One more confession of a not-so-crafty mom

Sculpey, I think, could convert anyone.

Confessions of a not-so-crafty mom

1. I only recently bought my first glue gun.

2. I didn't know what Perler beads were until a couple of years ago.

3. I used to dread trips to Hobby Lobby.

4. I've been known to count bubble-sculpting in the tub as a craft.

Ramona's against it

Lately, whenever her father and I hug, dance, snuggle up on the couch or generally make our affection for one another known, Ramona Quimby launches a blitz intended to break it up.

"No dancing! No Mommy-and-Daddy time! No more marrying!"

Clearly, she doesn't get it. It's that marrying stuff that got her here. Or, maybe she does get it, and doesn't want any competition showing up.

Add this to the list of reasons I married him

Yesterday, Atticus took all three children out for the day. The whole day. The entire day. As in, "I didn't fix lunch or dinner for anyone and I ate Chinese takeout from the box" kind of day. This is also known as Mommy's Christmas Present.

Now, before I'm accused of being one of those selfish, 21st-Century-Gotta-Take-Care-of-Me-First moms, I want to make it clear that I love being with my children. I do. If I didn't, I wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't homeschool them. I adore them and I adore being with them. I love them to pieces, distraction, etc. (sorry -- stolen quote from Franny and Zooey, for those of you on the plagiarism watch, which I'm alert to, since Atticus just finished grading term papers ....)

But, I do enjoy -- occasionally need -- revel in, a little bit of time to myself. This was more than just "a little bit" of time to myself, though. This was a positively decadent amount of time to myself during which I:

~ enjoyed a shower without anyone flinging the shower door open to say, "Mom! I played the game she wanted, but now she won't play the game I want!" (This after having passed by their father who's available to settle a squabble but who will always be overlooked because Mom is the first squabble-settler they seek, regardless of whether or not she is standing in the shower with soap all over her face.)

~ was certain I heard footsteps upstairs while I was in the shower

~ spent a short amount of time paralyzed by my choices

~ drank coffee. Lots of coffee. Had some more coffee. And every cup was hot.

~ worked on an article I've been wanting to revise for months

~ talked to a faraway friend on the phone without anyone saying, "What? What? Why did you laugh?"

~ read. Pondered. Read. Prayed.

~ ate Christmas candy and didn't share a bite of it with anyone (which if okay, since they got ridiculous amounts of candy in their stockings)

~ decluttered a part of the family room that had been overtaken by kid stuff that was screaming to be bagged up and thrown out

~played on the computer, surfing further than I usually do, because nothing else was in need of my attention (except the decluttering, the article to revise ....)

~ drank Chocolate Chai (sent by dear, above-mentioned faraway friend) which stayed hot, too

~ worried when my family wasn't home at the expected time, and thought about how my life would come to a screeching, horrifying halt if they'd been in a fatal accident ... my whole life, in one van ....

~ rejoiced when they walked in the door, hugged them incredibly tightly, and told them that I loved them enormously, missed them, and I hoped they'd had as dandy a day as I did. And you know what? They had.

Teacher Man

I finished reading Frank McCourt's Teacher Man last night. It was really enjoyable in a sad, tough, funny sort of way. Before writing Pulitzer prize-winning Angela's Ashes, McCourt taught in New York City schools for 30 years, so he knows whereof he speaks. I'm married to an English teacher, and I could (by proxy) identify with much of what he said about the work: the grading (he actually does the math: 175 students a day x 350-500 words each = a teacher's weekend), the students, the uncertainties, the challenges, the triumphs, the heartbreaking stories and the kids he'll never forget.

As a homeschooler who tends to wander off the beaten curriculum path, his philosophy (or lack of) of education resonated with me. He writes:

"It was clear I was not cut out to be the purposeful kind of teacher who brushed aside all questions, requests, complaints, to get on with the lesson. That would have reminded me of that school in Limerick where the lesson was king and we were nothing. I was already dreaming of a school where teachers were guides and mentors, not taskmasters. I didn't have any particular philosophy of education except that I was uncomfortable with the bureaucrats, the higher-ups, who had escaped classrooms only to turn and bother the occupants of those classrooms, teachers and students. I never wanted to fill out their forms, follow their guidelines, administer their examinations, tolerate their snooping, adjust myself to their programs and courses of study."

It's a compelling book, often depressing, and brutally honest regarding his personal life, failed marriage, complaints about the Catholic Church. And, it's only partly about teaching. It's also the story of how a man spent 30 years figuring out who he was and what he had to say to the world. Then, he went off and said it.

No substitutions, please

While driving home on a foggy night after visiting some family (well, in all fairness, I wasn't actually driving -- Atticus was, and I was sleepily riding) it was confirmed that no one but Frank Sinatra should bother singing "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning" and no one but Nat King Cole should ever, ever sing "The Christmas Song" and I'm fairly certain that no one other than Niamh Parsons should sing "The Water is Wide."

Something I love about December and something I don't

As Christmas approaches, the whole world (or, at least my whole tiny world in our little town) gets caught up in the preparations. People chatter about decorating trees, baking cookies, giving gifts. The supposed war on Christmas notwithstanding, I hear "Merry Christmas" from many people, store clerks included. Radio stations that normally shy away from Jesus and His pesky ways play songs about the Savior, and on television Linus Van Pelt announces to the whole world what Christmas is all about.

It's as if, for awhile, the world shares one faith. It stirs me to imagine what it would be like to live in a world that truly lived and acted as the Body of Christ, a world that shared one vision and had one goal: to see that Savior that Linus tells us about.

Then, of course, it all comes to an abrupt halt on December 26th (this is the part I don't love ....) While my family and I are celebrating via the liturgical calendar, which tells us that Christmas begins on December 25th, is celebrated for an octave and that the Christmas season marches officially on until the Feast of the Presentation (Feb. 2), while we're belting out Christmas carols this week, celebrating the birth of Jesus in high style, the rest of the world is saying it's over. I'm still saying "Merry Christmas" while others have switched to "Happy New Year." We're counting the Twelve Days of Christmas, looking forward to the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6th in a world that thinks the Twelve Days of Christmas means the final countdown of shopping days before the 25th.

But, we don't let any of that put a damper on our celebrations. Jesus and His birthday are worth days and days of celebration, and He's worth looking like an out-of-sync moron in the eyes of the world. And fortunately, we're raising kids who don't mind being out-of-sync morons (at least not so far) so they happily celebrate right along with us.

And we're all thankful that, at least for a little while, the world cared about what Linus Van Pelt had to say.

Feast of the Holy Innocents

On this day the Church is honoring the innocent children slaughtered at Herod's hand, the martyrs who died for Christ without knowing of Him in this life. For a beautiful commentary, see today's reading at Universalis, a sermon of St Quodvultdeus.

But we, of course, also think of the holy innocents who are killed each day through abortion. St. Quodvultdeus wrote

"You destroy those who are tiny in body because fear is destroying your heart. You imagine that if you accomplish your desire you can prolong your own life, though you are seeking to kill Life himself"

and in these few, powerful words penetrates the core of "the issue." The issue, all too often, is fear. Fear often drives women to abortion: fear of one's own failure, fear of the responsibility of parenthood, fear of financial problems, fear of the father of the baby (do you know how many abortions are coerced? See links such as this article at The Eliot Institute .)

The woman considering abortion imagines that if she "accomplishes her desire" she can "prolong her own life" -- in other words, she believes, as Herod did, that removing the child from the picture will erase the problem. But the child, like Jesus, cannot simply be removed. Jesus is Life Himself. The child in the womb, so intimately connected to his mother (even to a mother who does not want to acknowledge the connection) is a connection to Life Himself. Removing the child does violence not only to the innocent baby's body but to the mother's relationship with Life Himself. She becomes a modern-day Herod, driven by a fear that destroys her heart.

A post-abortive woman, if she doesn't reject the act and repent, will sink deeper and deeper into a defense of it, to the point of irrationality. But, if she turns back to the Lord, He will restore her heart, her life and her connection with Life Himself. There is hope. There is healing. And all the saints in heaven, including the Holy Innocents, are praying for it.

For more on the aftermath of abortion, see The Eliot Institute, Rachel's Vineyard, Hope After Abortion, The National Office of PostAbortion Reconciliation and Healing, and Operation Outcry. Also, for a beautiful shrine dedicated to children who have died unborn, see The Shrine of the Holy Innocents and for a great blog see Emily and Annie's After Abortion.

342 shopping days until St. Nicholas Eve

Though it sounds obsessively organized, it really means I'm chintzy.

I like to hit the after-Christmas sales and put a couple of things away for next December 6th, the feast of St. Nicholas. St. Nicholas gifts at our house are small, but fun. One thing the kids usually get is a Christmas ornament. They have a great collection going for when they (sniff, sniff) grow up and move out. This is also a great time to pick up those Christmas-y socks that I would never spend $3.99 on (I told you I'm chintzy) but that I gleefully purchase for ninety-nine cents.

Small Christmas crafts are on sale now, too. But, I'll have you know (she said defensively) I do not buy the Christmas candy a year in advance.

Feast of St. John, Apostle and Evangelist

I'm sure St. Augustine occasionally said something mundane ("Mother, please pass the salt,") but even the most mundane of his writings speak to me. Today's Liturgy of the Hours readings include Augustine's words on St. John:

"We proclaim to you what we have heard and seen. Make sure that you grasp the meaning of these words. The disciples saw our Lord in the flesh, face to face; they heard the words he spoke, and in turn they proclaimed the message to us. So we also have heard, although we have not seen.

Are we then less favoured than those who both saw and heard? If that were so, why should John add: so that you too may have fellowship with us? They saw, and we have not seen; yet we have fellowship with them, because we and they share the same faith."

Such a simple but profound statement: we share the same faith that the first apostles had. And, if we share the same faith, we have the same responsibility. A sobering, exhilarating thought.

Wake up!

"'Wake up, O man! For your sake God became man' (St. Augustine, 'Sermo,' 185). Wake up, O men and women of the third millennium! At Christmas, the Almighty becomes a child and asks for our help and protection. His way of showing that he is God challenges our way of being human. By knocking at our door, he challenges us and our freedom; he calls us to examine how we understand and live our lives."

The above is from Pope Benedict XVI's Christmas message. Read the full text here.

Prayers needed for this family

Two days before Christmas, Anne was gobsmacked with stomach flu. We were up all night and she was violently ill (as she always gets with such things.) Though I was sad that she couldn't go to Mass, I was grateful that we were dealing with only a passing virus, and I rejoiced on Christmas Eve with each sip of 7-Up that passed her lips.


This family is not so fortunate, nor so relieved. Please pray for their daughter and the seriousness of this situation. (Thanks to Genevieve Kineke for alerting us.)

Ending a lovely Christmas day

with a quote from 3-year-old Ramona:

"I'm all sorts of tired."

'Tis Christ the Lord

Happy Birthday, Jesus!

And a happy, holy and blessed Christmas to all!

I'm so predictable

My husband and I have a holiday tradition. Every year, close to Christmas, we get a babysitter, go out for Chinese food and buy all the last-minute

(WARNING: SANTA SPOILER AHEAD)

stocking stuffers and generally fall in love all over again -- with each other, with our children, and with the magic of Christmas. We talk about how our days went, about my parents and his and holiday travel plans, about how we'll keep the youngest child happy and calm during the long Christmas Eve Mass, and about how we can't believe how drastically our Christmases have changed over the years.

You see, when we married, we didn't want children. Children were nice enough for other people, but not for us. We didn't want the mess, the commitment, the responsibility. We were happy to be "child free" as opposed to "childless."

Then something happened. I became a Christian. Oops. Short-circuit in the selfishness department. I began to long for a child. Soon, Atticus's heart caught up with mine in the procreation department, and we set forth to create a family. After some heartbreaking miscarriages, we had Anne. But only one, Atticus said. One child is enough.

Then I became a Catholic. Oops. Short-circuit in the openness to life department. We had Betsy. Several more heartbreaking miscarriages later, God awarded us with Ramona, and here we are. Falling in love again at Christmas time, and crazy, head-over-heels in love with our children.

And all because of of a child born in Bethlehem two thousand years ago. Had Mary said, "No, thank you, I'd like to remain child-free," I would be childless. There would have been no conversion, no short-circuit, and most certainly, no joy. How does one thank God for that? I always seem to do it in the same old tired way.

I cry.

May you, too, shed some tears of ineffable gratitude this Christmas.

I would never erase her

Ramona just turned to me, a pencil mark on her cheek, and said, "Recently, I crossed myself out."

Fortunately, those myths about pencil lead poisoning aren't true.

I may be a religious fanatic, but at least I'm not woolly

This article really touched me. It's one woman's look at what she and other atheists and agnostics tell their children when the kids ask about God.

She writes:

Sometimes I feel that as far as answering a child's difficult questions about God is concerned, a religious fanatic has it easy. Dangerous, maybe, but woolly his or her answers can never be.

Ah, I'd so much rather be a dangerous Catholic than the woolly atheist I once was. It does make for more cogent answers to those pesky little questions about the meaning of one's life. (I don't mean to belittle her questioning here ... I've been there, and I know how extremely uncomfortable it is to think that there may be an answer out there that you don't want to hear.)

Before I believed in God, I, too, thought the answers to the deity question lay in the murky realm of kindness/tolerance/each-to-his-own. Not that I'm now advocating crusades and stake-burnings, mind you -- I still consider myself a tolerant person, with respect for others' beliefs. I can, with a perfectly straight face, say that one of my dearest and closest friends is not a Christian. I don't merely tolerate her -- I love her. Tolerance is for pain, for long lines, and for driving on snow and ice. People, however, deserve more than tolerance.

The whole idea that we can teach our children to tolerate all points of view and leave them to their own devices to figure out the God thing is objectively illogical and subjectively heartbreaking. I really, really feel for this woman. It's hard enough to not know what you believe about God. But, to have to pass one's unknowingness on to one's children? I was at least spared that. I was childless when I became a Christian (my faith was one of the things that made me realize, finally, marriage has a purpose other than just making me happy.) I had a toddler when I was received into the Catholic Church. So, I've had the benefit of that religious fanaticism since my oldest could talk and ask questions. No woolly answers in this house (unless you count the "What's for dinner?" issue.) I know what I believe, and I delight in passing on the seamless beauty of the Catholic Church to my children. What a feeling -- to know that there are answers to the tough questions, and that I believe those answers because I have pondered them, investigated them, prayed about them, and fallen in love with them.

I remember what it's like to lack that certainty. It's not a fun way to live. Being in a constant state of questioning is exhausting.

The final paragraph of this article

My cousin Emma tells how Gleo begged not to be disillusioned. "She once said: 'Mum, I know that Father Christmas and mermaids don't really exist but please don't tell me anything about the Tooth Fairy?' A few days later she asked me rather sadly, 'Don't you believe in anything, Mum?' and I said, 'Yes, I believe in the potential goodness of human beings.' She looked a bit doubtful.

reminds me of a line from Garrison Keillor. He said something like, "My friend Corinne doesn't believe in God, but there's evidence to show that God believes in her."

I do, too.

Christmas Christians

They're planning their descent into the churches. At Christmas time a lot of unfamiliar faces show up at Mass. They jostle for seats and are a little louder than the regular Mass-goers, and they've forgotten when to stand and when to kneel. Most of us know we'll have to arrive early for Christmas Mass if we want to get "a good seat."

There's a temptation to get annoyed with these people. They only show up at Christmas and Easter ... They probably don't contribute to the parish either financially or in the form of "time and talent" ... They fill up the parking lot, mash their coats and body heat against us in the overcrowded pews, and can be irritating enough that they leave us with the vague, uncomfortable feeling that we need to get to confession even though we just went.

That's the temptation. But we don't have to give in to it. Now that I'm in the fold of the Catholic Church, no longer a stranger and sojourner but a citizen among the saints and not-so-saintly, I give tearful thanks for the gift of my faith, and I pray that at least one of those Christmas Christians will be touched by God this year, touched so deeply that he or she will be moved to venture back to Mass in January. Maybe again in the spring. Maybe on a weekly basis by June. Into the confessional by next September? Back into full communion with our one, holy, Catholic and apostolic Church.

Which one will it be? Is it that sweet woman behind me, the one with whom I'll exchange a sign of peace? The bored teenager sitting in front of us? Will it be the man who scowls as we slide into the pew, forcing him to move down and relinquish his spot on the aisle?

Since I don't know which one it will be, I pray that I will not be a stumbling block to whomever it is. I pray that I will not be the reason they go home and gripe about churchy hypocrites who say they're Christian but don't act like it. I pray that someone, somewhere, on Christmas Eve, will be touched by the Christ Child, and that I will not get in his way.

One of the reasons I married him

My husband made fudge last night. He does the usual yummy-marshmallow-cremey type thing, but he adds his own touch. He shells and crushes a bunch of hazelnuts, and then throws in toffee bits. Then he encourages me to enjoy it and tells me no, of course I don't look fat, and I should just stop worrying about that.

If we weren't already married, I'd ask him to spend the rest of his life with me.

Just in time for Christmas ...

... permission to eat chocolate: see this article about chocolate every day keeping heart disease away. Sadly for me, it's dark chocolate that's beneficial. My craving is usually of the Hershey variety.

The Silence of St. Joseph

Beautiful words from Pope Benedict, on St. Joseph (from Zenit News:)

The Figure of St. Joseph

His Silence Shows "Fullness of Faith"

VATICAN CITY, DEC. 18, 2005 (Zenit.org).- Here is a translation of the address Benedict XVI gave today before reciting the midday Angelus from the window of this study together with thousands of people gathered in St. Peter's Square.

* * *

Dear brothers and sisters!

In these days of Advent, the liturgy invites us to contemplate in a special way the Virgin Mary and St. Joseph, who lived with a unique intensity the time of waiting and preparation for the birth of Jesus. Today I want to direct our gaze toward the figure of St. Joseph. In today's Gospel, St. Luke presents the Virgin Mary as "betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David," (Luke 1:27). Yet, the one who gives the most importance to the adoptive father of Jesus is the Evangelist Matthew, emphasizing that, thanks to him, the Child was legally introduced into the lineage of David, fulfilling the Scriptures, in which the Messiah was prophesized as the "son of David."

But the role of Joseph could not be reduced to this legal aspect. He is the model of a "righteous" man (Matthew 1:19), who in perfect harmony with his spouse welcomes the Son of God made man and watches over his human growth. Hence, in these days the precede Christmas, it is particularly fitting to establish a kind of spiritual dialogue with St. Joseph so that he helps us live to the fullest this mystery of faith.

The beloved Pope John Paul II, who was very devoted to St. Joseph, left us an admirable meditation dedicated to him in the apostolic exhortation "Redemptoris Custos" (Custodian of the Redeemer). Among the many aspects that he emphasized, he dedicates a particular importance to the silence of St. Joseph. His silence is permeated with the contemplation of the mystery of God, in an attitude of total availability to the divine will.

In other words, the silence of St. Joseph does not demonstrate an empty interior, but rather the fullness of faith that he carries in his heart, and that guides each of his thoughts and actions. A silence through which Joseph, together with Mary, guard the Word of God, known through sacred Scripture, comparing it continually to the events of the life of Jesus; a silence interwoven with constant prayer, a prayer of blessing of the Lord, of adoration of his holy will and of boundless confidence in his providence. It is not exaggerated to say that Jesus will learn -- on a human level -- precisely from "father" Joseph this intense interior life, which is the condition of authentic righteousness, the "interior righteousness," which one day he will teach to his disciples (cf. Matthew 5:20).

Let's allow ourselves to be "infected" by the silence of St. Joseph! It is so lacking in this world which is often too noisy, which is not favorable to recollection and listening to the voice of God. In this time of preparation for Christmas, let us cultivate interior recollection so as to receive and keep Jesus in our lives.

[Translation of the original Italian by ZENIT]

[After praying the Angelus, the Pope greeted the pilgrims in various languages. In English he said:]

On this Fourth Sunday of Advent I welcome all the English-speaking pilgrims and visitors present for the Angelus. As the celebration of Our Lord's birth draws near let us join with Mary in prayerful trust, ready to embrace God's will as a sign of hope for our world. During these last days of the holy season of Advent, I invoke upon you and your families God's abundant blessings of joy and peace.

Christmas presents from Ramona Quimby

Ramona wants to give everyone a statue. St. Joseph for Daddy, she says, and Mary for me. St. Therese for Anne and Betsy.

"What about you?" I asked.

"I dunno," she said. "I don't want a statue. They're too breakable. I'll take Zoboomafoo."

Defining homeschoolers

I've been reading up on House Resolution 1815, specifically Section 522, which affects homeschoolers. I'll just refer you to Melissa Wiley's excellent post, which covers all the bases.

As usual, my friends say it better than I do

I've yet to get around to writing a real review of the Narnia movie. In a comment on this post , my friend Liz sums up much of what I would say, both positive and negative. Thanks, Liz.

Poetry, or something like it

Ramona, age three-and-a-half, composed this poem yesterday:

My socks are dirty, but I don't care
My friendship comes along to me
And Jesus is upon me.

If it's not quite Emily Dickinson, I still have to say (and I know I'm biased, so it needn't be pointed out) that it did give me a sort of stop-sensation on my soul. I'll take it.

Did I say only doughnuts?

I failed miserably at avoiding commerce today. It was going to be just those silly doughnuts. But then this morning, the coffee pot broke. So, it was going to be doughnuts and a new coffee pot. That's all. Then, Betsy reminded me that I had not yet gotten her the new boots that I promised her, and Anne with an E already has her boots and couldn't we please, as long as we have to look at coffeepots also just look really quickly at boots? (And yes, she did properly use the adverb there, so what could I say?) So, it was doughnuts and a coffeepot and boots. Sigh.

Seriously, we do try to keep Sunday holy. Normally, it's just those doughnuts, and I try not to buy anything else (but really, I'm already compromising by patronizing a store on a Sunday, so does it matter if I buy only doughnuts or a whole cartload? Which is why I want to cut out the doughnuts. Then there will be no temptation to slide down that slippery food shopping slope.) Then -- normally -- we head home and relax together, have family movie or game time, and my husband or I go to a holy hour. All of those things are lovely ways to keep holy the Sabbath. But coffee pots and boots? I need to work on it.

Fourth Sunday of Advent

And six shopping days until the birth of Christ. (No, I didn't miscount ... today doesn't count as a shopping day because it's Sunday ... I try to shop for nothing more than doughnuts on Sunday, and I'm trying to cut that out, too, which means planning ahead for Ramona Quimby's Mass-behavior bribe -- er, incentive.)

So. Six shopping days. Six days of prayer, penance (okay, not as tough as Lent, but we should be preparing in some way ....) and reflection on what the Incarnation means. Am I ready?

As if we all need more to read ....

But I can't resist sharing this. I've been receiving the CERC Update (from the Catholic Educators Resource Center) for several years, and I certainly don't always have time to read all of the links, but it does a nice job of bringing a wide variety of articles together on a bi-weekly basis.

And isn't it heartening to read something like this?

Here's an article about Hollywood ... one you'll actually enjoy reading, as it's about Christians resuscitating culture through the movies.

I thought Lucy was his goddaughter

Here's a fascinating little article about a woman who is said to be the inspiration for Lucy Pevensie.

Read, cry, give thanks

Thanks to Melissa Wiley for pointing me in the direction of Lauren Mills's touching and beautifully illustrated book, The Rag Coat. I read it to the kids yesterday, cried throughout, and was thankful for this and every other book recommendation I've ever found on the internet.

Rosary for busy moms

I have to admit that I haven't used the Virtual Rosary for quite awhile, but when Ramona was a baby there were times when I sat at the computer, nursing her at 3 a.m. and praying the Rosary with "screen beads" instead of real ones. With each mouse click, you're taken to the next prayer, and there are accompanying pictures and Scriptures for each mystery.

At the bottom of the screen, "PrayerCast" appears -- it's supposed to show you new, live prayer requests with each click, but it doesn't always work on my computer. That probably has more to do with my computer than with the site.

While it's true that the internet can be a cesspool, it can also be used for stuff like this, and isn't that cool?

St. Augustine didn't know he was comforting mothers

but with these words, from today's "Office of Readings" in the Liturgy of the Hours, he reminds us that to "pray without ceasing" doesn't mean that we are always in a posture of prayer or repeatedly reciting an Our Father.

Augustine says:

"If your desire is laid before him then the Father, who sees in secret, will grant it to you. For that very desire of your heart is your prayer; and if your desire continues uninterrupted, then so does your prayer. It was not in vain that the Apostle said, 'Pray without ceasing.' Can we be always bending the knee, prostrating the body, or lifting up our hands, that he says 'Pray without ceasing?' If that is what prayer means then I say that we cannot do it without ceasing.

There is another inward kind of prayer without ceasing, which is the desire of the heart. Whatever activity you happen to be engaged in doing, if you only long for that Sabbath then you do not cease to pray. If you do not want to pause in prayer then never pause in your longing."

It is the constant desire of the heart that becomes our prayer. If we are striving to love at every moment, to be the presence of love to our children, then that's the way in which we, busy moms though we may be, can pray without ceasing. Not that we shouldn't strive for formal prayer time, too, as much as motherhood allows it. I wrote about that in an old essay entitled, "A Mother's Prayer Time." But, formal prayer time isn't always possible and I never follow my own advice about it when I have children under the age of three ... I believe God understands alternatives to formal prayer when one is giving up one's body and regular sleep out of love for another. Those are the times when reminders such as Augustine's are balm for the worrying soul. Are you striving to love God at every moment through the means He's provided -- your children -- to sanctify you? Then you are praying.

Silent, Holy, Geriatric night

The Project:

Initiated by a wonderful local homeschooling mom. Each night of Advent, a different homeschooling family delivers a piece of a Nativity set to an assisted-living residence in our town, presents a short devotion of some kind, sings a Christmas carol, and shares a Scripture reading (on Christmas Eve, baby Jesus will be delivered by the whole group.)

Our Part:

Delivering a cow, presenting the story of "Silent Night" and its composers, singing the carol, eating cookies and visiting with the residents.

My Take:

What a delight! We had such fun conversations with the residents, from glowing approval of our lifestyle, to reluctant-but-sincere admission that the kids "seem to be doing well" (with this insanity called homeschooling), to a snarl that my husband, because he is a high school teacher, is "at least qualified. Some aren't, y'know!" (I later heard that the Snarler had been complaining about homeschoolers all day. Poor woman -- all of Advent will be a trial for her, as a new family shows up each night.)

The residents, of course, delighted in the children. I was proud of my kids (and those of my dear friend whose family joined us) for their part in the presentation and happy that they could give a little of themselves for these grandmas and grandpas.

One woman inspired in me a surge of such compassion and love. She spoke of losing her husband, of living in the residence for four years without him, of being 91 years old and knowing that "the Lord's been good to me." I wanted to cry. I wanted to see my own grandmothers again. I wanted to adopt her as my children's great-grandmother.

The Result:

We gave one short hour of our time. We received so much more than we gave. It was a holy night.

Fire Within

I didn't have a chance to post much yesterday, so I missed mentioning that it was the feast day of St. John of the Cross. I count him, with Teresa of Avila, among my favorite saints. Fr. Thomas Dubay brings both of these saints together in his wonderful book, Fire Within, which is published by Ignatius Press.

Years ago, a friend gave me this book, and I have cherished it since as one of my favorite spiritual reads. It's enlightening, challenging and edifying. If you're looking for something to reignite your prayer life, this is the book.

This is life, we can't replay it

Last night we decorated the tree, and afterward, Betsy exclaimed, "Oh, no! You didn't videotape anything!"

"Hmmm," I said. "I guess we were too busy living our life to record it."

I don't think that's a bad thing.

Not that I don't cherish past videos of the kids oohing and aahing over dearly beloved or until-now-forgotten ornaments, but sometimes it's nice to just go about things, without thinking of how it will end up on tape. I have a love/hate thing with that video camera, and to be perfectly honest, I was glad I forgot all about it last night.

But don't tell Betsy.

Feast of St. Lucia

I didn't sleep much last night, so this will be short and probably misspelled.

Today we will:

~ Have friends over to make Christmas ornaments and gifts

~ Eat chocolate chip cookies with chocolate drizzle on top (of the cookies, not us)

~ Read Melissa Peterson's Hanna's Christmas

~ Read various other Advent books ... I haven't decided yet which ones (this is called "flexible homeschooling")

~ Prepare the craft stuff (there may be a more technical term that escapes me) for Friday's history club meeting (we're covering Sweden so I can double up on some of our St. Lucia stuff -- this is called "smart homeschooling" or "devious homeschooling")

~ Try to nap (it probably won't come off, but homeschooling moms are entitled to a fantasy life)

Today we will not:

~ Do our usual St. Lucia celebration (the girls dress in white-whatever-they-can-find, wear their homemade Lucia crowns and deliver something sweet and delicious to Daddy and me in bed.) We're transferring St. Lucia to the weekend, so Daddy can actually be in bed in the morning to enjoy this, since I didn't want to wake the girls before he left at 6:45 a.m. (this is also part of "flexible homeschooling," which closely resembles "flexible wake-up times" and "flexible living")

~Nap (oh, there's that dratted reality creeping in ....)

The Deep Magic is deeply magical

We saw the Narnia movie today.

Oh. My.

Gosh.

We loved it. This is the movie version of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe that I've waited a long, long time to see. About twenty years. Of course, a version this good couldn't have happened until now, when computer-generated animals and other special effects made it possible for a movie version to retain the magic, rather than looking like schlock or a 4th grade play.

I have only a few tiny quibbles, and I hesitate to even bring them up, because so much was done so well and felt so right. Maybe I won't bring them up just yet ... I'll sleep on it, and will post a more complete review when I've had time to think.

One quick point that's important to anyone wondering how intense the movie is: the battle scenes are intense, but they are not gory. That was a relief. However, on another level, there are worse things than gore.

Right now, I am chiefly remembering the scene of Aslan's willing sacrifice. It was heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching, as I knew it would be. Anne, Betsy and I clung to each other as it played out. This was the most graphic scene of cruelty and hatred that they've ever seen, and not surprisingly, they couldn't really watch it all. It was so horrible, so unthinkable, so necessary and so tremendously sad. We cried, we sniffled, we held hands and we reminded each other that He would be back.

A year and a half ago, I sat in the same theatre and watched "The Passion of the Christ." "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" was my children's version of witnessing the terrible beauty of God being beaten, humiliated and killed for us. It was unspeakably moving to share this with my children. It was its own kind of deep magic.

We need to stay home

You know you've been too busy when your child draws a picture and describes it to you this way:

"It's a little girl who's tired ... see all the bags under her eyes?"

Gaudete Sunday!

Rejoice! We're more than halfway through Advent, and the celebration of the birth of our Lord is fast approaching.

Here's an entry from The Catholic Encyclopedia about "Gaudete Sunday."

And while I'm at it, here's a link to a site I've used several years now for its prayers. The kids take turns saying these Advent prayers each night at dinner as we light the candles on the wreath. (This site is full of other lovely little bits of information, too.)

We're reading "Bartholemew" daily and the kids are enjoying it, just as they've enjoyed Jotham's Journey and Tabitha's Travels. What they enjoy as much or more than the story is the special time with Daddy. He's a fun, funny, wonderful reader and I rejoice in the fact that we're not just educating them on the sly with this kind of reading, but we're creating cherished father/daughter memories.

We're also doing our other Advent calendars: little bits of Dickens' A Christmas Carol daily, and Miss Piggy and Kermit are inching their way toward their ironic gifts to one another (see this link to see what I'm talking about.) We're hanging tiny wooden ornaments on a little wooden tree each day. We're reading Scripture for the Jesse Tree and hanging Jesse ornaments on that tree, too (I use a small, artificial Christmas tree as our Jesse Tree.) And, of course, Joseph and Mary, from the Nativity set, are moving slowly through the house toward the stable. It's a small delight each day to see where the children have decided their journey will take them on their way to Bethlehem ... over the sofa and through the shelves to Bethlehem we go.

Rejoice!

My kids aren't totally gross

We visited our local Children's Museum this weekend, and I'm happy to say that my children, while they enjoyed the "Grossology" exhibit, are still sensitive enough to have said, after a sufficient amount of gross-out time, "Can we go play in the farm area again? We're starting to get stomachaches."

Anne and Betsy enjoyed making the giant nose sneeze, and Ramona loved crawling through the digestive system. An extremely loud simulation of breathing and burping sounds sent Ramona running into my arms, though, and Anne felt some stomach flips at the sight of a large, drippy-nosed character. We aren't completely crude around here ... just enough to have fun. And, besides, if my kids couldn't laugh at this stuff, how would they relate to Daddy and creatures like him?

Sharing the joys of books

We've successfully introduced Ramona to this beautiful book. She asked for it before bedtime last night. The story is simple, but so imaginatively handled, and the illustrations are a lovely combination of beauty and sweetness. To read more about the author, Barbara Helen Berger, and the book, see this site.

One of the things that thrills me in introducing my children to beloved books is not just that they come to love the stories, but that they begin to recognize authors as the unique people who created the unique stories they love. Recently, at the library, three-year-old Ramona was heard to say (upon siting the cover art on a book she hadn't read), "Oh! Look! It's Jim O-nosky!" It was indeed, though not a Jim Arnosky that she'd seen before. I love that.

St. Juan Diego

Catholic Online is such a wonderful resource for learning more about saints. Here's a great entry about St. Juan Diego that includes John Paul the Great's homily during Juan Diego's canonization.

Left of the Dial scores another bullseye

Take a look at this post about Goodnight Moon and the great accompanying piece from The NY Times about altering classics.

Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of Mary

We went to the vigil Mass last night, and as Mass experiences go, it wasn't one for the memory book.

Our day was packed with activity, but I had allowed enough time for us to sanely prepare for Mass. After all, as I told the children, "Mass is the most important thing we'll do today, so we work everything around that, not the other way around."

And yet, I somehow managed to end up with the family running late. And, because 5:30 is the bewitched hour for three-year-olds, of course Ramona Quimby cried as we left the house and she fell asleep on the way. Sigh. That meant she wouldn't be able to sleep later until about 9:30 or 10 p.m. We walked into the Church just after Mass had begun (something we never do, something I really dislike doing, and something that means we'll end up sitting in the back, which I also dislike.) We slipped into an available space in the back and I do have to at least credit Anne and Betsy with not complaining about the seating (they dislike the back rows, too.)

Ramona slept through most of Mass (meaning her bedtime was getting pushed back to 10:30 or 11....) It was crowded, and I couldn't hear the homily. Betsy kept coughing, and Anne was sniffling and Ramona would wake up only enough to protest that my tired arms were trying to transfer her to Daddy's strong ones.

But you know what? He was still there. I still received Christ -- Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. No matter how hectic the preparation, no matter how distracted I was, no matter how far back we sat -- He was still there for me. Oh, to be so faithful.

Oh, and one more thing. On the way to Mass, as we prayed the decade of the Rosary that we always pray on the way, I had asked the Blessed Mother's intercession for Ramona (who was still crying at that point) at Mass. Could we get through this with relative peace? I asked. Well, I see now I should be more specific, but I was still grateful for the answer to prayer. Yeah, yeah, she didn't go to bed until almost 11, but she did get through Mass very well. Next time I'll try to itemize my requests.

Is this unhealthy?

I think I'm starting to think in blog entry title-ese.

My husband and kids
... don't understand it.

Just because I'm addicted
... doesn't mean this is bad for me, right?

Waiting for the opening of the wardrobe ....

The kids and I are counting down to the Narnia movie. By all accounts, this is the movie version of my beloved The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe that I've been waiting for. Ignatius Insight has "not quite a movie review" by James Como.

Jolly old St. Nicholas

brought Sculpey! If you and your kids haven't created with Sculpey together, you haven't lived a full life yet. This is my favorite clay. Today we made babies, dolls for the babies, teddy bears, a snake, a hippo (well, three-year-old Ramona Quimby's version of a hippo ....), little pieces of macaroni, a fish, two elephants and a pick-axe (don't ask.)

What a treat! Add chocolate, a St. Nicholas video, and several good books, and you have the recipe for a perfect day.

Christmas specials and bathroom breaks

Cay, at the House of Literature blog, has a fun post about happy childhood memories of watching Christmas specials on TV. I remember that same feeling so well: it was of the utmost importance to be home on the right night, to be finished eating, and to be in front of the TV at promptly 7 p.m. But, as I told Cay, there was one other skill that these TV specials instilled in us that my children, sadly, are lacking: I'm speaking, of course, of the way in which we had to time our bathroom breaks with commercial breaks. And, we had to move at breakneck speed lest we miss something. If we were in danger of that, a sibling would yell, "Hurry! It's BACK!"

My three-year-old, being raised in these video times, is still trying to figure out why the occasional "real" show can't be paused, which reminds me of an old New Yorker cartoon I saw years ago: a man is standing in the rain, changing a flat tire, and yelling at his child, "This is life! We can't change the channel!"

St. Nicholas (and more) in clipart

I've been relying on this fantastic site for free, non-copyrighted Catholic clipart. Time to send a donation, I think. Thank you, Terry!

Seeing St. Nicholas

When I first found The St. Nicholas Center website a few years ago, I printed out this picture for the kids. The main response it elicited was, "That's not fair! They get to see St. Nicholas!" It was also proposed that we should find wooden shoes (we haven't yet.)

This year, youngest daughter, Ramona, said, "St. Nicholas was a priest a long time ago?"

"Yes, he was."

Long, thoughtful pause. "But," she said, "now, in real life, he wears black boots."

Another reason some moms don't allow pets

Because pets bring stuff home. Mr. Putter, the cat, has roundworm, an ear infection and possibly fleas. And he's an indoor cat. How did that happen? He's not supposed to bring anything home ... he's always home. We're supposed to bring stuff to him, like ponytail holders (his favorite toy) and little aquatic-smelling treats.

He's a breathing mound of vet bills (has been since we adopted him) and yet we love him. Because Mr. Putter is lovable. Having animals in the house is a splendid thing. It teaches kids all the usual stuff: responsibility, blah-blah-blah. But more than that, it's just good. It's really good. It's really charming to see a child stop and gaze in wonder at this silly, beautiful creature that God made.

If you read Melissa Wiley's post the other day about glitter in which she quotes a delightful post by Billi-Jean (whom I don't know but, based on this post, like immensely) then you know what I'm talking about. Stuff that is "inherently good."

Mr. Putter is the glitter of cats. He's a mess but we don't ever want to get rid of him.

More fun with St. Nicholas

A few years ago, I stumbled across this wonderful site and have been using its resources ever since. The St. Nicholas Center is loaded with history, information on the origins of St. Nick, and ways in which he is celebrated around the world. It has beautiful illustrations and loads of St. Nick activities for children.

Using this site alone, you could construct a rich unit study about St. Nicholas. Or, you can just have a really fun couple of days with it.

St. Nicholas Eve

I love this day! Tonight we'll read The Miracle of St. Nicholas, by Gloria Whelan, and the kids will await the coming of St. Nick, who leaves small but fun goodies in shoes. (Now, if my husband is just successful in finding those little bags of chocolate coins today ... are they more scarce this year, or have I just been sloppy in my shopping? It just wouldn't be a Karen-kind-of-prep if I didn't forget something until the last minute ....)

The Doll Clothes Superstore

I'm so impressed with the kind woman running this business. If there's a child in your life who needs some doll clothes, check out the Doll Clothes Superstore. I love the beautiful, homemade clothes. I found matching outfits for my girls and their dolls. And she has some really fun stuff, too. Check out this set of hospital scrubs.

And you can not beat her prices.

(And, no, I'm not affiliated with her in any way ... I just like to pass the word when I've found a small business that I can wholeheartedly support.)

What does Miss Piggy have to do with Advent?

Unexpectedly, Miss Piggy became a part of our Advent traditions about 10 years ago. When Eldest daughter was quite young, my mother gave her one of those Advent calendars that has a little book to read each day of the season. It was a secular calendar that had Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog reliving the O. Henry story, The Gift of the Magi. My daughter delighted in the story and looked forward each year to the daily books, which we would read, then hang on the tree from their decorative little ribbons.

One year, before my husband came into the Church, I worried that I shouldn't include anything secular in our traditions. I was alone in trying to impress upon the kids what the season was really all about, and I was trying hard to be sure that my children were focused on Jesus. Though well-intentioned, I was wrong. That year, at the beginning of Advent, my daughter immediately requested the Muppet Advent Calendar and my heart was immediately softened to the thing. It was, I finally saw clearly, a beautiful way to include my mother (who is not a Christian) in our Advent preparation. She lives far away and we see little enough of her ... wasn't this, in a strange but lovely way, making her part of our focus on Jesus? I let go of any worries about the little secular traditions that we include in Advent. The few that are part of our family history connect us to those in our family who are not yet connected to Jesus.

And, who am I to say that God can't work through a Muppet?

Second Sunday of Advent

“One mightier than I is coming after me.
I am not worthy to stoop and loosen the thongs of his sandals.
I have baptized you with water;
he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

~~ from the Gospel of Mark

Christmas Every Day?

(This essay first appeared several years ago in New Covenant magazine. I so frequently think about the gift of liturgy and a liturgical calendar. I am awed by our wise mother, the Catholic Church, and the seemingly simple, seamless methods she offers to help us grow in our faith and love for God.)

We hear it all around us: “I love this time of year -- people are so generous! Why can’t every day be like Christmas ?”

I asked the same question before I became a Christian. For me, "Christmas time" began right after Thanksgiving, when I started shopping, baking and getting caught up in “the Christmas Spirit.” It held no religious meaning for me, but there was something so attractive about it ... something warm and glowing, something that whispered community and love. Whatever the something was that made people feel so good -- and in my unbelieving days I wanted to think it was nothing more than a good story by Charles Dickens -- I wanted a little piece of it.

After I was baptized, I fell in love with that “something” -- Jesus Christ. I finally knew the Source of all that community and love, and I wanted to share the good news. When people wondered why every day couldn’t be Christmas I said, “It can! Become a Christian!” Jesus was the wellspring of the generosity, the love, the desire to give. He was the very definition of Christmas that I had been missing all those years.

I started to see everything about Christmas in a new way. When the Christmas season ended and people complained of how dull and gray January can be, I thought about how we could carry Christmas into every day of the year, because Jesus is always with us. The things that make Christmas special are the things we are called to do in our daily Christian life: love, give of ourselves, share with the poor, and celebrate our Lord. However, though I tried to keep “that Christmas spirit” every day, I instinctively knew that real life wasn’t like that. “All good things must come to an end,” and so it seemed with the joys of the Christmas season.

Five years after my baptism, I was received into the Catholic Church, and I learned that we can live our Christian lives even more fully than “trying to see every day as Christmas” (which wasn’t quite working for me anyway.) Through the liturgical year, we enter deeply into every aspect of Jesus’s life. We wait with anticipation through Advent, live with joy through Christmas, fast in the days of Lent, and rejoice again in the Easter season. We experience the joy of our Savior’s birth, and we feel the desert of life without Him, the suffering of His passion and death, and the joy of His resurrection more deeply when we live our lives in rhythm with the Church’s liturgy.

The Church, our earthly mother left to us by our Lord, knows what we need. In giving us a liturgical calendar she has given us a prescription for how to live each and every day. Are we getting dry in our prayer, losing touch with God? She gives us Lent, to help us examine our lives, make a new sacrifice, renew a promise. Are we struggling through the desert? Just in time to save us, the beauty of Easter arrives, with the joy of delighting in what was “lost” during Lent. Easter is celebrated for a full week on the church calendar, an “octave”, because one day is not enough to contain this great feast. Are we caught up in the “commercialism” of Christmas? Mother Church gives us Advent, to slow us down and teach us to patiently watch and wait. She then gives us twelve days of Christmas -- again, the joy of the celebration cannot be contained in one day. Then there is the twelfth night, and the feast of the Epiphany -- we get to celebrate again, and observe the day that the Magi brought gifts to Jesus. Even in “ordinary time” there are feasts, memorials, and observances of saints’ days that help to remind us of our vocation, the state of our relationship with God, the depth of our prayer lives.

As a new Christian, I was on the right track when I discovered that every day could, in some way, be Christmas. But I was missing a big part of the puzzle. The liturgical calendar supplied the last of the missing pieces. I have delighted in the ways living the liturgical year deepens and revitalizes my spiritual life, including my prayer life.

A wise mother knows that her children can’t celebrate all the time -- every party has an end. Can every day be Christmas? No, but every day can be Christ-filled, imbued with spiritual meaning as we follow, re-enact and celebrate the events of our Lord’s earthly life. We can thank our wise mother, the church, for the wisdom of such a gift, at Christmas and always.

What a poem is

While on the subject of Ted Kooser, I want to share this succinct little definition of poetry that he shared with us that night:

"A poem is a record of a discovery."

They were listening ....

While leaving the library, loaded down with books in three separate backpacks, the kids and I forged bravely on, carrying the weight of such glory (begging pardon from C.S. Lewis for such cheesy use of that beautiful phrase) with pleasure, despite the cost to our backs. Out of the blue, one of them made reference to a poem we heard Ted Kooser read last month.

"This is just like that poem Ted Kooser read about the college students and their backpacks!" Eldest exclaimed.

"You were paying attention that night," I smiled.

"Of course I was, Mom," (spoken in the tone of a child who's teetering on the edge of growing up.)

Of course.

And speaking of "packed with great stuff...."

I also love to check in at Cay Gibson's blog ... there's always something new and delightful there, too.

I love Melissa Wiley's blog

But then, don't you love everything about Melissa Wiley? Her blog is packed with great book recommendations, delightful nuggets of information, references to heretofore undiscovered treasures in the guise of websites, some of my favorite quotes, and of course, links to her own Little House books, which my girls and I have long relished. (We particularly love reading the Martha books, as we lapse into Scottish accents for days at a time.)

Today she has a link to what looks like an interesting website/blog about the brain. Ever since my own brain started doing strange and unpredictable things (i.e., at the onset of motherhood and sleep deprivation) I've found such things fascinating.

I feel so bad for these kids

I read this sad story the other day. It's the natural result, I suppose, of situations in which moms work. I have no quarrel with moms who must work. It happens, and it's not easy to juggle work, kids, husband. But, do as many moms need to work as actually do? And how many of them will be relieved to get permission from this article to drop their sick kids off at daycare rather than stay home and care for the poor, miserable-feeling little guys?

The end of civilized society as we know it

I've heard it all. Recently, while in a public restroom, I heard chatter from a stall, the flush, then "Okay, bye-bye," and -- you guessed it -- the cell-phone talker emerged from the stall.

Yuck.

Why wasn't I surprised when she didn't stop to wash her hands?

Only in the age of computers

do you hear a three-year-old, upon coming up behind you at the computer, say,

"What are you Googling for?"

The First Sunday of Advent

It got off to a rocky start ... I awoke with stomach upset, feeling just awful (and no, I'm not pregnant ....) By evening, I felt better and not only made a delicious dinner but ate it -- not exactly with gusto, but I ate it (funny thing: chocolate still sounded good to me all day. Hmmm ... maybe that's not so funny; maybe that's just my twisted attachment.)

At any rate, we had our first dinner of Advent in the properly-decorated-dining-room (as opposed to the boring old kitchen, where we usually eat) and the joy of diving in to this beautiful liturgical season was evident on all faces, even on my I've-been-sick-today-and-I'm-so-exhausted-but-I-love-this-night face. Eldest Daughter was thrilled to light the first candle, Littlest Daughter puffed up with pride as she ceremonially presented the prayers to Middle Daughter, who led them with admirable reverence, and Littlest got to blow the candle out (a little too early, but, hey, it's hard to hold off on such an important task.)

The kids listened intently as Daddy started the readings from Bartholomew's Passage. He knew they were listening because he threw in his usual little check-ups: "As Bartholomew looked at his watch ...."

"Daaaddy!!" came the delighted reply. Yes, yes, they were paying attention but more than simply following along, they, like we, were glowingly content to be embarking once again on a set of family traditions that become more dear to us each year.

Tomorrow, we'll pull out the rest of the Advent books (I try to add at least one new one to our collection each year) and we'll get the ornaments ready for the Jesse Tree. Oh, how I love this time of year, and how I love the gift of liturgical seasons!

The waiting we've been waiting for

The waiting and watching of Advent begins tomorrow and we'll start reading Bartholomew's Passage tomorrow night. It's one of a trilogy of Advent books by Arnold Ytreeide and we've really enjoyed the two we've previously read. Although the books aren't written by a Catholic, they can easily be used by Catholic families as part of Advent preparation.

You can find more about Ytreeide's books here.

The wreath is out ... the Jesse Tree is up ... let the waiting begin.

"Thanks" seems like a feeble word

I have so much to be thankful for, and so few words to express it.

Thanks.

I'm grateful.

Thank You, God.

Thanks a lot.

No, I mean it. Thanks a LOT.

Really, I can't thank You enough.

I really appreciate it.

I credit You with everything.

Did I mention that I'm grateful?

Thank You. All praise, glory and honor are Yours, Almighty Father. So ... um, thank You.

See what I mean? It sounds so feeble, so piddly, so inadequate. What I really want to say is that I can't believe that the God of the universe cares that my soul was once headed straight for hell and now I am, at least, looking in the right direction. How does He manage not only to care, but to make me believe that He cares? To feel His love? To know that He is with me, faithful to me, every moment of every day, even when I am not faithful to Him? How does He do that? And how do I thank Him?

I can't. I can only pray, and gaze upon Him, and cling to Him in all that I do.

And, in my feeble ways, tell Him "thank you" as often as possible.


A prayer of St. Bonaventure

Pierce, O most sweet Lord Jesus, my inmost soul with the
most joyous and healthful wound of Thy love, and with true,
calm and most holy apostolic charity, that my soul may ever
languish and melt with entire love and longing for Thee,
may yearn for Thee and for thy courts, may long to be
dissolved and to be with Thee. Grant that my soul may
hunger after Thee, the Bread of Angels, the refreshment of
holy souls, our daily and supersubstantial bread, having
all sweetness and savor and every delightful taste.

May my heart ever hunger after and feed upon Thee, Whom the angels
desire to look upon, and may my inmost soul be filled with
the sweetness of Thy savor; may it ever thirst for Thee,
the fountain of life, the fountain of widsom and knowledge,
the fountain of eternal light, the torrent of pleasure, the
fulness of the house of God; may it ever compass Thee, seek
Thee, find Thee, run to Thee, come up to Thee, meditate on
Thee, speak of Thee, and do all for the praise and glory of
Thy name, with humility and discretion, with love and
delight, with ease and affection, with perseverence to the
end; and be Thou alone ever my hope, my entire confidence,
my riches, my delight, my pleasure, my joy, my rest and
tranquility, my peace, my sweetness, my food, my
refreshment, my refuge, my help, my wisdom, my portion, my
possession, my treasure; in Whom may my mind and my heart
be ever fixed and firm and rooted immovably.

Amen.

Eternal Rest Grant Unto Them

We just got home from visiting some out-of-town friends, and I want to share what they're doing during this month of November, when we pray for dear, departed souls.

When they gather for bedtime prayers, Dad passes out snapshots of deceased family members. Each of them then remembers and prays for a particular soul. They are praying "Come, Holy Spirit" (which the eldest needs to memorize for her confirmation and is now doing so painlessly) and "Eternal Rest Grant Unto Them."

I think it's a beautiful practice, and want to begin doing it with our family, too.

Thank you, thank you, thank you

I just read this article on gratitude by Paul Thigpen. It's really lovely, and full of the little, practical things of which we often need to be reminded.

He mentions having each family member say one thing from that day (before bedtime prayers) for which they are grateful. We do something similar -- in addition to thanking God for special things that happened that particular day, we recently adopted the practice of naming two things we're thankful for -- two things we've never named before. And we can't repeat ourselves from day to day. What a wonderful exercise in counting our blessings! I have two lovely women named Mary in my life to thank for this idea. Thank you, Mary, and Mary.

Today, I feel extremely grateful for confession, the Eucharist, and an hour of Adoration, all in one weekend. I am a rich woman indeed.

And now for something completely different

My kids love this.

Froguts.com

It doesn't get any better than this sans formaldehyde.

For I was hungry and you gave me food

This weekend is the Solemnity of Christ the King ... the Gospel reading reminds us of the corporal works of mercy that we are called to do. Here's a very quick, very easy way to help feed the hungry. The Hunger Site will help you help others with just a click.

Bridegroom Press

is so packed with great resources that it's hard to know where to begin with recommendations. But, you might start with Steve Kellmeyer's neat-o free weekly mailings, "Through the Fathers' Eyes" (commentary from the Church fathers on upcoming Gospel readings.)

Bridegroom Press is here. Sign-up for free mailings here.

I'm in trouble

Eldest Daughter was teasing me the other day about something I'd bungled (can't remember what ... the bungles are too many to catalog....) She said, "That might require a stay in the Mommy Jail."

"Yikes," I said. "What's that?"

"It's a jail for moms only. It has a time-out corner and it is manned entirely by kids."

Uh-oh. Sounds like payback.

Bread and Roses

Today is the feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary. It's said she was once slipping out secretly to take bread to the poor and when she was "caught" the bread miraculously turned into roses. Read about her here and here.

Soul of Christ

For the last couple weeks, we've been teaching the kids the Anima Christi. The easiest way for us to teach a new prayer is to simply add it to the prayer-roll, during morning or bedtime prayers. Since we're all together for bedtime prayers, we adopted it then, and the girls learned it in no time.

Soul of Christ, sanctify me.
Body of Christ, save me.
Blood of Christ, inebriate me.
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
Passion of Christ, strengthen me.
O good Jesus, hear me.
Within Your wounds hide me.
Suffer me not to be separated from thee.
From the malignant enemy defend me.
At the hour of my death call me
And bid me come to thee.
That with thy saints I may praise thee.
For ever and ever. Amen.

What a sublime and edifying prayer. If there is anything I need that's not included in this prayer, I can't imagine what it would be. I first began praying it several years ago, after learning it from one of our priests (he prayed it after Holy Communion at daily Mass) and it became my private post-Communion prayer. The visual image -- though it's more than a visual image, it's Truth at its most elemental -- of Christ hiding me within His wounds sustains me when nothing else can.

Kierkegaard and von Hildebrand

I discovered Soren Kierkegaard when I was young (when, as Willa Cather says in O, Pioneers, one "cannot feel that the heart lives at all unless it is still at the mercy of storms; unless its strings can scream to the touch of pain.") He seemed to me to be all about passion and feeling and searching for what is right and true. In my own painfully halting search, I felt I'd found a kindred spirit when I read this quote from him:

"I have just now come from a party of which I was the life and soul; witticisms streamed from my lips, everyone laughed and admired me, but I went away—yes, the dash should be as long as the radius of the earth's orbit——————and wanted to shoot myself. " (Journal)

He seemed to have said something for every stage of my life. Later in my journey to Catholicism, I adopted this from Kierkegaard:

"Purity of heart is to will one thing."

So, it is with great pleasure that I stumbled upon this article by Alice von Hildebrand. She successfully redeems Kierkegaard in his relationship with women. She says, "I am going to take to Kierkegaard's defense and show that the few regrettable things he wrote about women are largely compensated by the beautiful things he wrote about them, and that his insights into the female personality and role in human and religious life could only come from the pen of someone who has loved."

You can read Dr. von Hildebrand's "Beautiful Words about Women" here at Catholic Culture.

Should I change my shirt?

Middle daughter and I were cooking the other night, and she suddenly thought she smelled something awful. She went to the open window and sniffed ... no, it wasn't coming from outside. She smelled the air ... no, it wasn't wafting through the kitchen.

I said, "Gee, I hope it's not me. I did shower today."

She buried her nose in my sleeve and said, "No, you smell like your usual shirt."

Help The UnChoice Campaign

The Eliot Institute is launching a powerful new campaign that focuses on unwanted and coerced abortions and their effects:

BROKEN LIVES
help stop the unspoken pain and suffering

This education and healing outreach campaign will help raise awareness about the crisis of coerced, unwanted abortions and a silent epidemic of post-abortion grief.

Few Americans know that most abortions are coerced, not chosen ...that millions of women who wanted to have their children didn’t ...that the resulting pain is so unbearable that many take their own lives.

This campaign tells their story backed by statistics that document a powerful industry’s harm to the very women it claims to help ...

· 64% felt coerced into unwanted abortions

· Over 80% would rather have had their babies

· 88% said they weren’t given enough information

· 65% suffer symptoms of post-traumatic stress

· Suicide rates are seven times higher after abortion

Read more here.

Sibling Revelry

Yesterday, at a gathering of moms, the subject of new babies and older siblings came up. We all reassured the expectant mom-of-a-toddler-with-baby-number-two-on-the-way that the whole "sibling rivalry" thing is, in great part, manufactured by TV sitcoms. If we let our kids take their cues from TV as to how they "should" react to brothers and sisters, then, yes, the rivalry arises. But, if we let them take their cues from their instincts to love and -- most importantly -- from us, they will display surprisingly tender, beautiful and sometimes even selfless reactions to their helpless new little brothers and sisters. I have given my children no better gift than that of siblings. It's a gift that need never be returned, exchanged or altered to fit. Revel in it.

The Advent of Advent

It will soon be upon us. Here are some of my favorite resources:

Domestic Church

Catholic Culture

A Season of Preparation

Elizabeth Foss's Tomie de Paola Advent/Christmas Unit Study

Jesse Tree Ideas

Poetry, a mouse and Emily Dickinson

The Mouse of Amherst is a charming little book. I just reread it to my children last week. I first read it to my oldest several years ago, when we started homeschooling. This small book, by Elizabeth Spires, with lovely illustrations by Claire Nivola, is sweetly whimsical.

But it's more than that. The life and adventures of a mouse named Emmaline, who lives in Emily Dickinson's room, help us to consider what poetry is, what makes a poet (or poetess, or poet-mouse), and what purpose poetry serves.

Several years ago, when we first read this book, my middle child, then four years old, took quite a liking to Emily Dickinson. She asked to listen to "Because I Could Not Stop for Death" repeatedly. Then, she walked around the house reciting it, in her irresistable way:

Because I could not stop for deff
He kindwee stopped for me
The cawwiage held but just aw-selves
and immortowity.

Memories of "deff" recitations, Emmaline the Mouse's poetry, my oldest's delight at discovering that Emily Dickinson recognized the power of a great book ("There is no frigate like a book to take us lands away....") -- these things are mingled in my memory with autumn and the joys of our first year of homeschooling. And this year, we can start all over again with three-year-old Ramona. She realized last week that she, too, likes Emily Dickinson and Emmaline the Mouse. The power of words.

I love Ted Kooser again

I first encountered him years ago, when I was a college student. He gave a reading on our campus, and I attended all of the poetry readings, so of course I went to his. I fell madly in love with every poet who visited (for at least 15 or 20 minutes ... love's bloom fades quickly, and I was fickle.) I had critique meetings with the poets, obtained signed books, and hung on every word they deigned to share with a lowly student such as I.

I left college, eventually married, had children and then somewhere along the way, in a fit of decluttering frenzy (oh, yes, all of you moms know just what I mean) I gave away a lot of those books, including the ones I owned by Ted Kooser. Enter our local arts center, and a recent reading in our town by the same Ted Kooser. Well, not exactly the same. He has since won a Pulitzer Prize and become Poet Laureate of the United States. I remember him as a cut above many of the poets (some 20 ... or is it 25?... years ago) but now, oh ... He's good. He's very good. He has the gift of elevating the ordinary to the sublime and I so thoroughly enjoyed being immersed in his world for an hour.

I took my children along for the reading , but a number of the poems sailed right past them.

"I didn't get most of it," my oldest told me, looking a little embarrassed. We usually love poetry around here, and I think she expected to enjoy more of it.

Too young, I told myself, too little time for me to chatter incessantly to them (as I normally do when I'm reading to them or teaching them something) about what it all meant. But, then, on the way home, I asked one more time, "Was there anything that really stuck with you? Anything that you really liked?" and my oldest said, "Well, you know, that poem about him holding Mary Cassatt's pastels was really cool."

Aaahh. Yes, it was.

You can see Ted Kooser's website here.

Why some moms don't allow pets

Our three-year-old is finally starting to sleep through the night a few times a week (insert loud cheers, huzzahs and a glass of wine here) but here's the problem: on the nights that she sleeps through, the cat takes it upon himself to fill in the gap. Pouncing on toes, purring into my ear ... oh, he varies his routine, to be sure, but one thing that doesn't vary? He always does this when no little person has awakened me during the night.

The hermit crabs are fast becoming my favorite pets. Not only have they never awakened me at 3 a.m., they act and look dead most of the time. Nicely low-maintenance.

The Wardrobe awaits

Here's another review of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

My daughter said the other day, "Mommy, I don't think I've ever seen you this excited to see a movie. You're as excited as we are!" Yup.

Thomas Merton

pierces to the core again. A friend recently sent on this quote from the end of "Seven Storey Mountain" ... time to reread the book.

"In one sense we are always traveling, and traveling as if we did not know where we were going. In another sense we have already arrived.

We cannot arrive at the perfect possession of God in this life and that is why we are traveling and in darkness. But we already possess Him by grace and therefore in that sense we have arrived and are dwelling in the Light.

But--oh!--how far I have to go to find You in Whom I have already arrived!

For now, oh my God, it is to You alone that I can talk because nobody else will understand. I cannot bring any other man on this earth into the cloud where I dwell in Your light, that is, Your darkness, where I am lost and abashed. I cannot explain to any other man the anguish which is Your joy, nor the loss which is the possession of You, nor the distance from all things which is the arrival in You, nor the death which is the birth in You because I do not know anything about it myself, and all I know is that I wish it were over--I wish it were begun.
You have contradicted everything. You have left me in no-man’s land."
-- Seven-Storey Mountain

Deep Magic from before the dawn of time

It sounds as if Disney got it right. Read Barbara Nicolosi's reveiw of the Narnia movie here.

Deceptive Covers

Yes, yes, it's a cliche ... never judge a book and all that. But, sometimes, God startles us with an unexpected chance to see just how true it can be.

This is a delightful piece from Godspy
about some kids baptizing the culture and sharing the Truth of the Catholic faith.

What a Princess Eats

Our three-year-old, affectionately known as Ramona around here, was trying on princess dress-up clothes this morning. I interrupted, in that irritating way mothers do, to ask if she would like some string cheese (aka "cheese sticks" in RamonaSpeak.)

"No," said Ramona. "Princesses don't eat cheese sticks. Princesses only eat brownies. Did you know that?"

I didn't know that. Hmmm . . . there happens to be a pan of brownies sitting on our stove top at this very moment. Coincidence? Or Divine Providence? Perhaps just a princess's sovereign right.

What If?

We all come down with it now and then: a nasty case of “What if?” or a nagging bout of “If only….”

• What if I’d been raised Catholic -- or had become one earlier in life?

• If only I’d known what the sacrament of marriage was really about before I took my vows

• What if I’d been Catholic when I first had my children?

The “what-ifs” and “if-onlys” persuade us that if we had just embraced the fullness of Catholic faith sooner our marriages would be stronger, our kids would be holier, and our relationships with God deeper. We would have fumbled and stumbled less, made far fewer mistakes and would have sinned less often.

While it’s quite possible that all these things are true, what we’re really wondering when we ponder these possibilities is, “What if I’d been born a different person? What if I’d been influenced by a different family? A different set of friends?” And while these speculations are often intriguing, they’re also usually quite fruitless.

Each of us is, whether we like it or not, a part of God’s marvelous plan. He has specific plans for you and for me, and the best we can hope for in this life is to discern, “through a glass, darkly” (1 Cor. 13:12), a rough outline of the plan. Does this mean that God ordained from all time that I would be born into a non-Catholic family? Well, yes and no. He knew it. That is certain. But whether He actively ordained it (as in God’ active will) or merely allowed it (as in God’s passive will) is unknown to me. And, ultimately, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I examine where I am today, at this moment, and ask God to be with me. Now. Today. Tomorrow. Always.

I might be tempted, as you might be, to ask why the Lord plopped me into the middle of an extended family that has never been Catholic, never wanted to be Catholic, and still doesn’t care to be Catholic (or to hear much about it.) I don’t really know but again, one thing is certain: He knows what He’s doing, even when I don’t have a clue. Certainly He granted me this grace for my own salvation, but could it be that He also did it so that I might be light and salt to those in my life who know no other Catholics? While this isn’t always an enjoyable or enviable position to occupy, it is an awesome one indeed. I have seen my own Catholicism have a profound effect on at least four people: my husband, who joined the Church five years after I did, and our three children.

Father Jean Pierre De Caussade, in his spiritual classic Abandonment to Divine Providence speaks of “the sacrament of the moment.” He reminds us that we are to accept everything that comes to us, moment by moment, as God’s holy will, and to cheerfully, joyfully embrace all things, even (especially) the sufferings and pain. Being a convert can include suffering but when we embrace the crosses that accompany our conversions, not only do we grow closer to God but we also more clearly see His movement in our lives.

Though, of course, I never compare myself to the great saints (unless it is to see the distance between us), I certainly look to them for inspiration and the will to persevere. I think of Mary Magdalene … Peter … Paul … St. Augustine. Shall we question God’s plan for them? Or shall we accept that the Lord knew exactly what He was doing when He allowed Paul to persecute Christians before he became one himself? Don’t we trust that God allowed St. Augustine to intimately know an immoral life before he turned away from it so that Augustine could be a light to us? Modern day Augustines, weary of fleshly pleasures, longing for something real and true, hear God speak directly to them when they read Augustine’s words. He was allowed to live a particular kind of life that God’s glory might shine through him for centuries to come.

Most of us will never be an Augustine, or a Paul. But we are called to be instruments of God’s glory. The next time you find yourself lingering on a “What if?” remind yourself that God has given you your particular circumstances, your particular conversion, your particular gifts, for a reason. Then, live in that “sacrament of the moment,” and put those gifts to use. Now that you are a Catholic, put the “What ifs” and “If onlys” of your pre-conversion days behind you. Ask yourself only this: “What if I live every moment for God?” Then ask Him to give you the grace to do just that.

(This essay originally appeared in The West Texas Catholic.)

Cradle Catholics and Converts

Created Equal?

It’s been nearly ten years since I stood in St. Mary’s Church and said it:

“I believe and profess all that the holy Catholic Church believes, teaches, and proclaims to be revealed by God."

Those words, spoken by Christians who wish to be received into the Catholic Church, were the culmination of a long and arduous journey that had included periods of atheism and agnosticism. But I'd finally arrived at belief, Christian baptism and ultimately, surrender to the Catholic Church. In my short decade as a Catholic, I’ve experienced profound joy, dark nights, unexpected healings and ineffable surprises from God that bordered on the miraculous. I’ve seen such fundamental changes in myself that I no longer recognize the woman I was before that great Easter Vigil. I’ve witnessed my husband (for whom I once harbored no hope of conversion) come into the Church. It’s all part of the glorious journey that we call “conversion.”

I’ve been taught and inspired by many faithful people over the years, cradle Catholics and converts alike. It never occurred to me to ask whether cradle Catholics or converts were the more “worthy” bunch, but I recently became aware that tension sometimes exists between the two “camps.” Why? And why are there “camps” at all in our one, holy, Catholic and apostolic Church? I can speak only from a convert’s perspective, so I’ll start there.

We Catholic converts are an odd lot. We tend to be in one of two places. Either we’re on the mountain top, thinking that we know it all, love it all and can handle it all, or we’re in the depths of self doubt, wondering how we will ever know it all, love it all or handle anything.

When we’re on that mountain top, we want to take on the world. God has equipped us, we’ve been called, and we’re ready to go forth and conquer. That’s not a bad thing. God does equip and call us, and there are many dragons to be slain. It’s not sinful pride that motivates – it’s a zeal for souls, implanted by the Lord. As long as we deflect any praise and glory to Him, we can rest assured we’re using our gifts correctly. He’s placed us on the mountain top for a reason that has nothing to do with us. We’re there for the sake of His Kingdom.

But when we’re in the opposite place, that shadowy cave of self doubt, we might wonder why God chose us. Why am I Catholic, and not this friend, or that relative? We doubt that our gifts and talents can make a difference to anyone. We wonder if we’ll ever understand all Catholic doctrines well enough to share them with others. Will we ever really be able to explain a plenary indulgence? Can we understand the Inquisition thoroughly enough to discuss it with our friends? Will we bungle it all just when God is counting on us?

While trudging through such a spiritual valley, we might envy our cradle Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ. They were born into the riches of this faith that we adopted. Since birth, they’ve possessed the gifts we had to hunt down, question and claim as our own. It doesn’t seem “fair.” They’ve always known, understood, and treasured what they have. Haven’t they?

The reality is that many cradle Catholics have wrestled with their faith just as converts have. Certainly some have always held fast to their beliefs (and they’ve been given a great gift.) But others have questioned, retreated, studied and returned to embrace the faith in ways that mirror a convert’s journey. They’ve had “reversions” that are every bit as dramatic as the conversions of those once atheist and far away.

And what of those who have never fallen away from the Church? Their lives of steadfast devotion are a beautiful example to us all. But at times, they may also be tempted to say it isn’t "fair." They labor to serve God all their lives, while others breeze late into the Church, and receive the same rewards.

One night, as I sat in a darkened room rocking my youngest daughter, I was struck by this reality: she is the first child born to my husband and me since we both became Catholic. Our “domestic church” is now a microcosm of the universal Church: we are convert and cradle Catholic together in this home. We are tiny and grown, novice and expert, on the mountain top and in the valley (sometimes all in one day). I, the convert, will have much to teach my little girl. She, the cradle Catholic, will impart riches to me as well. We’re both being equipped, bit by bit, day by day.

And so goes the universal Church. We’re in this together. Does it matter if we were born into the Catholic faith, or if we found it late in life? Not really. We must remember that just as the workers who came late to the vineyard were paid the same wage as those who had labored all day (Matthew 20: 1-16), so the convert is as “worthy” as the cradle Catholic. Conversely, a convert must never assume that a cradle Catholic’s faith is not every bit as hard won as those who struggled to find their way home. Every Catholic has a story and God has a reason for every plot twist. How we arrived at our faith is for Him to determine and for us to praise, not judge. After all, it’s all grace. We’re all unworthy.

Whether cradle Catholic or convert, we’re in this for the long haul. And we’re in it together. So hang on tight, and hold on to each other -- it’s the most exciting ride I know. This glorious, equalizing journey that we call “conversion” is for everyone.

(This essay first appeared in the July 31, 2005 issue of Our Sunday Visitor, and later appeared on Catholic Exchange.)

The most wonderful time of the year

"What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon?" cried Daisy, "and the day after that, and the next thirty years?"

"Don't be morbid," Jordan said. "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."

~~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby