A Bookish Birthday Weekend

A new Mighty Bright book light from Ramona, Marmee and Louisa by Eve LaPlante from Betsy, Barbara Crooker's More from Anne-with-an-e, Sigrid Undset's Catherine of Siena and Anne Lamott's Stitches from Atticus, Undset's The Axe: The Master of Hestviken, Vol. 1 (and that lovely candle) from my sister. 

And thus grows the TBR pile. 

Happy, happy. 

Poetry Friday Explained

Renee LaTulippe tells you everything you've ever wanted to know about Poetry Friday (and she has the round-up!)

And you don't even need a poetry post from me today, because Jama Rattigan's post about Enormous Smallness: A Story of E.E. Cummings is to die for, as is that picture book. Beautiful!

Happy Poetry Friday!

Tasting Cheeses or Seeking Jesus? (And Other Bits and Pieces of Our Days)

This morning, Ramona told me about a dream she'd been having as I woke her up.

Ramona: "You and I were tasting cheeses for a party -- "

Me: "We were seeking Jesus? For a party?"

Ramona: "No! Tasting cheeses!"

Me: "Oh. Well, okay. I didn't think mine made sense. I mean, He's always there anyway, so you don't really have to seek Him out for a party, but --"

Ramona: "Tasting cheeses." (Shakes head, moves on...)

~~~~~

Random Instances of Instagram:

Ramona said to Betsy, "Your toast looks like the 10 Commandments." 

Anne added, "It's the Toast Commandments." 

Ramona and I were at Hobby Lobby and saw this. 

Someone had written on chalkboard: "Help, my wife won't leave."

Happiness ... Working on a Van Gogh art project with Ramona & Betsy (Betsy's experimenting on us for her Art for Elementary Teachers class) while listening to the Wicked soundtrack.

Ramona's Easter nails. 

~~~~~

Recent Ramona: "If you kissed a stuffed frog, would it turn into a Ken doll?"

~~~~~

Recent field trip: 

Went to a dairy farm. 

Saw a calf born. 

("It's a boy!")

I may live in Nebraska, 

but I've never 

watched a cow 

labor and give birth. 

As my friend said 

that day, 

"I think we can check 

'biology' 

off the list 

for the whole year." 

I Love Frank Fraser's Art!

So, awhile back I heard from Frank Fraser, a writer and artist and all-around creative dynamo with an impressive list of credits who has now gotten into the business of writing and illustrating children's books -- books that are all about God (because we know that books about God are much more lucrative than working for Disney, as Frank used to.) So, call me a sucker and a cheerleader for the underdog who has left the corporate world behind, or just call me a good judge of art for children. Whatever you call me, I can tell you this: when I first looked took a peek at The Bible Amigos: Five Loaves, Two Fish, and One Big Hat and The Bible Amigos: Jonah and the Bear on Amazon, I emailed Frank and said:

I have just been looking at your Amazon page, and I'm kind of in love with those illustrations!

and I added that

...my only concern is that you will add to my daughter's desire to acquire a pet hedgehog. 

I mean, look at these:

Look at how cute these guys are! They make me so happy! 

Frank sent a couple of books for us to look at and, yes, the three Bible amigos have indeed ramped up Ramona's desire to campaign for a pet hedgehog. (It's not going to happen, Ramona, unless someone else starts getting up with the dog when she wants to go out at 4 a.m. Until then, no further pet negotiations. And, there's the little problem that Frank pointed out in his response, that there are pesky postal regulations about hedgehogs....) 

These books are sweet and adorable, the stories are based on Scripture and virtues, and I am sold. I love them. 

(Frank and his wife, Terri, also have an Etsy page full of stuff, including more of Frank's art for children. My girls and I are fighting over who gets to keep the print above.) 

Poetry Friday: Richard Wilbur (aka, He Who Never Fails to Bowl Me Over)

Although I have often commented on him, Richard Wilbur doesn't need my blather. Here he is, simply being his perfect, poetic self.

April 5, 1974
by Richard Wilbur

The air was soft, the ground still cold.
In the dull pasture where I strolled
Was something I could not believe.
Dead grass appeared to slide and heave,
Though still too frozen-flat to stir,
And rocks to twitch and all to blur.
What was this rippling of the land?
Was matter getting out of hand
....

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

~~~~~

Robyn Hood Black has the Poetry Friday round up today. 

Recent Reading

Betsy had read this and enjoyed it. I was looking for something light and quick, so I picked it up, too. The Vigilante Poets of Selwyn Academy, Kate Hattemer's debut novel, was a fun read. I liked the voice and the humor, the smart characters, the premise -- a small circle of rebels at a fine arts academy try to overthrow a reality TV show that has taken over their school. Their weapon of choice? A long poem in the tradition of The Cantos by Ezra Pound. Add a gerbil named Baconnaise (loved that a family named pets after condiments), and you've got an enjoyable weekend read.  

~~~~~

Over Lent, I read Deep Conversion, Deep Prayer by Fr. Thomas Dubay: 

Fr. Dubay is always worth the read and this one was no exception. He gets straight to the point and always challenges me to look at and better try to live what I believe. 

Also during Lent: Ramona enjoyed getting to know St. John Paul II a little better via Bringing Lent Home with St. John Paul II: Prayers, Reflections, and Activities for Families by Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle. 

~~~~~

Just finished today: 

Jeanne Birdsall's The Penderwicks in Spring was a read-aloud with Ramona. It took us awhile to get through it, only because my college girls vehemently insisted asked if we would read it only when they could listen in. With their schedules, that limited our read-together time, but it was entirely worth it to read with all the girls, given our Penderwick history, which stretches back nine years.

When we read the first Penderwicks book, Anne-with-an-e was 12 -- Ramona's current age. So, not only were we enjoying this new book, we were reminiscing about the others (and remembering when we'd named our triops after the Penderwicks and how that turned into a horror show.)

I don't want to say much about the book, because I dread spoilers. But I will say that though it was sadder than the other books, we did love it just as much as we loved the previous three.

Poetry Friday: How to Wreck Poetry (Inspired by Michael Rosen)

Inspired by Michael Rosen and "Dear Ms Morgan: your guidance is a mini-syllabus on how to wreck poetry",  and with an additional and lovely bit of inspiration from the follow-up letter, "Where Go the Boats? A poem in a little child's head."

{A disclaimer: This is not a shot at teachers. I know teachers would love the freedom to teach as they see fit. I live with and passionately love a particular English teacher who happens to be my husband. It's not the fault of teachers that they are often being cornered into teaching to tests.}

How to Wreck Poetry
by Karen Edmisten
(with apologies to real poets)

Force and enforce it, require and grade it.
Suppress the mind wandering,
stop all their pondering.
Find the right answer
(You know's there's but one!)
Dissect it and quiz them.
You're under the gun.

Never mind that the riches
of luminous words
now mean nothing to them.
Sublime's for the birds.
There are standards we've set.
It's your duty, you see.
You'll make them retrieve and infer
then they'll see.
No, it's not about beauty.
Oh, no, it is best
that they learn at a young age
it's all for the test.

~~~~~

Laura Purdie Salas has the round up at Writing the World for Kids.

~~~~~

And, courtesy of Atticus: 

When One Converts and the Other One is Atticus

Last month, when I talked with Haley and Christy on the Fountains of Carrots podcast, they asked a great question about when couples convert. Haley and Daniel came in to the Church at the same time; Atticus and I did not, so we talked a little more about that. What's it like when one spouse wants to leap and the other looks askance at the chasm?

I wish there were a definitive answer to the question, "What do I do when my husband/wife rejects the path I'm taking?" I'd love to say, "Do (insert wisdom here) and you, too, will have a converted spouse!" 

It's never that easy, of course. The only real advice -- like most advice -- sounds lame and ineffective at first: 

Pray. 

Be patient. 

Remain loving. 

Pray.

Talk. (Don't yell. Funny how yelling doesn't work.)  

Respect your spouse's choices. 

Pray. 

Follow God's promptings for yourself, but don't force anything on your spouse.

Pray. 

Atticus did not come into the Church until five years after I did. And when he finally made the decision to be received, it was just a few weeks before the Easter Vigil that year. I saw it coming and simultaneously was stunned that it was actually happening. But one thing I'd finally accepted: the decision had to be his. This converstion thing had to be between God and him, and I had no control over any of it. 

What follows is a shortened version of our Easter Vigil stories. 

~~~~~

When I was received into the Church, I was alone at the Easter Vigil. 

No, not entirely alone -- my sponsor, Carolyn, was there. Carolyn and I first met at RCIA, the night they told me she could sponsor me. A stranger as a sponsor? How weird is this? I thought. The whole class must feel sorry for me.

I'd wanted my friend, Jack, to sponsor, but a weekly two-hour drive for RCIA was impractical, so, Stranger Carolyn to the rescue!

For my reception and Confirmation, Jack came to the Vigil, and brought along a friend (to keep him company for the four hours he would be on the road that night.) Carolyn, Jack, and someone I barely knew. How weird is this? I thought. I am pathetic.

Atticus stayed home that night with 18-month old Anne-with-an-e. He didn't want to prevent my becoming Catholic, but he didn't want to be part of it, either.

That first Easter Vigil was an incandescent, frightening thing. Fear and awe mingled with an odd detachment, an observation of what was happening. At the last minute, I was tapped on the shoulder and asked to help to carry the gifts forward to the priest. I shook as I clung to the decanter of wine. This is going to become the Precious Blood of Jesus, I thought. And I will consume Him -- Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. And I am alone.

No, not alone! I scolded myself, battled with myself. Your friend is here, and all these people are here. And God is here.

And yet, in a specific way, because I am a married woman, I felt alone. My husband was not there.

When I received Holy Communion for the first time, I did not experience magic. I wasn't immediately transported to a new destination brimming with giddy joy. Something I desperately longed for (spiritual unity with my husband) was missing. And yet, I felt ... what? Grounded. Firm. Certain. I did not have a single regret about what I was doing.

I wasn't sure how I could feel quiet exultation and deep sadness at the same time, but I did. I knew this was right.

Because I knew, down to my bones, this: I was not alone.

I walked out of my first Easter Vigil knowing that despite my sadness over my husband's absence, I had a steadfast companion. Jesus would not let me down.

I became active with RCIA as a sponsor, team member, speaker, teacher. I was gone (at the church, without my husband) every year during the Triduum as I helped candidates and catechumens on their way into the Church. I really loved it -- so much that when I began to feel that God was calling me away, I didn't want to listen to Him. He couldn't possibly want me to stop doing this good work, could He?

But, that nagging whisper kept telling me to pull back from "church work" -- pull back from witnessing to others and witness in my own home. To my husband. It was as if God was saying, "Show Atticus that your love for him and your family is your calling, your vocation, and the most important thing in your world." 

With a heavy heart I resigned from the team. When Holy Week rolled around that year, it felt strange to be home on Holy Thursday night. Instead of the gorgeous Mass I'd come to love, I was at home with my two little girls, creating a "Holy Family meal," coloring pictures of the Last Supper, and watching five-year-old Anne build a crucifix out of blocks. Instead of absorption in frantic, last-minute, RCIA prep, I was home, calm. And present. Instead of being out late on Holy Saturday night with people Atticus didn't even know, I was home with him. That year we went to Mass as a family, on Easter Sunday morning (though he was still adamant that he wasn't considering conversion, he was merely being courteous to me.)

I was also expecting another baby. We lost that baby the month after Easter, and I asked our baby to begin interceding for his father.

Later that summer, something in Atticus shifted. We'd been having a lot of conversations about faith and Atticus said he'd been thinking about the nature of evil -- about how it really comes down to being separated from God. I will never forget the next moment: "And I don’t think I want to be separated anymore," he said. "I want to be where you and the girls are."

That took my breath away. 

He wasn't ready to become a Catholic -- he insisted on that -- but Atticus wanted to explore things a little. 

Hmm. I happened to know an RCIA team that could use another member. I rejoined the team that fall, and the director and our priest allowed Atticus to sit in, an unofficial participant, for as long as he liked. (Of course, I knew it didn't hurt that this priest was the one who'd suggested he and I pray to St. Therese for Atticus's conversion.)

Through the fall and winter, Mr. Unofficial Participant listened, talked, questioned, read, and thought. And prayed. (He'd started praying! I always say, "Once you start praying, you haven't got a prayer.")

One Saturday morning just before Lent, when we woke up, Atticus asked me the name of the man born blind, from the Gospel of John. He said that man’s name would be his Confirmation name. If he joined the Church, he added. Fr. Joe came to dinner that night, and asked the question Atticus must have been tired of: "So, where are you? What, if anything, is holding you back?"

Atticus replied, "Nothing. I’m ready. Can we schedule something?"

And at the Easter Vigil of 2000, Atticus came into the Church.

~~~~~

There were so many times when I had no idea what God would do next. I couldn't see through the dark tunnel to the light at the end. I had to walk in blindness until He led me to the next step. And that's what faith is -- a series of steps in the dark. Wholehearted trust that my Guide won't let me fall.

God was at work:

When I converted alone
When I lacked unity with my husband
When I left a ministry I loved
When I lost arguments
When I lost every sense of firm footing 

When I lost babies
When I thought my husband would never examine Catholicism
When I felt alone
When I knew I had to hold on with all my strength to this truth: I am not alone.

The Lord was there, with me, every stumbling step. Through quiet exultation and deep sadness, He was there. 

"I will lead the blind on their journey; by paths unknown I will guide them. I will turn darkness into light before them, and make crooked ways straight."  

~~ Isaiah 42:16

Not every story ends as mine did. (In truth, of course, our story was just beginning.) Sometimes one spouse converts and the other never does. Every life, every soul is a deep mystery, and I don't know why things happen in some lives and not in others. But the bottom line is the same. It might sound weak and ineffective at first, but, hey, it's all we've got this side of Heaven: Pray and trust. 

"For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, 

plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." 

~~ Jeremiah 29:11

Happy Easter Monday! (Or, Why I Cried Saturday Night)

Posted on Facebook on Sunday morning:

Karen Edmisten

Yesterday at 8:23am ·

Feeling so incredibly happy and humbled and blessed this morning. Beautiful Easter Vigil last night and, as always, I cried during the baptisms, receptions, and confirmations, remembering where Atticus and I came from, and where we are now. When the priest (to those being received into the Church) spoke the words, "His loving kindness has led you here," I almost lost it. I could hear the voice of the priest who received Atticus into the Church, saying the same words 15 years ago.

Good Friday, Poetry Friday

It is Good Friday, and Poetry Friday (and April ushers in National Poetry Month), and it's also Jazz Appreciation Month, which means our resident jazz expert, Atticus, will be weighing in next week.

For Good Friday (and for Poetry Friday): 

Thomas Merton's "Death" is a beautiful, evocative, sobering ("Take time to tremble lest you come without reflection/To feel the furious mercies of my friendship,/[Says death]) and ultimately hope-filled poem. It speaks for itself, so click on the link to read the whole thing.

In Googling around for Thomas Merton/Lent/Good Friday, I also found this post at New Wood. It's a quote from Thomas Merton's Raids on the Unspeakable and it's perfect for Good Friday. (And I'll be digging further into New Wood. I like his About page, and identify with his feelings of being something of a misfit.)

For More Poetry Friday:

Amy has the round up at The Poem Farm. There's more about National Poetry Month here, at Poets.org and here, at The Poetry Foundation.

For Jazz Appreciation Month:

More about jazz next week (thanks, Atticus) but for now I'll send you to the Jazz Journalists Association and the National Endowment for the Humanities JAM page.

Lent With Kristin Lavransdatter

 I didn't mean to go underground and neglect my blog for a week, but sometimes life is strong and busy stuff and the blog just takes a back seat.

And sometimes, I'm reading an 1,100 page book.

Recently, it's been a case of Both Those Things.

I still don't have enough time to do justice to a blog post today, but I couldn't let the day go by without mentioning The Book I've Been Reading. I started Kristin Lavransdatter just before Christmas (it's been on my To-Read list for years) and read the first book of the trilogy. I loved it, but for various reasons I put it down for a bit while I focused on other things. Just before Lent, I picked it up again. I finished it last night.

It's fitting that Kristin became my Lenten reading. It's a stunning novel -- an epic, really. And it is radiant and blazing with the mercy and glory of God.

Please forgive me, all you anti-dog-earers, but sometimes I just can't help myself. I don't keep pen and sticky-notes handy when I'm reading. I try, I fail. So I dog-ear, then later I go back and copy down all the quotes I want to keep, savor, remember.

I couldn't really dog ear the entire book, but sometimes I thought I'd come close:

Kristin deserves so much more than a quick blog post, and I'll work on that. But I decided this quick post was better than nothing. Make Kristin your Easter reading. Make it your summer reading. Make it your I-Will-Read-It-Before-the-End-of-2015 reading. Make the time -- it's worth the time, in so many ways. 

~~~~~

Commenting over at Facebook, too.