wasn't a soccer mom. Her husband didn't travel every week. Our lives are so different. And they are so similar. We are both women whose hearts long to hold the infant Lord. She had no need for reward or recognition; she lived her whole life looking towards her Son. The people whose lives she touched followed her gaze. She looked away from herself and to the source and summit of life. It was a simple way to live, free from earthly drama and self-centered turmoil.

Mary's life was simple and mine can be, too. She told me exactly how to live the life of simplicity that will leave me open to grace: Do whatever He tells you.Always, she points us to her Son and His Word. Whatever He tells you. Is that so hard? Well, sometimes. But it is simple. With every decision I have to make, I can consider one thing alone: How will this help me get to heaven? Simple. Humble. Mary-like.

Mary had limitless faith. She issued her fiat without stopping to intellectually examine the seeming impossibility of what the angel had told her. If God said it was so, that was good enough for her. All she wanted was God's will for her. That's it. A straight and narrow path to heaven is the will of God. Every single day, Christ asks us to be His handmaiden. Sometimes, He is asking so much of our fragile, human selves. Sometimes, the cross is nearly unbearably heavy. But always, He will give us the grace to accept His divine will and live in His love.

I am reminded of purity of heart when I think about the Blessed Mother, particularly Our Lady of La Leche. How single-minded we are for our children when they are suckling at our breasts! How small our world becomes when it is just the two of us, intimately connected and gazing with mutual adoration. Love like that seems so pure. Yet, it is not nearly the pure love Our Father has for us, nor the pure love we aspire to have for God. That is the love the Blessed Mother had for her Son and that is the love she wants so much for us to have as well.

Father Jean C. J. Elbee writes, "Mary was all love because she was completely pure. Purity is not only exemption from any stain, from any sin.Purity is often synonymous with the absence of sin. What an error it is to stop there! To drive away darkness we need light. The absence of sin is a condition; but what we need beyond that is the positive beauty of sanctifying grace--that is to say, the Holy Trinity in us. That is purity: Mary, full of grace."

Our Mary table this year is simple. A small bowl holds flowers to be wrapped around a wreath we made of Sculpey. When the children serve each other, they wrap a flower around the wreath: a gift for the Blessed Mama! There is a May basket that was delivered by a friend, an icon the never fails to remind me of another woman who prays daily for the simple, hidden holiness of Mary, and a statue that holds holy water. I so loved my Alleluia letters, that I re-invented the idea for May and this month's letters remind us that our heart's desire is to be full of grace.

It is my prayer, my friends, that the Lord is with thee!

Visit Helen at the Castle of the Immaculate to read the Loveliness of Marian Devotion Fair.