I'm glad they're so easily pleased

Upon placing the requested peanut butter sandwich and glass of milk in front of Ramona, she pronounced,

"That is quite a feast!"

Feast of St. Catherine of Siena

"Eternal Trinity, Godhead, mystery deep as the sea, you could give me no greater gift than the gift of yourself. For you are a fire ever burning and never consumed, which itself consumes all the selfish love that fills my being. Yes, you are a fire that takes away the coldness, illuminates the mind with its light, and causes me to know your truth. And I know that you are beauty and wisdom itself. The food of angels, you gave yourself to man in the fire of your love."

~~ St. Catherine of Siena, doctor of the Church (and 23rd of 25 children in her family)

(The image above is a detail from a painting by Domenico di Pace Beccafumi, c. 1515.)

We're living on Planet Frog

Or, more accurately, Planet Tadpole at the moment. These little guys, as far as I know, won't be eating each other, as our triops did, provided we feed them regularly. I'll keep you posted, though.

They arrived in the mail yesterday, purchased from Uncle Milton via our local Hobby Lobby store. One of them looked "really most sincerely dead." It was gone, or so we thought. But,the instructions urged us to give them 24 hours to recover from "shipping shock."

And it worked. They've recovered and they're both moving and eating. We hope to witness the entire, amazing metamorphosis. I don't know what the success rate usually is with these things (I know it works in the wild, but does it always work in Uncle Milton's world?) but if all goes as planned, Ramona may actually get to buy some of those tiny little crickets she always covets at the pet store ....

An exaltation

of larks.

A charm of hummingbirds.

Who thinks of these?

I love them.

I was just visiting AmyAble's blog. She wants to do a Carnival of Mothering but would like to find another name for it. I suggested sifting through some of the collectives used for animals (not that we mothers are animals, mind you ....) But some of these are just so charming. Other favorites:

a murmuration of starlings
a kindle of kittens
a congress of owls
a convocation of eagles
a descent of woodpeckers
a shrewdness of apes (no, not for naming moms, just noted here for the clever factor)

See this extensive list for more.

That's one way to look at it

Yesterday, we went on a field trip to our local newspaper, courtesy of my friend Linda the Organizer. The tour included not only the inner workings of the press, but also a side trip through a recycling display.

Our tour guide, Sarah, a sweet, energetic, outgoing young woman (it wore me out just watching her) eagerly told the kids all about ways to recycle, conserve energy and save the environment. She quoted various statistics, explaining, for example, that recycling x number of cans saves enough energy to power a lightbulb or an appliance for x number of hours (if I hadn't been busy with Ramona, perhaps I could be more specific. I didn't learn a lot, other than the fact that Ramona's not yet interested in recycling her very-occasional soda can.)

Later, as Betsy recounted her favorite parts of the trip to Atticus, she interpreted said statistics thusly:

"Daddy, did you know that if we recycle our aluminum cans we can watch more TV?"

Sigh.

Marching orders

Great post today at Heidi Hess Saxton's blog about what it means to be a child of God:

And yet, on another level, I am also challenged to follow my son's example. As I jump (OK, shuffle) out of bed each morning, do I face the world with a bright smile and a heartfelt, "Go, team Christian!"? Do I take time to get my marching orders from on high, and "gird myself with truth"? As an adoptive child of God, just how seriously do I take the responsibility to express my love for God in word and deed?

Click here for the rest.

Not your typical merchandising scheme

I recently ordered some things from Leaflet Missal and noticed on their home page that they now have a blog. Actually, it appears to be the somewhat personal blog of one of their employees, and I find myself going back to it to see just what he's going to say next.

I liked him -- his name is Terry Nelson -- the minute I read his profile, which says:

"I'm sometimes a little disappointed that life takes so long and I'm always surprised everyone else thinks it's so great. However I do enjoy a good comedy."

Indiana Jones meets Dan Brown?

Or is it "Decoding King Arthur"?


Nope. It's The Grail Code, a new book by Mike Aquilina and Christopher Bailey that promises to be compelling reading.

What is it about a quest for the Holy Grail that so intrigues us? Such stories generally round up the usual suspects of mystery and betrayal, faith and unbelief, good vs. evil, pure and corrupted hearts, all longing for the same thing: a tangible, historical connection to the Real Presence of Jesus.

The Grail Code sounds fascinating, and co-author Christopher Bailey says this:

But we all feel that inborn longing for lost paradise. We all know there has to be a way to get back there. The old romances of the Holy Grail were about that longing. And they were more than that: the best of the romances were nothing less than a road map to paradise.

That’s what The Grail Code is about: the powerful myth of the Holy Grail, the object of all desire, and what that myth really meant to the people who told the best stories about it.

I have a sudden urge to reread The Once and Future King (an all-time favorite to which I must introduce my girls), although the authors of The Grail Code will remind us that if Arthur was indeed an historical figure, he probably lived in the 5th century.

For more reminders as well as loads of new and engrossing details, visit The Grail Code blog, at this link. The banner art (Edward Burne-Jones) is exquisite and the site is full of resources, especially this page, the Scriptorium.

What we're reading

I didn't read Caddie Woodlawn as a child, and I'm delighted to have found it now. Anne and Betsy are enjoying it immensely, and even Ramona, when read-aloud time is over, will suggest, "Let's play Caddie!"

Caddie was a real girl. She was the author's grandmother, who regaled her children and grandchildren with stories of her childhood on the frontier of Wisconsin in the 1860's. Her granddaughter, Carol Ryrie Brink, put the stories on paper and a classic was born. It's one I somehow missed when I was young, but I'm happy my kids won't be able to say the same. A mixture of adventure and humor, slices of life and childhood, Caddie also manages to weave in a serious treatment of relations between frontier settlers and Native Americans in a way that is sobering but not overwhelming. It was the springboard for an excellent discussion with the girls about prejudice and bigotry, and about the profound difference between defending oneself and initiating violence. Currently, we're at another turning point in the book: the Woodlawns have just gotten news that President Lincoln has been shot.

The illustrations, by Trina Schart Hyman, are lovely.

Caddie's been making such an impression around here that the kids are considering naming our next hamster after her.



Another amazing find is Only Opal: The Diary of a Young Girl. I can thank Ramona for plucking this off the shelf at the library and saying, "This looks good, Mommy." Indeed, it did, and it's far beyond good.

Based on the actual diary of Opal Whiteley, this picture book has been adapted by Jane Boulton, from her longer adaptation of Opal's diary. (I'll be searching for the extended version for Anne-with-an-e.) Opal was born around 1900, and began a diary when she was 5 or 6. The surviving entries are incredible. Opal saw the world with the eyes of a poet, despite her harsh upbringing. An orphan, she lives with a family in Oregon but quickly perceives that she is considered a nuisance. Opal receives only cold and callous treatment from her foster parents, but finds temporary friendship with a kind neighbor lady whom she calls "Dear Love" (the nickname Dear Love's husband has given her.) But, when her family prepares to move (as they did 19 times, to various lumber camps) she must tell Dear Love good-bye. We, with Dear Love, wipe a tear and say, "We will never forget you."

Opal finds solace and beauty in nature and in the books her parents left her. From these books, she discovers names for her friends: her pet mouse becomes Felix Mendelssohn, her calf is Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her favorite tree is christened Michael Raphael. The moment at which Michael Raphael is chopped down is heart-breaking, for Opal and for us.

Barbara Cooney's gorgeous illustrations convey the beauty in Opal's bleak world, a beauty that Opal's poet's heart could detect despite her unhappiness .

Only Opal, too, is a tribute to the power of books and a legacy of love. Opal observes:

Near the road grow many flowers.
I nod to them as I go by.
They talk in shadows.
And this I have learned:
Grownups do not know the language of shadows.
Angel Mother and Angel Father did know
and they taught me.
I think sometimes Kind God
just opens the gates of Heaven
and lets them come out
to be Guardian Angels for a while.

Ramona has already claimed Opal's book as her own (I see a purchase looming in our near future.) It's delightful to see her recognize Barbara Cooney's style from our beloved Miss Rumphius and it's also pretty darn cute to hear her call Dear Love "Heart Cakes."

These books belong in a pile of heart cakes -- the kind we'll keep forever.

The good, the bad and the ER

The good:

* Another shopping trip with my kids (in which Betsy acquires a delightful little Only Hearts Club doll, spending her own money in that way that only a second-born can.)

* Ramona's explanation of the game she was playing with Anne and Betsy, which involved Barbie dolls and bungie cords: "They're super-heroes, Mommy. They rock-climb to rescue people. But my girl doesn't like to go up high. She's scared of airplanes, so she relies on other things [Editor-Mommy's note: At this point, I bite my lip, attempting not to betray my amusement at a 3-year-old using the phrase, "relies on other things"] to get up high in the air, like, ummm, ferris wheels, Scooby Doo castles and trees."

* Getting to go out for Chinese food with Atticus.

The bad:

* Another shopping trip with my kids, during which the pet store was still out of hamsters.

* Forgetting to write down about three other incredibly funny, cute things Ramona said.

* Ending up at the second-string Chinese restaurant because we forgot that our favorite one is closed on Tuesdays. Our favorite one is full of people who are kind and hospitable, has a beautiful, understated decor and bamboo-steamed-whatever-you-want. The one we ended up trying had a sour hostess, garish wallpaper and nothing was steamed (except perhaps the hostess. I hope her night got better.)

The E.R.:

* Mr. Putter decided to become Mr. Hyde and buried his claws in Betsy's head. He scratched very close to her eye, and when her eye kept "feeling funny" we took her to the ER. We were there from 10 p.m. till midnight, spending most if it, of course, waiting. The news was good (just a little scleral irritation, but the cornea was fine) but if I misspell anything today, or babble on (no wait -- that's normal) you'll know why.

At the suggestion of the Atypical Homeschooler ....

Ron reminded me about "word clouds" and I did one this morning. I still haven't renamed my blog, but I love this word cloud.

I also love Ron and Andrea's "atypical" wordplay. Now, they were thinking, and not merely being cheap with a website, like some people I know ....

Fluffy Angel, R.I.P.

Please pray for a successful hamster-hunting expedition today. Yesterday, the pet store was completely out of hamsters! My girls are eager to get another, as their dear little Fluffy Angel died in her sleep Sunday night.

Overheard today

While in the car:

Anne-with-an-e: When I grow up, I want to go to Tokyo.

Ramona: When I grow up, I want to be Pinocchio.

*****

While watching a "Rapunzel" video:

Anne-with-an-e: That dress looks like a Marc Chagall painting.

(tip to moms: you too can have children who sound impressively knowledgeable about art ... pick up the Masterpieces Coloring Book ... amaze and astound your friends ... yes, you too can see the Mona Lisa with purple hair .... )

****

After a shopping trip in which the girls spent some Easter gift certificates:

Betsy: This was a good day ... I got a new hat, stuff for my hair, and my new shoes can double as slippers. Now, is that great or what?

John 11:35

To say that we had a busy weekend is just a fraction of the story. The past three days were brimming with life, new beginnings, and hope. But endings, sorrow and death also left their imprint.

On Friday, I attended the funeral of a young man. His father is an old friend of mine from my days on the RCIA team. We met the year R. (the father) was coming into the Church. He is a kind, quiet, generous man who always seems to accept God's will for his life, even when it is painful, incomprehensible and completely unexpected, as in the case of his son's death. We don't know yet how this happy, healthy, well-loved young man died. What we do know is that it could happen to any of us at any moment. My own sudden death, or the sudden death of a child, could be imminent. Am I prepared? It is the most unthinkable of endings, to lose a child. And yet R. has been asked to carry this immensely heavy cross and I know that it's his faith that will sustain him through his tears and his grief.

Saturday was a mixture of beginnings and endings. Betsy had her first soccer game and reveled in every bit of it. Each race and kick, the wind in her hair, the happy exhaustion, being part of a team ... it was all pure Betsy.

Then, immediately after the soccer game (we raced home, she jumped in the tub, donned a dress and we were off) was the piano recital. The girls played a short duet and then each played a piece they'd mastered. We were proud and happy for them. Their piano teacher is a lovely homeschooling mom. My girls are great friends with this mom's kids, and have been for several years. The bittersweet quality of that afternoon was due not only to the end of a year of lessons, but to the end of a relationship. The family will be moving in a month or two, and our weekly lessons and play times will come to an end. The kids spent the rest of the day together, but in my mind, the day was marked by the knowledge these people, so beloved by my children, will soon be gone.

Sunday was joyful, as we witnessed the first Holy Communion of J., one of the sweetest eight-year-old boys one could ever hope to meet. We celebrated with his family, dear friends. I was energized by J.'s infectious enthusiasm, as he was brimming with the thrill and excitement of this holy and special day. And I thought, again, of the ways in which beginnings and endings, life and death, crucifixion and resurrection are intertwined and dependent on one another.

Without the beginning of the crucifixion, we would not have the ending of the Resurrection, which is, of course, also a beginning. It is a great, holy circle.

When a friend moves away, a lesson ends, a life changes, a loved one passes, we grieve that ending, as we should. But, in the midst of our grief, God will open new doors. He will show us something -- not always immediately, but eventually, if we are paying attention -- He will help us to see that it's only in earthly endings that heavenly beginnings have their meaning. Everything here is meant to pass away. That's why the crucifixion can be called, even more appropriately than an ending, a beginning. It was the beginning of that which gives all things their meaning.

Viewed through the lens of eternity, I can grieve our endings, and weep, just as Jesus did at Lazarus's tomb, but I can also see them for what they are ... another way of beginning. And with God's help, and if it is His will, every beginning, ending, and everything in between, will draw us closer to Him.

Atticus sums it up

Overheard this morning:

Ramona: It's not fair! Everyone has a trash can in their room but me!

Atticus: It's just one existential crisis after another in this house.

And the latest Ramona ....

She wanted a brownie last night. It was fine with me, and I started to cut one for her. She looked at the pan and an anguished look overtook her face. She threw herself down on the floor with a groan.

"What's the matter? I thought you wanted a brownie!"

"I do-o-o-o," she whined from her pitiful spot on the floor. "But I was assuming they were frosted."

The best of Ramona: It's an old one, but a good one

Last year, I was in the middle of giving Anne some gentle guidance on a minor social grace. I don't even remember what it was, but something she'd done had embarrassed her, and I offered some advice on how to deal with the situation when it next arose.

"Oh, I'm so stupid!" Anne exclaimed.

"No, you're not!" I protested. "You just didn't know. Now you do. Next time you'll know."

"And next time," Ramona chimed in, "you won't be stupid!"

Remind me to use the plain cup next time

During math yesterday, Anne-with-an-e was enjoying peppermint tea in the Tess cup. The Tess cup is one of my favorite little coffee cups, a gift from a friend to Atticus long ago: it's a cream colored affair with black script, showing a reproduction of Hardy's first few lines from a first draft of Tess of the D'Urbervilles, complete with cross-outs, margin notes and the like.

As we were doing the math (or, more accurately, as I was expecting Anne to continue the math) she got a bit distracted.

"Doesn't Daddy teach Tess?" she asked.

"Yes, he does. Usually." (I didn't add that my sweet, thoughtful husband has sometimes abandoned the teaching of this novel when there's a pregnant teen in his class, out of sensitivity to her and the paths down which the discussion might wander.)

"And why are so many things crossed out?" Anne asked.

"Well, it's a rough draft," I replied, equally distracted and now clearly as ready as Anne to direct my attention to Thomas Hardy and the writing process. "You know how rough drafts are. They're ... um, rough. You write it, you cross it out, you start again."

"I don't have to cross that many things out of my rough drafts," touted Anne, firm in her conviction that her writing must be superior to Hardy's. "I didn't cross out much of anything in my last story."

I, too, was now thoroughly distracted and thoroughly immersed in the conversation. Isn't this so much more interesting than numbers on a page?

"Well, your story is flowing, true, but you might have some crossing out to do when you go back and reread it. And then, you know Tess is a novel ... it'd take quite a few more drafts to get a novel down."

She nodded, and sipped while I got up and poured myself another cup of coffee and suddenly remembered that we'd come to the kitchen table with a purpose other than discussing writing and literature. "Hey, aren't we supposed to be doing this division stuff?"

"Oh, yeah," said Anne, shaking herself. "But I really do like this cup."

Yeah, Sweetie. So do I.

Clever blog names

I love them. 

Love to find new ones, hear the stories behind them, and speculate on alternative names for this blog.

"So, why," you may be asking yourself, "was she so uninspired and/or so egotistical as to name her blog after herself? Why didn't she come up with a clever blog name?"

I'd like to compliment you on an excellent question. I'm glad you brought it up.

When I started this blog, it wasn't going to be a blog. You see, I was being kind of cheap (I prefer "frugal" but we're baring all here) and was looking for a free internet presence. I knew it would be helpful to have a central gathering place for the links to my writing, which were beginning to add up. 

So, I found Blogger, played around with templates and links (and had the occasional delusion that I should pursue computer programming — look at me, I did some html!), and thought, "Huh. Well, here's a free/cheap/frugal website."

My original idea was to set it up, and leave it alone. Nothing more than a central gathering place for my article and essay links. And I'd name it after me for the sake of simplicity. What's easier than, “Oh, hey, I forgot what Karen’s url is? What's her clever name at Blogger? Oh, wait ... there is no clever name. It's just her name. How considerate of her to make it so easy for us!"

Well, that was the idea.

However. 

Because this is technically a blog and not a website, it occurred to me that I might try using it as a blog. "Maybe I should post something now and then," I thought. "Just, oh, say, whenever I get time."

So I posted a couple of thoughts. Once a week or so. That was September, October. By November I was posting every few days. Then every day. By December, I'd christened my children with their blog names and I was hooked.

Then, I thought, "If I hadn’t been so hapless and cheap, I'd have a clever blog name."

It's a little late now, but I'll let you know if I come up with something. 

Quote day: writing

Hate to write, love having written.

~~ Dorothy Parker

Quote day: haiku

In the rain-pinked pond
still unslaughtered, silly ducks
rejoice with quacking.

~~ Issa

Quote day: faith

Faith ... is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods ... Unless you teach your moods "where they get off" you can never be either a sound Christian or even a sound atheist, but just a creature dithering to and fro, with its beliefs dependent on the weather and the state of its digestion.

~~ C.S. Lewis

Quote day: books

If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skull, why then do we read it? We would also be happy if we had no books, and such books as make us happy we could, if need be, write ourselves.

But what we must have are those books which come upon us like ill-fortune, and distress us deeply, like the death of one we love better than ourselves, like suicide. A book must be an ice-axe to break the sea frozen inside us.

~~ Franz Kafka

Dinner with Ramona

A couple of nights ago, Atticus was talking about the dearth of programs for gifted students. Anne-with-an-e chimed in.

"I think," she said, between bites of ham, "that when I grow up, I'm going to open a school that focuses more on academics than on sports."

As Atticus and I nodded in approval at this lofty ambition (nodding, rather than speaking, of course, because our mouths were full of cheese-and-potato casserole), Ramona added, "When I grow up, I think I'm going to be a pumpkin."

Great posts and great titles

Click over to the The Way of the Fathers for some recent entries about the Vigil Mass, icons and a Holy Saturday homily for the ages, not to mention witty little blog-entry titles that will make you smile.

It's a game ... it's a play ... it's an education!

My kids are laughing themselves silly, thanks to a computer CD we've had for ages, though it's the kind of thing that renews the fun each time they rediscover it. "American Girls Premiere Playmaker" is an old CD (not even made by the company anymore) but it's new around here every few months.

The CD allows you to create plays, using characters from the American Girl series, who walk and talk and, in our case, say the silliest things. I can't say my kids are creating works on a par with Shakespeare; they tend more toward the theater of the absurd. But I look at it this way: they're using their imaginations (to create a play), they're using the keyboard (to type in the dialogue they make up), and they're getting spelling practice (because often, if they spell a word incorrectly, the character will pronounce it incorrectly. Not always -- Betsy comes up with some pretty accurate phonetic spellings.) And, they're having fun. They roar at the computer-generated voice that makes their dialogue a reality, if a stiff, robotic one.

Though American Girl no longer sells the game, I just checked Half.com and it looks like they have quite a few used copies available.

A caveat: the game was a little complicated and annoying to figure out at first, but now that they've got the process down, to say they enjoy it would be an understatement.

But then, the whole blog is lovely and thought-provoking

Every Waking Hour has a lovely and thought-provoking post about the journey to and through unschooling. See it here. Lots of other good reading on unschooling there.

That funny "Lent is over" thing

Last night, as I was cleaning up the last few dishes around 10 p.m., I thought about what a pleasant day we'd had, with family here (though my dear mother-in-law's absence was sharply and sadly felt by all), good food and Easter Vigil joy still coursing through the hours. The ham was delicious, the Sam Adams cold, the chocolate superb.

And I thought, Tomorrow it's back to giving up ... wait a minute ... Lent is over! We'll have meat for dinner tomorrow, too! And the Sam Adams will still be cold and waiting ... and the chocolate ....

Christ the Lord is risen!

Alleluia! Alleluia!

Alleluia! He is Risen!

"But at daybreak on the first day of the week they took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb; but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus.

While they were puzzling over this, behold, two men in dazzling garments appeared to them.

They were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground.

They said to them, 'Why do you seek the living one among the dead? He is not here, but He has been raised.'"

~~ Luke, 24:1-6

Missing Jesus

The liturgy of the Triduum is unutterably beautiful. The love and service of Christ for His apostles (and for all of us) is brought to us in such a commonplace way on Holy Thursday. When the priest gently washes the feet of his people, it never fails to bring me to tears.

On Good Friday, the stark church, the bare altar, and the empty tabernacle help us to feel the desolation of the disciples. They had lost everything and were in despair. Good Friday is the only day of the year on which Mass is not celebrated. Though we still receive Jesus through previously consecrated hosts, we are reminded that today is not an ordinary day, and that to be without Jesus is to suffer.

On Holy Saturday, there is no regular daily Mass. Today's reflection on the Mass, from Presentation Ministries, via MyCatholic.com, touches on this beautifully:

"I opened to my Lover – but my Lover had departed, gone. I sought Him but I did not find Him; I called to Him but He did not answer me." –Song of Songs 5:6

On this Holy Saturday, there is no Mass, no eucharistic presence in the tabernacles of our Churches, no eucharistic readings proclaimed for the world to hear. Jesus our Life (Jn 14:6; 11:25) has fallen to the ground and died (Jn 12:24). He has been buried in the tomb, and we who are baptized into Him have also been buried with Him (see Rm 6:4). We are deprived of His special eucharistic presence until tonight's Easter Vigil.

To read the rest of the reflection, go here.

We must wait until this evening to celebrate, and celebrate we will! Our entire family will attend the Easter Vigil tonight, and we will welcome into the Church a couple for whom we've been praying since last September. Atticus and I knew them, a dozen years ago, when we were all members of the Episcopal Church. We'd fallen out of touch, but last fall, as prayer partners for the RCIA program, we found out they were on this journey. They didn't know of our prayers until last Sunday, when we met with them at their regular RCIA meeting, surprising them with our prayers and support.

Tonight, through the Vigil, we will experience all of salvation history through Scripture, music and the beautiful rituals that appeal to all of our God-given senses. The night will culminate in the gift of Jesus through the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar, and we will receive Him with our new brothers and sisters in Christ with great joy.

My anticipation is great. The Easter Vigil is at hand. I've missed Him. I eagerly await His Resurrection, its attendant wonder, and the bliss that is made real through, by, and because of Him.

Way of the Cross

To read Good Friday meditations (written by Archbishop Angelo Comastri and led by the Holy Father) on the Stations of the Cross, go to this link at the Vatican.

A Good Friday Meditation

The Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary are rich material for meditation. St. Ignatius of Loyola encouraged us to use our imaginations in meditation, and in doing so, we can be blessed with powerful prayer experiences. When we imagine ourselves in the midst of what historically happened to Jesus, we can feel more keenly what the Lord endured and has won for us. We may in fact feel (more sharply than we bargained for) a deeper sense of sin. But that is always a gift and one which will lead us more deeply into love with true Love Himself.

The following is a meditation I wrote several years ago, on a Good Friday. As I reflect this Lent on my life, I see how miserably I fail at Christ's command to love Him in everyone I meet.

And yet we beat on, as Nick Carraway said, boats against the current -- but, in the case of a Christian, we are not borne back ceaselessly into the past, but can trust that Christ our Redeemer will propel us, miserable failures and all, into the future -- a future that, God willing, includes eternity with Him.

**********************************************

It is Good Friday. I have spent the days of Lent praying the Sorrowful Mysteries, daily envisioning myself to be within each one. This has been sobering, sad and frightening. Today, I reflect on what I have “seen” as I’ve placed myself in these terrible, beautiful mysteries.

I see myself, first of all, abandoning Jesus. I abandon Him in favor of sleep, as He prays in agony in the garden. Next, I see myself holding the whip that scourges Him. It is I who have placed the painful crown of thorns on His head. I heft the weight of the Cross onto His shoulder, indifferent to His pain. Finally, and most horribly, I see myself driving the nails into His hands and feet. I am the cause of His pain, I prompt the spilling of the Blood that will save me, my sins bringing on the death that will redeem me. With every blow to a nail, I see a sin I have committed: BAM! I sin. BAM! I sin again. BAM! Another, greater sin... I drive in the nails and see that He is in agony as He bears the weight of each and every sin, every blow. Tears stream down my face as I pound on the nails and I know how horribly I have hurt Him.

Finally, exhausted, I stop pounding and collapse. His blood has spattered over me until I am covered with it. I cannot bear it. What is this mystery, this paradox? It is the shame and the glory of the Cross. Because although I have done this to Him, He loves me. He loves me. He allowed me to do this and He loves me. He knew I would do this and still He loves me. He sees that I will wound His body again, and yet He loves me. How can He love me when I have caused Him such grievous pain?

“I do not love you for the good you do,” He seems to say, “or withhold my love for the bad...I love you because I made you. Because you are Mine. Come to Me ... I forgive you. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

And suddenly He is off the cross and embracing me, bathing me in His blood, the precious blood that I spilled, the Blood I treasure and do not deserve. He holds me, covering me in it and banishes every pain and sin -- the enormous and terrible sins -- can it be? He forgives me. He loves me. I still cannot understand or bear it, a love so great.

What can I give him in return? How do I repay such a love? How will I surrender myself to him completely? I cannot do it, I think, collapsing into His warmth and His strength. I cannot repay Him.

“Love me,” He says. That is all. “Love me.”

His words bring a peace beyond anything I can describe. He has forgiven and held me, calmed me, bathed me in His precious blood, and now He has spoken to me. He wipes me clean and prepares to send me on my way. “Go and love Me,” He repeats, as he readies me for a journey. “Love Me in everyone you meet. Remember when you didn’t know or understand how much you grieved me; some of those you meet will not know either. Tell them. Tell them about Me. Love them and pray for them. And I will be with you always.”

He is clean now, too, and clothed in white, radiating brilliant unbearable light. He practically shoos me away. “Go now, and love Me,” He says again.

Reluctantly, I begin to walk away. I want to stay with Him, to be with Him like this every moment of every day, but He tells me it’s not time for that. I have felt His embrace, felt the warmth of Him whom my heart loves; I have known the sweetness of undeserved forgiveness. It’s time to go and share the news. It’s time to love Him in everyone I meet.

I walk away feeling both sad and joyful, knowing that I will be counting the minutes, the hours and days, the years, until I can be with Him in eternity.

The Lent I'd planned ...

... and the Lent I got.

They are -- almost always -- two different things.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Good Friday

Today's second reading, from Hebrews, 4:14-16, 5:7-9:

Brothers and sisters:
Since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens,
Jesus, the Son of God,
let us hold fast to our confession.
For we do not have a high priest
who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses,
but one who has similarly been tested in every way,
yet without sin.
So let us confidently approach the throne of grace
to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.

In the days when Christ was in the flesh,
he offered prayers and supplications with loud cries and tears
to the one who was able to save him from death,
and he was heard because of his reverence.
Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered;
and when he was made perfect,
he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.

The Tale of Three Trees

We've just finished reading this book over lunch.

This is a wonderful and meaningful picture book for Lent, Advent, or anytime in between. The Tale of Three Trees follows the desires of three little trees who dream of becoming a treasure chest, a strong sailing ship and a tree so tall that all will think of God when they see it pointing toward Heaven. You probably already know the fate of each of the trees, but your children may not guess.

It's a simple, beautifully illustrated book that helps children to see that God will answer our prayers, but not always in ways we can foresee.

Happy anniversary to your favorite priest

Don't forget to wish your priest "Happy Anniversary" as Holy Thursday commemorates Christ's institution of the priesthood.

Easter Every Week

Long before I was a Catholic, I gave things up for Lent. Though I was loathe to admit it, there were things about the Catholic Church that appealed to me, and one of them was the idea that our tiny sacrifices help us grow closer to the One who sacrificed everything for us. So, I gave up sweets as an annual Lenten fast and when Easter morning arrived, I proclaimed, “Break out the chocolate bunnies! He is risen!”

I fasted from Ash Wednesday to Easter, including every Sunday. Back then, I had no idea that the Church doesn’t include Sundays as part of Lent. Of course, I was too busy making up my own rules about Christianity to care what the Catholic Church said. I’d been baptized as an adult and I had my own ideas about nearly everything -- fasting and feasting, too. I had no inkling that there might be a prescribed or better way. There was just my way.

This held true for my treatment of all liturgical seasons (which I didn’t fully understand yet.) For example, when Christmas rolled around and people said, “I love this time of year! Why can’t every day be like Christmas?” I said, “It can! Become a Christian!” Jesus was the wellspring of the generosity and the desire to give, the very definition of Christmas, so why not treat every day as a commemoration of that? I thought I’d stumbled onto a profound truth: we can have Christmas every day, because Christ is with us.

However, much as I tried to keep “the Christmas spirit” every day, instinctively I knew that real life wasn’t like that. “All good things must come to an end” and so it was with the joys of Christmas. I soon found that in my real world, every day did not feel like Christmas, and Christmas joy couldn’t be forced where it didn’t fit.

Five years after my baptism, I was received into the Catholic Church. When I learned about the liturgical calendar, light bulbs went on. I finally began to see that we can live our Christian lives much more fully than trying to see “every day as Christmas.”

Through the liturgical year, we enter deeply into every aspect of Jesus’ life. Our earthly mother, the Church, knows what we need. In giving us a liturgical calendar to follow she has given us a prescription for how to live each day.
If the commercialism of Christmas is tempting us, Mother Church offers us Advent to slow us down. We learn to watch and wait with patience and a sweet anticipation. Then we are given not just one day of Christmas, but twelve. And on Twelfth Night, the feast of the Epiphany, we have the privilege of celebrating again as we commemorate the Magi’s gifts to the baby Jesus.

As the weeks after Christmas pass, and the joy of the celebration fades, zeal can easily fade, too; perhaps we become dry in prayer, or lax in some other area of our spiritual lives. In the past, I tried the superficial “every day can be Christmas!” approach to remedy this. But the wiser path is the one the Church offers us: the season of Lent. In this beautiful liturgical season we’re called to examine our lives and our relationship with God, to make sacrifices and renew promises. Lent offers us the methods and the necessary time to make this examination with seriousness and depth. It’s not a mere passing fancy, a fleeting self-exam– it’s six weeks of traveling inward, facing our weakness, and begging God to be our strength. Lent is an annual retreat in the desert, and our loving God’s invitation to draw nearer to Him.

But, we can’t stay in the desert forever, fallen and weak as we are. Are we struggling? Just in time to save us, Easter arrives and we delight in what was “lost” during Lent. Break out those chocolate bunnies, because God wants us to enjoy the legitimate goods and pleasures of His creation. He created the feast – and the chocolate -- as well as the fast.

And what a feast it is. Easter is celebrated for a full week, an “octave” on the Church calendar, because (as with Christmas) one day is not enough to contain this great solemnity. Ironically, for a week, I now get to relive my old attempt at making every day a feast. It really is “Easter every day” from Easter until the following Sunday. And, as I learned after being received into the Church, every Sunday is a “little Easter” worthy of the same intense joy of that first Easter morn. That’s why Sundays aren’t a part of Lent. It simply wouldn’t be proper to fast on such a glorious day of celebration.

The liturgical calendar is a sublime gift from the Church. Even in “ordinary time” we observe feasts, memorials and saints’ days that remind us of our call to holiness. By submitting to seasonal rites and practices, we acknowledge that we are bodily creatures in need of regular maintenance. The Church calendar doles out that maintenance throughout the year. We begin with Advent, awaiting the Savior’s birth and then celebrate the Incarnation. We plod through ordinary time, then venture into Lent, where we feel the desert of life without Him, contemplate the pain of His passion and death, and finally feel the joy of His resurrection. Our Lord’s life and death become more real to us, and more profoundly understood, when we live our lives in rhythm with the Church’s liturgy.

The liturgical calendar is also a helpful tool in our domestic churches to aid us in the battle against the commercialization of Christian holidays. When we spend four weeks directing our children’s focus to the manger, we help them to see that the vital gift is Jesus, not the shiny package under a tree. When we walk through the desert of Lent with them we teach them, through our meager offerings, what sacrifice means in the real, everyday world. The Cross becomes tangible and the joy and relief of the Resurrection are palpable.

As a new Christian, I was on the right track when I longed for every day, in some way, to be Christmas but I was missing a big part of the puzzle. The liturgical calendar supplied the last of the missing pieces. As a Catholic, I’ve delighted in living the liturgical year and the ways in which it deepens and revitalizes my (and my family’s) spiritual life.

A wise mother knows that her children can’t celebrate all the time. Every party has an end. Can every day be a feast? No, but every day can be Christ-filled and imbued with spiritual meaning as we follow, pray about, relive 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 -- on Christmas morning, in the desert of Lent, at the foot of the Cross, and on Easter morning.

Break out those chocolate bunnies! He is risen!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(A shorter version of this article appeared several years ago in New Covenant, and later, this extended version appeared on Catholic Exchange.)

The Triduum Begins!

The great Three Days start today. The preparation for Easter is in its final stage, and it's time to prepare our home now as well as our hearts.

Time to think about the Lenten Crown we made several weeks ago. Candles have been lit every week, prayers have been shared and we've asked the Lord to carry us through the desert of Lent, in anticipation of the joy and rebirth of Easter.

Did I remember to buy the gold spray paint so that we can transform our crown into a crown of the Resurrection? No, of course I didn't. So, Atticus has instructions to pick it up on his way home. I'll spray paint tonight and we'll complete the transformation on Holy Saturday.

Today, we'll also make butterflies from Fun Foam, and decorate them with sequins and jewels. On Holy Saturday night, the kids will wrap their caterpillars in cocoons. Easter morning will find the butterflies, having magically broken free of their cocoons, residing in the children's baskets.

If we are not able to make it to Holy Thursday Mass tonight (we seem to have a couple of sick tummies around here) we will, over dinner, share the reading of Scripture and talk about the Last Supper with the children. See this link from Women for Faith and Family for beautiful ideas.

These three days are my favorite time of year. I love the way the Church doesn't consider what happens on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday to be "separate services" ... it's treated as one extended service, one narrative, one living out of The Story. It's a sublime way to celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord.

The Weekly Milk Cup

Betsy is now a cub reporter, thanks to our American Girl History Club and the Kit books. Our project for the next meeting has the girls writing articles about happenings in their lives, history, or whatever other scoop a savvy reporter might dig up.

Yesterday, under a grueling deadline, Betsy pounded out (on our old manual typewriter) her report on the February flood in the basement, Holy Week happenings, and the start of spring soccer.

She has dubbed her newspapers "The Weekly Milk Cup" and "The Daily Egg." Anne-with-an-e (ever the big sister and perhaps a savvy editor-in-the-making) is concerned that Betsy's taken on too much with her ambitions for two separate publications.

Time will tell. Watch this spot for further developments on this story.

Mr. Putter, Narnia and prayer

Mr. Putter is a social eater.

This cat doesn't like to dine alone. Each morning, although there are leftovers in his bowl, he talks to me until I indulge him in his breakfast habit. I must add fresh food (though I sometimes cheat, picking up the bowl and shaking it, as if something delectable somehow enters through the shaking.) But, wait. The food isn't the only issue. If I do not sit with Mr. Putter for a moment and scratch his back, he will not eat. He will look at me expectantly, as if to say, "You know the routine ... why do you torture me so?" until I pet him, at which point he will finally, happily dig in to his meal.

On a related note, Atticus rented the Narnia movie for us to watch with the kids this weekend. During Family Movie Time, he was trying to sneak in a little bit of grading (he's a teacher, you know ... and no, it's really not so odd that a public school teacher homeschools.) Anyway, it's a brutal time of year for an English teacher, and I couldn't blame him for his attempt at multitasking, but the kids, of course, noticed.

"Daddy, you're not really watching! Watch this! Watch this part!" And so he did. Because the kids know that it's no fun to watch a movie with someone if he isn't really there.

And, further related, how many times have I done this: I am typing furiously at the computer when a child approaches me with a question.

"Yes?" I ask, not looking away from the screen.

"Mom, you're not listening."

"Sure, I am ... just let me finish this sentence." And when I do finish that sentence, I turn to the child and must admit that she was right. I wasn't listening.

Mr. Putter at breakfast ... Dads and movie time ... a mother only half tuned in to her child .... The common thread here is, "Am I fully present? Am I really here? Am I listening? Do I care about what these people (and this cat) need from me?"

And all of this led me to think of prayer, and of how easy it is to become distracted. How often do I sit down with God only to cheat, with a metaphorical shake of the bowl? To mentally multitask as I petition? How often do I fix my eyes on something other than Jesus? How often does Jesus have to say to me, "You're not listening"?

Now, I know that we moms do not always have the luxury of a formal prayer time, but the reality of my life, right now, is that I do sometimes have that luxury. I try to use it wisely, but I often fail. I'm sometimes only half-there, not fully present, not truly centered on the Lord and Savior of my life, but rather am allowing my mind to wander to things that are of absolutely no import to my eternal salvation.

God, like Mr. Putter, doesn't like to be alone. That's why He made us. He loves our company, and wants our genuine interaction. He wants to share the movie with us, get us to turn our faces from the screen, and He wants us to listen.

This week, as Holy Week continues, I pray for the grace to pay attention ... I pray that when God says, "Watch this part! Listen! Be with Me," that I will do just that.

One more note on Gerald Durrel

There was a scene in "My Family and Other Animals" that made me laugh out loud (well, there were several scenes that did that, but this one in particular rang true to our homeschool.) I laughed because I thought of this post and of my sweet Anne-with-an-e (and even had to describe the scene to her later, knowing she would appreciate it.)

A new tutor is trying to make some academic headway with Gerald, who really just wants to get away and go be with his favorite creatures rather than tackle math. The tutor drones on with a story problem, but suddenly notices that Gerald is playing with a bug on the table. Seizing the moment, the tutor changes the wording of the story problem to include slugs and the volume of food they would eat in one week, vs. two, and with varying numbers of slugs.

Gerald stops toying with the bug on the table, looks up at the tutor and says, "What kind of slug?"

Oh, yes. I love that child.

Read it ... learn it ... live it ....

Elizabeth Foss's Real Learning is a beautiful homeschooling book. Back in 2000, when I first started homeschooling, I was a member of the Catholic Charlotte Mason Yahoo Group (and still am.) I was delighted to find an online discussion group that so closely resembled what I envisioned homeschooling to be. Truthfully, my picture of "homeschooling" hadn't fully crystallized, but I knew this much: I wanted home education to nurture a love of books, reading, writing, learning, and God's creation. Charlotte Mason's ideas embodied much of what I hoped to see happen. Combined with the unschooling ideas of John Holt and others, and seasoned with the timeless goals of a classical education, I set out to create an environment for my children that would help them "learn to learn" ... and love to learn.

This is what "Real Learning" is all about, and that's why I love this book. Woven throughout are essays that wind their way into a home-educating mother's heart. This happens because Elizabeth Foss understands that educating our children is never solely about the academics ... it's about reaching our children's hearts, as well as their minds. When we try to separate those two things, we do an injustice to both our children and to their education.

These introductory comments are my long-winded way of saying that Elizabeth now has a Real Learning blog and I, for one, am delighted. Elizabeth Foss is a gifted writer, one who communicates from her heart and soul, and now we can all be nourished by that a little more often through her blog.

Grab a cup of coffee, and explore. That's real learning.

A proper education

Atticus and I just finished watching a delightful Masterpiece Theater, "My Family and Other Animals," which is the story of naturalist Gerald Durrell's childhood years. The family lived on a Greek island for several years and during that time, Gerald was allowed to indulge his love for all things wild and living. He kept scorpions in matchboxes, brought home destructive magpies, and generally lived to explore nature.

In the final scene, as they are headed back to England, his mother says to him, "And we'll get you an education."

Gerald looks at her, dumbfounded. "What was it I just had?"

Indeed.

I can do the math

You Passed 8th Grade Math

Congratulations, you got 10/10 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Math?

Okay, so I had to try one more of the little online quizzes. And now I can say, with full confidence, to all homeschooling naysayers, "Look! Look! I got an A+! I can teach my children math."

At least until the 8th grade....

Louisa May Alcott

Today's quotable quote:

"Good books, like good friends, are few and chosen; the more select, the more enjoyable."

A beautiful quote about our children

"I’ve had to learn (along with the rest of you) that my child is not a product to be created but a life to be respected."

Read the rest of Julie's post at the Bravewriter blog.

Beautiful, Julie.

Fiction fans, take note

Debra Murphy, of Idylls Press, has put together this reading list for Catholics who enjoy fiction. Be sure to read her Criteria for inclusion, so as to understand that not everything on the list is necessarily written by an orthodox Catholic.

They've chose to err

"on the side of inclusivity rather than doctrinal purity, in large part in order to encourage discussion of the subject from a more literary than doctrinal point of view. We are interested in how Christians of every stripe deal with religious (and secular) themes in fictional works, and will therefore likely, then draw a larger circle than some others would tolerate"

which, in my opinion, makes for some fascinating discussion.

CatholicBlogs.com

Added a couple of new things to the sidebar: Catholic Blogs is putting together a directory and search engine of -- yes, that's right -- Catholic blogs. In the sidebar, I added their search feature, and also added a nifty little tool to allow you to easily jump to today's Mass readings.

If you'd like the same for your blog, just check out this link.

Ramona Says

A couple of days ago, at a friend's house, I was helping Ramona jump on the trampoline.

Since I was getting tired, I asked her, "Are you getting tired yet?"

"No!" she pronounced. "I have 15 cups of energy left!"

What kind of coffee are you?

You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

Thanks to Big A little a for this coffee quiz. I know these fun little quizzes are all over the net, but I hardly ever take the time to complete one. But this one ... well, coffee you know ... I had to.

Masterly inactivity

What would one think if one were to happen upon a scene such as this:

A girl is lying on a couch, doing nothing. It is evening, around sunset. She remains in the same spot for some time. Is she lazy? Or sullen? Has she no evening chores to do? No one to care for, nothing to accomplish that is more worthwhile than wasting an evening in slothful lounging?

Hmmm.

What would one think if one were, while reading, to happen upon a passage such as this:

"Jo was alone in the twilight, lying on the old sofa, looking at the fire, and thinking. It was her favorite way of spending the hour of dusk; no one disturbed her, and she used to lie there on Beth's little red pillow, planning stories, dreaming dreams, or thinking tender thoughts of the sister who never seemed far away." -- Little Women

Charlotte Mason used a phrase of her time -- "masterly inactivity" -- to refer to the time that must be allowed children (or young adults, as Jo was in the above passage ... or old adults, such as I ....) to simply be. To think, to ponder, to make connections between life, faith, literature, and sunsets.

How far we have wandered, in our "I'm so proud of how busy we are" world, from the idea that masterly inactivity is of intrinsic value. When we lose the time needed to think and ponder, we lose connections. We lose sunsets. And we forget that life cannot and should not always be managed, scheduled and controlled. We forget to dream dreams and before we know it, tender thoughts are forgotten, because we find we have been too rushed to allow ourselves the luxury of them.

If you can, plan to spend some unplanned time soon ... a quiet twilight, time on the couch, a fire, and tender thoughts.

The Way of the Fathers

Thanks to Maureen Wittmann for alerting me to Mike Aquilina's new blog on the Church Fathers. I'm a Mike fan, because he is:

a. a terrific writer
b. a terrific editor
c. a terrific person

Thanks to God, Fr. Joe and Mike Aquilina, the first piece I ever sold was my conversion story.

God's part goes without saying ....

Fr. Joe is my spiritual director. He encouraged me to submit my story and even suggested a magazine: New Covenant ....

Mike Aquilina was the editor of said magazine. He bought the article, even though I, in my naivete, had submitted a piece that was twice as long as New Covenant's usual fare. He'd have had every right to shoot the article back at me with a sharp reprimand about paying attention to writers' guidelines. But instead, he accepted it and kindly edited it so deftly that initially even I didn't know what had been removed. And, he paid me for it. Payment ... for my writing? Well, there's a reason to like someone. And I've liked him ever since.

You will, too.

Ramona Moments

We were out of town this weekend, and had a terrific time at the zoo with dear friends ("Godfamily" the kids call them, as J. and H. are godparents to all of our children, thus making their kids "Godcousins.")

As we left the zoo, I noticed how tired Ramona was. Not wanting her to nap during the short drive back to our friends' house (because even two minutes of sleep after 2 p.m. equals Late-Late-Late Bedtime for Ramona ... I've never seen anything like it), I said to her, "We'll have to keep you awake in the van."

"You can't keep me awake!" she protested. "I'm in charge of my sleeping!"

The Third Carnival of Children's Literature

is up and the midway is packed! What an innovative idea Sherry had: a link (or several) a day, something to keep you busy, keep you reading, and keep you thinking each and every day of April. Enjoy the attractions here.

Beloved Papa

Today is the anniversary of the death of our beloved Papa, John Paul II. Oh, yes, I've prayed for his soul, but the overwhelming urge is to ask him to pray for me. This morning at Mass I asked his intercession for many intentions, from a friend with a challenging pregnancy, to a mom-of-seven who's playing single parent for a time, to homeschools and health and many things in between.

Papa, pray for us!

(And a thank-you to Sonya for sharing, last year, this wonderful picture of Papa.)