In the Heart of my Home

What Will You Give God?

This is so worth watching. It's only 4 minutes.

Every day.

Until it really sinks in and animates our every moment.

Tip of the bonnet to Danielle Bean.

The Winter from the Top of a Swing

I'm kind of tired of writing about Disney details for this week. I still have three more posts queued up and waiting for pictures and edits, but I think they can wait until next week.  Yesterday afternoon yielded an impromptu visit to the park and Mary Beth took some fun pictures with her iPod and I thought I'd just hang out here with you for awhile and think aloud about my friend Susan's last ever post and about all the wisdom there and about living a slow life. 

I've been praying hard lately about slow. Quiet. Whisper. I've been praying about creativity and asking God what He would have me do. And I don't have a crystal clear answer. Colleen called this afternoon to tell me all about how she walks at least three miles a day just to get anywhere. She told me about her kitchen with the lattice walls and the simplicity of it all. She was asking me to think for myself about how to bring mindfulness, slowness, simplicity to life in the suburbs of the the most powerful city on earth. Seems daunting. But then again, swimming against the tide is always slow isn't it? There's nothing slow about this place; I'd be swimming against the tide if I were even trying to move slowly.

The internet is fast. I feel my pulse quicken when I open the laptop. Text messaging and cell phones are fast. I watched a dear girl's furrowed brow grow smoothe when she let her battery die and took days to get around to recharging it. It is clear to me that we must be ever-vigilant lest we let technology fast forward our lives and infringe on the margins of clear, quiet space where we can just be still and know God.

Susan writes, "We live in a time when slowing down does not simply mean that we casually choose not to get caught in the speedy flow of our culture, but, increasingly, we must absolutely do battle against speed in order not to get caught up in the flow. And nowadays we have the added pressure placed on us by modern technology to be ever-available and always-distracted. But battling against this is very much worth the fight, in my opinion."

It's not just technology though. Interactions with our fully present community seem to demand expediency and efficiency. To be intentionally slow and soft requires a decided change in thought process. I find myself countering the activity of real life. This quiet is encapsulated in all the intentional choices to just be when the world asks us to hurry towards productivity. It's the wide open spaces in a day that allow us to look at the gift of a warm winter afternoon from the top of a swing.

Why create margins? Why slow down? What if we miss an opportunity? What if we don't network hard enough or fast enough or often enough? To that, I have to wonder, what if we're really missing a network that is much, much more important? Much, much more rewarding?

Susan goes on to remind us of some very poignant quotes: 

" 'All in order, sweet and lovely.'(Blake)  And I’ll quote the Bible, too: 'For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.' And why not thrown in Anne Morrow Lindbergh who said that it is only framed in space that beauty blooms? And all of this goes for our whole life; order is not just about the arrangement of our stuff! A beautiful life of margin saves space—uncluttered and unhurried—for the unexpected, for surprise, for serendipity, for spontaneity, for compassion, for instant hospitality, for relationships, and for lots of good things to happen."

The internet has blessed me in so many ways. Daily, my life is touched for the better by the people I have met online.  I am grateful forever for blogging--the medium suits me well. But I think I am a slow blogger. I cannot--will not, perhaps--keep up with the frantic pace of being everywhere online. Networking zaps me. The internet allows us to be pulled into the extroverted world without every leaving home or saying a word. I think it could be an unnatural exposure for an invtrovert.

Sometimes I am sure I would love a house like this, not to live in, just to retreat to when the noise and activity become too much. My children remind me that we have a playhouse at the edge of the backyard. And almost automatically, I think, "Hmm, I could probalby still get wi-fi there." I am a paradox.

But frantic pace and constant availability zaps me even more in real life. I asked a friend yesterday for the phone number of a mutual friend. She sent it and asked if I'd ever heard their musical answering machine message. I replied that I'd never called her. She's a very close friend. We correspond nearly daily. I love the sound of her voice and could sit for hours in real life and just listen to her talk. I love when she has time to share a converation with me. She's called me a couple times. But I've never called. Still haven't. Because in real life, it takes a huge effort for me to dial the phone. The older I get, the less I like to shatter silence with my own voice, the less I want to intrude on someone else's silence.

When I was little, people thought I was pouting or moody. I will never forget the day--I must have been around nine--when someone asked why I was so grumpy within earshot of my grandfather. He took one look at me and said, "She's not grumpy; she's pensive." It is forever inked in my memory. Understanding. He understood that I was not moody or aloof or even shy. I was just thinking. I need quiet. I need deep, face-to-face connections.If I have a conversation, I'd prefer for it to be a slow, thoughtful one. I need fresh air and sunshine. I need space to think. I don't think quickly.

And then, I also need space to do. To work with my hands. To ink out a thought. to capture an image. Wide open space to make connections to my Creator within my own soul and spirit with before I can make sense of anything else.

I put up two prayer requests this week for boys not unlike my own. Indeed, one of them played soccer with my eldest. I can't pray for them and for their families without feeling an overwhelming tug of empathy. And an overwhelming urge to hold my children. (At the same time, though, I'm compelled to bring their intentions to as many people as possible and I'm grateful this medium allows me to do that.) Life is full and rich and joyous and sad. And we need margins to make sense of it all, don't we? And life is short. I'd prefer not to waste a single moment of it.

When I was on vacation (ah, see? there's Disney again), my time online was naturally limited. I spent a few minutes a day (fewer than fifteen) uploading pictures so that our families could follow our fun on Facebook. It was just the right amount of time for that kind of connecting. And then, I spent hours and hours out of doors, holding my little one, listening carefully to the others, giving full time and undivided attention to the here and now. Despite the noise and color and crowds of where I was, it was a peaceful way to live. Certainly all of life isn't a vacation and I can't expect to come home and act as if I'm living in a resort villa, but I think I can impose upon myself some of the same expectations for limits here and wide open spaces there.

God is in the margins. 

I'm not logging off  forever. I'll likely be back tomorrow. Because I need to write. I need to take  pictures. I need to put it all together and make sense of it for myself. And for some reason, I'm am compelled to share it with you. Gosh, I'm grateful you pause with me. And I do hope that this little corner of my world can be a quiet respite for you. Because really, I'm all about the quiet. 

 

 

 

An Old Favorite in a Brand New Place

I'm pleased to be visiting at Suscipio today. Suscipio is  new website founded for the encouragement of Catholic women. The contributors write:

 

We are single, married, mothers, grandmothers… We strive to make God the Father the habitual guide and help of our lives because we know, with Him we can do all things.  We offer a place of comfort and rest for those whom we love. We also need the support and encouragement of our sisters in Christ. Our souls are tender, our hearts thoughtful and some days we just need a place to go and know we are accepted “as is”…Suscipio, Latin for: to raise up, maintain, support, accept, receive.

You are in the right place…stay awhile.

It surely is a beautiful place and the invitation to stay is gracious and welcome. They've chosen an old favorite from my archives today. Do come by and visit us there. And stay awhile:-).

 

Beautiful Joy: for you

 

Today's post is the gift of Hallie Lord, also known as the beloved Betty Beguiles, and author of the soon-to-be-released Style, Sex, and Substance. I'm so pleased to have Hallie grace this space and I'm glad you'll get to consider what she's got to say this morning. As Disney Magic would have it, today's my birthday. After I have lunch with princesses (four of whom share a home with me), I think I'll find a little something pretty in Downtown Disney...

~~~~~

Over the past couple of years I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting upon and writing about the importance of self-care. Far too often I see good, faithful women neglecting themselves for fear of vanity or self-indulgence--a fear that is understandable given the state of our culture. It seemed to me that what had been lost was an appreciation for the value of putting our best foot forward for the sake of effective Christian witness, for nurturing the sexual-love aspect of our marriages, and for showing our children how much we value our vocation.

For a long time something nagged at me, though. It’s not that I disagreed with what I was advocating for, but a quiet voice suggested that maybe I’d missed something. Maybe the list was not complete.

And, indeed, I had. And it wasn’t.

I’d considered husbands and children and the world at large but I’d forgotten about you. And I’d forgotten about me.

Somewhere amid my list of reasons to polish, primp, and pamper should have been an encouragement to do these things simply for pleasure’s sake.

I don’t mind admitting that I’m a girlie girl through and through. During the more chaotic phases of life, though, even I start to view self-care (of the physical variety) as just one more item to cross of the to-do list as quickly as possible. Gone is the pleasure I usually find in painting my nails, doing my hair, and picking out the perfect shade of lipstick. Who has the time or energy for such indulgences?

I was reminded of just how much joy there is to be found in these things as I watched my three sweet small girls celebrate Christmas. I was struck by the glee with which they sought out their most beautiful dresses for Mass on Christmas Eve, the quiet delight they found in brushing one another’s hair with the new hairbrushes that they found tucked into their stockings, and the long hot bubble baths they insisted upon on Christmas afternoon.

My daughters aren’t yet old enough to recognize that there might be value in doing any of these things for the benefit of others; they do them simply because they realize that which is easy for us busy Moms to forget: God created them (and us) for joy and the enjoyment of simple pleasures is their (and our) right.

Pain and suffering are our constant companions in this fallen world. They are companions that are rich in value and should never be considered worthless. But so, too, is joy. I forget that sometimes amid the seemingly endless responsibilities that come with young motherhood.

As I watched my girls innocently savor their loveliness and delight in their baubles and baths, I was reminded once again that I must “change and become like the little children.” In spite of all suffering--and sometimes because of all suffering--there is joy. It comes in a million varieties and will manifest itself differently for everyone but, always, there is joy. We need only accept it.

If never occurs to young children that they should reject simple pleasures in favor of toil. Though hard work and discipline have their place, we adults can learn something from the young who never agonize over whether it’s prudent for them to rest and play. They play because God calls them to play. It’s as simple and as perfect as that.

It was an innocent mistake, but as I watched my daughter’s frolic on Christmas Day it dawned on me that my recent lack of appreciation for these simple pleasures was ultimately a rejection of God’s love for me. The only reason I have ever found any joy whatsoever in the things I do with is because He desired that I should and offered them to me as a gift of love. With the new year dawning, I am resolving to surrender more fully. When God calls me to work, I will work. And when he calls me to play, I will play--without any of the guilt or distraction that has inhibited me in the past from fully savoring His many gifts.

 

 

Love Languages of Advent

This year, things are a little different.

For many years, since the advent of the epic Advent unit, about 15 years or so ago, Advent has been pretty much the same--lots of traditions, done year after year. We have added a few new ones, winnowed some ones that don't work, but mostly, things have stayed the same. This year, life has called for shaking things up a bit.

Last year, during Advent, I did the usual thing: I baked and I made candy and every feast, it seemed, had some sort of food attached. This is  (was?) for me, as old as life itself. I come from a long line of Italian cooks who will tell you that food is a love language. I love to cook and bake; I'm good at improv and creativity in the kitchen.

But last year, words from another place came ringing into my head.  I remembered an old friend telling me how hard it was for her to even plan meals for her family because she saw food as an enemy. It wasn't her imagination: food--certain (many) types of food--was making her sick. I remembered those words, because Advent made me sick last year. 

Sugar, dairy, wheat--they make me sick and even though I try to deny it and I try to offer those long-loved food experiences for my children, I have to admit, they're really better off with fewer cookies and candy and pasta and cannolis if that means  a healthy mom by Christmas Eve. I can't have even a little bit and lots of little bits over the course of a month are downright dangerous.So, this year things are a little different. The old familiar box of books has come up from the basement just as it always does. I think about the things we've done with these books and resolve that we're going to put most of the food-related ones aside this year. Instead, we'll just love the stories. Creating with food isn't happening here.

This year, my older children are needing my attention in ways I didn't anticipate. I am torn between creating a brand new set of poinsettia fairies with my littllest girls, because I want them to have everything the others had, and acknowledging that what I really want and need is to create anew. 

This year, I have come to face to face with the fact that the best Christmas gift I ever received is  feeling acutely the pangs of being the youngest boy, as his brothers move up and away, and everything that was dear and familiar seems to be threatened. I see in that still-round face that moments of little boy in this home are very few indeed. I see that he misses his dad, who is traveling both for work and with the big boy. I see that he needs me to figure a way to make these moments, right now in this crushingly busy season, matter for him.

I don't even want to bake this year, so tired am I of fighting with food. I'm not very inspired with old, familiar crafts. But I am compelled to create with my hands. And I am seeking peace and order in a world that seems suddenly chaotic to me. So is Nicholas.

I promised Nicholas in September that we would take a quilting class together. I knew that it was an act of craziness for me to assent to making two quilts--our first two ever--during November and December. But when Deborah made me an offer I couldn't refuse, I told Nick he'd have a handmade quilt, sewn by him, by the first day of winter, which just happens to be his birthday. I planned for him to make a simple patchwork quilt and for me to make the sampler quilt for the class. From the first moment of the first word of the first page of her book, Deborah has almost magically inspired self-confidence in me. Crazy as it was, I made that promise to my boy. My last little boy.

I tried to tell myself that there would be mellow, firelit afternoons of sewing with my children while someone read picture books nearby. Truth be told, there has been some of that. There have also been hours of Sarah and Karoline taking full advantage of the nativity sets in the room that became The Quilt Room to reenact The Nativity for us again and again and again. There has been a full teaching of a "Twelve Days of Christmas" dance (cousins beware; it's coming your way on Christmas Day). There have been lots of chatter and not a few math and design lessons as we watched tutorials and learned together.

In the interest of full disclosure, there have been a broken seam ripper and far too many coins added to the cuss jar (by me).  There has been a perpetual mess while I neglected routine household things and instead cut fabric and thread into tiny bits to be scattered throughout the house. Several times, I'd cut or sew and Mary Beth would sit there with me, taking dictation while I made lists of all the other things I have to do. And quite a bit of online shopping has been accomplished while I wait for the iron to heat.There have been a few tears. And once, I literally reached up and pulled my hair out. We've worked through this process together. I kept my promise. Because promises are important.

My quilt is nearly pieced--all it needs is a border. The fabric arrived yesterday. I've learned enough in that process to dedicate another post to my quilt. Maybe I'll write about it after Christmas. Maybe I'll finish it after Christmas. It's the children's quilt I'm thinking of today.

The children's quilt is finished. And I'm very glad I put theirs first. It was a happy scene to see them all kneeling on that quilt, pin-basting it together. It was amazing to see even Karoline take a turn quilting it, and to see Nicholas allow his sisters a part in the making of his quilt. It was very good to do this project together, even though I was beginning to feel like it was consuming our days and keeping us from the peaceful pursuit of calm. In the end, that quilt has stitched us a together a little bit.

There are some big things happening in our house this month, things that change lives and things that cause happy stress, but stress nonetheless. I have been drawn out of this house way more than I've liked--to three-times-a-week therapy sessions for my elbows, to office parties, to college visits, to all sorts of big kid tasks. And I've missed my little ones, worried about my baby (who isn't a baby at all) and fretted over the little boy who seems to have been left behind as his heroes conquer the world. We haven't been baking and we haven't made candy and really, it hasn't been feeling quite like Advent for me. When I'm home, I'm sewing and I'm sewing in their midst and often with them. But I've been gone. A lot. 

Yesterday, I was on my way home from doctor and grocery store, dropping kids off before leaving again. I was talking with Colleen in the van, sitting in my driveway. I cannot talk on the phone in the house because I can't hold the phone. My elbows won't allow me that motion. The new van has a hands-free option, so the only time I talk on the phone is when I'm in the van without children. Not very often;-). Mary Beth came running out to the van and told me to come inside right away. She was insistent.

Sarah had spent the morning cranky and miserable, up way too late the previous night because I'd been with Mike at an office party. Everyone paid for her fatigue the next day.  Nicholas, trying to comfort her, had gathered Katie and Sarah and a book under his quilt. He read and read and read. And then, Sarah fell asleep, wrapped in the quilt. That was what Mary Beth wanted me to see: Sarah asleep on a handmade quilt while Nicky read The Christmas Miracle of Jonathon Toomey. I don't have a picture of her asleep. Mary Beth thought to take one earlier, but at the book's end, she and I just stood and watched them until the story sighed happily ever after. These sweet little girls at the end of the line; I worry sometimes that they are not getting the energy and enthusiasm and undivided attention that a young mom would bring. But there they were, with one of the most beloved of our family books, listening to my littlest boy--their big brother--read a version my eldest received for his First Communion, an Advent 17 years ago...

...all snuggled beneath our newest Advent tradition--a quilt they made together. 

 

Heavily Burdened?

Are you feeling the struggle of perfectionism and performance? Are you carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? Or maybe just the weight of Christmas expectations?

Fix yourself a cup of something hot and come along with me. We're going on a carriage ride with God.

Intentional Weekend: Christmas Crafting

Mike was home for awhile yesterday. I gave him a crinkly rotary cutter and a yard of Kate Spain fabric and asked him to cut circles. And hour later, he commented out of the blue that he was in a very good mood. I quietly suggested that there is something to the idea that crafting is therapy. 

I don't look at this list of possiblities as a "to-do" list a busy whirl of a season. I look at it as pockets of quiet creative oasis. Maybe something here catches your fancy. A litle homemade Christmas is good for the receiver ...and the giver.

Happy creating.

Healing Salve (or hair gel, depending on how you use it)

Lemon Sugar Hand Scrub

Lavender Sugar Scrub

Peppermint Foot Scrub (super easy. smells great. Include coupons for home-spa pedicures and foot massages.)

 

Homemade Vanilla Bean Extract

Christmas Jam (this is beautiful and really yummy)

Cinnamon Honey Buttter (love things to put in adorable jars)

Oatmeal Cinnamon Bread Kit in a Cute Jar

Pretzel Dots (Use Christmas M&Ms, but you already knew that)

Crazy Good Kiss Cookies

Mason Jar Meals (for a mom who is newly pregnant or about to deliver or postpartum or otherwise way too tired for this busy season)

Infused sugar

Felt Garland

"Polaroid" Ornament

A Happy Place for Christmas Scraps

Scrappy Covered Journals

Cozy Heatable Therapy Bags (I think I'm going to mix in some lavender)

Amazing Nature Journals

Scripture Bookmarks

Homemade Beeswax Crayons 

Beautiful Bookpage Luminaria

Darling Repurposed Denim Do-It-All Bins

Tea Wreath for the Kitchen (I need this) 

What I'm Never Going to Tell You

I heard a story the other day from a mother about my age. She's a faithful, hardworking, dedicated homeschooling mother with a loving, faithful spouse. They've done everything they can to raise their children in the light of Christ. She lives her faith authentically and though she's the first to admit that she fails daily, she has absolutely worked hard to have a Christian plan and to live moment by moment faithful to that plan.

And today, she wants to curl up in a ball and die. 

The eldest of her eight children, a beautiful girl who has been carefully raised and loved wholeheartedly, is wearing all black, tattooing her back, piercing her navel and her nose, coloring her hair pink, and engaged to be married to a man who is a professed and angry atheist. She is rejecting her family, their values, and their faith.

Her mother feels like her entire life is a shredded heap of failure. This--the raising of children for God--has been her whole life's calling. When she was young and newly married, she sat in church basements and parish halls and listened to energetic, inspiring mothers a few years older than she tell her all about how to be a virtuous wife and mother. They detailed home-management systems and homeschooling curricula. They talked about raising children of virtue. They promised that if she only listened to God's call and lived her life intentionally, faithful to the precepts of her religion, she would raise holy children. Some even went so far as to promise that Catholic homeschooling would guarantee she'd never be confronted with trials of secular teenaged and young adult culture. 

She believed those women. They were well-intentioned, good-hearted and living their own lives in the manner they described.Together, they'd all raise a holy generation for the glory of God.

Now. Now she looks at this child-grown-woman, this first beautiful soul with which she was entrusted, and she is sure of only one thing: she has failed. So sure is she that she doesn't even see the point of pressing on. There are seven other children still at home. Why work so hard--try so hard--if all that lies ahead is the inexplicable decision by those children to walk a path that is clearly not the path she envisioned? She wanted to do nothing more with her life than to return to God the children He entrusted to her and now, her child has chosen to live apart from Him.

Whether in this space or in person, there are some things I'm never going to tell you. The longer I live, the longer the list grows. Please don't misunderstand; most Christian homeschooled children are faithful, well-educated, wholesome kids. They're hardworking and engaging and just exactly the kind of friend you'd want all your children to have. But more than a handful are fully grown on the outside and still a long way from what their parents hoped on the inside. So...

I am never going to tell you that if you mother your children with all your heart, embrace your vocation and dedicate home and family to God, instill in your children strong moral values and carefully protect the seeds of faith that the following things won't ever happen. Because they might. I have seen them happen, either in my own home or in the homes of people I know personally. 

::I'm not going to tell you that your child won't go to college and party just as hard as the kids who went to public school and never went to church.

::I'm not going to tell you that one day, your grown son won't scream at you it's all your fault that his life is a miserable mess because you didn't send him to school and furthermore, you never let him eat junk food. And he will mean both with equal passion.

::I'm not going to tell you that your twenty-year-old won't be arrested for being drunk in public.

::I'm not going to tell you that your daughter won't get pregnant her first semester in college.

::I'm not going to tell you that there won't be tattoos and piercings and pink hair.

::I'm not going to tell you that your daughter won't send text messages so laden with profanity that they'd make a sailor blush.

::I'm not going to tell you that homeschooled girls don't post mean status updates to Facebook during youth group. I won't tell you that by homeschooling you will avoid any teenage drama at all.

::I'm not going to tell you that despite all your charts and the careful planning of household chores to instill responsibility and work ethic, your twenty-somethings won't drive cars that smell like old Taco Bell and live in rooms so full of dirty laundry that you can't see the floor.

::I'm not going to tell you that you won't learn your daughter has a secret online identity and that she has been cutting herself.

::I'm not going to tell you that one day you won't find a six pack of beer and a Playboy in the back of your seventeen-year-old's pickup truck.

::I"m not going to tell you that you won't catch your highschoolers looking at very questionable websites when they're supposed to be doing online Latin.

::I'm not going to tell you that your daughter won't enlist in the Navy and not go to Mass once in the first eighteen months she's away from home.

The list could go on. The reality is that homeschooling families are not immune to any of these things, no matter how hard we try and how long we pray. 

Only one woman in the history of mankind has raised a perfect child and she would be the first to assure you that it was all by the grace of God.

If my mail is any indication, we need to start talking about the fact that homeschooled kids grow up and sometimes they make poor choices.

Saint Peter walked with Jesus. Jesus was his teacher in the faith. Jesus was the Master Teacher. And still, Peter was a liar, a denier, a weak-willed wimp-- right up until the time that Jesus died. He was taught by God Himself, surely the best teacher of all, and he didn't get it at first.

But in the first few moments of the Acts of the Apostles, after he has been filled with Holy Spirit, he is every bit a man of God. He speaks boldly and eloquently. He is a leader for Christ and that very day, three thousand people are baptized at his invitation.

I think, dear ladies, that some of us will be called to wait in faith for the Second Act (or our own version of Acts 2).

We need to encourage one another to walk this walk of faith, but we need to be very careful that we don't rally around a certain prideful arrogance. Sometimes, in our zeal to hold each other accountable to a Christian life of virtue, we step dangerously close to pridefully suggesting that if we just do prescribed things all the right way, we will turn out brilliant, holy children. And we forget that it is not mothers and fathers who make Christians of children; it is God Himself, in His own time, according to His own plan. 

Are we prideful enough to believe that if we just do things a certain way we can overcome free will in our children and raise perfect, sinless saints?

Because we can't.

There are no sinless saints.

An important corollary to this idea is the fact that we must be careful not to assume that it's a flaw in parenting that has resulted in a child's decision to live outside the life of faith. Children--even carefully raised children--grow into adults with free will. Every choice a child makes is not a reflection of his parents. It's reflection of that child's own relationship with his Creator.

God isn't finished yet.

Where does that leave us in our mission as parents? What hope do we have?

We can only labor together towards heaven. We can homeschool because we believe that, in the words of Willa Ryan, quoted in Real Learning, " [we]want our family to meet in heaven someday, and [we] think we have a better shot at it if we journey together as much as possible. God put us together for a reason." We can build a strong family culture. We can walk together, just as Jesus walked and worked with Peter, every day, day in and day out, endeavoring to be Christ to one another, sure that we have free will, but we can have grace, too. We can be confident that they will leave home and that they will all make poor choices and some of them will make very poor choices. However, we can cling to the truth that as we wait for God to work in the hearts of these children in whom we've invested so much, it is we who can rely on the grace of all those years of doing.

It is we who soak up the encouragement of the noble, true, right and lovely things we taught them and cling to the faith that the seeds were planted and one day the fruit of potential we know is growing will ripen on this tree we tended lovingly when it was just a vulnerable sapling. We can reflect on the years in our homes and know that that those children--despite their poor choices in the moment--do know who Christ really is.  They have walked with Him in the lives of their families. They just don't really think they need Him right now.  But soon enough, I think, they will.  

And, in the waiting, Mama need not curl up in a ball and feel like a failure. Instead, she can reflect on what those years of careful tending have taught her, on how they've watered her own soul.It's not all about the kids; it's about our journey to God, too. His car might smell like Taco Bell after 24 hours in the Texas sun, but her home reflects an order and an appreciation for beauty that has grown in her soul over the years of her own growing up--the years she has spent as mama and wife. All those days of carrying heavy babies and cranky toddlers to church to be in the presence of our Lord, all those long nights rocking and praying, all those mornings wrestling with commas and apostrophes, all those hours laboring to bring life into the world--they are not for naught. They are the many moments of grace that strengthen us for the pain of the thrice-spoken denial and sustain us in hope for the coming of the Holy Spirit.

So I don't leave you with promises that all will rosy if you just work hard enough at it. I only leave you with the promise of His grace in the hard moments, the moments that you are sure you've failed at the one thing you've worked hardest at your whole life.  I leave you this morning with words of hope for mothers in anguish:

Consider it all joy, my brothers, when you encounter various trials, for you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. And let perseverance be perfect, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. But if any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God who gives generously and ungrudgingly, and he will be given it.

James 1:2-5

Small Steps Together: Patience

It's been ages since I did a Small Steps Together post. I beg your pardon! I decided this morning to begin with today's devotion and just roll with it a bit. I don't have a copy of the book--I've long sold all of mine--so I'm pulling the quote from the manuscript. It very well may be that this quote was edited into another day. If so, I'm going to just assume that God wanted me to think about this one today and go about my merry way.

 

Think: "And when night comes, and you look back over the day and see how fragmentary everything has been, and how much you planned that has gone undone, and all the reasons you have to be embarrassed and ashamed: just take everything exactly as it is, put it in God’s hands and leave it with Him." -- Edith Stein

 

Pray: Jesus, You fell three times while carrying the cross. Help me see my weaknesses as a call to lean on Your strength and grow ever closer toward You. 

Act: Before you go to bed tonight, write down all of the things you did wrong or failed to accomplish in your day. Pray over your list, asking God to complete you where you fall short. Then crumple up the paper, throw it away, and get a good night's sleep before tackling a new day.

Whew. I've had a lot of nights like this one lately, a lot of fragmentary, embarrassed, and ashamed nights, many, many worried nights, a lot of dreams where all the bumps of the day crowd out peaceful sleep and I awake feeling defeated before I've begun. When I reflect on the plan as it was written in the last few days of August and compare it to where we are today, I am astonished. So much of the landscape has changed in such unexpected, sometimes painful ways! 

I wonder, is this the particular cross of meticulous planners? Do we get nailed more often than those easygoing folks who haven't much of a plan from the beginning? Or, is it a big family thing? In a big family, as children get older, there are so many outside influences on a mother's life. While I can merrily plan away for my own largish brood, I can't really begin to predict how the friends and teachers and coaches and employers in their lives are going to act. Throw in unexpected medical issues. Multiply it out by the number of children in a large household. And there you have it: guaranteed nights of reflection upon fragmentary days. 

But what about the embarrassed and ashamed part? Those are the pieces torn away from the one piece life. If all of life is either sacred or profane, the embarrassed and ashamed parts are where we have greeted the interruptions, the unexpected, the uninvited in a manner that is not sacred. They are the places where we've stumbled under the weight of the cross and instead of accepting the grace of the Savior, we've either tried to throw the cross from our shoulders or we've tried to carry it under our own strength. 

My life is not a seamless garment. I've lived long enough to see that now. I cannot cut from the fabric of my life the patches that are rougher than the others, the colors that are just a little off. No matter how embarrased or ashamed of them I might be, they cannot be ripped from the fabric. But they can be stitched into His masterpiece. I can give them to Him and trust that over time, He will piece together a garment that takes those dark pieces and frames them just so, rendering the finished product beautiful beyond anything I could have imagined.

God intends it to be holy. All of it. What He wants at the end of a fragmented day is for me to see--clearly see--the many fragments and how they are of my own making. And then, He wants me to ask. He wants me to know that He can take the fragments, even the seeming dissonance and He can make a one piece life of my many scraps. It can all be for His good and to His glory. If only I hand Him the pieces.

But what does all this have to do with patience? Everything. At then end of a day that was all ragged fragments, a day where truly the beauty in the design is utterly incomprehensible, I am called to hand the pieces to him and just wait. Trust. And wait. He's got a plan.

 

 

~~~

How is He teaching you patience this month? Small Steps focuses on patience this month. Would you share your thoughts with us, let us find you and walk with you? I'd be so grateful and so honored to have you as a companion, to pray with you for patience. Please leave a comment or link to your blog post below and then send your readers back here to see what others have said.You're welcome to post the Small Steps Together banner button also.

Embracing Autumn

I didn't want to embrace autumn this year; didn't want let go of summertime. June and July were perfectly lovely. Just about the loveliest summer I can remember. We didn't go anywhere special. I actually missed my one chance to go to the beach. We mostly stayed home, taking just a couple of trips to Charlottesville, which is "home," too. We made memories here-- happy, happy memories. Good, good days.

August was not good. It began with an infection that left me sicker than I remember being in the last two decades. And then, it just bumped along some more--one in-real-life hit after another, each one surprising me more than the next. I sort of staggered through September, trying with all my might to recover my midsummer joy. 

With all my might.

September ended with a heaving sob. My might depleted. Joy eluded.

October dawned cold, blustery, brittle. We celebrate the feast of my favorite saint on October first. An old friend challenged me to look for roses. Roses in the October cold. "Please pick for me a rose from the heavenly garden and send it to me as a message of love."

The roses of midsummer have faded and fallen. I cannot gather their blooms and bring them into the heart of this home. Instead, I have to find the October roses. With the waning summer, I feel my idealism fading; I feel some longheld notions finally acknowledging defeat after years of fighting with all my might; I fully feel the reality of messy lives. And I see that I cannot , no matter how hard I try, create the perfect childhood and hold it safely for all my children. They will be hurt. They will hurt themselves. We will feel pain and there will be fading blooms and browning leaves.

It's time to embrace autumn. It's time to acknowledge that there is suffering, to let myself know it, meet its gaze, and accept it. Time to stop fighting change, stop denying that this, too, is a fallen world in need of a a Savior. Time to stop trying to play on through the pain. It's time to remember that pruning is painful, but ever so fruitful. It's time to recognize that perhaps my most important role as a teacher of my children is to teach them how to greet the hurt and then to carry on in faith.

The breeze blows and lifts my chin; it's time to look up from the rain-sodden, trampled underbrush of late summer's waning blooms and to see His glory above me. It's time to know that it's not about my might.

 

It never was.

I see that now.

The joy of the summer was never of my making; it was the fruit of His grace. He waits for me, watching patiently, asking me to trust Him with this new season of life. 

"God is good," the Spirit whispers through the gathering storm, the rustling, autumn-gloried leaves, "all the time."

 

 

Patchwork Twirly Skirts and thoughts on some other stuff

When I was twelve, I had my first babysitting job. I absolutely fell in love with an 18-month-old named Andrew. He called me Yay-yay. We were pretty inseparable. Looking back, his mom went out a lot. I babysat for 75 cents an hour and I saved my money to make my first purchase: a patchwork quilt from the Sears catalog. It was $48. I remember it in vivid color. I wanted this quilt in particular because the patchwork was made of actually pieced squares, not screen printed squares. I am still that girl in love with patchwork. 

I loved every minute of making these skirts.

Mary Beth got me started. She had long been eyeing the project in the Stitch by Stitch book. While she had to be persuaded to do all the other projects, for this one, she had persuaded me to buy the Amy Butler charm squares weeks ahead of time. When I told her we were going to hold off on the curtain project and the pillow projects that precede this one, because I wanted to make some fabric decisions for both later, she was all too happy to forge ahead into the patchwork skirt for Sarah. She did all the layout and the sewing on her own. The only time I stepped in was when she wasn't pressing her seams. Mary Beth noted that there were no specific instructions to do so. I emailed the author for clarification and Deborah affirmed that pressing is preferred. Mary Beth made this whole project look effortless. 

 Sarah Annie was so thrilled with her skirt and her sister.

You all have already seen a good bit of this skirt. That's because it has quickly become what we refer to in this family as a "That Shirt."  When Michael was two, every morning he insisted on wearing "That Shirt," an ugly red, black and blue striped shirt that lives today in my hope chest to remind me how over-indulged my eldest was. And here I am again. Sarah insists on This Skirt every day. Furthermore, she will only sleep with the quilt Katie made. Perhaps she's not overindulged. Perhaps she is the rare toddler who appreciates the real value of handmade. {Here I confess that I have already ordered some stacks of newly-released Delighted to make Sarah a second skirt. As I recall, That Shirt had a companion-- "The Other One Shirt"--that allowed us to launder the first choice on occasion.}

About patchwork, if I'd any idea back when I was 12 how much fun, how completely satisfying, how peaceful it is to move squares of pretty fabric around until it looks just right, I have no doubt I would have saved babysitting money for a sewing machine and quilt camp. Oh my, I mentally composed thank you notes to Kate Spain, designer of the Terrain fabric I used on Katie's skirt and Bonnie and her darling daughter Camille, who designed the Ruby fabric I used for Karoline.

I think all the time about how we are called to use our talents to bless others, how the right turn of phrase can bring peace to someone who is looking to put feelings into words. I think about how music moves us; how dance and drama transport and even transform us. But fabric? Well, yeah. Fabric. This is art--color, texture, design. And it can fill our senses. There is beauty in those cotton squares and beauty moves. It does.

Karoline helped me sort squares by color and pattern, an exercise we will surely repeat again. She loved guiding me as I layed out the rows, first on the dining room table and then again later on the living room floor, to get it just right before I put the strips together. I actually made Kari's skirt after Katie's and the notes I'd made as I learned with Katie's made Karoline's a snap to sew.

Katie helped me to lay out her squares and she sewed them all into strips under my hovering supervision. There was no pattern for her size in the book, so I added a tier and tweaked the math (Yes, Dad, you read that right. I tweaked the math.) to make her a bigger skirt than the ones in the book. I used every square in 3 charm packs, so I was careful not to let Katie make an irreversible mistake. But she did do all the sewing of squares into strips. I took over from there, gathering ruffles into tier after tier and loving the process. It took me much, much longer than it did Mary Beth.

I think that as I age, I am becoming more conscious of the peace in the process of things. When my friend Cari first tried to teach me to sew in my mid-twenties, I was only too happy to have her do the mundane pressing or careful snipping of threads. I just wanted to get on with it already. Now, I am happy to press and every single thread is meticulously snipped. I'm sure this is about much more than making a patchwork skirt. It's an entire lifestyle shift. I'm holding onto the moments, measuring them and remembering to smile as they happen.

Skills we learned:

patchwork

gathers

casings and elastic

hemming

matching side seams

* *This project is a thread gobbler. Make sure you have a new spool and wind your bobbin as full as you can before you start. You'll still need a new bobbin to finish.* *

Stitch-by-Stitch projects so far:

My very favorite jeans and a quilted belt or two.

An Eye Mask and a Whole Wardrobe of Aprons

Reversible Totes

See our knitting needle cases and Kindle case here

See our Fancy Napkins here.

 

 

Ever have a bad day?

How about a bad week? A stretch of time when you don't even recognize the voice coming out of your mouth?Me, too. Read about it here, please.

Intentional Weekend: Liberate Yourself from E-slavery

"During the thousand years between the fall of Rome and the Renaissance, what defined human life in the Western world was the Christian religion. People’s daily actions and experiences aligned to the
liturgical calendar, which itself proceeded throughout the year in harmony with the rhythms of the natural world. People knew that this life was preparation for the next, but they also knew that this world was a part of the world to come...[Then] Human life no longer was informed at its center by worship of God but by worship of man...[Now,]...man has also passed and that the age in which we now live—The Age of Technology...In the process man has become a slave. C.S. Lewis called this “the abolition of man,” and his book thus titled explained how three technologies—the radio, the airplane, and the contraceptive pill—all promised greater freedom for mankind but instead became the means for a few to control the lives of the many. Lewis saw these inventions serving the designs of totalitarian regimes. Half a century later, many of us have of our own choosing surrendered our freedom to technology."

 

"Faithful Catholics see well enough the tyranny of technology in the wicked laboratories where human reproduction is torn asunder from human love. They recognize that the first device aimed at this end, the contraceptive pill, is the bastard offspring of the previous age’s two lies: the perfectibility of man (eugenics) and the total autonomy of man (unlimited sensual gratification without consequences). Where Catholics are less able—or less willing, perhaps—to see technology’s tendency to enslave is in the operation of the machines and systems of modern communication technology: computers, iPads, smartphones, e-mail, social-network pages, chat-rooms, blogs, Web forums, Twitter, the Internet, texting, and so on. We have given our lives over to these devices and habits. My colleague Aaron Wolf has coined a term for this condition: e-slavery."

"The story goes that when Evelyn Waugh at last succumbed to having a telephone installed in his home he answered it this way, “Is this an emergency? If not, write a letter!” None of us could get away with that now, but Waugh, even if he was not what we would call a “people person,” recognized the effect of communication technology on human relationships. It lowers discourse to the trivial.
Scroll through a day’s worth of teenage texting. Read the Tweets or blogs of those whose vanity has convinced them that the whole world is interested in their shopping and sexual habits. Watch the cell phones come out the moment your airplane lands, or read the posts on any Web forum. You will realize that, as Chesterton says, “[i]t is the beginning of all true criticism of our time to realize that it has really nothing to say, at the very moment when it has invented so tremendous a trumpet for saying it” (“The Proper View of Machines,” Illustrated London News, February 10, 1923)."

"“The impotence of the receptive party”: The phrase perfectly describes man’s servile relationship with the images and sounds of modern communication technology. Moving images so influence our lives that we conform our tastes, our clothes, our manners, and our behavior after that of our favorite stars. Some of us are perpetually starring in the movie about our own life, and our iPods provide the neverending soundtrack for this alternate reality."

"St. Augustine identified this human failing long ago, in Book Ten of his Confessions. He called it the lust of the eyes. Our desire to know about these things only drives us further from the divine because they crowd our imaginations when our imaginations should be filled with the contemplation of God. As long as I stay plugged into the noise, the flashing images, and the gossip, I do not risk facing the terrifying silence during which I would be forced to confront that which is most real—the state of my interior life. If my iPod headphones are blaring, I need not acknowledge the supplication of the beggar. If my iPod headphones are blaring, I will not recognize the beggar that is my soul."

Read the entire excellent esssay here and see what the author proposes instead of slavery to technology. I think a slow, thoughtful reading, pondering the message, praying about it, and then acting intentionally could truly be lifechanging.

As for me and my house, I think change could be a good thing.

10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Say No to Competition

This is probably my favorite chapter.

If only we could eradicate competition in the mommyhood. Oh! the friendships there would be. Oh! the work that would get done. Oh! the creativity unleashed. Oh! the peace that comes of knowing we are well loved.

Instead we compare. And we compete. And in so doing we defeat ourselves and our neighbors. What a huge waste of potential. What a thwarting of God's will. 

 

Dr. Meeker writes, "We want to stop competing, but we are scared to death. In out hearts we long to just simply be. We know that life is more than producing and competing and we wonder, Why can't we simply live differently? What would happen if we pulled back, slowed down, and rested for a while? Would we be okay?"

Is this an American thing? Are we just taught from a very young age to compete? There's that whole academic competition thing, even in little girls. And then, many of us heard our mothers competing with other mothers. The ways women compete with one another seem timeless: how big is your home? how beautifully decorated? how clean? how fit are you? how blonde? how thin? how well paid? how well educated? And we haven't even begun to discuss your success as measured by the achievements of your husband and children. 

Why are we "scared to death" to stop competing? What harm can possibly come of that? Someone will get ahead of us? Play that out in your head a minute. Ahead of where? Ahead how? How does the success of the mom next door at all impede our own personal progress? If she's an awesome wife and mother, does that somehow make me less of a wife and mother?

No.

I am called uniquely to this one (dashingly handsome) man. And I am called uniquely to these nine children. No one else can answer this call, never mind answering it better than I do. It's my call. Only mine. 

Mothering is not a competitive marketplace. And you know what? Homeschooling isn't a competitive endeavor either. Neither is crafting home. Or cooking family meals. Or loving your man. "Being competitive professionally can be good, as long as healthy boundaries are maintained. But when it come to being competitive in relationships as mothers, we always lose. Always."

So why do we do it?

Because we are insecure. Because we need affirmation and validation, some of us desperately. Dr Meeker points out that we have been conditioned to size up and judge our neighbor and that some of us don't even see it coming. We measure her against ourselves because we are afraid we aren't good. (I didn't say "good enough"--my mail indicates some of us don't think we are good at all.) We compare. And then we compete. And then we complain.

It's funny (sort of); a few years ago, I wrote a column about women comparing and the unhappiness it caused. Instead of "Quit Comparing," the title I gave it, the copy editor at the paper mistitled it, "Quit Complaining." That's what happens, though. We compare and we compete and inevitably, we complain.(They fixed it at the Herald, but you can read it here, still mistitled.) Comparison and competition breed discontent. 

We have to get a grip on this. Dr. Meeker believes that saying "no" to competition is crucial to all the other habits. "Breaking the habit of of competing helps break many other important habits in areas we're examining: money issues, living more simply, loving others better, improving friendships. [Stop for a moment and think of all those issues in light of competition: she's got a point, doesn't she?] If we can't get our drive to compete under control, we will have great difficulty getting the other habits under control as well.

So, we need to really examine our insecurities. Comparing and competing are bred in insecurity. I think that's an intensely personal process best done in prayer. And then shared with our spouses and maybe a close personal friend. Look hard at them. Stare them down. Bring them into the light of day and watch them shrivel. 

Be rid of them. 

That's all for now. I'm off to capture the glory of the morning with a new lens. Literally. At the suggestion of someone who could easily be a blog competitor, but chooses instead to be a close personal friend, I have taken Michael's lens as my own until I get a new one for myself. And I'm literally seeing my world differently. In the email where--quite out of the blue--she suggested a new lens, she opened a flood of fresh ideas and happy thoughts. 

How to abolish competition?

Encourage instead.

~~~~~~~~~

{{This post is the 7th in a series discussing The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}}

The rest of our discussions of  The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity can be found here. The first two conversations are 

Part 1(discussing Habit 1)

Part 2 (still discussing Habit 1)

Part 3 (still more on Habit 1)

Part 4 (Habit 2: key friendships)

Part 5 (Habit 2: your thoughts on friendship_

Part 6 (Habit 3: Value and Practice Faith)

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Maintain Key Friendships

After three really good conversations on Habit 1 (one, two, and three), I think we're ready to move on to Habit 2. Am I the only one who made casseroles for people after reading this chapter? It's 110 degrees and there I was in the kitchen, inspired to bestow the friendship of a casserole. Maybe that's just me. 

My hard copy of The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity is all marked up throughout this chapter. I think I'll just walk through it and share with you what I found noteworthy. 

No perfection is needed. Love is required but even that can be woefully broken,  because at the end of the day what we really need as mothers is a friend who simply stays. Because when she stays, we know that we are loved.

I think this speaks to the quality of friends that allows us to trust them with our hearts. Over time, we learn that they are connected--bonded, if you will-- and so that they can be trusted to keep loving us even if we show our failures and our weaknesses. For some women, baring our souls in this way is extremely difficult and it takes years to build that kind of trust. Bruised and broken relationships in our past, childhoods without unconditional love, can make women skeptical that such a friend even exists. It takes loving patience to befriend a broken woman and to show her that faithfulness in friendship really does exist.

The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved. ~ Bl. Mother Teresa

It is hard to laugh without feeling pleasure or enjoyment. Believe it or not, many mothers subconsciously refuse to let themselves feel pleasure. This sounds peculiar, but it is true. Mothers who sacrifice, protect, and martyr themselves take themselves and their behaviors extremely seriously. And when life is serious, there is little room for joy, because joy doesn't feel serious. It feels fun and light and brings with it a sense of vulnerability.

I thought this quote very interesting. I think that Christian women live this idea to an extreme sometime. We are all about sackcloth and ashes. I disagree with the idea that there is little room for joy when life is serious, but I think I understand the point she's making. Instead of "serious" I think I'd substitute "intentional." When we live our lives intentionally, taking seriously the charge to live every moment as our Creator intended, there is still room for joy. We can see the joy He wants for us. So, the serious intentionality does happily coexist with joy.

That said, does laughter and overt happiness bring with it a sense of vulnerability? I think it does. I heartily agree that women can be afraid to laugh, to have fun, to embrace the good with a full-on bear hug. Because it makes us vulnerable. It puts us out there where we can be disappointed or disillusioned. Because it's just plain scary sometimes to be happy.

Where love stops, chicken pot pies take over. There is an understanding what while the blender whirls and the oven preheats, the friend in pain is being remembered in her hurt. The cook is thinking of her, wondering how she is faring, what she is experiencing. While friends cook, they slide their feet into the shoes of the hurting mom in order to participate a bit in the pain she feels.

I have been the beneficiary of so many lovingly prepared meals in my mothering years. After every baby, meals for weeks on end. I still remember in crisp detail the gorgonzola and grape salad my friend Martha brought over after I returned home the day of my first miscarriage. And I am certain that I will remember to my dying day a perfectly prepared hamburger (sans the bun) and a tomato and fresh mozzarella salad my friend Megan just happened by with one day in the middle of my pregnancy with Karoline. I had gotten myself in that "I know I need to eat but I'm so beyond the need I can't think straight" place. While we talked on the phone, she was cooking all the time and then she just appeared with that plate. Heaven. She was an angel. My children still talk about how, when I was in the hospital on bedrest with Sarah, Mrs. Smith found out that Karoline loved to eat peaches and then went and bought enough to last until the baby came. I believe from the bottom of my heart that we are designed to love one another around a table. I think that much of our human experience happens in the breaking of the bread. I'm so saddened when I hear of family who never eats family meals. To me, the emphasis on food and its place in a friendship is not overstated.  

We will need an inner circle and outer circle of friends, if you will; women who satisfy our longing for intimate emotional connection and others who provide comfort and affection on a lighter level.

I needed to see this in print. I think it's something I have learned over the last decade, but it helps to have Meg Meeker crystallize the thought. For most of my adult life, I operated on the "one level" friendship model. I worked hard to make deep and lasting friends. I gave of myself, perhaps too freely, and I trusted too quickly. I thought the goal was to be and to have only what Mrs. Meeker calls "inner circle" friends. Now, I've learned that distance isn't a bad thing or even an inferior thing; it's a necessary thing.  Both circles are important and necessary.

The hallmarks of inner circle friendships are trust, maturity, and faithfulness, all of which work together to cultivate the deep love between us.

I have thought about this quote for nearly two months. I've weighed it against every good, solid, longterm friendship I have. I held it up to the friendships I've seen die. Yep. It holds up. She nailed it. Those are the hallmarks. I might add that a shared faith is also necessary, but maybe that's just for me.

[Inner circle friendships] require attention, diligence, and emotional elbow grease on our parts. Like a marriage, they need honing sweat, and time.

To this, I would add that friendships lack the sacramental grace of marriage and they lack the commitment. It is ok to walk away from a friendship. And sometimes, it's the right thing to do.The challenge is to know when to stay and work on it and when to acknowledge it's time to move on.

One of my mantras to the parents of teenagers in my practice is "Be careful if you have a really nice girl; they are the ones who get into trouble." Girls who are kind, polite, ethical, and bright find themselves doing things that they don't want to do simply because they don't want to hurt others' feelings."

This one is so true. I know it has been true in my life and I can already see how it might play itself out in my daughters' lives. I think that having it in print will give us all a good, solid springboard for ongoing conversations about the fine balance between goodness and danger.

No female friend can meet all of our needs so we shouldn't expect one to.

This quote is interesting. I have only one complaint about this book. I think the author missed a big chunk by failing to talk enough about the role a good marriage has in a mother's happiness. I hope that when we reach the end of this study , we can fill in the gap on our own here. My husband tells me all the time that I am his best friend. And he is truly the only person on this planet that I completely trust and to whom I completely abandon myself. My girlfriends are valuable and necessary and I think Mike is the first person to be grateful for their role in my life. But he is my best friend on earth.

And even he can't meet every need. 

A truly happy mother has a real and living friendship with Jesus.

Women friends are vital because they help us become or stay emotionally more stable. They lift us out of despair, they make us laugh when we want to sob, they force us to keep living when we don't want to.

There was a time in my life when I would have thought this statement melodramatic. But now I know the feeling in the pit of one's stomach when you know that the person on the other end of the phone is in so much pain that really she just wants the world to stop turning. And you can't turn back the clock. And you can't change the horror in her life. And you can't alleviate the pain. But she needs you say something, anything. Because she needs to hear your voice and she wants, somewhere deep down, someone to tell her how to keep going.

The deep mystery of friendship is its intense security which accepts us exactly as we are and at the same time yearns for us to change, to improve and live a better life. 

Intense security. I don't think that can be overstated.

This sentiment reminds me of the pledge Ann Voskamp shared last year:

"I promise I will never speak an unkind word to or about you. I will never be jealous of you. I will never compete with you. I will never abandon or betray you. I will love you. I will pray for you. I will do all I can to help you go far and wide in the Kingdom. 

I will accept you as you are, always. I will be loyal to you. Before our loving God of grace, you have my words and my heart in friendship for this life and forever with Him.” 

 

The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: a bit more of Habit 1

We're discussing The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity. The first two conversations are 

Part 1(discussing Habit 1)

Part 2 (still discussing Habit 1)

Before we move on, I wanted to pick up a comment from last week and offer some encouragement. Someone left an anonymous comment and wrote, "What does one do who does not feel she has any real talents or gifts? Or any that would have any use to the world?"

I think we all go through periods where we feel  as if we have nothing of value to offer the world. The opening assertion of this book is that we have value in our homes. Great value. While talents and gifts that are of use to the world aren't readily apparent, it is my prayer for you that you start small and you see the value--the gift, the treasure, the unmatched jewel--you are to you husband and children.

God knows your value in your home. You are mother to the very children for whom you were created. He intentionally put those children in your life and entrusted you with mothering them. He knows the gifts you bring to the job and He is certain they are exactly what is needed.

The first suggestion Dr. Meeker makes towards making this habit stick is to make a list. Think of the things you do well and write them on paper. Pretty paper, I think would be best;-) You do have talents. What are the things you do that make your husband smile? How do you bring comfort to a child? What do your friends value in your friendship? What makes you happy, brings you peace, offers you the sense of a job well done at the end of the day? 

Write it down.

And then begin to replace the negative thoughts with positive ones. Dr. Meeker writes, "Start being the kind of friend you want to be and stop thinking about how your friends let you down, Tremendous amounts of energy leave us daily because we exhaust it in trying what not to be rather than embracing what we want to do."

The second way to make this habit stick is live to impress no one. It may seem as if the girl next door has endless gifts and talents that she pours like golden light over the whole world. Thank God for her and then, quietly, without comparing, light a candle in your own home. I think that blogs, for all their good and for all the community they foster, are particularly detrimental to helping women stop comparing. It's so easy to compare when it pops up right in front of you day after day.

Here's the thing: most bloggers sweep some powder across their noses and put on a little lipstick before they open their virtual doors. Even when we're honest about our bad days, most of us are conscious about how appropriate it is to put things in print. If the blogger comes from a print journalism background, even  more so. She understands the power of the written word and she's inclined to be prudent. We put on our company manners so to speak.

This summer, I lived one of my most challenging parenting weeks ever while I had a house full of company. I assure you that I would have moved about my house and carried myself differently if there had not been people other than family members in my home. Maybe that timing was providential. It brought a certain reserve to my demeanor 24/7. That's the reserve most bloggers bring to their writing and pictures. It's well-intentioned. It's not about impressing as much as it's about good manners. There is a time and a place for everything. The blogs I most like to visit, like the women in person around whom I'm most comfortable, are the ones where women accept themselves for who they are and live their lives authentically and graciously. 

In order to make the habit stick, we have to be women who are comfortable in our own skin, who live to answer God's call on our lives, and no one else's. "Women who have a healthy sense of their own value are delightful to be around because they never play games, put on airs or try to impress anyone. They don’t need to because they have   a sense that they lack very little. It isn’t that they are enamored with [sic] themselves—quite the opposite. They are humble. They are so comfortable with who they are that they are free to elevate others. Mothers who constantly badmouth others are profoundly insecure but mothers who feel secure speak with an ease and joy that lets the hearer see their confidence. One of the best ways to feel better about who we are as mothers is to push ourselves to accept who we are.   We do this by refusing to pretend with anyone."

Also from last week, Cheryl left a comment drawing attention to a Toolbox prepared to help focus study of the Habits. You find that here. Thanks, Cheryl!

Comments are open, but moderated, so it might take a moment or two (or three or an hour) to see yours appear. Please do share your thoughts. We all benefit from the discussion.

Lord willing, I'll have some thoughts on Habit 2 for you later today.

The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Joy, Peace, and Contentment

{The second post in a book study series on The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}

Last week, as our discussion of  The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers began, I was struck by something Andrea wrote in the comments. I sort of carried it around with me all week and let it run around in my head and bounce off my heart. She wrote:

Elizabeth it is very helpful to have your perspective, as the homeschooling mother of many, to add to this book.
I just finished reading this first habit and came away feeling as if I can actually give myself permission to investigate my other gifts. I was married at 20 with a baby along 9 months later, I have been nothing except a stay-at-home mama for my entire adult life, the children have come steadily since then and I see no end in sight now - I'm not even 30 yet. Immediately I had to stuff down all of my personal talents, goals, & things that I enjoyed to give myself to my children and husband at 100%. Now that I'm in the legitimate throes of homeschooling as well, it's become even harder to remember the gifts and talents that God gave to define me as a human being. It's really something to pray about.

 
I don't find competitive thinking toward other women or moms that challenging, I am actually not a very competitive person. But I loved her thoughts on humility, it has encouraged me to have peace with the kind of mom that I am, verses the kind that I think that I should be (perfect in all ways, of course). 

To Andrea, I replied:

Andrea, I've been thinking about this comment pretty much nonstop since you first posted it. I think that for me, my gifts outside of motherhood collided with motherhood pretty neatly. I was a kindergarten teacher before having children and then I quit to stay home and homeschool. Now, I'm on the brink of not having a kindergartner in my home in just a few years. I'm feeling a wee bit of panic. I won't go back to teaching any time soon--I still have lots of children left to raise and educate. But I can see that it's time to begin to explore other gifts or other venues for my passions. And I can see that my passion for early childhood may have to be put on hold for a season (until I return to the classroom or have grandchildren;-).

It's not that I suddenly have oodles of free time because my "baby" is nearly three, but there has been a significant shift and I'm trying to find the grace in the shift. I think for you the challenge is finding ways to utilize your personal talents within your home and mothering, not to stuff them. Don't stuff them! We are warned not to bury our gifts.

I think the other point this brings to light is that everyone's mothering and everyone's homemaking and the crafting of each family will look different--should look different--because we do bring different and unique gifts to the task. So, now matter where you are in your mothering, the challenge is to find the you God created and bring it to your home.

The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that this notion of bringing our unique gifts to our mothering and homemaking experience--whether we are working fulltime outside the home or homeschooling ten children--is necessary and vital to our peace and contentment within ourselves. If we take the time to understand our unique gifts for what they are--God's instruments for us to use for His glory--and then we pour that into the daily round of our loves, we will be content. He will bless that faithfulness. Furthermore, we won't compare and we won't compete. How could we compete? Understanding that we are each uniquely gifted and that we are mothers of children who are each uniquely gifted, we embrace the diversity in our friendships and learn from one another.

At the end of the first chapter, Dr. Meeker shares the wisdom of an older woman. I am learning to see the value of such wisdom more and more. I truly appreciate a mom who has seen this job of childrearing through to full adulthood and who can honestly help me to see my current stage of life from her perspective. When asked how she has the energy to serve cheerfully, Carol, Dr. Meeker's example, says, "It isn't about age. It's not about ability, talent, or even personality. Doing what I do--and I've been doing this for a number of years now--is about attitude. I'm good at helping these folks. I fit here. I was born to help and to love these people. And they need me. I believe that when you love the life you're supposed to be living and you happen on the deep meaning of your life, it works. The energy comes, you get bolder, and you live less fearfully. Knowing who you are and living what you were born to do, that's the good stuff. This is it, right here, right now, and I'm not going to miss it."

Here's the thing: what is the life you're supposed to be living? What is the big picture? To what vocation does He call you? But what are the little pictures, too? What are the things that happen every day that God allows in our lives for our good? Joy--deep down, peaceful joy--comes when we stop struggling against God's will. It comes when we see that though we may be hit over the head with crushing adversity, with things like illness and death and poverty, He is there. It's not that we don't feel disappointment and sorrow. We aren't called to be plastic people with no depth or dimension. We do feel it. We do sorrow. We are empathetic.

But we are faithful. We know, because we have been open to seeing it again and again, that He is always and only good. And that He always and only brings great good out of a bad situation.

I got in the car yesterday and it was literally 100 degrees outside. I can't imagine what it was in the car. And the car stunk. It stunk like cleats, and sweaty shirts, and dirty socks. And McDonald's trash. I had a little pity party. Why am I always surrounded by stink? Why was I  35 minutes late getting into the car to run errands that would certainly require me to stand in lines with grouchy people in ridiculous heat? I reached over to hurl (yes, I'm sure I was going to hurl) a shinguard into the back seat. And there, God had left me a love note:

 

{Patrick's shinguard.

9/1 was the day Bryce Mitchell died. And it was the day God reached down and made Himself known very personally to Patrick.}

He has a plan and we are at peace when we trust that plan and seek to know His will. Even in the little moments. Even in the car that broke down and threw off the schedule for the whole day. Even in the bad news on the job front. Even in the lost passport that means you can't catch that flight. All grace. The difference between living a life of bitterness and anger and a life of quiet, genuine joy is being receptive to the abundant grace that He pours out to those who trust in His plan. As women, we are uniquely gifted and exquisitely created to be receptive. Can we open ourselves to the Creator himself?

Can we allow Him to truly make of our lives what He intends?

~*~*~~*~*~

Feel free to chat below (comments are moderated, so it might take some time before you see yours appear), either adding your thoughts here directly or linking to a post on your own blog. Do take a moment to thoughtfully consider the comments on last week's post. There's much to think about there and several links to more food for though.  Now it's time for me to go about the rest of my day, peaceful in the knowledge that God created me for these children and this good man. And that's enough. Really.

The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Let's Begin to Cultivate them Now

{The first post in a books study series on The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}

I've been reading parenting books for 23 years (more if you count the ones I read in college). It's pretty rare for a book to come along that offers anything new and transformative these days. The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity is transformative. I firmly believe that. Dr. Meg Meeker makes a pretty bold promise at the book's beginning:

If every mother in the United States could wrap her mind around her true value as a woman and mother, her life would never be the same. We would wake up every morning excited for the day rather than feeling as though we'd been hit by a truck during the night. We would talk differently to our kids, fret less about our husbands' annoying habits, and speak with greter tenderness and clarity. We would find more contentment in our relationships, let mean remarks roll off our backs, and leave work feeling confident in the job we perfermed. And best of all--we wouldn't obsess about our weight (can you imagine?), physical fitness, or what kind of home we live in. We would live a life free from superficial needs because we would know deep in our hearts what we need and,  more importantly, what we don't need. Each of us would live a life of extraordinary freedom.

And peace. These are 10 habits towards peace deep within ourselves, the kind of peace that radiates into every sphere of our lives, that spills out into the ordinary everyday and colors our world a beautiful hue.

Sound good?

Dr. Meeker implores women to wrap their brains around the fact that they have enormous value.  She writes about the higher calling to which women are called and muses that she doesn't think most women have a sense of this greater purpose. In Christian terms, she is referring to vocation--the reality that God created us for a specific purpose and that living according to that purpose and embracing that mission is why we are here. That's pretty heady stuff. Many of the moms I know have a pretty good grip on the theology of vocation. But they get tripped up in the humility department.

Humility is not self-effacement. Indeed, if we embrace the very real truth that we are created by our Lord in His image, we are humble and confident. Dr. Meeker uses an extraordinary example to point out just how readily women are able to see the good and accept with love the faults in other people, but cannot extend that same grace to themselves. She writes that "we are supercritical of ourselves because we heap unreasonable expectations on ourselves...No matter how well we do in one area, we always feel that we're falling short in another. [And] we continually look to the wrong places to feel valuable. We look at how well we perform at various functions rather than accepting that we are valuable simply because we are our kids' moms and we are loved and needed because of that."

How do you judge yourself? How do you determine your worth?What is the yardstick against which you measure yourself? Do you ever feel like you measure up?

I think that in the community of mothers who are primarily committed to being mothers at home and often, to home education, we can lose sight of the fact that "in addition to fulfilling our purpose as good moms, we were born to do more, in time. ....we have lost this sense of being because we are afraid (my emphasis) of what lies beneath the superficial in us. If we set aside the energy we put into fitness, dieting,[creating the perfect homeschool?], trying to be a better mom tha the next mom, what is left? we wonder. What we find below the dieting, working, running around in the car, and exercising is a deepness that has been undiscovered." To that, I would definitely add that we can bury our authentic selves for a very long time if we are mothering a large family. We can throw ourselves into our work--far more work than a mother of two can begin to imagine--and we can tell ourselves for years and years that we are dying to self in service to our families. There is, however, a real possibility that we are not dying to self at all. Instead, we are failing to look self in the eye and get to know her. We are running from her in the running we do all day (and night). One day, maybe far into the future, we will still be moms, but we will not have the intensity of day-to-day child care and nurturing that we do now. We will be called to utilize our gifts in other ways. Will we be such strangers to ourselves and our talents that we cannot even recognize what it is He wants us to use?

Are we afraid? If we believe that we are created in God's very image, why are we afraid? Why do we keep so busy that we don't allow ourselves time to catch up with ourselves? Is it possible that there are talents yet discovered, plans He has for us that we are ignoring because we won't still ourselves long enough to have a frank conversation with our Maker about why He made us?

Dr. Meeker is not by any means saying that we shouldn't throw ourselves wholeheartedly into mothering. Indeed, the example of Julianne illustrates contentment in a role that is primarily and perhaps solely that of wife and mother. Of Julianne, she writes, "When a mother really understand her value, she has more self-confidence. She sets boundaries with her kids, her husband and herself and this makes life more palatable. She is less anxious and feels less inclined to compete with other women, because beneathe everything she likes who she is."

Competition is a running thread throughout the book. I think Dr. Meeker really nails the biggest detriment to genuine friendships and to to genuine contentment within when she looks competition squarely in the eye and calls it out for what it is. It's a cancer.

Enough words for today. We're only on page 15:-). Please do join me in reading and thinking. Please offer your perspective and bless us all with your voice.

Feel free to chat below (comments are moderated, so it might take some time before you see yours appear), either adding your thoughts her directly or linking to a post on your own blog.  Now it's time for me to go about the rest of my day, peaceful in the knowledge that God created me for these children and this good man. And that's enough. Really.

Small Steps Together: Cocooning and Flying Free

I have long loved early childhood. From the time I was very little, I have invested much thought and prayer into the mother of young children I feel called to be. Much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone except my husband, I even majored in early childhood in college. (Just an aside: I had enough nursing and anatomy/physiology credits to also be certified to teach health and PE. God had a plan. I grew up to educate children who, when asked to name their school, inform the general public that they attend the Foss Academy for the Athletically Inclined. But I digress.)

 

I have held tightly to the promise that it's never too late to have a happy childhood. And since mine was not childish or carefree, I've set out very deliberately to create for my children what I think I might have missed and to enjoy it alongside them. Deep in my heart, my fondest wish was to be the very good mother of young children. You might say that I've dedicated my adult  life to that task.

Not too long ago, I can't remember where, I read about a woman around my age who said that she was too busy with her grown kids and teenagers to mourn the fact that her babies were growing up and there would soon be no wee ones in her house. I'm not. I'm not too busy. There are still small children in my house and they slow me, still me. I still stay with them at night as they drift off to sleep. I still sit with them at the table as they eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, ever so slowly. I bathe them and brush their hair and braid it up before bed. I sit and rock and hold and read. I still thank God for them with every breath, much like I did the day they were born. I have plenty of time in the course of my day to be still and know that these are precious moments that will not be a part of my days in the not too distant future. 

In a way, I envy those women who blithely move along to the next stage of life and smile brightly and say, "There! That's finished. Wasn't it grand? Now what's next?" I'm not one of them. Perhaps I'm just not good at transitions. I sobbed at my high school graduation. I remember how reluctantly I traded my wedding gown for my "going away" clothes. I cried so hard when Michael left for college that I had to pull over because I couldn't see to drive. I held more tightly to each newborn than the one before. And this last one? I don't think I put her down at all for the first twelve weeks. My intimate relationships are deep and rooted and meaningful. When I live something, I feel it. 

I know it's time.

I know because my environment cries out that it is so. My house is full to overflowing with people. Several of them are more than twice the size they were when we moved in here. Some have left and come back and brought with them more of their own stuff. We are bursting at the seams. It is time to acknowledge that we are in a new season of life and to allow my house to reflect that.

And so. I cocoon. Somehow I know that this is intense, deeply personal business and at the end I will be the same and yet, forever different. I spin a silken thread tightly around my home. My cell phone goes dead. I don't recharge it. I don't touch my laptop. I don't carry the house phone with me. I don't leave for several days. It is time to conquer all those recesses of my home that I neglected while I held babies. It is time to let go.

We need space. We no longer need a co-sleeper. Or the sheets to go with it. We don't need a swing. I begin in the basement.

We don't need three neatly labeled boxes of beautiful thick, pink, cotton clothes -- 0-3 months, 6-9 months, 9-18 months. I carefully save the christening gown, the sweet baptism booties, the first dress Karoline wore to match Katie and Mary Beth. The rest I fold into giveaway bags.  Michael takes the baby "things" to the Salvation Army on Friday.The clothes remain until Saturday morning. The Children's Center truck is due to arrive at 8 AM. After I've finished with the clothes, I cannot  stay here in this basement on Friday. I've done what I know will be the most difficult task. I also know I'm nearly suffocating.  I need to go upstairs and get some air. 

I begin in Mike's office. This isn't really my mess or my stuff or even the stuff of children who haven't been carefully supervised. It is just the overflow of two busy adults who pile and stuff a bit too much. He doesn't use this room. It's a lovely room in the middle of the house with a bright window. I put a new sewing machine on the desk. I rearrange shelves, discarding things he no longer needs. I spend an hour or so carefully dusting his youth trophies and 25 years of sports paraphernalia. I think about this post and I know that we can (and should) share this space. I move some baskets in. My yarn, my knitting and sewing books, a few carefully folded lengths of fabric, holding place for a stash to come.

I stitch a few things in that room. And I am happy there. I am no longer knitting in my womb. But I am still creating. And it makes me happy. My arms are ever more often empty, but my hands are increasingly free for other pursuits. Still, a small voice whispers, knitting and sewing are nothing like the co-creation you've done for the last 22 years. I hush the voice. I have no idea where this is going. He is the Creator. He has written a beautiful pattern for my life. All He asks is that I knit according to His plan. Trust the pattern.

On Saturday morning, that truck comes. I can't even watch as they load my dear boxes. My stomach clenches and my eyes fill with tears. Things. They are only things. The girls who wore those things are safe in my arms. Another mother will be blessed to hold a sweet pink cotton bundle close and nuzzle her cheeks. I descend to the basement.

Here. Here is where I must force myself to cocoon. Here is where ten years of "put this carefully in the craft room" will come back to haunt me. They have tossed at will every single time. It never recovered from the great flooring shuffle. I do pretty well with the rest of the house, but I dislike coming down to the basement and Mike rarely comes down here. So, here is where the disorder has collected. The "craft room" is a jumble of stored clothes, curriculum, craft supplies, and 25 years of family photos. It is a mess.

I am humbled by the mess. Quite literally driven to my knees. But I have spun myself into this small space and here I will stay until I can emerge beautifully.

I have banished all outside interruptions, but I have brought with me the Audible version of this book. Good thing, too, because I will benefit greatly from the message within and, frankly, I will need to hear the narrator say "You are a good mom" as often as she does. 

I see the abandoned half-finished projects, the still shrinkwrapped books, the long lingering fabric and lace. Did I miss it? Did I miss the opportunity to do the meaningful things? To be the good mom I want to be? I am nearly crushed by the weight of the money I've spent on these things and the remanants of my poor stewardship.What was I doing when this mess was being made? To be sure some of the time was sadly wasted. It is easy to berate myself for time slipped through my fingers. Cocoons are really rather nasty things.

Determined, I clear out the clutter. I tell myself that life is not black and white. It's not all bad or all good.  I fold fabric and recognize that what I have here is the beginning of some new projects. I gather acorn caps and felt and label them and tuck them away for the fall. I make a very large stack of books to sell secondhand. I sort and sweep and remember. I see picture after picture of smiling children. I see, in those color images, time well spent. Time well filled.  Their mama always looks tired. I recognize in  those pictures that my children were happy--are happy. And I also recognize that it's been a little while now since I felt that tired. It is true that much of my time in the last twenty years, I have been filling well. I have been holding and rocking and nursing and coloring and listening and reading and giving and giving...I have been cherishing childhood. And it is a true that in a household this size, it is darn near impossible for every corner of the house to remain clean and every lesson to be carried out according to plan ,while caring well for babies and toddlers.  Messes happen.

The season just passed? The very long season? It was good and full and messy and cluttered. It was bursting-at-the-seams joyful in a way nothing ever will be again. It was also very hard work. Very, very hard work.There were utter failures and big mistakes. And there was a whole lot of good. 

This new season? I don't know yet. It's not nearly as cluttered. I have stayed in this cocoon until every corner of my home, every nook and every cranny, has been cleared of the clutter of the last season. Every poor choice, every undisciplined mess has been repurposed. Every single one. I can see my way clear to do the meaningful things. And the blessing is that there are still plenty of children in this house to do them with me.

As I sweep the room for the last time before considering this a job well done, I see a picture that has slid under a bookshelf. It is Mike and me at our wedding rehearsal. I stare long and hard at that girl. But I stare longer at him. He is still every bit as happy as he was that night. Happier, really. Really happier. These days in this cocoon, I have been brutally honest with myself. I've held myself accountable for every transgression. I have humbled myself before God and I have confessed my sins.  I look at his image and then back at mine and I realize something very important. Whatever my failings, I have consistently been a good wife. I wonder at the ease with which this recognition comes to me. I am certain that much of it is born of his frequent words of affirmation. I know it is so because he has told me it is so. But why is it so?

Grace. 

Ours is a gracious God. It is only by His grace that I am the wife I am. And it is by His grace that I have this sense of peace about the most important relationship in my life. These children willl grow in the safe home he and I have created together. And then they will fly. Mike and I? We will be us. Always us.

I carefully put away the very last picture, turn out the light, and climb the stairs.

I've cleared out the clutter, made peace with the past. I've learned a very valuable lesson that I'm long going to be pondering in my heart. It's time to fly free.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Small Steps focuses on humility this month. Would you share your thoughts with us, let us find you and walk with you? I'd be so grateful and so honored to have you as a companion. Please leave a link to your blog post below and then send your readers back here to see what others have said.You're welcome to post the Small Steps Together banner button also.

Celebrating Papa

~Because this letter, written four years ago, is on my heart as we look towards Sunday's beatification. Of course, there was a baby after this one, too. God's generosity exceeds our most fervent prayers.~

 

April 1, 2007

Dear Papa,

I had planned to write a long column this weekend, in time for tomorrow. But the baby was sick and my hands were full, so all the writing I did was in my head.  I planned to write about that sobbing prayer two years ago, when I begged you to intercede for me. And then I'd write about all the little miracles strewn like roses in the days and weeks and months that followed.

Instead, I stayed up all night, dancing with my daughter.  She was feeling poorly and whimpering to be held. I gathered her up out of my bed and swayed with her in the darkness. For hours.  I sang my full repertoire of musicals.  I moved on to old Raffi tunes. I added a little Glory and Praise. And then, I switched to "You Light up my Life."  Her tears ceased and mine fell freely. I settled into the big chair, her head heavy against my chest and I remembered.

I remembered a time two years ago that was dark and sad. I was struggling with depression and so was Mike. Together, we were fumbling in confusion. Recovery from childbirth had been difficult. Recovery from a miscarriage more difficult. A year of infertility following that miscarriage was a year of pain like none I'd ever known. No light. Only darkness.  And on that Friday night, I held an eerie vigil in front of the muted television.

Please God, I don't know what I'll do without my Papa. And yet I know, I know that he is yours; he always was. Morning dawned and the day moved forward and then you were gone. And as naturally as the sobs escaped my throat, my soul begged your intercession. Tell Him, Papa! Please tell Him how sad I am, how much I want a baby, how much Mike needs him. Tell Him, Papa--I know you can.

And you did. Within an hour of that prayer, the answers began to become so clear.  You led us to a different parish. You put people in my path who would insist that I get to know the Little Flower you loved so well, the dear Saint you called a Doctor and by whom you trusted that the fullness of faith could be taught. She and you taught me about Love--Love incarnate, a good and gentle God who understood my pain and stooped to bind my wounds. I re-read all your letters to me. I read her words. Light dawned, love flickered.

Looking back, I should not be surprised that in the months following your death, I pushed by forces greater than me to travel. You were never afraid to travel. I had not been on an airplane in fifteen years. But I flew three times that year. The first time, I went Chicago and visited the shrine of St. Therese and left my petitions there. The last time, I went to Florida at my husband's insistence. We were there for an art gallery opening but we took a day trip to St. Augustine and the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche.  I had a long talk with Our Lady that day. She already knew.I'm sure you told her.

One night, nine months after you died, my husband lit a candle in a church where you once celebrated Mass, in the presence of your relics. And then, our wait for a baby was over and yet it had begun. For nine more months, I was still, love growing inside of me.  I learned to love your favorite prayer and I prayed the rosary with St. Therese, sometimes twenty decades a day, including the five new decades that were your gift to me. All the time, I was almost afraid to believe, almost afraid to think that the light had returned and darkness was dispelled.

Then she was here.  A glorious, beautiful, darling little girl. We call her Karoline Rose. She is a shower of roses, a basket of blessings. She is sweetness and she is light.  As she grows, I will tell her.  I will tell her about her Papa. She will know you and she will be grateful to share your name.

 

But now, she calls again. Enough remembering. I am living in the present, embracing every moment. I know you're here. I know you see her dear, dimpled chin. I know you watch me kiss her fat little cheeks and I know you smile.

Thank you!