Come

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Recently, I've been ever more aware how close someone can be to coming into the fullness of the faith or to leaving the Church. I've come to understand how frail the human heart is and how our mission here on earth is to love without reservation, while being very careful in our speech and actions. We are called to grow in sensitivity, not to grow a thicker skin. Today, I am blessed to share this space with Leslie McCaddon, who gives us all something to ponder before we go to Mass this weekend. Leslie will continue to share her sweet heart with us at her new blog, A Whole Hearted Catholic. Do go visit her there. Be blessed!

Almost as soon as I converted to Catholicism the devil went to work to keep me away from the Eucharist. I wasn’t really tempted to break any commandment, except for the first one. For the first year I was officially Catholic, I was literally paralyzed with fear to go to Mass.

It started with becoming conscious of the older woman sitting behind me sighing loudly because my baby’s happy noises were disturbing her. Then, there was the time a couple shook their heads and literally rolled their eyes because on my way back from receiving the Eucharist I missed our pew and had to back-track. Again, loud sighs. I started to worry about everything from my worthiness to ever receive the Eucharist to what to wear on Sunday morning. As a mother of two young children at the time (and one more on the way) I often found myself in tears when I realized we didn’t have “church shoes” that fit or that my only dress that fit over my newly showing pregnant body was rather wrinkled and we needed to leave for Mass 5 minutes ago.

The devil used my weaknesses. He knew that I was self-conscious about my disorganization and ADHD. He knew I wanted desperately to “fit in” and made sure I was acutely aware of every way that I didn’t. And, I was practically holding the door wide open for him.

I remember trying to express my fears and frustrations to a devoutly Catholic friend. She was concerned. How could I let anything keep me away from Jesus? “Just come to Mass!” she insisted. She was compassionate, but she couldn’t understand my anxiety. We were speaking in two different languages—I wanted her to tell me how to be the sort of person who had our “Sunday best” laying out the night before and she kept answering with “The Eucharist”. Sure, yes, “I know” I would say. But, I didn’t know how much I was misunderstanding. Not just her, but everything.

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“You have forgotten” the visiting priest said to me during my first teary confession—a full year since coming into the Church. “You have forgotten that He loves you. God loves you. Very much”. His Kenyan accent and warmth washed over me like warm honey and the first cracks of light started to break into my confused and frightened heart. I don’t remember everything the priest said in that confessional, but I know I walked out knowing I had been missing so much. I had been missing the heart of my new found faith. And now that I was beginning to feel it again, I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way. Adoration was going on in the chapel next door. Up until that evening, I had never really understood this devotion—yes, I knew that was Jesus, but it still seemed “odd” for a bunch of people to be kneeling down in front of a circle of “bread”. That night was different. I was a changed person coming out of that confessional and when I walked into the chapel I felt filled with light. I felt literally knocked to my knees by the love filling the room and I knelt down, my whole body and heart, to adore the source of such powerful love.

Over the next few months I came to understand a little more just how much God desires my family to share in the Lamb’s Supper each week. He bids us, begs us, "Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for your selves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light."

I was comforted by our Lord’s encouragement to “take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”

When the temptation presents itself to put off participating in the Mass until I do the laundry or go shopping (and have rested and cooperative children) I am blessed with the vision of Jesus teaching on a hilltop—men, women and children coming and going at different times. I see wealthy people and peasants, those dressed in gold and those wearing little more than a potato sack. Jesus just continues to teach. He doesn’t notice what people are wearing or who arrives late or comes early—though I am sure he knows and he knows all the reasons they do these things as well. He just continues to teach and offer himself to everyone who has answered his call to come and listen. For some, answering that call includes long journeys (both literal and figurative). For others it is as natural as waking up each morning. He calls us all. Right where we are. And he loves us.

I am still a work in progress and I pray many times a day to be more organized and productive—to fulfill my vocation as wife and mother in the way in which He desires. I still desire to have reverently clothed children sitting quietly in their pews on Sunday morning, though I feel eons away from that reality. I know I am on a long journey towards perfection and I now understand more fully that I am never meant to make that journey alone. God gave us his Son. He gives Him to us at each Mass in the Eucharist. He gives us His Church. He gives us one another to love and encourage each other along our individual paths toward Heaven. He does not want us to be afraid. Nor does he want us to make others fear they are not good enough to come to him. He calls us all.

When I hear a mother fretting over bringing her young child to Mass, or having the right clothes to wear or knowing the right times to kneel and stand I feel so much love and compassion for her. Still, the best encouragement I received is the only encouragement I know to give. “Just come”, I say to her. We are all coming together to adore and receive Love itself. God’s light is too blinding to even notice our neighbor’s noise and clothes. We are all so blessed they closed their hearts to the evil-one’s temptation to stay away, and instead answered our Lord’s call to come.

"Do you realize that Jesus is there in the tabernacle expressly for you - for you alone? He burns with the desire to come into your heart...don't listen to the demon, laugh at him, and go without fear to receive the Jesus of peace and love..." - St. Therese the Little Flower

Balancing Academics with the Rest of Life

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This is a question from 2007. It came from Kendra the Amazing of Preschoolers and Peace. She wanted me to do an online interview. I agreed and never got back to her. I'm really bad like that. I do apologize, Kendra, but I'd like to answer this particular question now, if I may.

How do you think moms can better maintain a balance between academic excellence and the nurturing of relationships with their children?  Are they mutually exclusive?

This has been very much on my mind in the past few weeks. When Patrick left suddenly for Florida, we had four days to prepare. Usually, I use high school to get my kids ready for school away from home in college. Academically, we do things like learning to write research papers, taking notes from a lecture, managing time, integrating book work with lecture work. They take classes at the community college and I'm right there at their elbows to ease them into it and teach as we go. And, usually, they have completed what I consider to be an academically rich curriculum before they leave. Also, I have learned that 13 to 14-year-old boys are very very hard to motivate. That school year is not so productive. After Michael, I learned not to freak out about it. They catch up when they figure out that they need it. No big deal.

Except when they figure out they need it four days before shipping off to what's supposed to be the "best school in Florida."

I can't tell you the sleep I missed worrying that our program was not going to fly under these conditions.

Our academic program has always been literature intensive. It's also delight-driven within limits. That is, my kids get choices about what to study within a certain parameter. Every once in awhile, I look at something known for its rigor (like The Well Trained Mind in its entirety or Tapestry of Grace or Robinson) and I think about how much I want that kind of excellence. I love school. I'm a total library person. I would have taken any one of those curricula as a child and absolutely loved it. But it doesn't suit my household.

Remember the priority thing? I'm one parent. There is another. He is brilliant. But he's not the bookish sort. He brings the rest of the world into our home. He orchestrates opportunities to pursue athletic excellence. He drives the late shift home from dance. He works late at night and so he likes to hang out and have a big pajama party on our bed in the morning, keeping everyone from the designated chores and school for the hour. He doesn't hesitate to whisk someone away on an airplane for some adventure, regardless of the lessons planned. And sometimes I {silently} question his wisdom.

I definitely worried about it when Patrick left. Hold that thought.

The other area of balance in our house is that of home management and child care. While, I definitely don't delegate it all out while I sit idly by, I definitely do enlist their help while I work alongside them. I don't think it can all get done any other way. While Patrick may have slacked about school when he was 14, he wasn't given the opportunity to give up kitchen duties and he wasn't allowed to be anything but kind to his younger siblings. His cooperation was to cruical to the family mission. He cooked. He cleaned. He gardened. He loved on babies and he might have even braided blond curls on occasion. Hold that thought.

I ordered Tapestry of Grace just before I left for Florida. Someone had been throwing up all week. Laundry and disinfecting were in high gear but academics were taking a backseat. In hindsight, I think the anxiety of going to Paddy's "perfect school" and meeting all his teachers and hearing how hard he was having to work to keep up made me grasp for the most intense, well laid out, well credentialed curriculum I could find. I wasn't going to get into the position ever again. When I got home, I was going to make sure we were all about reaching the maximum intellectual heights.

I found Patrick happy and well. Every coach, dorm supervisor, and trainer we talked to commented on how extraordinarily well he could handle the stuff of life. They told us how he is a leader among peers, a natural big brother type. When given three hour's notice before flying internationally, he can get his ducks in a row. His shirts are clean and his belts match his shoes. He knows where his equipment is and he knows how to get it all from Point A to Point B. He manages his money just fine; he gives himself and everyone else haircuts; he organized the bus to Church (and routinely brings a bunch of non-Catholics with him). He's homesick and it's obvious, but he has set about making the most of the real life opportunities in front of him.

Then we went to the school. Every single teacher sought us out to comment on how beautifully he's doing. I looked at the curriculum and saw holes all over the place (much to my chagrin). It's a beautiful building and they are good, well meaning people doing the best they can with a really odd situation. If he were home, frankly, it would be a better designed, better tailored program. But he's not home.

And he left home well prepared in the important places.

He knows where home is and he knows he's supported.

So, all the rowdy mornings, all those "daddy trips," all the baby love, the cooking and laundry--all of it has mattered just as much as academics. We had those things covered so well that it didn't matter that he had four days to prepare to leave.

And the academics? Apparently they were good enough to succeed. His geometry teacher wishes he were better at timed tests. I guess they can work on that.

I came home to that rigorous curriculum. I tried my level best to make it work. It doesn't in my house. The housekeeping suffered as I spent hours with my head in the Teacher's Manual and my kids spent too much time at the table. I used way too much ink printing worksheets. I was a crazed taskmaster, trying desperately to keep even one child from falling behind, since we're all supposed to be in the same place. It wasn't pretty. My first hint that it wasn't going to work was when I couldn't fit it into the CM Organizer. The one created by Simply Charlotte Mason? This new plan was anything but simple. Sure, it came with instructions to winnow to fit, but by the time I read it all to know where I wanted to winnow and then winnowed some more to make it appropriate for Catholic children, then added the stories of the heroes of the Church, it was all too complicated for me.

Serendipity works in my house. It's books that inspire us; it's relationships between the people reading the books and the people in the books. There is an emphasis on writing--my children seem to write before they walk. Baskets of books, art supplies in abundance, time to think and to write.  It's who we are. Yes, if there is a lack of balance, it's because we lean towards relationships. The academics happen and they flourish in an atsmosphere of relationships. Maybe that atmosphere makes up for what might be lacking in intellectual rigor. I'm good with that. I really am.