Thoughts on Giving It Up and Getting It Back

I'm not sure why it is, but I don't seem to have much to say lately. For awhile, I blamed it on the book I was writing, but now that I'm coming down off that writing ledge, I'm not sure what to blame it on.

Lent has been fruitful, so maybe that's behind the silence. I've been busy living Lent, but not writing about it. Pondering but not expounding.

I'm your basic sugar addict. One of the things I gave up this Lent was sweets. So, yeah. I missed them. (At first, I started compensating, but then I knew I needed to cut that out, too.) But, as I said to Ramona the other day when we had a little talk about sacrifices, the great thing about Lent is that even though I think it's going to be impo-o-o-ossible (cue my childish whining) to give up the things I've discerned, the things I crave, the things I think I'll die without, God swoops in and comes to my aid. And I always realize a couple of things.

First, that it's pathetic, given the state of hunger in the world, that I have a hard time giving up sugar (or insert other addiction here.) Second, even though I don't like giving up delightful comforts, I can do it. No matter how inconceivable it seems, He gets me through it. He strengthens my will, shows me I can live without stuff. That's why I give things up.

As I said to Ramona, I know that on Easter I'll welcome sugar back with open arms, just as in the past I have reunited with coffee or chocolate or other consumable objective goods. I will give sugar a hearty pat on the back, invite it in, tell it how much I missed it, and ask it to sit down and stay awhile. "You know," I told Ramona, "I didn't have to give up sugar to love God, but isn't it a good feeling to know that I can?" Ramona nodded sagely, considering her own ten-year-old level of sacrifice.

Beyond knowing I can survive without certain comforts, I also love returning to them with a different perspective, a more discerning heart. More detachment. A willingness to consider my life and its cushiness in a new light.

But mostly I return to this: I emerge from the cocoon of Lent secure in the knowledge that, yes, sacrifice is hard, but I'm capable of executing it. With His help, I can do this, whatever "this" is for me -- in this moment, on this day, this year, in this life.

"I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me." ~~ Philippians, 4:13

Not really strange. We all know that in this case, "raisin" is spelled "c-o-m-p-e-n-s-a-t-i-o-n."

Me: "Strange how I want raisins on my oatmeal now that I've given up sweets for Lent."

Ramona: "Well, Mommy, they are nature's candy."

School and Unschool and Everything In Between

What we've been doing:

* For Ramona's book club we just finished reading Marie McSwigan's Snow Treasure. It was slow going for her at first, but once we got into the meat of it, she enjoyed it. Here's a link to my quick review from 2006. (That was waaaay back when I read it to my then 10- and 12-year olds, and Ramona was just a pre-schooler. And here's a link to loads of other WWII related reading for younger readers.)

* Ramona has a new pen pal. Snail mail lives! We use this stuff called paper, pen, envelopes, and stamps. If you haven't tried them, you should give it a whirl. It's revolutionary!

* Science for Ramona right now is mostly National Geographic Kids and Kids Discover. These also dovetail nicely into the "social studies" category. Also under the social studies category is being ten years old and living with teenagers ... all kinds of opportunities for viewing those creatures in their natural habitat and discussing their anomalies with your mother.

* Finished reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to Ramona. (I edit the icky, dark parts late in the book.) All past bloggy-things-Harry are here.

* Dragon Box is still a hit around here.

* Ramona also likes several of the math games she's tried at Sheppard Software.

* Betsy, who's taking a French class at the college, is reading Pride and Prejudice on the Kindle -- in French. She's also re- (re-re-re-) reading a hard copy in English, so if she gets hung up, she just jogs her memory with that. She's surpassed me and the little bit of French I took many years ago. I do still remember how to ask what time it is and the location of the nearest bathroom. Vital stuff.

* Anne-with-an-e loves spring break almost as much as she loves dissecting things in her zoology class.  Or is it that she loves dissecting things almost as much as she loves a leisurely spring break? Either way, she's having a lovely week.

* Lent rolls along. Our Lamb of God is beginning to grow fuzzy. I can be heard occasionally complaining that I really want to have something sweet. Sugar! (Eeek...How spoiled am I? Really!?) I caved one evening, the Saturday night we were out of town for the girls' Winter Ball. I gobbled some regifted chocolates that night. (That is a story too long to go into, but suffice to say that I do a Christmas gift exchange with a friend each year, and I always give him oatmeal cookies, and he always gives me regifted chocolates, and this was the first time we'd seen each other since Christmas. A sad excuse, but the only one I've got.) Back to Lent: we have lots of talks about sacrifice and hardship, hunger and plenty, waste and abundance, sin and repentance. We talk about weakness and chocolate and first world problems.

We got ourselves to confession. We'll plan to get there again soon.

* We've started doing Night Prayer with the girls. I've used iBreviary for myself for some time now, and love it. Atticus and I also use it for Morning Prayer, and now Ramona is enjoying taking charge of scrolling us through the Liturgy of the Hours before bedtime. It's loverly.

Flannery for Lent

"I feel that if I were not a Catholic I would have no reason to write, no reason to see, no reason ever to feel horrified or even to enjoy anything."

“The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.”

"What first stuns the young writer emerging from college is that there is no clear-cut road for him to travel on. He must chop a path in the wilderness of his own soul; a disheartening process, lifelong and lonesome."

I was once, five or six years ago, taken by some friends to have dinner with Mary McCarthy and her husband, Mr. Broadwater. . . . She departed the Church at the age of 15 and is a Big Intellectual. We went at eight and at one, I hadn't opened my mouth once, there being nothing for me in such company to say. The people who took me were Robert Lowell and his now wife, Elizabeth Hardwick. Having me there was like having a dog present who had been trained to say a few words but overcome with inadequacy had forgotten them. Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater said when she was a child and received the Host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the 'most portable' person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, 'Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.' That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest is expendable."

~~ Flannery O'Connor 

It's the anniversary of Michelangelo's death, which brings me to food choices in Lent

Why, you ask?

Before Lent began, Atticus mentioned (can't remember where he heard it -- something on NPR the other day?) that perhaps for all of Lent we should adopt Michelangelo Buonarotti's diet of choice. Supposedly, it consisted of cheese, pears, bread, olive oil, and wine.

That sounds heavenly.

Too heavenly for Lenten eating.

We adopted some other dietary changes.

Alas.

Quote for the first Monday in Lent:

"Birds have nests in trees and stags have thickets where they can find shelter when the need arises. Deer know where to take cover, either to hide or to enjoy some cool shade during the summer. So also our hearts should each day choose some place, either on Mount Calvary or within Our Lord's wounds, or in some other place near Him, as a retreat where they can retire at various times to refresh and restore themselves during their exterior occupations.

There, as in a stronghold, they can defend themselves against temptation. Blessed will be the soul that can truly say to Our Lord, 'You are my place of strength and my stronghold to give me safety, my roof against the rain, my shade against the heat.'"   

~~ St. Francis de Sales 

"Here comes everybody."

I love the way James Joyce summed up the Catholic Church: "Here comes everybody."

At Ash Wednesday Mass last night, the church was packed. It was the bilingual Mass, and that means that I didn't understand half of what was said. The songs were in Spanish, and so were some of the responses. And I love that. I love being reminded of the universality of the church. The homily was delivered in English, and then in Spanish, requiring patience from the entire assembly. I love that, too, being reminded of the ways we're called to care for and about each other. I love that last night it felt as if we were one, enormous conglomeration of messed up humanity.

Let's go to Mass. Here comes everybody.

*****

Fortunately, Jesus Christ isn't just anybody. He came for the conglomeration and mess, to help us sort it out. Having ashes on your forehead, having little bits of ash drop onto your nose, smudging ash on your hand as you bury your face in prayer ... all good reminders that we're not the ones in charge, we don't always look so great as we go about our business. We're messy.

Here comes everybody.

*****

Working class, wealthy, teachers, bankers, plumbers, writers, waitresses, students, dog lovers, cat lovers, animal haters, hamster people, jeans, suits, dresses, pants, elderly, shrieking babies, sleeping babies, computer programmers, poets, sad faces, lonely ones, beaming faces, contentment .... Here comes everybody.

*****

Lent has arrived. Some of us are excited, ready to dig in, ready to grow, ready to ask the Holy Spirit to strengthen us. Some of us are feeling exhausted, or resentful, wondering why, when every single day already feels like the desert, the Lord is asking us to give even more. Some of us aren't sure what to expect from Lent 2013, but we're willing to pause, to listen, to wonder, to act. To obey, and see what surprises God has in store for us. Here comes everybody.

*****

My faith life is imperfect, shifting, mountaintop high, ocean-depth low, the center of my being, and the source of frustrations. It is beautiful and hard, strengthening and challenging, every moment present, and sometimes so far from my heart I want to cry. But my faith is what makes me who I am.

Here I come, Lent. Here comes everybody.