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.