To Create a Home {and a giveaway}

I sat in a college town coffee shop early in January, waiting out the time while Patrick was in surgery, and spent some fortifying hours reading the reviewer's copy of a gem of a book. In the past few years, I've given a lot of thought to the role of women, particularly the role of women in a family. My own motherhood has been influenced more by one woman than any other. That woman is strong believer in home and a great encourager of women to invest their hearts and their time and their talent into the creation of a lifegiving home. She has mentored me and cheered me on since I was a very young mother. Her words, her voice, and her company are treasures of my heart.

That heart is battered these days--weary, worried, wondering. Did I invest too much here at home? Is the pervasive culture the one which will prevail? Will it mock me with the lofty dreams and the careful intentions standing stark against the brokenness of our realities as children grow into young adults? All families have cracked and broken places. I think, perhaps, I thought I could craft a home that would not. 

I believe in home.

Some days, I need to be affirmed in that belief.

My lovely mentor, wise and gentle, has done that so beautifully in her new book. With this book, in carefully crafted prose, Sally Clarkson has taken all the teachings of all these years and said, Yes, I know, this is going to be rough in spots and you will even stumble and fall, but keep going. Keep keeping on. This is worth doing. This matters for eternity.  And when she tells me to keep on, I find myself fortified to tell my children to keep on.

What makes this book really special is the voices of two generations. Sally shares her mothering experiences and all the love she invested in her home, and her daughter Sarah, now grown, offers her perspective. There, in the exquisite language of Sarah's heart, we hear the fruits of Sally's labors. We hear the richness of a young woman raised in an extraordinary home of love and grace. Want to know why this all matters so much? Ask Sarah. She'll tell you. 

During my time in the coffee shop with The Lifegiving Home: Creating a Place of Belonging and Becoming, I put ink to paper and copied quotes worth keeping so that I can read them again and again. Today, I'm sharing them with you. I think these quotes will give you a glimpse of the true treasure that is this book. Brew yourself a cup of something warm and read slowly. When you're finished, leave a comment and let me know what you're thinking. You'll be entered to win a free copy of the book. I have THREE to give away. Isn't that very kind?

SALLY SAYS:

I reach hearts by cooking meals, by washing sheets and fluffing pillows, by reading a favorite book one more time even though I have it memorized.

It is not the indoctrination of theology forced down daily that crafts a soul who believes; it is the serving and loving and giving that surround the messages where souls are reached.

Food is the universal language that eases hearts to open, tying secure knots of intimacy while satisfying bodily hunger, weaving tiny threads of kindred needs into friendship, camaraderie, and truth.  

When we choose to feast together—take the trouble to make each meal, however humble, an occasion for mindfulness and gratitude—we acknowledge God’s artistry and provision and draw closer to Him as well.

“This is why I came home. I knew you all would fill me back up…” –Sally quoting Joel

 Love can heal so many wounds, and that healing often happens best in a protected environment.

 We never allowed our less-than-perfect house to keep us from inviting people in.

 It’s never quite the way we imagine it will be.

 The lives of most people I know have become increasingly fast paced, and our habits are increasingly drawn into the trivial. We read less and use Facebook more. We spend more time inside than out. We have access to more information than we’ve ever had, and yet we understand less and less. We allow the habit of busyness to replace our habits of prayer and Scripture reading. It is only natural that in the hustle and bustle of family life, craziness easily overwhelms the calm we need so badly. In our modern, consumerist culture, sometimes it seems nearly impossible to find that center.

 Wilderness experiences leave us parched, and through them God teaches us patience, trust, and compassion for others

 The more we practice remembering the story of God’s goodness, the better we can remember that, in Him, all will eventually be well.

 Our home culture has become richer because of the people we have folded into it.

 When I focus not on performance or perfection but on joy, gratitude, and service, everything seems to fall into place.

SARAH SAYS:

The goodwill of mothers is like the goodwill of God.

Home is the shelter where the lonely find rest and the sorrowing come to be comforted.

…home isn’t a place where loneliness never happens, but a place where loneliness is transformed.

Gratitude, in its very essence, yearns to give.

Through technology we have the ever-present hurry of the unsleeping modern world, and if we do not forge strong rhythms of rest and spaces of sacred quiet, that...frenzy will invade our homes and steal the life within.

The point of home is to be a refuge for the soul, a place where beauty can be encountered, truth told, goodness touched and known.

…home is the place where love makes us welcome, a shelter from which we will not be expelled.

…the cultivation of quiet spaces allows the souls within a home to take refuge in silence.

If you want to hear God speak, you need to have quiet time with Scripture. If you want to write a song, a novel, or a poem, you need to draw away and listen to all that echoes in your soul.

… it is only in the hushed spaces that we can clearly hear all that echoes in quiet skies, in the eyes of children, in our own inner voices.

…the sharing of a story accelerates the comradeship of souls.

When people inhabit a realm of imagination together, it’s inevitable that a bit of each person’s imagination and spirit is revealed to the others who sojourn in that marvelous placeA well-stocked kitchen is life for the body, but a library stocked with stories to share is eternal nourishment for the soul.

How joyous a thing it is to then arrive on the doorstep of a home whose windows are golden with waiting light, where soup is on the stove and the cupboard is stocked against any number of unexpected storms.

God grant that my home be such a shelter, a refuge whose windows are alight in welcome, drawing the lonely and wandering in from the cold.

Imagination is the first step to creation, the instigating spark that drives the actions of a hero. 

{{And if you want some more encouragement to restore your heart and home this Lent, please join us here.}}

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.}}