Why are you making so much noise?

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We have bunnies in our garden, lots of bunnies. I'm sure that when my blackberries ripen, I won't be so enchanted by bunny antics, but right now, they are teaching us to be still and quiet, and to watch, rapt with wonder. 

“We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and privacy, and therefore starved for meditation and true friendship.”

Those words were published in C. S. Lewis’ The Weight of Glory in 1949. If the world was starved for solitude and silence and privacy then — before the internet and ubiquitous computers we carry in our pockets — can you imagine how emaciated we are now? We live in a culture where something didn’t happen unless it was captured in an image and tweeted, texted, snapped, or posted; then it must be liked, favorited and commented upon. Even the quiet moments are offered up for public discourse. And we do this all in the names of connection and friendship. There is a fine line between community and the gluttony of oversharing. Our survival as a civilization demands that we find that line and walk it carefully.

 

True friendship is found in the communication between souls, in understanding the deepest parts of oneself and one’s friend. That exquisite, careful communication is true of friendship between people and of friendship with God. Friendship requires comfortable silence in privacy and stillness. We are intended to live in community. We need one another to live and to grow. There is no doubt about it. However, it is in the silence — away from the voices of others — that we are able to examine ourselves and to learn what Jesus offers us, what He intends for our growth, both as His friend and as a friend to others.

When one experiences a near-panicked need to run and to tell and to talk and to post, that’s a sure sign that it’s time to schedule some quiet. If you are living only in a crowd, moving from one group of people to another, chatting incessantly with whomever will listen, posting picture after picture and constantly clicking hither and yon, beware. That is an earnest way to put distance between who you truly are and the people you’d have as friends, and the good God who waits to meet you in the quiet places. It is very easy to avoid God. Similarly, it is very easy to avoid genuine friendship with another person.

Lewis ponders, “How then, it may be asked, can we reach or avoid Him? The avoiding, in many times and places, has proved so difficult that a very large part of the human race failed to achieve it. But in our own time and place, it is extremely easy. Avoid silence, avoid solitude, avoid any train of thought that leads off the beaten track. Concentrate on money, sex, status, health and (above all) on your own grievances. Keep the radio on. Live in a crowd. Use plenty of sedation. If you must read books, select them very carefully. But you'd be safer to stick to the papers. You'll find the advertisements helpful; especially those with a sexy or a snobbish appeal.”

Some of the loneliest people are the ones making the most noise, banging furiously on pots and pans and blaring trumpets in order to keep people from being still and silent in their presence. They are afraid. They touch up and filter and offer themselves for public display, all the while terrified that someone will see them for who they are. They fill themselves with the noise of the `net, lest they hear His still, small voice and be shaken by His admonition.

Summertime offers opportunity. With the changing of the season comes the chance to change a practice, to develop a new way of doing things. Summer offers some cultural support to those who want to slow down a bit, move into the lane that isn’t whirring with activity and numbing interaction. Seize that slowness, and be very wary of filling it with more time engaging in the mind-numbing and soul-starving practice of filling quiet spaces with social buzzing. Instead, let this be a summer of slow connection and sacred spaces, a summer of quiet stillness and listening for still, small voices.

On Graduation and Humility

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The bracelet says "Sarah." He takes big-brothering seriously.

The bracelet says "Sarah." He takes big-brothering seriously.

[Note: I have very few graduation pictures. It was cold and rainy the day of Paddy's graduation and I didn't want to take the big camera out, so his pictures are from the valediction celebrations the day before. I have no pictures of Christian's graduation because he didn't want to go. But I have words. So many words. A few of them are here;-)]

It is the season of diplomas and honors, recognition and resumes. As the flurry swirls around me, I find myself thinking increasingly of humility. When a young person sets out on the course of finding his life’s work, nothing will serve him better than humility. This time of year is a powerful reminder to all of us that God cannot choose us — cannot use us — until we come to the end of ourselves and find Him. Please read the rest here.

The Time She Taught Me to Choose Joy

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She almost jumped out of the car in the still dark morning at the airport, about bursting in her eagerness to go with me on a grand adventure. We were to fly across the country together and meet her new niece, my new granddaughter. This sweet 7-year-old girl who had spent so much of the last few years saying goodbye to people she loved was being afforded the opportunity to be among the first to say hello to new life.

Her daddy pulled our luggage from the trunk. One. Two. Three. She looked for the fourth. It wasn’t there. “My fun bag?” she asked, looking in the trunk for the backpack we’d so carefully packed with all the things to occupy her happily, the pillow for her head, the gluten-free food for the journey. It wasn’t there. Please read the rest of her story here.

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Beach photos credit Kristin Joy Foss, who totally gets this concept and lives her middle name every day:-). 

The Joy of Love in Springtime

he family is the setting in which a new life is not only born but also welcomed as a gift of God. Each new life “allows us to appreciate the utterly gratuitous dimension of love, which never ceases to amaze us. It is the beauty of being loved first: children are loved even before they arrive.” Here we see a reflection of the primacy of the love of God, who always takes the initiative, for children “are loved before having done anything to deserve it.” (“Amoris Laetitia,” 166.)

It was my intent all along to write about “Amoris Laetitia” this week. I waited patiently to get my hands on a hard copy, a bound book with generous margins that I could use to think and pray my way through with a fine felt pen at the ready for making notes. And I’ve done just that, underlining and annotating and reading every last footnote. I was not unaware of the stir of controversy whirling in the online world, the choosing of sides, the parsing of words, the handwringing — so much handwringing. [Note: the version I purchased from Amazon in the first days is no longer available and the link is dead, not merely out of stock. I consider myself lucky to have the one I have and I'm looking for a similarly produced copy to recommend now.]

In the past, I’ve loved to dig deeply into a Holy Father’s writings on the family. There, I’ve always found a source of comfort, consolation and encouragement for the very countercultural calling that is mine. I’m raising nine children to be faithful Catholics. Frankly, it’s a daunting task neither celebrated nor supported in today’s mainstream society. I wondered if there would be anything in this new document for mothers like me.

There is. There is absolutely an affirmation of holy, forever-in-love Catholic family life. There is a beautiful exegesis of the letter to the Corinthians on love. There are tips on keeping communication alive and aware. I even found a date night suggestion and encouragement for a weary mom who feels like holidays are just days when there’s way more work to do in the kitchen. I read the exhortation with an open heart, eager to find the good. And I did.

I dearly love the clarity and the poetry of the writings of St. John Paul II. I love the precision of Pope Benedict XVI. I admit that I missed both in this new document, but it has its own charm. This new exhortation feels a bit like sitting on the front porch on a spring day while a beloved uncle rambles about love and marriage and family life. There are a lot of nuggets of wisdom there, gathered in his years of observing and leaning close to families. For the first five chapters, I sat on the porch swing, drinking lemonade and highlighting happily.

The final chapters took more careful reading, at a desk, with reference tools at the ready. To understand his words on divorce, remarriage, Communion and community, one must put them in the context of the settled teaching of the church and understand that that teaching is still very much settled. Pulling the documents referenced in footnotes yields a bigger picture and fuller meaning. This is not a document to change church teaching. It can’t change it.

As so often happens in my writing life, my drafting of a careful outline of a series on “Amoris Laetitia” was interrupted by my children. This time, my day was turned entirely upside down by the birth of Lillian Thérèse Foss, my second grandchild. And that brings me to the quote above. This new baby was born 3,000 miles away. I’ve never held her, never locked eyes with her, never inhaled the glorious newborn smell while I nuzzled a downy head. And still, she is so loved, so completely enveloped in my heart.

The quote above begins with Pope Francis and ends with St. John Paul II. My own mothering grew under the tutelage of Pope John Paul II. I am so grateful for the firm foundation and solid understanding he formed in me. In the springtime of my grandparenting, I can sit in the breeze with Pope Francis and nod in agreement — this life of love in the midst of family is amazing.