Bits and Pieces of Our Days

There was an Ugly Sweater Event at school so Ramona made Atticus something to wear:

~~~~~

Finished reading The Best Christmas Pageant Ever with Ramona. My girls noted that this was the first year I've ever gotten through it without crying. Am I cold? Hardened? Have I read it too many times? Have I lost my touch? 

Or was I finally just really good at hiding the fact that I was tearing up? 

~~~~~

We went to see The Force Awakens yesterday. 

I am not ready to talk about it but I have, oh, so much to say.
(If you mention it in the comments, please be sure to give spoiler alerts for anyone who hasn't seen it!) 

~~~~~

Advent has flown by, as it always does. (Advent flies, Lent crawls....) In some ways it feels like Christmas has been sneaking up on me this year, but that's okay. Every Advent has its own flavor, and no matter what I do to prepare, I can never fully prepare for or grasp the reality that Jesus became Man for me. But He did. And so we wait, we watch. We anticipate. O Come, Emmanuel! Soon, and very soon! 

Poetry Friday: Richard Wilbur

I haven't shared Wilbur's "The Writer" for nearly a year and a half. That's practically criminal. It's time.

Time, especially, since Betsy completed her fifth NaNoWriMo novel last month, and Ramona finished the longest story, at 7,000 words, she's ever written. (7k was her goal, actually, but I've been informed that the story itself is not finished yet. Go, Ramona!)

For my daughters. The writers.


The Writer 
by Richard Wilbur

In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
....

(Read the whole poem here, at Poets.org, or listen to it here, at The Internet Poetry Archive.)

~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up today is at Random Noodling. 

It Wouldn't Be Advent If I Didn't Talk About Atticus and Nat King Cole

Right?

(from the archives:)

We hadn't been married very long and we didn't have much money. It was almost Christmas and although we weren't Christians we always gave each other gifts. The pickings would be slim that year, though, as the budget for presents was, well, non-existent.

Atticus knew I loved Nat King Cole's smoky voice crooning The Christmas Song. I had described it as the "almost perfect" song.  But this was the days before digital music. I could hear my favorite song of the season only if it happened to come on the radio, as I didn't own the album. Atticus wanted to buy it for me, but our budget was so tight that even a new cassette tape (remember cassette tapes?) wasn't a possibility that year.

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to work. Feeling a little disheartened that we didn't have much to give one another, I was nevertheless looking forward to the meal that Atticus would no doubt have ready when I got home.

When I reached our apartment, I put my key in the lock and thought, "It's awfully quiet in there." I opened the door and found a candlelit room, heard a click, and then Nat's smooth voice. Atticus took my hand and we danced.

My dear, sweet husband had scrounged around our apartment, found a blank tape, and then waited. He had vigilantly stationed himself by the radio all day long as he cooked, waiting to hear and capture that song. He waited and waited some more, and finally hit the "record" button when the coveted song made its appearance.

He captured it; he captured me again. And ever since, when Nat starts to sing, we dance.

On Relevant Radio This Morning

at 8:35 a.m. (central time). Talking with John Harper, on Morning Air, about Advent. 

Poetry Friday: Mary Oliver

Photo credit: FreeImages.

The first lines of this poem sum up my life: 

"Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but

still nothing is as shining as it should be

for you." 

The rest of the poem, too, marches on in perfection. 

Making the House Ready for the Lord 
by Mary Oliver


Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice--it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances -- but it is the
season when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
....

(Read the rest here.)

~~~~~

The round up this week is being hosted by A Teaching Life. 

Why I Don't Miss Our Old Advents

When I first started blogging, my daughters were 3, 9, and 12, so when I wrote about Advent (as I did in the No-Panic Advent series), I was writing about creating traditions with children. Ten years later, I don't have young children. Two college students and a teenager live at my house.

Advent has changed.

We no longer do the things that were designed to help little ones step outside themselves as they quiver and count down the days to Christmas. Things like daily thank-you notes deposited in the Jesus stocking, or pieces of yarn (for every corporal or spiritual work of mercy) dropped in a manger, to make it soft for Baby Jesus. No one wants to dress up as St. Lucia on her feast day anymore (although, of course we still make that heavenly bread) and there are no fights over who will light the candles on the Advent wreath.

We still have a Jesse Tree, and Atticus still reads accompanying stories aloud to us on the nights when we have dinner together, but schedules are busy, and we inevitably miss days. I don't go back to pick up missed readings anymore. Everyone knows the major stories, the Scriptures that tell the story of salvation history. The Jesse Tree did its job all those years.

Some things, of course, will never change. Chocolate and Advent calendars will always be here, and none of us will ever be too old for our favorite Advent books. But these days, we also talk about who's read the latest installment of Bishop Barron's Advent reflections, about what kind of Advent resolution we've made, about going to confession. The other day we discussed the way Advent Scripture readings focus on the last things, and about whether or not that scares us or reassures us.

Advent with grown (and practically grown) children is Advent with a different flavor.

Advent, a season of watching and waiting -- the season of hope, as a priest in the confessional reminded me in the advent of Advent -- is about pondering what Mary thought and felt as she anticipated the birth of the Christ Child, pondering who Jesus Christ is, and why He came to us.

I've pondered my way through many Advents since I became a Catholic. With the Blessed Mother, I have wondered. I've thought about why God chose me to mother these particular children, and I've asked Him at times whether I am up to the tasks He's assigned me. I've thought about the ways Christ has come to me in the past, the ways He has promised to come to me in the future, the way He always comes.

I'm so grateful for Advent, for the genius of a liturgical cycle that forces me to slow down, think, pray.

Watching my daughters grow into young women who love this time of year, who love God and have claimed their faith as their own, and look forward to creating beautiful Advent celebrations with their own children someday, has confirmed something for me:

I don't miss "our old Advents" because they are still with us. Every Advent we've observed and celebrated is a part of us. All those years of Jesse Trees, Jesus stockings, and yarn in a manger -- the slapdash, stressful years, and the carefully crafted, calmly carried out ones -- shaped us. The Advents of our past gave birth to the Advent we are having right now, this year, this moment.

This season of hope.

God finds new ways every year to help me see that He is nothing but Hope. And that's why I can't miss the Advents of our past. Because Christ -- O come, Emmanuel! -- is always making things new.

Charlie Brown, Oenophile

Recently, I accidentally referred to Trader Joe's Two-Buck Chuck/Charles Shaw wine as "Charles Schulz wine." 

A friend then decided I should actually have 

some Charles Schulz wine. 

She made me this: 

At first glance, I thought it was a real label! 

It's perfect. 

Two Buck Chuck has never looked so classy. 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

A snow day! Atticus had a day off this week, the snow just kept coming, and my college girls went out for a snowball fight with Ramona. When I grabbed the camera, for just a moment it felt like so many winter days long ago, when I had three girls who raced out to play in the snow every chance they got.

~~~~~

Ramona does a live, online art class every week with Mark Kistler and I joined in the fun this week. 

~~~~~

I don't think I mentioned it here (on Facebook, maybe? Yes, that's what I did) but we didn't make it out of town for Thanksgiving. We woke up to ice on our travel day, and decided to stay put. We had a quiet dinner at home (made up of various turkey parts -- that's what happens when you don't plan a back-up meal and all the whole turkeys are gone) and though we missed the Ed side of the family, we still had a lovely weekend. So much to be thankful for! 

Ramona made cornstarch clay and crafted a turkey of her own: 

~~~~~

I'm reading The Sea of Monsters to Ramona. We're almost done and then we have plenty of Advent reading to dive in to. 'Tis the season! We already started The Twenty-Four Days Before Christmas and The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is up next. 

An Easy Advent Decoration

This is a rerun of a post from the first day of Advent last year. Since I just finished my annual recovering the art over the fireplace, I thought I'd share this quick and easy way to decorate. 

~~~~~

Advent is my favorite liturgical season. I love the newness -- a new church year, a fresh start, a time to deepen our relationship with Christ.

And we've started decorating. The Advent wreath is on the dining room table, the nativity set is on the mantle. On Thanksgiving Day (we usually travel, but were at home this year), as we were listening to The Splendid Table's Turkey Confidential (Ramona's favorite thing to listen to on Thanksgiving Day -- beats a parade), I did a quick-change on the artwork above the mantle. I've done this for the last couple of years. It starts out looking like this: 

Then, some burgundy colored fabric. Staples. Pretty easy, even for me. 

Then it looks like this: 

Then I add a beautiful printable from Lesley Austin/Small Meadow, set up the creche, and ... it's Advent! 

A No-Panic Advent: The Monstrously Long Post

It's back! 

Too many ideas for one post! 

And that's why I encourage you to not be insane. 

Don't try to do everything. 

I don't. 

(But I hope you find one or two things that are useful.)

Here it is: 

A No-Panic Advent

Watch. Wait. 

Poetry Friday: Cheerfulness Taught by Reason

On what could be a dreary, snowy day on which I am captive at home while I wait for a plumber, I am, in the spirit of Hygge, choosing cheerfulness. 

(Hygge is everywhere!) 

Cheerfulness Taught by Reason
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I think we are too ready with complaint
In this fair world of God’s. Had we no hope
Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope
Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be faint
To muse upon eternity’s constraint
Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope
Must widen early, is it well to droop,
For a few days consumed in loss and taint?
O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted,—
And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road—
Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread
Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod
To meet the flints?—At least it may be said,
“Because the way is short, I thank thee, God!”

~~~~~

Tricia has the round up at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

~~~~~

Speaking of cheerfulness, if you missed my post yesterday about Lesley Austin's swoony, papery goodness, be sure to check it out. 

Lesley Austin's Swoony Papery Goodness

Do you know Lesley Austin? If you don't, you should. She's one of my favorite people on the internet. I was first introduced to Lesley by Lissa, way back when Lesley ran Small Meadow Press. I fell head over heels for her swoony papery goods -- notecards, postcards, gift tags, calendars, wall hangings. Things that looked like this:

Photo courtesy of Lesley Austin 

Small Meadow Press has since been reimagined and its current incarnation could be called Swoon-y Papery Goods, Plus Some (except that Lesley's names for things are much lovelier than that.) The "Plus Some" means that in addition to the beautiful planners and calendars that Lesley sells in her Small Meadow Etsy shop -- things like this:

Lesley's Wild Simplicity Daybook

-- she also offers the beauty of her papery goods in an electronic form at Small Meadow Post. I've gotten a little bit addicted to sending these beautiful e-greetings, which feature a combination of Lesley's photography, soft illustrations, vintage pictures culled and collected over the years, and gentle messages for all occasions. 

In addition to the all of the above, Lesley runs Wisteria and Sunshine, a private membership site where women gather for conversation and encouragement, in a gentle atmosphere of support. 

Right now, Lesley is gathering all of her wares into a "Wild Simplicity Basket." She is offering a year-long membership in Wisteria and Sunshine, a year-long subscription to Small Meadow Post, and a 10% discount on all the handmade, beautiful items in her Etsy shop. Details about that offering are here, at Wisteria and Sunshine. 

So, go visit Lesley! 

(This is not a sponsored post and I am not receiving any compensation of any kind for it. I'm sharing the information because I love Lesley's work and her kind, gentle spirit, and I hope to help her spread the word.) 

Talking With Sarah Reinhard About Her New Book and the Rosary

The lovely, prolific, kind, and funny Sarah Reinhard asked me to do a brief interview about my reflection on the word "hour" in her new book, Word by Word: Slowing Down With the Hail Mary. Sarah invited forty people to contribute reflections on each word of the Hail Mary. The result was first a great blog series and now a great devotional book.

Find out more about Word by Word here, on Sarah's blog, and more about the rest of Sarah's wonderful books here.

My chat with Sarah is here, at CatholicMom.com.

Forgetfulness, by Billy Collins (Or, I Almost Forgot It Was Poetry Friday)

My memory is a frightening thing these days. I used to have an excellent memory. When I was younger, when I was single, when I was newly in the workplace, newly married, my memory was formidable. There was so much less to keep track of in those days. Fewer people, fewer responsibilities, and no meal plans, only take-out.

The other day, in response to a friend's question about Halloween, I proceeded to talk about the evening as if he had no idea what'd gone on at our house. In fact, he had stood in my dining room and I had snapped pictures of his children -- Harry Potter, a ninja, Anna, and an owl -- before they went trick-or-treating.

My memory is a frightening thing these days. (Did I say that already?)

"Come read this poem by Billy Collins," I just now said to Atticus.

"Another one?" he asked.

"Did I already have you read a Billy Collins poem this morning?"


Forgetfulness
by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
....

(Read the whole thing here, at Poets.org.)

~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Write. Sketch. Repeat. 

(Photo courtesy of FreeImages.com.) 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

* Last week included the final primping of Pumpkindore which -- Ramona was delighted to learn -- won second place in the family division of the pumpkin decorating contest, hurray! On Halloween, Ramona trick-or-treated as Luna Lovegood while Anne and Betsy, (aka Joy and Sadness) passed out candy.

~~~~~

 * We also prepped for our Harry Potter movie marathon (Deathly Hallows 1 and 2) and the accompanying feast, which included owl/pumpkin muffins, pumpkin pasties, chocolate frogs, popcorn (not Harry-related, just a movie-viewing must), Atticus's oven-fried chicken, and butterbeer (actually, the girls decided they wanted root beer floats, and I opted for a Sam Adams cream stout.) We finished the book last month, and that whole experience deserves its own post. First, the fact that we kept so many huge spoilers a secret from Ramona delights me to no end. I really thought we'd have inadvertently ruined the books for her over the years, but we didn't, so, yay for all of us.

And then, there was Ramona's reaction to parts of the final chapters: "It's so Christian!" she said, between sobs at one point. Ah, yes, my dear, in so many ways. As I said, it deserves its own post.

It's the end of an era, though maybe not.  I fully expect to talk to grandchildren about Harry one day.

~~~~~

* Ramona and I are now reading A Wrinkle in Time together, and recently finished The Phantom Tollbooth.

~~~~~

* Betsy and Ramona are both participating in NaNoWriMo. It's the third time for Ramona, and the fifth time for Betsy. And in added writerly news, the two girls in Ramona's weekly writing group have decided to join Ramona in the NaNo young writers' program. I couldn't be happier!

~~~~~

* I spent a chunk of last week going over the final edits to my upcoming book. It's due out in February of 2016, and I'll have more news on it soon!

~~~~~ 

* I just got new glasses. Please tell me I'll adjust to bifocals quickly. Anyone, anyone? I don't care that they make me feel old, I just don't want to get motion sickness from my glasses. Bueller? Bueller?

She finished the Dumbledore Pumpkin

It was mostly Ramona, I just helped here and there. 

That's his wand propped up next to him. 

Next up: she's working on her Luna Lovegood costume for Halloween. 

In Which I Confuse Homeschooling and Wine

The delightful, lovely, and very kind Ana Hahn, from Time Flies When You're Having Babies, is doing a blog series -- "How Do They Do It?" -- about homeschooling. When Ana asked if I'd like to participate, I jumped at the chance to talk about one of my favorite things: wine.

No, wait.

I meant to say homeschooling. (Although I do mention wine in Answer #5.)

You can find my Q & A with Ana here.

Thanks, Ana, for running this series, and for such great questions!

And be sure to check out some of her other installments here, here, and here.

The Dumbledore Pumpkin is

...taking shape: 

We finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows with Ramona last week.

I actually made it through reading Chapter 34 aloud. 

Whew. 

There's a pumpkin decorating contest at the library this week, and Ramona's going to town with her Dumbledore design. She made a nose out Model Magic (I heard her tell her sisters, "I sculpted my first nose today!") that rivals Michelangelo.

Poetry Friday: Autumn and Gatsby and Crooker, Oh, My!

Well, apparently I have fallen down on a very important job. Every autumn, I weave this crisply perfect Fitzgerald quote:

"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." 

                               ~~ The Great Gatsby  

into a post. And I haven't done it yet. I share it because autumn is my favorite season, and although I can't normally say I have anything in common with Jordan Baker, I do share the conviction that autumn will never fail to revive me from my annual summer wilting (and complaining.)

Now I have shared the requisite (but never unwelcome) autumn quote, and will move on to requisite, always-welcome fall poetry.

This week, I've got Barbara Crooker, being her completely marvelous, Crookery self:

And Now it’s October
by Barbara Crooker

the golden hour of the clock of the year. Everything that can run
to fruit has already done so: round apples, oval plums, bottom-heavy
pears, black walnuts and hickory nuts annealed in their shells,
the woodchuck with his overcoat of fat. Flowers that were once bright
....

(Read the whole poem here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

~~~~~

Speaking of marvelous selves, Jama Rattigan, Queen of Marvelous Selves, is hosting the Poetry Friday round up today at Alphabet Soup.

(Photo courtesy of FreeImages.com.) 

Remembering My Lost Babies

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Month and I'm thinking about the babies Atticus and I lost through miscarriage.

Five losses, and each one shook my foundation ... it never got easier. Miscarriage isn't something one improves on with practice. I was devastated every time, crumpled every time, had to pull myself up and be pulled up every time. Who and what pulled me up? Grace, of course, yes. Prayer. A God who would let me scream at Him, then collapse in His arms, weeping, asking for comfort and for the grace to start over, to try again. My husband, of course, yes. He was devastated, too, but he was also somehow my rock.

And so many good friends. Friends who pulled me up, sustained me, helped me heal. Loving, supportive women, bearers of light and love.

The memories of things that weren't helpful are dimmer, thankfully. Everyone means well, and I always knew that, but we all hear our share of the unhelpful stuff, too, don't we? Words that hurt or seem to blame or that lack all understanding. Part of an imperfect world. I have said my share of stupid and insensitive things over the years, and I can only hope that those on the receiving end of my mistakes forgive me.

If I could offer just a few words about the main things that really helped me heal, and the things that really didn't, I'd say this:

What didn't help: 

1. "It was God's will."

Of course it was, in its way. Everything that happens is either because of God's active will (He made it happen) or His passive will (He allowed it to happen, allowed the problems of a fallen world to unfold.) But in the immediate aftermath of the death of my child, I didn't want to hear that God had chosen this for me. Maybe He did, maybe He didn't -- but I was in a state of shock and grief; I needed to absorb the pain before I could do anything else. Over time, I would slowly come to accept the ways in which God can work all things for my good, but in the first moments, the first hours, the first days, it was too hard. I just needed to cry.

2. "You'll have another baby."

That may or may not have been true. It felt presumptuous to me when people said that. No one really knew, after any of my five losses, whether I'd be able to have another baby in the future. And -- this is the most important part -- even if one could see perfectly into the future and tell me with complete certainty that there was another baby a year, or two, or five years down the road, what mattered most in the moments following my loss was this: no other baby is this baby.

No other baby is this baby. If Atticus died, no one would say, "You'll find another husband." Lost babies are not forgotten objects, easily replaced. Yes, I knew that if I had another baby down the road, I would love it, cherish it. But right now? I wanted this baby, this unique human being, at this moment in history. No other baby would ever be that baby.

3. "At least it happened early, before you really got attached."

I loved my babies fiercely from the moment I knew I was carrying them. Even before that moment, really. I loved the idea of them, the hope for them, the beauty of them, the knowledge that they were the embodiment of the love Atticus and I have for each other. Whether a miscarriage happens on the day of the pregnancy test, or at nine weeks, or at three months, or later, it's hard. Heartbreaking. Awful and confusing.

I was no less attached to my babies when I'd carried them two days than when I'd carried them for nine months. We can't quantify the level of grief a mother should feel based on how old her child was. (As pro-life people, we don't want to go down that road, right? Human beings are not worthwhile by degrees -- human beings are worthwhile, period.) My baby was a baby. I was attached.

On the flip side of the difficult things people said were the things that helped tremendously:

1. "I'm so sorry. I'm praying for you. I love you."

Simple, perfect words. Thank you for saying them. Hugs were welcome, too, as was understanding when I started crying unexpectedly or in public.

2. Listening

Friends who simply let me talk (endlessly, sometimes) about my babies were a treasured gift. Listening to my stories as I sifted through my grief, handing me another Kleenex, asking about my babies' names, listening to my fears and my future plans (or lack of them).... This kind of acknowledgement -- that I had experienced a loss worth grieving -- was so healing. It helped me feel sane and whole again.

3. A Concrete Gesture

Just a card or a note meant so much, even an email (I printed out and saved many of those.) There are so few physical keepsakes of a baby after a miscarriage -- a loving message becomes one of them. I treasured every one I received. My sister gave me a potted mum, something beautiful and alive and growing, an ongoing remembrance. Other friends nurtured my soul through the body: One friend brought an enormous meal, complete with chocolate cake. Another friend brought a bottle of wine. A new friend (someone I hadn't planned to tell, but I spilled after tearing up as we chatted about something else) dropped off a basket of teas and cookies. I didn't expect any of these things, but every one of them touched me deeply.

~~~~~

I remember my babies every day, especially when I ask them to pray for me. Anyone who's ever lost a child knows that we don't need a month officially set aside to remember our children, but the fact that there is one is a beautiful thing. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Month says, "This was real. This was terrible. I'm so sorry." It says, "You're not alone." 

And as terrible as every loss was, I can honestly say now that I'm grateful for everything I've been through. The children I lost were -- just as my husband and my friends were -- bearers of light and love to me. My babies taught me, and continue to teach me, about surrender, sacrifice, and hope. Each of them taught me a different lesson. They have changed me forever. 

And my lost children, who are not lost to the Lord, are every bit as much a part of our family as Anne-with-an-e, Betsy, and Ramona are. I have a whole family in heaven that I -- God willing -- will see one day. I know they're praying for me. I feel it. They want me to keep slogging through, with the goal of meeting them face to face. And on that day, when I meet God and my children, I will know in fullness and for eternity the thing I cling to in this life, the thing that makes everything else make sense: He is the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God, and He will wipe away every tear. 

~~~~~

(Photo courtesy of FreeImages.com.)

Talking with Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle about The Kiss of Jesus

It's an honor to be a part of Ignatius Press's blog tour for Donna-Marie's latest book!

The Kiss of Jesus: How Mother Teresa and the Saints Helped Me to Discover the Beauty of the Cross is a beautiful memoir of suffering, faith, courage, and hope.

Some of Donna's past work has offered peeks into the challenges she's faced in life but in The Kiss of Jesus we find the entire, compelling tale. Donna-Marie's story is an illustration of the powerful truth that God’s grace bursts through all barriers, that He can and will transform every suffering, no matter how bleak our lives feel in times of great trial, into redemptive beauty.

In a brief interview, I asked Donna-Marie to share a little more about the process of writing her memoir:

The Kiss of Jesus is your most personal book to date. What prompted you to share more intimately with your readers at this point in your life and career? 

I really believe that it is God’s timing on my memoir. It is my twentieth book. During the past ten years I have been writing books to teach the faith, to encourage hope in others, and to inspire faith. Now, it’s time to tell more of my own personal story because I believe that by doing so, readers will relate to many of the trials and struggles that I have endured and will feel a sense of hope knowing that if I could get through the challenges and dark corners, they can too.

As well, I think that sharing more intimately will help others who have seen me on EWTN or have heard me on the radio and don’t realize that I have had a crazy crooked path in life. Quite possibly they may see that they can more readily trust the message I strive to express, because I can understand their pain and struggles since I have been in those dark corners too.


Was this book easier to write than you thought it would be, or was it more difficult? 

Good question, Karen! It was really a bit of both. Some parts flowed effortlessly while other parts which described some of the traumatic parts of my life were very tough to do. It wasn’t that it was difficult to formulate the words to express those parts. But, rather, it was hard to relive the events during the telling.

In addition, another difficult part of the journey in writing this book is that I needed to be very mindful and careful because I wanted to protect all of the people in my book.


Readers will find the answer to this in the book, but perhaps you can give us a little preview: You have endured a great amount of suffering, and yet you never lost your faith. Did you always feel the Lord's guidance, even in the darkest times, or did you go through some dark nights of doubt? 


Many of my struggles were deep and intensely painful. While I did not lose my faith, I did experience many arid times when our Lord was completely silent. I believe that He wanted me to continue to surrender my heart to Him and ask Him to show me the way despite whatever I was feeling at the time. We can never operate on mere feelings. I am thankful to have had a foundation of prayer instilled in my heart early on which prodded me to retreat to prayer whenever things were tough. Possibly, this grace has prodded me to do what I can to encourage parents to raise their children in the faith.

Looking back, it would seem that the theological virtue of hope was actively working in my heart and kept moving me forward in faith and love. Thank God for that beautiful gift of hope!

If you had to sum up, in just a few words or sentences, the answer to, "How do we handle the sufferings that come our way?" what would you say? 

We pray. The answer is very simple—we must pray. It’s the only way to survive. It’s the only way to grow in holiness throughout life’s challenges. I believe that our life is a journey in which we work out our salvation so that we not only make it to heaven one day. But, also because of our lives of love (through the choices we make and the people we serve), we will help to bring countless souls there too.

Our Lord wants us to grow closer to Him and He allows us to partake in some redemptive suffering at times throughout our lives. At those times it would be beneficial to try to remember the “eternal weight of glory” (“For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure” 2 Corinthians: 4:17).

Thank you for your interview, Karen!

~~~~~

And many thanks to Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle for taking the time to answer my questions and to share a little more about her latest book.

You can read more about The Kiss of Jesus, or purchase a copy here, at Ignatius Press.

Visit Donna-Marie at her website and blog. 

Poetry Friday: October

I hope the October you're having is as crisply beautiful as the October we're having here. This poem by Helen Hunt Jackson says it all. 

October
Helen Hunt Jackson

Bending above the spicy woods which blaze,
Arch skies so blue they flash, and hold the sun
Immeasurably far; the waters run
Too slow, so freighted are the river-ways
With gold of elms and birches from the maze
Of forests. Chestnuts, clicking one by one,
Escape from satin burs; her fringes done,
The gentian spreads them out in sunny days,
And, like late revelers at dawn, the chance
Of one sweet, mad, last hour, all things assail,
And conquering, flush and spin; while, to enhance
The spell, by sunset door, wrapped in a veil
Of red and purple mists, the summer, pale,
Steals back alone for one more song and dance.

("October" is in the public domain.)

Read more about Helen Hunt Jackson (who befriended Emily Dickinson when they were children) here at The Poetry Foundation.

~~~~~

Amy Ludwig Vanderwater has the round-up at The Poem Farm.

(Photo above courtesy of FreeImages.com) 

FLOURISHing During a Busy Week

It's been a crazy week. I've been out of town a couple of times because we're working on helping my parents find a place to live that is much closer to our family than they've been, well, ever. We're hoping that by next spring or summer, they will settle on a place and be within a two hour drive of us,rather than a two-day road trip. Hurray!

So, it's been a good week, a productive week, but a slow week on the blogging front. So I thought I'd share some alternative reading with you:

Here's the latest issue of Sarah MacKenzie's Flourish.

It's an online magazine/newsletter, and if you're not reading it, you're missing out on some robust encouragement, companionship, ideas, and fun. And this month, I had the fun of contributing an answer to the monthly question: "What does teaching from rest look like in your homeschool?"

Enjoy!

Head to Kelly's for a Big Giveaway

Kelly Mantoan is hosting a mega-giveaway during her Link-toberfest! I'm offering a copy of Through the Year With Mary: 365 Reflections and there are loads of other books and prizes. The giveaway is for both bloggers and readers. Kelly's instructions:

This is how it will work; link up your blog for an entry. Link up a Seven Quick Takes post every week between now and October 23 for up to four chances. Readers, leave a comment for an entry. Leave comments here [at This Ain't the Lyceum] every Friday between now and October 23 for up to four chances. Bloggers, for a bonus entry, answer the featured question in your takes each week, and leave a comment here so I know. Readers, for a bonus entry, Tweet me @kellymantoan with your favorite Takes of the week, up to four times between now and October 29th. Winners will be selected at random and announced in the October 30th Quick Takes.

At This Ain't the Lyceum, you can find a complete list of the prizes, and either link up or leave a comment.

Have fun!

Umm, About That Meal Planning Stuff ....

I don't seem to be doing such a great job of it this week. 

~~~~~

I'm doing better with the fun stuff. 

Ramona recently spotted owl-shaped baking pans at the store (I had totally passed them by, but she's not one to miss a tool that will make baking more fun.) So, we made pumpkin muffins. 

Tomorrow we're planning on some flower-shaped cookies in honor of St. Therese of Lisieux. 

But since pumpkin muffins and sugar cookies aren't exactly dinner, anyone have favorite, go-to, EASY autumn dinner ideas to share? 

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Read-Aloud Update

Last night, we read chapters 23 ("Malfoy Manor") and 24 ("The Wandmaker")  to Ramona.

I say "we" because Betsy and I traded off the reading, due to the happenings at the end of 23, the opening of 24, and, you know, well, crying.

I won't say what happened, in case you haven't read it. But if you want to talk about it, the support group can meet in Comments.

Books We're Reading

Read alouds with Ramona:

The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster has long been a favorite around here. This is Ramona's first time to fully get into it. We tried it a number of years ago, and she was too young to appreciate all the word play, but this time, we're constantly either chuckling quietly together or laughing out loud at the punny wit.

Also: Lloyd Alexander's The Remarkable Journey of Prince Jen.

A different kind of road trip book and so far, a delightful one. Magical, funny, intriguing.

~~~~~

On her own, Ramona is reading:

Wednesdays in the Tower by Jessica Day George.  She liked Tuesdays at the Castle, so wanted to move on through the days of the week. I haven't read this series myself -- we picked it up for a library book club. 

And, in the last moments before she goes to sleep, she opts for something gentle and beloved, like Louisa May Alcott's Jo's Boys. 

My recent reading: 

Lord of the World by Robert Hugh Benson

and Father Elijah by Michael O'Brien: 

I wanted to read these side by side for comparison's sake. I have read Father Elijah more times than I can count. I love this book. It's a deeply spiritual read for me, and it's also, as C.S. Lewis called such writing, a "rattlin' good story." I had never read Lord of the World before but I have a priest friend who thinks it is a superior apocalyptic story. I came away from my first read of Lord of the World and my reread of Father Elijah with mixed reactions. Lord of the World struck me as somewhat dated, but that's no surprise. It was written in the early 1900s, and predicted a particular kind of world that would come about less than 100 years later. Some of it is certainly prophetic, even if other parts feel forced. The depiction of the anti-Christ figure/politician often seemed unsubtle to me. But where Benson soars is in his spiritual reflections -- the protagonist/priest's reflections at times took my breath away, and the ending is astonishingly beautiful. 

Father Elijah can do the same thing for me -- so many dog-eared pages, and reflections that feel like prayer. As far as the plot, so much more is going on, and a number of the characters are so much more developed that I think of it, in some ways, as a better novel (a more rattlin' tale), if one is judging merely form. Still, they are both marvelous books, worth reading, reflecting on, and praying about. 

~~~~~

And now for something completely different. Based on recommendations from my friend Danae, and from Anne-with-an-e and Betsy, I'm reading The Martian, by Andy Weir. I love a good survival story. I'm only a few pages in, and I may skip over some of the engineer-y, overly technical stuff, but I can't wait to find out more about the potatoes. 

Dear Pope Francis, I Love You Very Much.

That is all.

Poetry Friday: Arthur Sze's The Shapes of Leaves

This is a poignant poem, and the way it touches on grief touches me deeply this week on a dreary autumn day in Nebraska. 

We seem surrounded by grief and sadness lately -- miscarriages among friends, the death of an old friend (he was the best man at our wedding, a former professor of ours, an amazing human being), and other losses -- some peripheral, some not. I think grief leaves me grasping for control -- control over things I am not in control of. 

Arthur Sze does something stunning with this poem. He gives voice to autumn, autumn as I have always felt it, loved it. 

And in the end, there is an upsweep of hope, like spring, like faith, like the clean, sweet scent of the air after a rain. 

The Shapes of Leaves 
by Arthur Sze

Ginkgo, cottonwood, pin oak, sweet gum, tulip tree:

our emotions resemble leaves and alive

to their shapes we are nourished.

Have you felt the expanse and contours of grief

along the edges of a big Norway maple?

Have you winced at the orange flare

....

(Read the rest here, at Poets.org.)

~~~~~

Michelle Barnes has the round up today. 

Photo courtesy of Free Images. 

Sarah Reinhard Has a New Book!

And it's lovely and helpful and it's about the Rosary! Well, not exactly about the Rosary ... it's a companion to the Rosary, full of reflections and meditations that can help you get the most out of this beloved prayer.

It's coming out in October, and I'm delighted to be a small part of Word by Word: Slowing Down With the Hail Mary. You can pre-order it now. Find out more from Sarah here, or from Ave Maria Press.

First Week of School

Photo thanks to FreeImages

Yes, we're back at it.

Many moons ago, we decided that the two non-negotiables of the first day of school were Mass and breakfast out. (To my daughters' chagrin, I've always added the somewhat negotiable, "And a little bit of math.")

It used to be so easy to schedule these things. The day after Labor Day = First Day of School. But schedules are more complicated these days. Anne and Betsy wanted to join us for our first day ritual, but their morning schedules made it trickier. Anyway, for a variety of reasons involving Mass schedules, college schedules, yada, yada, we went to Mass on Tuesday evening. Not perfect scheduling, because Anne couldn't join us, but on the plus side, the new priest at our parish made a point of stopping to ask what he can do to support the miscarriage ministry I help with, so that was lovely. On Wednesday morning, all four of us went out to breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, and loads of coffee, tea, or hot chocolate, depending on which Edmisten you are.

On the way home, we cranked up the volume in the car and belted out "Let It Go." Then I had to let go of my college girls so they could go have their lives. Ramona and I dove into some math, read some books, and talked about plans and ideas for the school year.

~~~~~

In other news, I am on the final Harry Potter book with Ramona!

from Facebook:

Sept. 6th: The down side of being the youngest in this family/late to the Harry Potter party: Ramona didn't get the fun of midnight movies, book release parties, winning costume contests, and staying up till the wee hours to rip into the latest release. The upside? One book and movie after another. We finished Half-Blood Prince last night, watched the movie today, and then started reading Deathly Hallows. Anne, Betsy, and I are already talking about creating a final feast for Ramona that will include chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, chicken wings or legs (for Ron-style/two-fisted eating), butter beer, and Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans.


Sept. 7th: Reading HP & the Deathly Hallows to Ramona today ... my throat hurts from my Mad-Eye Moody voice.

And from Instagram ... Ramona made Luna Lovegood's Spectre Specs.

I will be extremely sad when we finish Deathly Hallows (and not just because of all the deaths I'm going to have to read about aloud...wish me luck.) It will be the end of an era at our house. However, the great relief for all of us will be no longer having to say, "Don't talk about that in front of Ramona! Spoilers!"* 

*Last night, Atticus took Ramona along with him when he had to help run a concession stand at his school. When he introduced her to the students they would be working with, he said, "This is my daughter. She's currently reading the last Harry Potter book, so if anyone talks about Harry Potter, NO SPOILERS."

I love that man. 

Poetry Friday: Reading Late

This poem made me think of Atticus, and for that I love it dearly.

Reading Late
by Jesse Graves

We walked between the ponds at World’s Fair Park
the first night we knew something definite had hold of us,

conversations reaching not much beyond favorite bands,
least favorite jobs. We had not held hands.

Nothing existed of our daughter, not yet a nameless dream,

(It's short -- go read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

~~~~~

The round up is at TeacherDance.

I'm Back!

Yes, I dropped off the face of the earth for a bit. I was in the final days before a manuscript deadline, so I was ignoring the outside world (although I did throw the occasional dinner at my family.) But now, the big work is done and when the time is right, I can't wait to tell you more about the upcoming book!

~~~~~

Besides finishing a book, I've been adjusting to the fact that Atticus returned to work on August 10th. Umm, excuse me, school system, but next time I'm writing a book do you think you could time the beginning of school to coincide with my deadline? Because losing my dinner chef three weeks before I turn in a book is not cool.

Now that I'm cooking (I use the term loosely) again, we are having lots of quinoa, black bean, and tomato salad.

My culinary point of view remains, as it has always been, "How to cook using the fewest possible pots, pans and utensils." Yes, it's true: if I had a show on Food Network, it would be called, "Lazy Food."

~~~~~

Sometime in the blur of late summer, I finished reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix to Ramona and we are now 500+ pages into Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I love these books. I love that we have been able to keep significant plot twists from Ramona. I love the way my college girls watch Ramona for her reaction when something big happens. I love everything about the way Harry has been part of our family, including the fact that Ramona was Dobby (for a book release party) long before (how many years ago was this??) she knew who Dobby was: 

(Next up: must dig up the best pictures of Anne-with-an-e as Professor Trelawney and Betsy as Luna Lovegood.) 

It's Quiet Here ... Too Quiet

I'm in the last few days of finishing a book, due to my editor very soon.

That's why I've been so quiet. Nothing unsettling.

Just fingers to keyboard, red pen to paper.

So, in order to pretend I'm blogging, here's my latest, favorite quote about writing:

“A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." 

                      ~~ Thomas Mann