Lord, Hear Our Prayer

Usually, I share the Sunday gospel reading here in this space on the weekend. This morning, though, I've opted for a different scripture choice--a short verse we could all commit to memory this week.

I have a sweet young friend who is getting married next weekend. Her parents' home is in Colorado Springs. They've been evacuated. Wedding is still on. Reception site still to be determined, last I heard. The picture above is from her big sister's Facebook page (taken from a local news page). I love this family and my prayers have been with Mary for a long time. Really, this week, I can think of little else. 

A girl's wedding is the stuff of long held dreams. This Colorado wedding had all the makings of a fairy tale. God assures us that His plan is even better than fairy tales. So, I hope that you will pray with me for Mary and Paul in the days before their wedding.

And we reach out in prayer to everyone affected by the fires in the mountains.

{from big sister Megan--view from their evacuee home}

“Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing, as though some strange thing were happening to you;” 1 Peter 4:12

{Sally Clarkson, who has gathered evacuees into her Colorado heart and home, brings this wisdom and understanding to the week's verse.}

Finally, as we approach Independence Day and the end of the Fortnight for Freedom, as we absorb the reality that right now Catholics will be forced to choose between deeply held religious convictions and the law of this land, we pray for religious liberty.

O God our Creator,

from your provident hand we have received our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
You have called us as your people and given us the right and the duty to worship you, the only true God, and your Son, Jesus Christ.
Through the power and working of your Holy Spirit,
you call us to live out our faith in the midst of the world,
bringing the light and the saving truth of the Gospel
to every corner of society.

We ask you to bless us
in our vigilance for the gift of religious liberty.
Give us the strength of mind and heart
to readily defend our freedoms when they are threatened;
give us courage in making our voices heard
on behalf of the rights of your Church
and the freedom of conscience of all people of faith.

Grant, we pray, O heavenly Father,
a clear and united voice to all your sons and daughters
gathered in your Church
in this decisive hour in the history of our nation,
so that, with every trial withstood
and every danger overcome—
for the sake of our children, our grandchildren,
and all who come after us—
this great land will always be "one nation, under God,
indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

We ask this through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

As always, please allow us the privilege to pray for your intentions, too, by leaving a quick note in the comments.

Social Media, Teenagers, and the Meaning of Life

I’ve spent entirely too much time on Facebook and Twitter lately. I’m not on my own pages for more than a few minutes a day, but I follow my teenagers carefully. Supervision of social media is a parenting responsibility being trailblazed by my generation. There is no guidebook. No one has gone before us. And, honestly, the landscape changes almost daily. While I’d much rather be outside gardening than wading through the tweets of every teenager in town and many teenagers in far-flung places, it has afforded me an interesting perspective on life as a teenager in this new century.

Please read the rest here. 

But then come back! 

I want to keep discussing this one.

My favorite post ever on Facebook and teenagers is this one, by Danielle Bean, written on the occasion of her eldest joining Facebook. I love it all, but what astounded me when I first read it and what continues to amaze me is Danielle's ability to see the pitfalls before Kateri even ventured onto the Facebook teen world. That's one wise mama on the 'net.

We all need to wise mamas on the 'net. And the big hurdle we have to overcome is that it moves so quickly and it's all so new that anticipating where our children may get tripped up is not nearly as easy as Danielle makes it look. 

Clearly, I understand that learning to use social media during one's teenaged years is a necessary education. And, despite reports to the contrary, I'm definitely not social media hater. I went to Facebook reluctantly and I actually really like it there. I surprise myself with that statement. I went to Twitter (with Danielle's help), and honestly, I'm sure I don't quite get it. I can say the same thing, at the same time, on Twitter and Facebook and Facebook peeps chatter away, while Twitter folks (I will not call them Twits or Tweeps) ignore it. Go figure. I adore Instagram and the smallish circle of folks who brighten my days there.

Finally, my biggest assurance to people that I'm not anti-social media is the fact that a great deal of celebrating happened here when eldest son was named Director of Social Media for Sports at USAToday. In a moment, all the wrangling over Myspace and the steep learning curve we both climbed almost ten years ago seemed worth the time and effort. That said, the age of Facebook and Twitter entry in our house was raised substantially when a new 13-year-old said something ridiculously stupid and was erased from the face of internet interaction until he's old enough to drive. We're still learning here, folks.

My time watching what my kids say on social media is time well spent. I know that. It's also disconcerting. I want to tape Danielle's list on every computer in the house, somehow attach it to every smart phone. I can't tell you how many times I look at my husband (who knew me well in high school) and say, "I'm so glad I didn't leave an electronic record of that." And he will knowingly wink and concur.

My kids have seen me dissolve into a puddle of tears while staring at a computer screen. They've witnessed what social media can do to a reputation over the course of a single weekend. And I am aware that I set the example here, even as I make mistakes.

One thing I've learned and one thing that serves me really well is to walk away. I've learned to shut it all down for two or more days at a time and regain perspective that comes from looking into real faces and up at the wide open sky. I have learned how important it is to my mental health to be hands-free. I try to stay away from the internet on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. For me, I find that three days in a row proves to be the most beneficial. Over time, I've tweaked it a bit. I make an exception for posting to Instagram, mostly because I find myself with lots of capture-able moments on the weekend because I'm mostly away from my screen. I love my iPhone most of all for its camera:-) And, after I missed the opportunity to meet a far-off friend on the spur of the moment, I learned to check my email occasionally, too. Obviously, I pre-program blog posts. Mostly though, I back away--way away--from the screen for a three day weekend every week.

I wish I could teach my children how valuable that break is. Here's the thing: when you feel most sad or discouraged or downtrodden, that's when you most need to click the whole thing closed and unplug. You're not going to find consolation on the internet. Stop looking for it there. Find it where Augustine did. 

needle & thREAD

Good morning, sewing friends!

I'm afraid I haven't any sewing at all to report this week. I had grand plans for three completed sundresses. Life had other plans. 

Let's revisit this post for just a moment, as I promised to tell you the rest of the story. I actually can't tell it in full. As I thought about it, I couldn't come up with a responsible way to tell it all. In part, our parish mission is regrouping after what can only be called a crisis and moving from 10,000 square feet to 1500 square feet. I ended up with a great many boxes from that move in my basement. And then, it fell to us, with the help of a friend, to sort and carefully steward those things into the future while we wait and save and build a church. I was constantly reminded of The Miracle of St. Nicholas. That's about all I can say there.

In the process, I discovered messes anew in the basement. Unlike last year, this year, I'm not claiming blame. It's all about the kids. So, I've just begun to read Cleaning House: A Mom's 12-month Experiment to Rid Her Home of Youth Entitlement. So far, I really like this book and I see it as a way to avoid ever having my basement look like Occupy Basement again.

I was going to sew on Monday. My plan was to sew and sew and sew. Instead, I was distracted by the state of my sewing room. Let's talk about nomenclature for a moment, shall we? I know that lots of bloggers call the room where they sew "the studio." They sew there. They write there. They do design work there. I do all that in my room, too. But "studio" just sounds weird around here. My husband is a television producer/director. He works in a studio. There's no fabric involved. But when we say "studio" in this house, that's what we all envision. 

Since last year, I have completely taken over the office on our main floor. His trophies have been relocated to make room for my teacups. I still want to paint and to make curtains, but mostly, I just sigh contentedly in my "sewing room." When it's clean. And it was in need of some TLC this week. So I cleaned the basement and cleaned the sewing room and found myself with no time to sew. 

Incidentally, I can't bring myself to call myself a "sewist," either. It just grates against my editing ear, I think. Instead, I think I'm on my way to becoming a modern seamstress. Maybe a quilter... A creator of quilts. Happy stitcher of mama-made dresses.  "Sewist" just sounds odd to me.

{fabric cut and ready for three sundresses. that fabric was going to be lining for sewing room curtains. sundresses are a much better use, i think. i have a lot of it. more than three dresses worth.}

{books for inspiration. each girl has a sewing box. i have two. basket near the top holds the pieces for a quilt for my room. fabric to the right of that is heather bailey set aside to make a quilt for mary beth. fabric on the shelf below is flurry to be used to finish my christmas quilt and make two or three more.}

{anna maria horner on the entire upper shelf, right beneath baskets full of yarn. i think some of this will be a wedding quilt. stash of pinks is still formidable, rest of the stashes dwindling. on the far right is a big stack of flannels that will be winter pjs in time for the flurry of fall birthdays. at least that's the plan.}

What about you? Sewing? Reading? A little of both? What's on your summer reading list? Do you have a summer sewing list?  Or are you embroidering? Pulling a needle with thread through lovely fabric to make life more beautiful somehow? Would you share with us just a single photo (or more) and a brief description of what you're up to? Will you tell us about what you're reading, also? Would you talk sewing and books with us? I'd love that so much.

Make sure the link you submit is to the URL of your blog post or your specific Flickr photo and not your main blog URL or Flickr Photostream. Please be sure and link to your current needle and theREAD post below in the comments, and not a needle and theREAD post from a previous week. If you don't have a blog, please post a photo to the needle & thREAD group at Flickr. 

       Include a link back to this post in your blog post or on your flickr photo page so that others who may want to join the needle and thREAD fun can find us! Feel free to grab a button here (in one of several colors) so that you can use the button to link:-).

Remember: Fat Quarter Shop Giveaway Here. It's not to late to enter. Winner Announced Tomorrow.

Cocooning Reprise

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.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

~ reprinted from the archives. I'm back in the basement today, but it's very different than it was last year. I'll be back tomorrow to share with you the rest of the story.

Not Really a Proper Daybook

I don't have a proper daybook for you this morning--too much to which I need to attend here. All good, just the best kind of busy. I do have a few random things of some importance to share though:

I am thinking::

about menopause. I don't really want to think about menopause. Really, could we just call it something else? I don't even like the ring to that word. Midlife? No, that  sounds like a balding man's red convertible. The Change? Um, sounds like a hot flash. We need a better word. In all seriousness, I am giving this {{insert word of choice here}} a great deal of thought. Many thanks to those of you who joined the conversation last week. You've moved this project forward by leaps and bounds. There is a book in the works. Just to let you know how earnest I am about doing this thoroughly, I ordered that offensive book I mentioned in last week's post because the editor who likes my book idea suggested that I read it. I bought it, flipped to the end--to the closing thoughts, the send off-- and discovered that after the author divorced her husband at midlife, she found great consolation cuddling her male cat and she learned a lot about femininity from her female cat.

Ladies, we can do better! I know it. Please share your thoughts with me. And if you're still too young to even give a passing thought to menopause, let me ask you to reconsider. Think about the women you know at midlife or beyond. What do you want to emulate there? What do you want to avoid? Consider how being intentional with certain things right now might change what midlife looks like for you. Tell me about the women you know who have the kind of life you'd like to have in your forties and fifties. Tell me details. Tell me anything, but that my future lies with a cat as my main squeeze. (No offense to cat lovers, please)

a way to get a jump on Christmas shopping::

In honor of the month of the Sacred Heart, St. Luke's Brush is offering a buy 4, get one deal. Buy any 4 dolls by June 30 and get a Sacred Heart doll for free. It's not too early to think of stocking stuffers. I can honestly tell you that these are the toys Sarah plays with most of all. They're timeless heirlooms. The Sacred Heart of Jesus doll is a one of a kind, 3.5 inch wooden peg doll hand painted with non-toxic acrylic paints and sealed to preserve this keepsake toy.

summer sponsor opportunities:: as the season changes, there are a few slots opening for sponsors here at In the Heart of My Home. Sponsors will also be onSerendipity and we are eager to bring some new plans to life there in the next couple months. Email me at intheheartofmyhome AT gmail DOT com for more information.

I told you they were random thoughts. Thanks for indulging my brain dump. Now, I'm off to do what needs to be done around here. Have a beautiful Monday:-).