Just Give Up

Well, there went January. Poof! And it's gone.

My January wasn't what I planned. Was yours? Are you working your Plan for 2016 or are you feeling a bit snowed under by the reality that is Life? 

Here's The Next Thing: Lent starts in ten days. What will you sacrifice this year? You, who was up three times last night? What's the "something extra" you're going to do? You, who will drive hours and hours this week with a cargo of small athletes--will you give up afternoon coffee or the wine with dinner? How can you push yourself further, work yourself harder this Lent? Can you circle back to a New Year's Resolution already abandoned and make good on that?

I've got a different idea. 

This year, for Lent, live Mercy. And start with yourself. This year, take your disillusioned and discouraged self and instead of flogging it, nurture it. 

Somehow, women have learned that nurturing ourselves must come last. We equate holiness with sucking the life out of ourselves to give it to someone else. Newsflash: it doesn't work that way. When we deplete ourselves--which happens over time if we aren't careful--there is no cycle of giving and receiving. A depleted woman cannot give. She has nothing left. She hits rock bottom, exhausted and disappointed. 

Let Lent be a time of transformation. Self-care isn't selfish. It's vital. It's life-giving. Can you commit to spending Lent taking care of yourself, changing some habits and learning some new ones, in order to fill your own cup? Could you do that if I promise you that once your cup is full you'll be a much better wife, mother, friend, and neighbor?

I'm not talking about giving up chocolate. I'm talking about giving up. Give up the extra weight you carry that isn't the cross He chose for you. Give up the uneasy yoke and trade it for the one that embraces the Lord in His mercy and then extends it to your circle of influence. 

You can do this. You can commit to spending Lent taking care of yourself and establishing lifestyle practices that will bring you close to our Lord and to your family, while inviting peace and order into your home. You will fill your own cup and give generously to others. 

Giving up and giving to ourselves isn't about a spa weekend or even a spiritual retreat away from the crowds (though there is likely a time and place for both those things). Giving up can mean setting aside a few minutes a day to read with purpose and understand the principles of self-care, from sleep and nutrition to friendship and creativity, and then to implement them over time in your own life. It's not elaborate or expensive. It is a sacrifice.  You will have to lay down your roughhewn cross of busy productivity and perfection. The one you will shoulder is marked "Mercy"-- First for yourself, then for your world. 

Lots more details here.

God's Plan for Restoration

I didn't blog here much last year. I kind of have a life principle not to complain and I tend to take it very seriously. My close friends know that the longer I go without calling or otherwise talking, the worse things are. And if I'm not going to tell them, I am certainly not going to splash it all over the internet. But I did mention a time or two that last year was a very bad year. 

I limped to the end of that very bad year, keeping my eyes fixed on the prize: a week between Christmas and New Year's when the boys would be gone with Mike and the girls and I would be home with absolutely nothing we had to do.

After a year that saw financial hit after hit, I was going to sink into that week and just relax in knowing a Christmas bonus had breathed a sigh of relief into our bank account. I was going to catch my breath before the next orthopedic surgery, hope that there would be no bad developments in Mike's mother's struggle with cancer, no life-threatening adolescent crises, no new crushing necessary expense. I was going to sew. I was going to read novels. I was going to play games with the girls, and stay up late chatting about things that had nothing to do with the ER or broken appliances or cancer. I was going to take them to Zoo Lights and ice skating and out to eat. I was going to put the year to bed by framing its final week in hope and glory.

I got sick. I spent the entire week in bed writhing in intestinal pain. I did none of the above. 

Then, ever the optimist, I just told myself that Mary Beth's semester didn't start until January 18th and Patrick's surgery wasn't until January 13th, so I'd re-schedule my Perfect Week and claim the time from January 2nd until I left for Charlottesville to help Paddy with surgery. There. Perfect.

Mike had been pleading with me to make some special plans for my birthday, insisting that decade birthdays need to be ACKNOWLEDGED and CELEBRATED. I told him I'd love to go to Mass at the Shrine downtown and then take the whole crew to Chinatown for lunch. He made sure everyone knew the plan and they would all be in town to make it happen. Game on. The first two weeks of 2016 were going to be full of all good things.

I got off to a fairly decent start. A friend listened to my fitness goals from afar and encouraged me to the Run the Year with her. Together, we'd cover 2016 miles. I knew I could do my half, because I knew I can go distances, but secretly I planned to push myself to cover all 2016. This was going to be my year. That time outside running and walking is time I'd missed the previous year, but time I knew had been so beneficial the year before that. 

I talked with people who give good advice and settled on a word for the year. Great word. Great vision. In later conversations about goals, I found myself a little troubled by a friend's lack of enthusiasm for some other plans, but I tried to push those thoughts away. They didn't go away. I respect her and she clearly thought I was off the mark on my Goals 2016. Still, I was moving forward with my plan to bury last year and move full steam ahead into my firm belief that mind-over-matter would make this year better.

On January 6, I took the boys the gym. I logged my five miles and headed out of the cardio area feeling oddly lightheaded. I just couldn't catch my breath. I went home, found that the girls had cleaned the house, and I delightedly seized the extra time to go up to our local Montessori school and sit and chat with my friend Carmen, the directress. We have some big plans for this year and I was eager to talk plans with someone who'd be enthused.  Later, I stretched well on my yoga mat, there in my super clean bedroom, and then I went to bed early.

The next morning, I awoke with a wicked cough. I didn't get out of bed that day. Or the next. We moved slowly into the weekend and the grand birthday plans morphed into Mass at the local high school auditorium (just like every ordinary Sunday) and carry-in Indian food. My whole focus was on getting better so that I could help Patrick with surgery. On Monday, I grocery shopped for the week and prepped so  kids at home could eat in my absence. On Tuesday, I drove two hours to Charlottesville. I figured I'd been sick almost a week, surely this bug was nearly finished.  I still felt sick. And then, sicker.

Somehow, Patrick and I muddled through his surgery day. Instead of waiting the fours hours in the hospital, I went and sat outside a coffee shop across the street. I knew that if I coughed the way I'd been coughing in that hospital waiting room I'd either be asked to leave or admitted. I took Patrick home to my father's house and he and my stepmother helped me to care for him. Breathing became harder every day. My voice was completely gone. I texted Mike--because I truly couldn't talk--and told him that the crackles and rattles in my chest were loud and insistent. We'd been here before and I was sure I had pneumonia.

Here is where I will admit that when you are a cancer survivor and your chest begins to talk to you under the scar tissue, there is a unique kind of terror that grips you in the middle of the night and haunts you when daylight comes.

I drove home two days later and collapsed into my own bed. The next morning, I was officially diagnosed and a course of antibiotics and steroids was set. I slept downstairs on the couch so that hopefully Mike wouldn't be disturbed by my coughing and I could more easily sleep sitting up. On the morning of the day I now see as the Rock Bottom Day, I woke to the worst asthma attack I have ever experienced. My husband came barreling down the stairs and together we nebulized and medicated and did whatever 28 years of parenting asthmatics has taught us. But we both knew that we were seconds away from dialing 911. The meds kicked in. We muddled through the morning. In the early afternoon, I was still struggling so hard to stop coughing and just breathe that I took the vaporizer from its stand on the floor and lifted it onto my lap. I wanted to hang my head over it and inhale more directly. I blame lack of oxygen for this poor decision. I poured boiling water onto my lap. Despite quick action on the part of my teens, large blisters formed immediately. Mary Beth went and got the biggest bandaids they make. I slept with ice packs on my lap for the next 24 hours. The next day, we all realized that in our haste to spread ointment and cover the wounds we hadn't bothered to make sure the bandages were latex-free. There were hives under the adhesive, bordering the blisters. Insult to injury.

From there, we had day after day of very slow healing. I still have no voice. It's been three weeks. We all hunkered down together for a blizzard--and the most snow this neighborhood has ever seen. Throughout these days of just concentrating on breathing and chastising myself for allowing myself to get so run-down, a voice has hissed in my ear. "Are you serious? You are actually going to have the audacity to invite women to come along on a journey of healing and restoration again this year for Lent? Clearly, you are the world's worst example of how to take care of yourself. You have nothing to offer. Nothing." 

Honestly, I had thought I'd heard a friend say I had nothing to offer just as my saga began and somehow, in my misery, that distortion of what she'd actually said took on a life of its own and grew and grew and grew. How can someone who so clearly ran herself into the ground during a year that was everything she didn't want emotionally, spiritually, physically, and relationally have something to offer other women who are similarly tired and discouraged? Really, how can someone who got so discouraged and disappointed and defeated last year offer anything to anyone, ever? 

Don't you have to have it all perfectly figured out and perfectly live what you know in order to offer something of value to other people?

[Um. Probably not. If that were so, we'd have no minsters of anything.]

I sifted through the pages and pages of Restore during a couple of those long days. There is truth there. Beautiful truth. The reality is that I know the contents of the Restore Workshop. I know every thoughtful, intentional component of the gift that workshop has been to me and the hundreds of women who have participated in it. Truth is truth. And I have never needed to focus on what Restore offers as much as I do right now. Today.

Honestly, I'm very grateful for the circumstances which made it so that these principles are thoughtfully collected in this manner for a time such as this. 

This year.

Sitting in the wreckage of last year and looking at the dubious beginning of this year, it is clear that simply pressing the re-set button and starting over isn't going to cut it. What is needed is a total recommitment to principles of self-care that are necessary both to recover and to live this life of Christian womanhood with joy. I want to restore my joy. 

Intrigued about Restore? Have a few minutes more to hear what it's all about? Click here. 

Year of Mercy: Start with Yourself

I’ve been looking forward to this new year, eagerly anticipating the calendar change, setting my hopes on a new digit in the “year” column making all things new. I’m not sorry to see 2015 slip away. I hear the drumbeat, steady and rising, propelling me forward: We can do better. We can do better. We can do better.

There are logical places in the calendar year that are invitations to hope. The beginning of the school year is a fresh, unwritten page. Advent brings with it the knowledge that the universal church begins again. The most wide-open space of all is New Year’s Day. Christmas has all the feel of the culmination of the year, and most mothers find the week after Christmas a natural suspension of time for rest and recovery after the effort of making a holiday merry. We tie up loose ends. Then, we look ahead in hope.

But if the year just passed has been a bit of a struggle, hope meets fear at the turn of the year and they wrestle for the vision that will shape the next 366 days (this year has a lovely grace day bonus). Fear threatens it all. What if this year is no different from last year? What if I am forever stuck in this place of discouragement? What if we can’t do better?

Cease striving. He’s God. (Ps 46:10) He can make all things new. Lean in and trust Him. All those things you hope for this new year? All the ways you want it to be better than last year? Put them at the foot of the cross. Trust Him with them. Then, resolve to live anew in His mercy.

Mercy makes all the difference.

We stand before the threshold of a new calendar year, having just thrown open the jubilee doors and stepped into the Year of Mercy. This is the year the church has set aside to wash us in compassion. This is the year the church has set aside for us to do the works of mercy that bring relief to the souls and bodies of our neighbors. Mercy is like oxygen, though. You can’t extend it to others without first being merciful to yourself. None of those resolutions, none of your fondest wishes for this year to be different stand a chance unless and until you live mercy inside your own skin.

That fear of being forever stuck? It is fueled by your unwillingness to meet the merciful Jesus and surrender. May I suggest just three resolutions which you might try, three resolutions which can open the floodgates of grace in the year of mercy?

Give the first five minutes of your day to God. Longer would be better, because this time is His lavish gift to you and you really do want to fully unwrap it, but start small. Give Him five minutes. Spend five minutes, first thing in the morning in His word. Flip open a bedside Bible. Pray Morning Prayer on the Divine Office app. Read the Mass reading of the day and a very brief devotion on Blessed is She. There are many, many aids out there to help you settle into the habit of listening to God before anything else. Those five minutes will fuel your day. Those five minutes will bring about the change you so desperately want.

The second resolution requires a bit more planning and perhaps more courage. Go to confession once a week. Frequent confession helps us to identify those sins we commit over and over again. Beyond identifying them, confession helps us to see the patterns which nurture the sins. For instance, I go to confession and I confess (again) that I am irritable and short-tempered and fearful. In the course of conversation in the confessional, the priest recognizes that for me, sleep deprivation is the near occasion of sin. If I don’t want this year to be the same as last year, I’m going to have to sleep more and sleep better. Further, I am going to have to exercise and to eat right because those two things affect my sleep and my mood and so they affect how I live in the world.

The third resolution is more difficult. It’s the Year of Mercy. Our first instinct is to ask how to bring mercy to others. May I suggest that the best way is to extend mercy to yourself first? Loving Jesus and loving others as Jesus loved us begins with accepting ourselves. My struggle this year has been with disappointment, and that disappointment has been a fire fueled by judging too harshly.

We cannot fully love others unconditionally until we love ourselves unconditionally. We cannot love ourselves until we extend to ourselves genuine mercy. If inside our heads, we have a running critical dialogue with ourselves, chances are we are going to judge others just as harshly. We find ourselves lacking, we see our faults, and then we look around and we begin to identify the faults of others in order to make ourselves feel better. That paradigm keeps us stuck in last year’s muck. When we accept ourselves and when we resist the urge to try to be superior to our neighbor and instead extend grace and mercy, we are open and receptive to Him. At last, we will have the strength and grace we need to effect real change in the new year.

One Little Word: CHERISH

One lovely thing about a January birthday is that the rest of the world begins a new calendar year at the same time I start a new year of my life, and these two things happen shortly after the Church year has begun again. Everything refreshes. I guess you could say I'm very much wired for a hard re-set this time of year. 

I'm also very introspective. So, I've been eagerly anticipating a few hours to sit and think and put pen to paper and make some plans. Those hours happened today. In recent years, I've chosen one word as an organizing principle--an intention--for the year. Some years more than others, this one little word has given me focus. Last year, I chose the world LIGHT. A few weeks into the year, I chose a new word: REDEEMED. The year was a hard one and it didn't feel light at all, but when I whispered my new word to a very small handful of friends, they reminded me of it in dark moments. He redeemed. It was a quiet, powerful word. 

I have some friends with whom I love to make lists. Together, we goal set and we right the ship throughout the year--all via text message, mostly. As has become the custom, I asked my friends Kitty and Aimee for ideas as I pondered a word for this year.

I want a quiet word, a word that is more receptive than productive, more gracious than striving. I want a word that works for a woman who celebrates her 50th birthday with a sense of gratitude for the past, hope and joy for the future. 

Aimee suggested CHERISH.

cherish

transitive verb

1. 1a :  to hold dear :  feel or show affection for <cherished her friends> b :  to keep or cultivate with care and affection :  nurture <cherishes his marriage>

2. 2:  to entertain or harbor in the mind deeply and resolutely <still cherishes that memory>

cher·ish·able  adjective

cher·ish·er  noun

That works, doesn't it? 

I want to hold dear the treasures of this life. It's seems like such an obvious thing to treasure your husband and your children, your home, even your work. For me, though, there is something quiet and golden in the essence of cherishing. Something that says, "Slow down. See how far you've come together? See how good it is?" I need this year to be about noticing how good it is, without rushing in to make it better or right the wrongs. Be still and cherish.

When we were still kicking words around, Kitty offered CULTIVATE. I thought about it a bit and it is a good one. But CULTIVATE is already up there, already a part of CHERISH. So, I can kind of get a two-fer there. I will cultivate in the sense that I will keep with care and affection. That means that when I am tempted to be all about the business of getting things done and progressing efficiently, I'll stop and consider with care the circle that is my world and I will cultivate what is good there and nurture it. 

The second meaning, to harbor in my mind deeply, is one I am going to truly resolve to live every day. We don't generally associate a negative connotation to the word CHERISH. So, if I'm deeply holding a memory in the sense of cherishing it, it's a good memory and not a bad one. This year, there will be no revisiting the sins of the past (mine or anyone else's), even in an effort to make them better. I left them in the confessional on December 31st--every single one of them. And I made a promise to God and my pastor not to revisit them. I meant it. Instead, the memories I will let roam in my very overactive, introspective mind are the ones I cherish. And only those.

CHERISHABLE: Lots of people and even some things in my life are cherishable. I intend to regard them as such. In its adjective form, CHERISHABLE reminds me to take good care of myself because I am worth keeping with care and affection. This particular year? It's the Year of Mercy. First, I will extend mercy to myself. Then, I will nurture myself in the way I eat and exercise and sleep, and most of all, in the way that I speak to myself. I hope that this sense of holding dear, when practiced from my core towards myself, will naturally extend to those around me. 

Finally, there is CHERISHER. In much the way that EUCHARISTEO made me aware of all the things for which to be grateful, I think that CHERISH will help me notice all that is mine to hold hear. That is the goal then, for 2016: to become a CHERISHER.

What is your one little word?

{{The book in the photo? Searching for and Maintaining Peace. Highly recommended as the first read of the new year.}}

A Stack of Gold for Epiphany

Not all of our books are pictured in this stack. I ordered some just this morning. The good thing about Christmas as a season? Amazon is much less busy on the january side of the season. It's not too late!

We have a long held family tradition to set the table for breakfast on on January 6th with a big stack of gold in the middle. Treasures brought from afar, riches for my babes.

Books, of course.

Every year, for Epiphany, I wrap one book per child--one carefully chosen, well considered book--and layer them one atop the other to get my golden pile. How to tell you about this year's pile without giving away any secrets?  Well, first of all, I don't think my kids remember I have a blog;-). Secondly, the Amazon box came and someone who shall remain nameless promptly opened it and looked inside anyway. She's one of two who might perchance read this post. So, I think I'll just put it up there and count on none of them to read it. 

Michael's book will wait for a visit here from California the weekend following Epiphany. Seems like a good one for a boy on the brink of big things in California. 

Kristin (who might just read this post--sorry, K) will receive The Nesting Place. I've had this book for some time, but just got around to reading it over the Christmas break. I loved it! Her philosophy of home and decorating and, really, life in general is so refreshing. I come from a place where decorating and housekeeping needed to be perfect (or very close) and this book was a breath of fresh air. The reason I love it for Kristin is the author moved A LOT and she also rented A LOT. Kristin is entering a season of both renting and moving and I think she'll enjoy the wisdom here. 

Christian's book is being sent to him at school. He went back early to work on his movie. At last count though, he'd seen the new Star Wars movie four times. He's going to appreciate every nuance in this book.

For Patrick, I'm adding to his personal C. S. Lewis library. He requested his own copy of Mere Christianity (these new editions are so pretty) early last semester and then came home from college and pulled Confessions of St. Augustine off the shelf. I think everyone should have a copy of The Great Divorce to sit next to Mere Christianity and be revisited throughout adulthood. 

Mary Beth has a whole stack of Marisa de los Santos books waiting for her. I loved these books during 2015 and I really want her to read them. Her school reading load has been so intense, that those books might linger on the nightstand a while longer. I couldn't go without giving though, so, at Anne Bogel's recommendation,  I ordered Astonish Me. 

Stephen is likely just as big a Stars Wars geek as Christian, so, for him I wrapped up this gem. 

Nicholas is a big Rick Riordan fan (and his mom is, too) . This nice, thick novel should take him--us;-)-- through winter. 

Katie has been enjoying the recent adult coloring books craze, so I got her this one to use for her quiet time while we eagerly await the release of this book. It's a journaling Bible with with over 400 beautiful line-art illustrations spread throughout the Bible. I'm so excited about the chance to color and to ponder and write inside the pages of the Bible. I know that this is a good way to get her in the habit of journaling in the margins. These books (I ordered two) can't get here soon enough! 

Karoline has three books going. That's my girl! She's listening to The Saturdays with Sarah and they are both loving it. I will admit that when they ask to have their own Saturday adventures and say, walk to the town center by themselves, I shudder a little. Life int he suburbs has changed since the Melendy four were little. Incidentally, though I've often heard that The Saturdays was not to be missed, I never read it until I heard it was a childhood favorite of Marisa de lost Santos. I might have an author crush on Marisa.  Kari is also reading both the first Harry Potter and the fourth Penderwicks  (again). I know it's just a matter of moments until they've finished The Saturdays, so I got her the next book in the Melendy Quartet. She'll be pleased, for sure. 

It dawned on me this morning that this stack used to be all picture books and now, there are just a couple picture books in a stack of big people books. For Sarah, who dearly loves Jan Brett (and will no doubt read Karoline's chapter book, too), I got The Turnip. Because, you know, I just wanted to buy a picture book for my baby. She will be a fan; I'm certain of that. 

And finally, Lucy--who received a giant stack of picture books for Christmas--will get this awesome Montessori counting book. Sarah was excited to see it in the house because I'm told they have it at Mrs. Carmen's school. Anything in that school is a good thing:-).

So, all wrapped up and shining like gold, these are our treasure for Epiphany this year. It's not too late. It's still Christmas! Maybe a new tradition happens in your house, too?

(Lots and lots more book ideas here. Lots.)