Gathering My Thoughts
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I find myself:
::noticing God's glory
How wonderful is it that on the Christmas when several children received bicycles we had amazingly warm weather? Pretty wonderful.
::listening to
this has been my soundtrack this week. Collin Raye has a beautiful voice. He teams up with Marie Bellet on this album. Marie Bellet has been providing soundtracks to my life for decades. Absolutely perfect album. I love it! Highly, highly recommended.
::clothing myself in
Headbands. I can’t decide whether to grow out my hair or not. In the meantime, it’s headbands.
::talking with my children about these books
The final installment for Mr. Benedict and friends. It’s been a lovely time together. Now taking recommendations for books to read aloud and discuss with early teen boys.
::thinking and thinking
About the year just passed and the year ahead. Goal setting, daydreaming, asking God what word He’d have me choose. Thanking Him for the year of Renew.
::pondering prayerfully
“My own idea, for what it is worth, is that all sadness which is not either arising from the repentance of a concrete sin and hastening towards concrete amendment or restitution, or else arising from pity and hastening to active assistance, is simply bad; and I think we all sin by needlessly disobeying the apostolic injunction to 'rejoice' as much as by anything else.
Humility, after the first shock, is a cheerful virtue.”
C. S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain
::carefully cultivating rhythm
I have dearly loved the rhythm of the last few days. Before going to sleep last night, I ventured to open the email regarding soccer practice for Nicholas. Four times a week. In January. And February. Out of doors. Drafting a plan for new rhythm as we speak.
::creating by hand
I’m nearly finished with my third Boyfriend Scarf—the one that’s truly for my boyfriend. Karoline has requested one just like it in a “color for her.” I still have a Honey Cowl to finish for me. I wonder? If I order Karoline’s yarn after I finish Mike’s scarf, can I push myself to finish the Honey Cowl before the new yarn arrives? We shall see.
::learning lessons in
The importance of rest.
::encouraging learning
I’m looking forward to settling into studies in earnest again soon.
::begging prayers
for all the intentions of our prayer community.
::keeping house
We cleaned well yesterday. The house smells like lemon and eucalyptus oils. The laundry is nearly caught up. We’re ready to welcome a new year.
::crafting in the kitchen
Mary Beth, Katie, and I completely re-did the spice rack. I had several boxes of 4 ounce jars that I’d purchased for a different project and found to be too small. The rack on my pantry door has different sized shelves. The jars fit in all of them, some better than others. We printed labels and tidied up. This system will work much better for spices purchased in bulk. And it looks might pretty –at least it does today.
There will be Hoppin’ John tomorrow. Always is.
::loving the moments
when he comes home. (I say that a lot, don't I? Reunions are just plain awesome.)
::giving thanks
for the chance to see that joy does indeed come in the morning—after a good night’s sleep (or two or three).
living the liturgy
These Days of Christmas are such a gift in so many ways. Tomorrow, we celebrate the new year, but we do it with a day set aside to honor Mary in role as the Mother of God. Such a good place to begin. We have so much to learn from her.
::planning for the week ahead
I will go to finish up at the dentist today.
Tonight we’ll celebrate the new year with our family tradition of dipping and dancing. Fondue is the perfect New Year’s Eve tradition for us and every year looks a little different, but I’m so glad we do it this way.
Dance begins again right after New Year’s Day. For real?
And then there’s that soccer schedule. I’m shuddering a little as I let the reality settle in.
Several orthodontist visits are on the books this week (only metaphorically speaking, because I’ve yet to order my calendar.
I have every intention of soaking up the last few days of rest that remain in the Twelve Days of Christmas.
{{{Psst: It looks like my friend Joy has successfully keyed in social media link buttons at the bottom of my posts. Try 'em out for us? :-) Thanks!}}}
These Days...
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These quiet days tucked between Christmas and New Year's are unfolding in peaceful, restorative slow.
Amen.
I've needed these days, having felt not at all like myself by the end of Christmas Day, and not very much liking the person who'd come to live in my skin. Too much hurrying, too many problems to solve, and this year (for the first time) I think too much consuming. As if the perfect package tied with a pretty bow could somehow make it all better, whatever "it" was.
But these days are not that at all. In these days, little girls squirrel away with the mug of leftover chocolate kisses and make brightly colored confetti messes of the wrappers. I sigh, leave the mess until after the picture, and remind myself that there will be no more candy until Valentine's Day at the earliest.
I have made endless jars of stock with the carcass from a dinner that actually reduced me to tears the night Patrick came home from school. I'm not a very accomplished turkey chef, it seems. Furthermore, I'd forgotten how overwhelming a suddenly full home can be. Now, there is golden stock, simmered 48 hours to render every healing property within, captured into jars and waiting in the freezer for whatever may come our way. Redeemed that tearful meal I did.
I ventured back into the dance studio after a brief post-Nutcracker respite. We enjoyed planning and hosting two "Princess Teas" for friends and neighbors. Any time there is an excuse to dip strawberries and snip flowers, I'm there, even if it means venturing outside during the days intended for staying home.
I've nearly finished tidying the sewing room where so much that is good happened in the last few weeks. And I've made grand plans for many merry hours of creating to come. First though, there are mountains of laundry to tackle, some household puttering kinds of projects to do, and a great deal of renewal still to squeeze out of this year.
After a season of excess and stress, the tub fills with a magical mixture of salt and oil and clay and vinegar; long soaks coax the gremlins and the grime from weary bodies. Restorative healing salve is slathered onto fresh skin and we're all set for the highlight of the day!
Every evening, the girls have climbed into my bed and we've watched Lark Rise to Candleford. Before this week, I've staunchly resisted the phenomenon that is the BBC streaming (I've never once seen Downton Abbey or Call the Midwife, either). We are so hooked. I've been forewarned that the series ends abruptly and that makes me sadder than sad. This will forever be the Christmas I discovered the great gift of knitting while watching a costume series streaming on Amazon Prime...
I'm grateful for the gift of time and the slowly returning peace that has come with hours of intentional quiet. One thing has crept into the margins of otherwise lovely days and I have resolutely pushed it away again and again. Mike has been gone. This was Stephen's year to play in a tournament in Disney the week between Christmas and New Year's. They left on Christmas night and Patrick and Nicholas went with them. It's true that their absence ensured quiet. There are very few squabbles without them here. No one shouts at the TV. No one stays up too late and then makes all kinds of noise while getting settled into bed. But they're gone. During this most wonderful week, we aren't together. Mike has all these days off and I don't get to have him for even a minute of them. One day, when I am old and someone asks what we sacrificed for our children, the weeks we've given to the Christmas Disney tournament will always spring to mind. It's a big deal tournament. And I hate it every time.
I miss Mike. There cannot truly be renewal without him here. It's all so incomplete. They return tonight--or more precisely, in the very dark hours of tomorrow morning. I'll shoo the little girls into their own beds after tonight's knitting and British TV binge. And I'll be so glad to wake up next to him when the last day of the year dawns.
Renewal Soak
1/2 cup bentonite clay (to stimulate the lymphatic system and draw impurities out through the skin)
1 cup of apple cider vinegar (to soften itchy winter skin)
2 cups Epsom salts (so good for easing aches and pains and the puffiness of overindulgence)
10 drops essential oils (I like a combination of lavender and eucalyptus)
Run a very warm bath and add the ingredients. Swish all the ingredients throughout the water. Soak as long as you like, but at least 20 minutes.
This makes a mess of the tub. Leave the water there while you tuck yourself into bed. The clay will stay soft and you can drain and wash it all away in the morning--after you've had a very restful night's sleep.
The Herod in Each of Us
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A tiny child is born, who is a great king. Wise men are led to him from afar. They come to adore one who lies in a manger and yet reigns in heaven and on earth. When they tell of one who is born a king, Herod is disturbed. To save his kingdom he resolves to kill him, though if he would have faith in the child, he himself would reign in peace in this life and for ever in the life to come.
Why are you afraid, Herod, when you hear of the birth of a king? He does not come to drive you out, but to conquer the devil. But because you do not understand this you are disturbed and in a rage, and to destroy one child whom you seek, you show your cruelty in the death of so many children. ~From a sermon by Saint Quodvultdeus, bishop; Office of Readings December 28, Feast of the Holy Innocents
There is a little Herod in all of us, isn't there? Jesus comes to us. He asks us to do things for Him; He tells us we cannot do other things. He closes doors and then opens windows so small and out of reach we wonder how we could ever pass through them. We beg all sorts of things of Him in prayer, things we are certain are just what we need-- the answer, kind and firm, is "No."
And we rage against Him.
We see Him as a threat to all things that could bring happiness. Tiny Baby. Gentleness incarnate. And we rage. And we struggle. And yes, we kill. We destroy peace. We destroy joy. We slaughter childlike faith. All because we think we know better. We are so afraid of relinquishing our own wills, that we miss the one thing that will give us genuine peace.
We miss the Baby in the Manger.
He gathers up the helpless and the small and the weak and the frail and He takes them to Himself. But those that rise up on their own strength and rage against Him? They are left spent and exhausted, wearied to the bone by the efforts of exerting their own will.
All because they are afraid of the Baby in the Manger, afraid to yield to the plan He has. Afraid to become little so that He can become great in their souls. Afraid to let go and let Him be king.
Baby Jesus, I am small and weak and one of my greatest frailties is the inability to recognize that I am nothing without you. Help me to cease striving. Help me to see the great gift of grace You give so freely and to recognize that those Holy Innocents had no merits of their own. Please, Jesus, grant me the peace that comes with truly knowing that we don't win anything; the only true victory is the victory that comes when we yield everything to the man-God hanging on the cross.
Happy Birthday, Nicholas!
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Yesterday, Nicholas turned 13. There are no more little boys in this house; I know this because my husband reminded me several times yesterday. I know this because my littlest boy wanted to go see a PG-13 movie full of adolescent boy humor--and we let him. Four teenagers are asleep in this house right now (it's 4AM). And they are all mine. (I admit I find this daunting.)
Nicholas' birth was perfect. My water broke at 10:00 PM and he was born at 11:55 (no small detail). Christian was there to cut the cord. My favorite midwife made it just in time. They put a little Santa cap on his head. From that moment on, he was just a jolly old elf. Joy all wrapped in a baby's body. That was the best Christmas ever. He was baptized on December 29th, in the Octave of Christmas, right there in front of the creche. And that boy? That boy just became more loveable as he grew.
Barely moments after his twelfth birthday, he was the Best Man, twelve years to the day after his baptism, in the very same church. Shawn was going to be the best man for Michael, but when Michael and Kristin decided to have an "all sibling" wedding party, it was Nick who somehow moved into that role. Shawn mentored him, instead. And Nick rocked it like no one could have imagined.
So it has been. Nick is sweet and good and peaceful and tender-hearted and loyal and passionate about truth. He's the kind of guy you'd be glad to have as your best friend. Twelve was tough year. Three big brothers moved out. I thought his heart would break. He adores those boys, revels, really, in his super-little-brother role. Though he's certainly taken his fair share of big brother knocks, he's grateful to his core for those big boys.
We asked him to leave his soccer team. That's the team with all his best friends, the ones he's played with since he was eight. The team that was just too far away to make it work. He was the fulltime goalie on the team that won State Cup. He left it to play only half of every game on a team close to home. And he never once complained. Instead, he reflected that this new field is really close to Michael's house and "isn't it great that Kristin is so nice when she takes us to practice sometimes?"
Then, his gandfather died. He walked through that first week just a few steps behind his dad every waking moment (and, frankly, right there with his dad several nights, too). He stuck close to his grandmother. He was a lector at the funeral. And a pall-bearer, shoulder to shoulder with his beloved big brothers, (the littlest, but not for long).
He was Patrick's biggest fan. He was the first to volunteer to ride along every time someone made a trip to Harrisonburg to see Christian. He was there, in all the moments--both dark and light--still the boy infused with Christmas joy.
My guess is that thirteen will be the year when the littlest boy overtakes nearly all of them--he will one day be the biggest, even if he's always the youngest. Thirteen will take him places we can't imagine right now. I pray that thirteen will be kinder and gentler to him than twelve was. But even as write, I know that there will be hard days in the year ahead. Nick knows it, too.
These early teen years are always tricky and I see some bumps on the horizon that other boys didn't have to face in the tricky years. This boy is well prepared, though. He is wiser than his years and staunchly shored up by the five siblings who go before him. And he is forever the miracle baby who carries Christmas with him through all his days.
