In the Heart of my Home

In the Moment: Easter Monday

I find myself:

::noticing God's glory

It's early April. The tulips are already spent. The bluebells have bloomed and gone. Patrick has readied the rose garden for its moment of glory. Thankfully, the rose's season will last a long, long time. 

And the boys have built a raised bed garden. It's just waiting. Isn't that a happy, hopeful thing? A brand new garden, filled with soil and ready for seedlings. What a gift!

 

::listening to 

birds. So many birds under the pear tree in my front yard. They sound just lovely.

::clothing myself in 

His infinite mercy.

 

::giving thanks for

 a very fruitful Lent--the grace of a silent retreat and some time away alone with my husband. I'm so grateful to the people who made it happen.

::pondering prayerfully

 

You expired, Jesus, but the source of life gushed forth for souls, and the ocean of mercy opened up for the whole world. O Fount of Life, unfathomable Divine Mercy, envelop the whole world and empty Yourself out upon us. … O Blood and Water, which gushed forth from the Heart of Jesus as a fount of mercy for us, I trust in You. (Diary of St. Faustina, 84, 1319)

  

::turning the pages of this book

I spent Holy Week reading Consoling the Heart of Jesus. There are a small handful of books in my life where I remember exactly where and when I read them because those times and places are turning points. This book is one of those. It is easily at the top of that list. This incredibly readable volume makes some of the most beautiful truths and devotions of the Catholic faith understandable (at last)  and accessible (even to busy mothers of large families).  Fr. Gaitley brings together fine threads of several spiritual traditions and weaves them into a beautiful and exceedingly useful tapestry of a do-it-yourself retreat. It is Ignatian spirituality made accessible. It is the Little Way of St. Therese for all of us. It is consecration to Mary and devotion to Divine Mercy explained in plain language and made clear to little souls. Mostly, it is a rich volume of Merciful Words that brings Merciful Love to its readers. You don't have to have a weekend to make the retreat. You can just read a little each day until you are finished. If it's your heart's desire to get to know and understand Jesus better, tell Him. He'll help you find the time. I heartily recommend that you hurry and get yourself a copy of this book--what a beautiful way to spend the Easter sason.

::creating by hand

I think this is the week I will attempt to sew a garment for myself. More on that on Thursday. (A quick St. Anne prayer would be appreciated though;-)

  

::learning lessons in

re-entry. I was away last week. Now I'm back. You'd think after making every re-entry mistake in the book when I came back in January, I would have learned. But I'm still learning. 

::encouraging learning 

We have a few little Easter week happy things planned, but we also have some lessons to do this week. 

::carefully cultivating rhythm

I'm back in step with the rhythm of prayer. Lent is so good for that. I've resolved to keep all my Lenten resolutions. I made quite a few and they've born great fruit. I looked at every single one and decided that there was no better way than to celebrate the Easter season than to just keep doing what I've been doing.

One thing, though. I found, about half way through Lent, that I didn't really have time to write. I'd like to have time to write. I spent a good chunk of time alone last week and I had an opportunity to get some posts for this week written. Beyond that, I'm praying I figure out the writing time piece of the puzzle. 

::begging prayers

for my friend, Leslie who carries a heavy cross into the Easter season and for her children:  I pray that the joy of the Resurrection will be theirs even as the grieve. And for the repose of the soul of her husband: 

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

 

::keeping house

Yeah. That. I'm doing it, I promise;-).

 

::crafting in the kitchen 

this early spring has me befuddled in the kitchen, too. What local vegetable season is it, anyway? Farmer's Market is supposed to open in April. Any locals know which weekend?

I'm also planning meals to bring to my mother- and father-in-law. I need to think of things which are easily re-heated and provide some variety over the course of a few days. Any ideas?

::loving the moments

::I took lots of long walks in Coral Gables while Mike was at work. While the sights and sounds were wonderful, it was the feel of warm sun that especially blessed me. Oh, how that sun felt good!

::I had lots of uninterrupted time alone with Mike at te end of his work day.

:: After the feast and the Easter egg hunt yesterday, Karoline, who is five, organized all the cousins and siblings to put on an Easter play. From the Last Supper to the Resurrection, she scripted and directed the whole thing. It was a child who reminded us at the end of the long day exactly what the day was meant to celebrate. How happy she must have made Jesus! How He must have smiled at Nicholas carrying the seven foot cross and then curling up in the soccer-goal-turned-tomb. And Karoline, insisting it all happen and then bringing it life. Oh, to have the unabashed faith of a little child...

::living the liturgy

I'm determined that my family know that we are living the Easter season, just as surely as they knew that we were living Lent. What does that mean, exactly? How best to make it fifty days of bright hope and joyful prayer?

For us, Easter has always meant an abundance of time out door in the sunshine.  Our beloved bluebells have come and gone, so this year, we will spend April getting to know some of the later blooming flowers (which are also blooming early--we'll get to know traditional may flowers this April). 

It's also a season of blessed candles, holy water, and light. That means that candles will be lit on the mantel where the golden Alleluia letters shine, all the holy water fonts will be filled, and windows will be washed inside and out to let in the light. 

The Eastertide hymn will be rung (or sung  lustily as it may) and my children will be belting out Alleluias at random times for the foreseeable future, just because they can...

And we are looking joyfully forward to the Feast of Divine Mercy.

  

::planning for the week ahead

I plan to spend lots of time hugging on these sweet children! I missed them when I was away from them and I'm looking very forward to launching into this new season with them.

Many thanks to Emily DeHority for taking my camera in her hands thorughout the weekend. Some of these photos are hers. I'm not really sure who clicked what:-) 

~Holy Saturday~

From an ancient homily on Holy Saturday (source: divineoffice.org)
The Lord descends into hell

Something strange is happening—there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.

He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. At the sight of him Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: “My Lord be with you all.” Christ answered him: “And with your spirit.” He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.”

I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated.

For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.

See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.

I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.

Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.

RESPONSORY

Our shepherd, the source of the water of life, has died. The sun was darkened when he passed away. But now man’s captor is made captive.
– This is the day when our Savior broke through the gates of death.

He has destroyed the barricades of hell, overthrown the sovereignty of the devil.
– This is the day when our Savior broke through the gates of death.

 

~ Good Friday~

"So they took Jesus and carrying the cross himself, he went out to what is called the Place of the Skull, in Hebrew, Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus in the middle."

John 19:17-18

 

Be with Christ today. Stand beside the cross and unite your suffering with his. Compare your wounds with his and see that they are small, but give them to him anyway. Compare your strength to his and see that you are weak, but give yourself to him anyway. Walk with him, bleed with him, die with him today.

Lent: Day 2

Fast

Let the answering machine pick it up! Let your caller leave a message and only return essential phone calls today.

~

Pray

"Blessed are the ears which hear God's whisper and listen not until the whispers of the world." (Thomas a Kempis

~

Give

"Let us not be satisfied with just giving money. Money is not enough; money can be got, they need your hearts to love them. So, spread your love everywhere you go." (Blessed Teresa of Calcutta).

 

Ash Wednesday

Fast

‎"Outward sacrifice, to be genuine, must be the expression of spiritual sacrifice: "The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit..." The prophets of the Old Covenant often denounced sacrifices that were not from the heart or not coupled with love of neighbor. Jesus recalls the words of the prophet Hosea: "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice." The only perfect sacrifice is the one
that Christ offered on the cross as a total offering to the Father's love and for our salvation. By uniting ourselves with his sacrifice we can make our lives a sacrifice to God." (CCC #2100)

~

Pray

Listen. God is speaking to you right now. Stop interrupting. 

~

Give

The new evangelization is accomplished with a smile, not a frown ... it is all about a 'yes' to everything decent, good, true, beautiful and noble in the human person. The Church is about a 'yes!', not a 'no!'

—His Eminence Timothy Michael Dolan, Cardinal-Archbishop of New York

Read or watch the entire reflection here. Truly a gift for this time. 

 

 

Could it be a Storybook Year?

Late last summer, as I was gathering my thoughts on curriculum and trying to plan the year, I hit a wall. Actually, I was probably already flat up against the wall, but the time of year compelled me to do what I'd always done, so I pressed on. But I didn't want to plan. And I wasn't enthused about all the things that had previously sparked so much creative energy. It wasn't exactly burnout. It was more like beaten-out. I hadn't wanted to share learning ideas for over a year, but by last summer, I didn't even want to write them for myself. It just wasn't fun anymore.

I thought about just sending off for several boxes of pre-planned curriculum. And then I consulted the budget. I looked around my house at all the resources we own. I didn't order anything. Nothing. That became the plan. Use what we have and just get the job done. 

We have an abundance of picture  books. I love picture books. When I was in college, I'd forego the coffee shop in the Student Union Building and head instead to the tiny corner of the adjacent bookstore that was home to the children's books. I saved my latte pennies for a hardbound copy of The Complete Tales of Peter Rabbit. Way better. I loved the small room in the Ed School library that was lined with shelves of children's literature. When we were assigned a semester-long project to compile an index card file of children's books, I filled three boxes. Every card was color-coded and annotated and illustrated. I still have those cards. I loved that project.

For over twenty years, I have been inspired by the art and the literature of picture books. I've thrown my whole heart into creating with books, whether it was bulletin boards in a classroom or fullblown unit studies for many ages. Literature-based learning was where I invested most of my creative energy. Some people love their cameras, some their paints, others their yarn or fabric. For me, it was always those beautiful books and the endless possiblities of things we could do with them.

I recalled a conversation with an old friend. Several years ago, we wondered if everything in an elementary curriculum could probably be taught with a good picture book. This year became my year to test the theory. Sort of.

We read widely from these lists (and more), both as read-alouds and read alones. Sustaining attention for long stories is a cornerstone of how we learn in our home.

The Montessori maps come out for geography review a couple times a week. 

For my fifth-grader, I have a good math text, Rosetta Stone, some art history, nature notebooks, and, at his request, Swimming Creatures of the Fifth Day. All the rest? Picture books.

For my third grader, math, Rosetta Stone, nature notebooks, drawing instruction, and picture books. 

For my little ones, lots of mama time. And picture books.

I take the week's copywork from the picture books. I take the poem to memorize that week from a picture book. Every night, each of the three youngest girls chooses two picture books for me to read before going to sleep.

What unfolded is not a curriculum. It's a "freedom within limits" plan that works for us. I share it here to tell you what we've been up to, not so much as to suggest you adopt it. It's entirely real learning in the heart of our home. I thought about all the categories of books, all the subjects typical programs of studies will cover. Also, I was sure to leave some grids for me to add in books I love and just don't want them to miss.  I gridded all the different categories in a weekly planning sheet. The sheet has changed several times this year as I add and delete as necessary. I've thoughtfully included the things that are important us, the components of a Charlotte Mason curriculum that I hold dear. 

We read the books together or the children read them to themselves. Sometimes, they have books in common on their charts. Sometimes, they have their own particular books. I sit down the weekend before and plan out the week. I key the saints' picture books to the liturgical year. Usually, I'll ask if there is a book they want to read and let them choose within each discipline. Occasionally, I'll gather up the stack myself. It's important for me to gather all the books before the week begins so I don't spend hours looking under couch cushions or behind beds for the books I am certain I just saw.

Sometimes, there is a theme across disciplines. Nicky might read  A Swim Through the Sea, Man Fish: A Story of Jacques Cousteau, and mom's choice of Night of the Moonjellies. Katie might ask about Manassas Battlefield Park as we drive by it daily, back and forth to ballet. The following week, I'll write in books like Follow the Drinking Gourd, Henry's Freedom Box, Civil War Artist, Sweet Clara and the Freedom Quilt and If You Lived at the Time of the Civil War.

More often, though, this is not about unit studies, but about a wide banquet of varied topics. If a child is super-interested in something, it's simple enough to scuttle the written plan and dig deeply with more on-topic books. Two important things about scuttling the plan:  

• There must be a plan to scuttle; this isn't freewheeling and hoping that books thrown everywhere will catch someone's attention.
• If you ditch the plan, it's only to do something better. It's never to do nothing. And we need a written plan for the "something better."

Every day, the children respond in writing to at least one book. They can choose a writing project from a long list of projects or they can propose another. Not every book requires a formal response. Some books, we read, we talk about just a little, and then we close it and put it on the shelf. But every day requires some kind of writing. Every day. They might dictate a simple narration. They might peck out their own narrations. They might take off and create an elaborate screenplay. Whatever they choose, they must write something.

With the time that's left in the day, they can choose from other ways to respond to books and get as creative as they like with any book they've read that day or previously. We're busy. We're productive. We're surrounded by good language and great art. And the creative energy has returned to our educational adventures.

It's all good.

Tell me about your book: 

• Write and tell a friend about the story. 
• Make a detailed map of the setting of the book.
• Is it a circle story? Can you draw it?
• Did something really catch your attention? Want to research it further?

• If historical, add it to your Book of Centuries. (we do this with every historical book)
• Write a letter from the main character to you.
• Choose a character you’d like to have as a friend.  Write him or her a letter. 
• Plan & cook something to go with the book
• Tell why it would (or wouldn’t) make a great movie. 
• Describe an incident from it as though you were an on-the-scene TV reporter.
• Create a collage.
• Make up a rhyming poem about it
• Illustrate w/drawings or photos
• Explain its funniest (or saddest or most exciting) incident.
• Make a new book jacket for the book
• Do a puppet show.
• Read the book aloud as radio theatre and record it.
• Write 3 paragraphs in a diary as if you were your favorite character. 
• Design and draw costumes for some of the characters.
• Design quilt squares to go with the book
• Tell what your home would look like if you were one of the main characters. 
• Write a biography of one of the characters.
• Write a human interest story about one of the characters in the book.
• Write a letter to the editor about an issue in the book.
• Create magazine ad for the book.
• Create a television ad for the book
• Draw it into newspaper cartooning squares.
• Play charades w/themes from the book
• Pretend a character had made an important decision differently. Write a new ending.
• Make a list of facts you learned in the book
• Write an Amazon review.
• Plan a field trip inspired by the book
• Compare versions of the same story.
• Compare the book to the movie version
• Make peg dolls to go with the book.
• Compare it to another book the author/illustrator has written. This might be a comparison of art or of the story.
• Use its title to write your own story. 
• Write a letter to the author
• Pretend you are the author. Write a publisher, pictching your book.

 Picture books make me happy. This blog is for sharing what makes me happy. I can't promise you a book a day. There's no way I'm going to post big plans for every book. I do hope to share a little of our picture book love on a regular basis here. A quick review, a picture or two, some ideas on where the book took us--little snapshots of books we all love. I know that not all my readers are homeschoolers. I'm certain, though, that these books can enrich the lives of all the children we love.

 

 

 

God's Little Princess

The Disney magic has faded and we are settling into the every day that is home. But there are lessons I am determined to carry into our ordnary life. 

While in Florida, I deliberately worked on acquiring the habit of calling my girls "princess." I want the girls to hear it, but more importantly, I want to say it. Believe it. Treat them so.

For my girls and for myself, I want to claim the identity of God's chosen daughter, of being heir to the Kingdom of heaven.

After reading about my princess epiphany, my dear friend Megan, who is the epitome of a holy Princess, suggested a pink princess afternoon, whereupon we introduced the girls to Gigi, God's Little Princess.

Gigi thinks that she is a real princess and she plays the part all day, every day. At the end of the day, when she is tucked into bed by her daddy, he reminds her that she's his princess. She dreams of castles and jewels and worries about about not looking the part.

She does wonder how she possibly be a princess if her daddy is not a king. Looking to her father for clarification, she asks,  

“Daddy, are you a king?”

“Why would you think that?” he said.

“If I am a princess, you must be a king.”

“Well, you are a daughter of a very great King,” Daddy said. “He is King above any other king.”

Big tears began to pool in the corners of Gigi’s eyes. “Are you not my daddy?” she asked.

“Of course I am,” Daddy said, squeezing her tightly. “But we are children of the greatest King of all. This King rules over everything there is, and you are His daughter. You are God’s little princess!”

Understanding dawns and she is eager to share the good news. This is a delightful book full of curls and freckles and pink princesses.

We girls talked long about the message and then, in true Megan-style, shared pink princess cupcakes.

 

 

But of course.

Weekend Clicking

I know this isn't the weekend yet, but I have so many tabs open that my computer is leaning backwards. So, in an effort to clear the clutter, let me share the week's wanderings with you.

First up, don't miss Ann Voskamp's post on ways to short circuit every married fight from now until forever. Well, I guess I can't speak to every every married fight, but I will tell you that I told my older sons to read carefully. I can't speak for all women, but I do know from my limited personal experience that Ann articulates beautifully what I wish I could say and what I dearly wish men would know: Pull her close.  Read it. Print it. Pray it together. Five ways to fight through to a loving marriage: Five things that truly could change your lives. 

It's been an interesting couple of weeks. I unexpectedly found myself talking about homeschooling more than I have in a long time and more than I ever have with people who really don't know much about it. It's been good for me, a chance to thoughtfully reflect on what this lifestyle has meant for our family and how grateful I am for the freedom to live and breathe and educate the way we do. Just as the homeschool legislation has sparked interest and conversation, so has the misguided HHS mandate. 

I find myself  being the woman who is obviously in that 2% minority of Catholics who don't contracept. Oh, so that's what it looks like. Note to self: Stand up straight. Remember lipgloss.

But that 2% number is ridiculously skewed. We're having a rousing discussion of that on Facebook. (If you aren't a FB friend, just send me a request. Then, the link should work.)

There are so many layers to this issue. First, there is the layer of who thought of it and how it oppresses religious liberty and how clearly the bishops have articulated their objections. Then, there is the opportunity to express the personal side of the Church's teaching.

Just as the Tebow Bill has shed a light on homeschooling and given us the opportunity to broaden and deepen understanding, so has the HHS mandate given us the chance to affirm that yes, yes, indeed; the Church speaks loudly and clearly against contraception. The Church does not oppress women. The Church respects women and protects women. Sometimes, it's helpful to pass along a witness from an unlikely source, a writer who is used to expressing himself in clear, quantifiable terms. This piece touches on the nuts and bolts of why the Church has been right on this issue all along. I like the piece; I really do. But it doesn't begin to touch on the nuances of what this lifestyle--and all its joys and all its sacrifices-- do to the heart of a marriage and the soul of a mother. I pray that the current crisis in our country will give us opportunity to bear witness to God's love and providence when we live true openness to life.

Finally, these two newsworthy items--the Tebow bill and the HHS mandate--have me reflecting in a very personal way this afternoon. I think back to the fall of 1991. I had miscarried in November. I was terrified. I'd been warned that chemotherapy would leave me unable to bear children. Despite the fact that our second child had been conceived just seven months after finishing chemotherapy and radiation and was delivered healthy and whole nine months later, I was sure that this third baby, lost so soon, was a harbinger of things to come.

My doctor strongly encouraged contraception, at least for  a few months. We had stepped out in faith. We were committed to the teachings of the Church. God had brought us so far, taught us so much throughout our cancer experience. We were not turning back now. A baby was conceived the very next month.

I was sick, super sick, can't-pick-my-head-up sick. My doctor--a new one who is 110% pro life--suggested an early sonogram to rule out twins. I was 16 weeks pregnant. The radiologist saw one  baby.  He knew it was a boy. And he saw cysts on his brain. They were troubling, the radiologist related, because they could be indicators of Trisomy 18, a rare chromosomal anomoly. He warned us that we might never take our baby home from the hospital. And he shared that some couples choose to abort.

 In those days, we didn't have a PC; there was no surfing to research Trisomy 18. Instead, on nights when I taught childbirth classes in an OB's office, I pulled medical textbooks and journals from the shelf and read everything I could. I was so scared we'd lose this baby. 

He was born on the Feast of the Guardian Angels, a Sunday that year. His head was undeniably large and my pediatrician had me back to her office every week that fall and winter to measure him. He struggled hard through January and February and a nasty bout of RSV is still with him when he pushes himself to run faster and farther. But run he does. He has no extra chromosomes. Not only did he leave the hospital, he left just 8 hours after he was born.

He grew into a fine young man who has more courage than I can ever hope to have. As the spotlight shines on Patrick these days, and people keep mentioning him in the same breath as Tim Tebow, I am a bit struck by God's protection over my own fragile baby. Life is so precious. And I am ever grateful that God granted us the grace to allow Him to be in charge.

What if it had been Trisomy 18?  I can only hope that we would have responded with same grace Rick Santorum has.

 

The Winter from the Top of a Swing

I'm kind of tired of writing about Disney details for this week. I still have three more posts queued up and waiting for pictures and edits, but I think they can wait until next week.  Yesterday afternoon yielded an impromptu visit to the park and Mary Beth took some fun pictures with her iPod and I thought I'd just hang out here with you for awhile and think aloud about my friend Susan's last ever post and about all the wisdom there and about living a slow life. 

I've been praying hard lately about slow. Quiet. Whisper. I've been praying about creativity and asking God what He would have me do. And I don't have a crystal clear answer. Colleen called this afternoon to tell me all about how she walks at least three miles a day just to get anywhere. She told me about her kitchen with the lattice walls and the simplicity of it all. She was asking me to think for myself about how to bring mindfulness, slowness, simplicity to life in the suburbs of the the most powerful city on earth. Seems daunting. But then again, swimming against the tide is always slow isn't it? There's nothing slow about this place; I'd be swimming against the tide if I were even trying to move slowly.

The internet is fast. I feel my pulse quicken when I open the laptop. Text messaging and cell phones are fast. I watched a dear girl's furrowed brow grow smoothe when she let her battery die and took days to get around to recharging it. It is clear to me that we must be ever-vigilant lest we let technology fast forward our lives and infringe on the margins of clear, quiet space where we can just be still and know God.

Susan writes, "We live in a time when slowing down does not simply mean that we casually choose not to get caught in the speedy flow of our culture, but, increasingly, we must absolutely do battle against speed in order not to get caught up in the flow. And nowadays we have the added pressure placed on us by modern technology to be ever-available and always-distracted. But battling against this is very much worth the fight, in my opinion."

It's not just technology though. Interactions with our fully present community seem to demand expediency and efficiency. To be intentionally slow and soft requires a decided change in thought process. I find myself countering the activity of real life. This quiet is encapsulated in all the intentional choices to just be when the world asks us to hurry towards productivity. It's the wide open spaces in a day that allow us to look at the gift of a warm winter afternoon from the top of a swing.

Why create margins? Why slow down? What if we miss an opportunity? What if we don't network hard enough or fast enough or often enough? To that, I have to wonder, what if we're really missing a network that is much, much more important? Much, much more rewarding?

Susan goes on to remind us of some very poignant quotes: 

" 'All in order, sweet and lovely.'(Blake)  And I’ll quote the Bible, too: 'For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.' And why not thrown in Anne Morrow Lindbergh who said that it is only framed in space that beauty blooms? And all of this goes for our whole life; order is not just about the arrangement of our stuff! A beautiful life of margin saves space—uncluttered and unhurried—for the unexpected, for surprise, for serendipity, for spontaneity, for compassion, for instant hospitality, for relationships, and for lots of good things to happen."

The internet has blessed me in so many ways. Daily, my life is touched for the better by the people I have met online.  I am grateful forever for blogging--the medium suits me well. But I think I am a slow blogger. I cannot--will not, perhaps--keep up with the frantic pace of being everywhere online. Networking zaps me. The internet allows us to be pulled into the extroverted world without every leaving home or saying a word. I think it could be an unnatural exposure for an invtrovert.

Sometimes I am sure I would love a house like this, not to live in, just to retreat to when the noise and activity become too much. My children remind me that we have a playhouse at the edge of the backyard. And almost automatically, I think, "Hmm, I could probalby still get wi-fi there." I am a paradox.

But frantic pace and constant availability zaps me even more in real life. I asked a friend yesterday for the phone number of a mutual friend. She sent it and asked if I'd ever heard their musical answering machine message. I replied that I'd never called her. She's a very close friend. We correspond nearly daily. I love the sound of her voice and could sit for hours in real life and just listen to her talk. I love when she has time to share a converation with me. She's called me a couple times. But I've never called. Still haven't. Because in real life, it takes a huge effort for me to dial the phone. The older I get, the less I like to shatter silence with my own voice, the less I want to intrude on someone else's silence.

When I was little, people thought I was pouting or moody. I will never forget the day--I must have been around nine--when someone asked why I was so grumpy within earshot of my grandfather. He took one look at me and said, "She's not grumpy; she's pensive." It is forever inked in my memory. Understanding. He understood that I was not moody or aloof or even shy. I was just thinking. I need quiet. I need deep, face-to-face connections.If I have a conversation, I'd prefer for it to be a slow, thoughtful one. I need fresh air and sunshine. I need space to think. I don't think quickly.

And then, I also need space to do. To work with my hands. To ink out a thought. to capture an image. Wide open space to make connections to my Creator within my own soul and spirit with before I can make sense of anything else.

I put up two prayer requests this week for boys not unlike my own. Indeed, one of them played soccer with my eldest. I can't pray for them and for their families without feeling an overwhelming tug of empathy. And an overwhelming urge to hold my children. (At the same time, though, I'm compelled to bring their intentions to as many people as possible and I'm grateful this medium allows me to do that.) Life is full and rich and joyous and sad. And we need margins to make sense of it all, don't we? And life is short. I'd prefer not to waste a single moment of it.

When I was on vacation (ah, see? there's Disney again), my time online was naturally limited. I spent a few minutes a day (fewer than fifteen) uploading pictures so that our families could follow our fun on Facebook. It was just the right amount of time for that kind of connecting. And then, I spent hours and hours out of doors, holding my little one, listening carefully to the others, giving full time and undivided attention to the here and now. Despite the noise and color and crowds of where I was, it was a peaceful way to live. Certainly all of life isn't a vacation and I can't expect to come home and act as if I'm living in a resort villa, but I think I can impose upon myself some of the same expectations for limits here and wide open spaces there.

God is in the margins. 

I'm not logging off  forever. I'll likely be back tomorrow. Because I need to write. I need to take  pictures. I need to put it all together and make sense of it for myself. And for some reason, I'm am compelled to share it with you. Gosh, I'm grateful you pause with me. And I do hope that this little corner of my world can be a quiet respite for you. Because really, I'm all about the quiet. 

 

 

 

Thinking Big Thoughts with Young People

I started a post yesterday morning. I wrote rapidly and with passion, all about text messages and mean girls and life and death and the drama we create versus the reality God intends for us to live. After days of sitting with Rachael, waiting while her father was dying, Mary Beth was at home at our dining room table, trying to wrap her brain around a math lesson. Her cell phone, her iPod, and her computer were fully awake beside her. Normally, we don't allow electronics during school hours, except for academic uses. But Rachael had been texting pretty much all of the previous 24 hours and I was keeping a careful watch as girls rallied around her, some of them in person, some from miles away via social media. Suddenly, there was silence. In the silence of those morning hours, we all knew that Rachael's dad was drawing his last breath.

I tried to upload my post to Typepad. Typepad would have none of it. It disappeared into cyberspace. I quickly figured that was probably for the best and moved on to the next thing. I gathered my little girls on the couch and read Little Red Riding Hood. Just as the woodsman released the grandmother and little girl from their canine tomb, Mary Beth came toward me, laptop in hand. Rachael's brother had updated his Facebook status with a tribute to his father. There was his birthdate and his death date.

In a few moments, Mary Beth was at Rachael's house.

The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. I had seen the very best of social media and electronic communication. And then I saw human touch, unafraid, in hard places, loving with wholehearted generosity. I couldn't be prouder of my daughter and the girls with whom she dances. They were courageous examples of grace and compassion and their witness humbles me.

At home, while Mary Beth stayed with Rachael, we found ourselves on a bit of a rabbit trail. This post had us researching child slavery in Africa. Nicky, already raw from the past few days of watching and waiting with Rachael, was pushed to brink of emotional meltdown. This was just too much! Too much suffering. 

And yet. And yet he woke this morning wanting to know more about poverty in Africa. More about what Jesus calls us to do. More about the children. So, I showed him this article, about living for Jesus among the poor, about being young and acting with wisdom and grace and compassion and wholehearted generosity. And that, of course, led to Kisses from Katie (do watch the video on the Amazon page). 

Nicholas read the free Kindle sample to me this morning while I knit my Katie's sweater. (Yay! we made it to the sleeves!). Then, we downloaded the rest to read to each other a bit at a time. (I add a caveat here: I don't know if this book is inappropriate for children. I've sent a quick note to a friend who read an advance copy and I'm not going any further with Nicholas until I hear from her. I'll update here if there is inappropriate content.)

{the expression on his face as he reads about a sick, dirty, starving little girl the same age as his littlest sister...}

So that's about it here today. It's raining. Everyone who can read is off in a corner somewhere reading. Karoline and Sarah have overtaken the sunroom and turned it into a pancake restaurant of some sort. I'm getting ready to go get Rachael so she can hang out here for awhile before dance. 

And we're thinking. About big things. About suffering and loss and God's generous grace. About what it is to truly be Christ to one another.

{For more knitting and reading, visit Ginny today.}

Intentional Weekend: Healing

I had planned to go to Pennsylvania this weekend. Three of the boys have soccer games there. We were going to make a family trip of it. But something tugged at me. At the last minute, Mike and I decided I'd stay home with the girls.

We talked as he packed. "I feel like the world has kicked me around in the last month," I remarked to him. "It has," he said, his eyes meeting mine, "and that makes me so sad."

It wasn't just me though; it was my girls. In a very short period of time, those tender-hearted girls have seen more illness and death and disappointment and loss than a strong, healthy adult could bear. The world was kicking them around, too.

 

I resolved to take this weekend and teach them, show them, how a woman of faith responds to grief, how to heal with grace. I would walk through this with them. Together, we'd heal.

It helps to have a place, a place where we go when our hearts are singing with joy, a place where we go to share with friends, a place where we go when the world knocks us around and we need to heal. Our place is a woodland place. It changes with the seasons. It gets battered by the world sometimes and creaks and is brown and gray. It changes with time, usually slowly, but sometimes drastically. Still, it is familiar, and beautiful, and we are well accustomed to seeing God present there. 

Some families have a beach, a place to gather there to celebrate glorious moments, to share with friends, to make a trip and turn a bad day around. We have a creek (or is it a river?), big old trees, and springtime's most generous flower show. We have rocks to skip across the water and skies so blue they beg to be painted.

This was a place to sit on a blanket and just wait until she talked. Just listen as it all came bubbling out. When it hurts so much and the world feels like it's crushing, come away, girlfriends, to a place where you can clear your head and open your heart, a place where He beats down on you like warm sunshine and you feel grace poured into your soul.

We talked about death, about loss, about hard knocks, about that amazing tree, clearly perched precipitously, commanding our attention in its infirmity. Would it be here next time? Or would it be the newest "bridge tree," stretched across the river, changing currents, inviting children to scamper across its back? 

Nothing stays the same.

 Babies grow into "little big girls." And little girls face big girl hurts.

 Big girls?  Well, sometimes in the life a girl on the brink of womanhood the universe offers an entire curriculum on loss all at once. And it hurts so much that every woman close enough to know can scarcely breathe in the watching.

Take a deep, breath , my girls, after you've had your big cry. Look around. See? He's here. He has a plan for your life. A good plan. And this --all of this-- is part of the plan. Be watchful with Him. Be watchful for Him. Even now, He sends tender mercies, sweet moments of joy. Moments, that wouldn't have been possible without the pain.

We took our fill of fresh air and sunshine. We stayed long and came home late. We feasted on good food and then we discovered a belated birthday present in the mail. 

Fabric!

So, we did something else that girls do when their hearts hurt and the universe has kicked them around. 

We created something beautiful for someone we love.

{{Psst, to my Girlies: I had the best day with you today.}}

Embracing Autumn

I didn't want to embrace autumn this year; didn't want let go of summertime. June and July were perfectly lovely. Just about the loveliest summer I can remember. We didn't go anywhere special. I actually missed my one chance to go to the beach. We mostly stayed home, taking just a couple of trips to Charlottesville, which is "home," too. We made memories here-- happy, happy memories. Good, good days.

August was not good. It began with an infection that left me sicker than I remember being in the last two decades. And then, it just bumped along some more--one in-real-life hit after another, each one surprising me more than the next. I sort of staggered through September, trying with all my might to recover my midsummer joy. 

With all my might.

September ended with a heaving sob. My might depleted. Joy eluded.

October dawned cold, blustery, brittle. We celebrate the feast of my favorite saint on October first. An old friend challenged me to look for roses. Roses in the October cold. "Please pick for me a rose from the heavenly garden and send it to me as a message of love."

The roses of midsummer have faded and fallen. I cannot gather their blooms and bring them into the heart of this home. Instead, I have to find the October roses. With the waning summer, I feel my idealism fading; I feel some longheld notions finally acknowledging defeat after years of fighting with all my might; I fully feel the reality of messy lives. And I see that I cannot , no matter how hard I try, create the perfect childhood and hold it safely for all my children. They will be hurt. They will hurt themselves. We will feel pain and there will be fading blooms and browning leaves.

It's time to embrace autumn. It's time to acknowledge that there is suffering, to let myself know it, meet its gaze, and accept it. Time to stop fighting change, stop denying that this, too, is a fallen world in need of a a Savior. Time to stop trying to play on through the pain. It's time to remember that pruning is painful, but ever so fruitful. It's time to recognize that perhaps my most important role as a teacher of my children is to teach them how to greet the hurt and then to carry on in faith.

The breeze blows and lifts my chin; it's time to look up from the rain-sodden, trampled underbrush of late summer's waning blooms and to see His glory above me. It's time to know that it's not about my might.

 

It never was.

I see that now.

The joy of the summer was never of my making; it was the fruit of His grace. He waits for me, watching patiently, asking me to trust Him with this new season of life. 

"God is good," the Spirit whispers through the gathering storm, the rustling, autumn-gloried leaves, "all the time."

 

 

Yarn Along on the Feast of the Triumph of the Cross

I have a new book to share today, a perfect book for this feast. The Queen and the Cats is the the story of St. Helena of Constantinople, who traveled to the Holy Land in 326 and supervised the excavation of the land where Jesus was buried. She is said to have found the cross on which Jesus died. 

This sweetly illustrated book, with large, easy-to-read font, tells St. Helena's tale through the eyes of a little girl who was in Cyprus when Queen Helena came to visit and brought a piece of the holy cross. The churches were overrun with vipers and it was the queen who provided a solution to the snake problem and made it safe to worship in the churches and monasteries once more.

The author wrote me this morning and offered this sweet deal: We’re offering an incentive to anyone who buys the book in the next three days (Tuesday, September 13, Wednesday, September 14 & Thursday, September 15^th)! If they buy The Queen & the Cats in either format, email [email protected] with your receipt and we’ll send a downloadable .pdf line-art coloring book version of the book. Buy both editions, (or multiple copies!) and we’ll also mail a postcard icon of Saint Helena. 

 

As for other yarns, knitting is painfully slow. The yellow tiny tea leaves is finished through the body but still needs a button band and sleeves. The red ruffle scarf is inching ever so slowly to that huge increase row where I'll go from 200 stitches to 600!. No chance I'm going to hit birthday deadlines. Oh, well.

 

 

 God our Father, in obedience to you, your only Son accepted death on the cross for the salvation of mankind. We acknowledge the mystery of the cross on earth. May we receive the gift of redemption in heaven. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Go visit Ginny for more yarns of both kinds. See you there!

 

The First Day Never Goes as Planned

I've been homeschooling something like 17 years, give or take a year because I'm too lazy to do the math. And, I promise you, in this house, the first day of a new term never goes as planned. After all these years, though, it always goes predictably.

I can predict that it's going to be a bit rocky.

It begins with me arising early, super early, because I am eager to have everything just so. The environment is readied--I've spent hours getting everything just so. I'm very visual and I find a certain peace in the order and the color. All good.

Then, I awaken the children, earlier than usual, because I want them to be eager to begin also. The details from there vary from year to year, but they go something like this:  Despite great provisioning just days before, we don't have eggs for breakfast. Littlest Darling has a runny nose, a fever, and a croupy cough and she doesn't want me to leave her to go to the store. Two little girls mourn the absence of the neighbor's child who slips in and out of our family life. She is going to "real school" today and will join us at 2:30. There is a bit of envy over lunchboxes and school shoes. Little boys are not so little any more and not so eager to be awakened, either. Everyone wants eggs for breakfast.

We begin determinedly, my enthusiasm ebbing a bit as my lofty plans meet reality. I remember a morning over a decade ago when I had such awesome things planned, such an elaborate environment readied, and three little boys responded ... well, they didn't. I'm not even sure they noticed, but they certainly weren't impressed. Those were days before blogs, before the temptation to leave my disappointing crew in our dining room-turned-learning room and go look again at the beautiful pictures of other women's learning spaces (here's where I am resisting the urge to link like crazy--y'all can find them;-) and to download page after page of other people's plans. No, I didn't leave my regular, ordinary, unimpressed boys in my regular, ordinary home and head off to the computer to escape to some sort of blog perfection. I called my husband and I cried. He didn't get it. Well, he got that I was crying, but he didn't get that I thought those things that were so important to me would inspire the boys. And on that day, I learned it's not about me. It's about them.

Flash forward a dozen or so years. Now, the plans grate up against reality on the first day and I'm not surprised. I know this day is the day I test drive my philosophical underpinnings and see how it all works in real life. And when that beautiful basket with the multi-colored gems is gleefully dumped all over the wood floor and the wee one with the big eyes and runny nose delights in the sound so she does it again, I remember.

They haven't been clicking around Pinterest.

They haven't been trading stories on Facebook.

They haven't been reading wonderful, inspiring books about family rhythm and prepared environments.

They haven't been planning curriculum all summer. 

They are why I am doing this at all.

They are the same today as they were last week. We have to meet in the middle. I have to look realistically on all my ponderings and plans and adjust them according to the real life I live here. With them. I have to recognize where I haven't left margin. Where I didn't consider.

Room.

Room for stopping to wipe noses and to swish toilets. Room for cooking and eating and cleaning up afterwards. Room to be alone, each of us in our own spaces, to think and dream and create.  Room for balance.

Reading and running free. Staying on task and stopping to notice and wonder. Pencil to paper and needle to fabric. Still at the table with close up tasks and quick on their feet with a ball beneath them. Discussing what I planned and pondering things I never would have considered. Planning with diligence and moving away from the plans.

The first day is always a little off balance. These days, I plan for that, too. This is as it should be. The grace of the plans that just don't work sheds glorious light on the beauty of educating at home, together. I can adjust the plan. I can allow them to force me to consider each one of them individually and to see where my notions meet their needs and where they fail. When I see that the first day is their day, I begin to understand that the first day might just be the day when I learn the most.

I learn that I can't do this on my own strength. I am reminded that I must see the child, each child, and meet him where he is. I learn anew that this isn't school at home. It's a lifestyle of learning that requires an incredible amount of sacrifice and even more grace. 

 

It's just the first day. It didn't go according to plan. But that was actually part of the plan.  I embrace the rough spots, the weak places, the small failures,  knowing that He is teaching me; He is begging me to show my children that I can be taught.

Oh, I can!  Show me, God. Show me your holy will.  How does it all fit together? How do we all grow together? What is Your plan for this family? Grant me the grace and the humility to set aside my plan for your better one.

St. Monica

 

image here

Exemplary Mother of the Great Augustine,

 

You perseveringly pursued your wayward son

Not with wild threats 

But with prayerful cries to heaven. 

 

Intercede for all mothers in our day 

 

So that they may learn 

To draw their children to God. 

 

Teach them how to remain

 

Close to their children, 

Even the prodigal sons and daughters 

Who have sadly gone astray. 

 

Dear St Monica, troubled wife and mother, 

 

Many sorrows pierced your heart

During your lifetime. 

Yet you never despaired or lost faith. 

With confidence, persistence and profound faith, 

You prayed daily for the conversion

Of your beloved husband, Patricius 

And your beloved son, Augustine. 

 

Grant me that same fortitude, 

 

Patience and trust in the Lord. 

Intercede for me, dear St. Monica, 

That God may favorably hear my plea 

For 

 

(mention your petition here) 

And grant me the grace 

 

To accept his will in all things, 

Through Jesus Christ, our Lord, 

In the unity of the Holy Spirit, 

One God forever and ever. Amen.

 

more here

From the Confessions of Saint Augustine, bishop
Let us gain eternal wisdom

The day was now approaching when my mother Monica would depart from this life; you knew that day, Lord, though we did not. She and I happened to be standing by ourselves at a window that overlooked the garden in the courtyard of the house. At the time we were in Ostia on the Tiber. We had gone there after a long and wearisome journey to get away from the noisy crowd, and to rest and prepare for our sea voyage. I believe that you, Lord, caused all this to happen in your own mysterious ways. And so the two of us, all alone, were enjoying a very pleasant conversation, forgetting the past and pushing on to what is ahead. We were asking one another in the presence of the Truth–for you are the Truth–what it would be like to share the eternal life enjoyed by the saints, which eye has not seen, nor ear heard, which has not even entered into the heart of man. We desired with all our hearts to drink from the streams of your heavenly fountain, the fountain of life.

That was the substance of our talk, though not the exact words. But you know, O Lord, that in the course of our conversation that day, the world and its pleasures lost all their attraction for us. My mother said: “Son, as far as I am concerned, nothing in this life now gives me any pleasure. I do not know why I am still here, since I have no further hopes in this world. I did have one reason for wanting to live a little longer: to see you become a Catholic Christian before I died. God has lavished his gifts on me in that respect, for I know that you have even renounced earthly happiness to be his servant. So what am I doing here?”

I do not really remember how I answered her. Shortly, within five days or thereabouts, she fell sick with a fever. Then one day during the course of her illness she became unconscious and for a while she was unaware of her surroundings. My brother and I rushed to her side but she regained consciousness quickly. She looked at us as we stood there and asked in a puzzled voice: “Where was I?”

We were overwhelmed with grief, but she held her gaze steadily upon us and spoke further: “Here you shall bury your mother.” I remained silent as I held back my tears. However, my brother haltingly expressed his hope that she might not die in a strange country but in her own land, since her end would be happier there. When she heard this, her face was filled with anxiety, and she reproached him with a glance because he had entertained such earthly thoughts. Then she looked at me and spoke: “Look what he is saying.” Thereupon she said to both of us: “Bury my body wherever you will; let not care of it cause you any concern. One thing only I ask you, that you remember me at the altar of the Lord wherever you may be.” Once our mother had expressed this desire as best she could, she fell silent as the pain of her illness increased.

~St. Augustine, from today's Office of Readings

10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Value and Practice Faith

{{Sixth in a series discussing The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}}

This week, I'm looking to the Toolkit to get our conversation of the 10 Habits started and I'm counting on you to chat it up in the comments. I'm still recovering from what can only be described as epic mastitis. Sarah may never be allowed to wean--I'm afraid to ever "skip" a nursing again.

So, let's look at four ways to value and practice faith. 

#1 Think Before You Leap. Dr. Meeker writes,  "When we choose to pursue faith, we must keep our eyes and minds wide open, but we must keep our hearts open as well. We must find the balance between learning, reading, and seeking answers on the one hand and following answers that we feel God is giving us on the other. We should seek and then when God answers, find what He gives us."

I think she speaks here to the balance between a completely emotional, "feeling" approach to God and one that draws upon reason to enlighten faith. Perhaps it's just the communities to which I've been exposed in my adult life, but I've met far more people who intellectualize faith (I actually think that in this context "religion" is the right word) than those who "simply feel." Your experience may differ. I know that growing up, the context of faith was almost entirely "simply feeling," and I was hungry for something with some "teeth." Perhaps I gravitiated towards a an extreme interpretation of codified "religion" in order to compensate for that sense of twisting in the wind and looking for firm ground. This chapter is about balance. Balance is a good thing, I think.

Dr. Meeker urges us to look towards those we respect in our faith communities and ask for reading suggestions, so as to gain a better grasp of the tenets of our faith. The idea is to come to an understanding of God that is solid--that stands the tests of our incessant questioning and thoughtful doubts. 

What have you read that has nurtured your intellectual understanding of God and so fed your faith?

#2 Make it Personal. Many of us come from a faith tradition with a wealth of intellectual treasure to read and a very complete catechism. Putting the first tool to work isn't challenging. In our lifetimes, we'd never have enough time to read all there is out there. But the second tool is perhaps more challenging. The second tool requires that we allow ourselves intimacy with God. For many of us, intimacy with anyone--genuine, soul-baring intense closeness--is very difficult. And so, prayer is difficult also.

Dr. Meeker writes,that "we must also allow a certain openness and availability to God if faith is to be personal. Herein is where the exchange begins. Prayer begins this communication. In the quiet of our rooms, the car or in bed at 3 A.M., the conversation begins. It is God and us. We begin by asking questions or simply by saying “hello.” Sometimes we scream or cry; other times we simply ask if He is real or if, perhaps, we are sharing our innermost hopes with nothing but the cosmic void. Then we wait. Over time, we pray again and again and tell God that we need to know if He is there or not. Then we wait again. What we learn through the prayer and the waiting is the beginning of faith. If we have cultivated a prayer of meditation life with God we can instinctively slide into a conversation in prayer for comfort and help when the real tough stuff  happens."

How have you found fruitful prayer?

What are some ways to overcome spiritual dry spells?

#3 Find Community. Ah. Community. All the introverts run;-) In all seriousness, community is for some us the greatest struggle. And, sadly, it is in faith communities where a great deal of hurt and sorrow can happen. There is unique pain that comes with being wounded in a community of believers and when we are hurt, there is an instinct to run and to isolate our faith, walling off just one woman and her God, in order to avoid the possiblity of further hurt or disillusionment in a community of Christians. Just knowing that pain is possible causes women to refrain from intimate relationships with other believers. 

Still, we are created to worship in community and to find Him in community. Where two or more gather in His name, He is truly there in the midst of them. It helps, I think, to be humble as we seek community, to genuinely understand that, as Dr. Meeker puts it, "others in a faith community teach us about the character of God. As believers who long to adopt His character and follow His directives, they reflect who He is. The love that God feels for them will move into them and then we who sit in the pews next to them or who pray beside them will mysteriously soak in some of His love. In a faith community, each of us learns more about God, people, humanity, and acceptance than anywhere else on the planet."

That scenario is, of course, the ideal. {Our faith communities often offer us opportunities to learn about forgiveness and the need for a savior as well.} I think it's important to bear in mind that the body of Christ is large and it's universal. Good, faithful, holy people who can teach us about the character of Christ can look very different from one another. There are different charisms in a universal Church and there is a place--a good fit, a good community, a close family of brothers and sisters-- for each of us.

Dr. Meeker asks,  "Think about your faith community. Who does it include?  How does it help to continually reinforce and solidify your faith?  How does it benefit and influence your family life?"

#4 Serve. "Over our lifetime, the only way each of us will come to understand the value of another human being is by serving him. Giving brings about humility and humility draws us closer to God."

There are so many ways to serve! The reality is that when our children are young, our concentrated efforts at service will be feeding the hungry and clothing the naked in our own homes. Sometimes, the only service you can muster for a three month stretch of time is consuming essential nutrients and keeping them down long enough to nourish the baby growing in your belly. Those are genuine acts of service. They count. And they bring you closer to God in a way almost no other experience can. 

It is vital to our souls that we bring to God our desire to serve and ask Him where He would have us work. Then, we beg the grace to all He wants.

Where can you best be of service? Can you share some ways you've served with your family? Do you and your husband share an apostolate outside your home?

The rest of our discussions of  The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity can be found here. The first two conversations are 

Part 1(discussing Habit 1)

Part 2 (still discussing Habit 1)

Part 3 (still more on Habit 1)

Part 4 (Habit 2: key friendships)

Part 5 (Habit 2: your thoughts on friendship_

The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Joy, Peace, and Contentment

{The second post in a book study series on The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}

Last week, as our discussion of  The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers began, I was struck by something Andrea wrote in the comments. I sort of carried it around with me all week and let it run around in my head and bounce off my heart. She wrote:

Elizabeth it is very helpful to have your perspective, as the homeschooling mother of many, to add to this book.
I just finished reading this first habit and came away feeling as if I can actually give myself permission to investigate my other gifts. I was married at 20 with a baby along 9 months later, I have been nothing except a stay-at-home mama for my entire adult life, the children have come steadily since then and I see no end in sight now - I'm not even 30 yet. Immediately I had to stuff down all of my personal talents, goals, & things that I enjoyed to give myself to my children and husband at 100%. Now that I'm in the legitimate throes of homeschooling as well, it's become even harder to remember the gifts and talents that God gave to define me as a human being. It's really something to pray about.

 
I don't find competitive thinking toward other women or moms that challenging, I am actually not a very competitive person. But I loved her thoughts on humility, it has encouraged me to have peace with the kind of mom that I am, verses the kind that I think that I should be (perfect in all ways, of course). 

To Andrea, I replied:

Andrea, I've been thinking about this comment pretty much nonstop since you first posted it. I think that for me, my gifts outside of motherhood collided with motherhood pretty neatly. I was a kindergarten teacher before having children and then I quit to stay home and homeschool. Now, I'm on the brink of not having a kindergartner in my home in just a few years. I'm feeling a wee bit of panic. I won't go back to teaching any time soon--I still have lots of children left to raise and educate. But I can see that it's time to begin to explore other gifts or other venues for my passions. And I can see that my passion for early childhood may have to be put on hold for a season (until I return to the classroom or have grandchildren;-).

It's not that I suddenly have oodles of free time because my "baby" is nearly three, but there has been a significant shift and I'm trying to find the grace in the shift. I think for you the challenge is finding ways to utilize your personal talents within your home and mothering, not to stuff them. Don't stuff them! We are warned not to bury our gifts.

I think the other point this brings to light is that everyone's mothering and everyone's homemaking and the crafting of each family will look different--should look different--because we do bring different and unique gifts to the task. So, now matter where you are in your mothering, the challenge is to find the you God created and bring it to your home.

The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that this notion of bringing our unique gifts to our mothering and homemaking experience--whether we are working fulltime outside the home or homeschooling ten children--is necessary and vital to our peace and contentment within ourselves. If we take the time to understand our unique gifts for what they are--God's instruments for us to use for His glory--and then we pour that into the daily round of our loves, we will be content. He will bless that faithfulness. Furthermore, we won't compare and we won't compete. How could we compete? Understanding that we are each uniquely gifted and that we are mothers of children who are each uniquely gifted, we embrace the diversity in our friendships and learn from one another.

At the end of the first chapter, Dr. Meeker shares the wisdom of an older woman. I am learning to see the value of such wisdom more and more. I truly appreciate a mom who has seen this job of childrearing through to full adulthood and who can honestly help me to see my current stage of life from her perspective. When asked how she has the energy to serve cheerfully, Carol, Dr. Meeker's example, says, "It isn't about age. It's not about ability, talent, or even personality. Doing what I do--and I've been doing this for a number of years now--is about attitude. I'm good at helping these folks. I fit here. I was born to help and to love these people. And they need me. I believe that when you love the life you're supposed to be living and you happen on the deep meaning of your life, it works. The energy comes, you get bolder, and you live less fearfully. Knowing who you are and living what you were born to do, that's the good stuff. This is it, right here, right now, and I'm not going to miss it."

Here's the thing: what is the life you're supposed to be living? What is the big picture? To what vocation does He call you? But what are the little pictures, too? What are the things that happen every day that God allows in our lives for our good? Joy--deep down, peaceful joy--comes when we stop struggling against God's will. It comes when we see that though we may be hit over the head with crushing adversity, with things like illness and death and poverty, He is there. It's not that we don't feel disappointment and sorrow. We aren't called to be plastic people with no depth or dimension. We do feel it. We do sorrow. We are empathetic.

But we are faithful. We know, because we have been open to seeing it again and again, that He is always and only good. And that He always and only brings great good out of a bad situation.

I got in the car yesterday and it was literally 100 degrees outside. I can't imagine what it was in the car. And the car stunk. It stunk like cleats, and sweaty shirts, and dirty socks. And McDonald's trash. I had a little pity party. Why am I always surrounded by stink? Why was I  35 minutes late getting into the car to run errands that would certainly require me to stand in lines with grouchy people in ridiculous heat? I reached over to hurl (yes, I'm sure I was going to hurl) a shinguard into the back seat. And there, God had left me a love note:

 

{Patrick's shinguard.

9/1 was the day Bryce Mitchell died. And it was the day God reached down and made Himself known very personally to Patrick.}

He has a plan and we are at peace when we trust that plan and seek to know His will. Even in the little moments. Even in the car that broke down and threw off the schedule for the whole day. Even in the bad news on the job front. Even in the lost passport that means you can't catch that flight. All grace. The difference between living a life of bitterness and anger and a life of quiet, genuine joy is being receptive to the abundant grace that He pours out to those who trust in His plan. As women, we are uniquely gifted and exquisitely created to be receptive. Can we open ourselves to the Creator himself?

Can we allow Him to truly make of our lives what He intends?

~*~*~~*~*~

Feel free to chat below (comments are moderated, so it might take some time before you see yours appear), either adding your thoughts here directly or linking to a post on your own blog. Do take a moment to thoughtfully consider the comments on last week's post. There's much to think about there and several links to more food for though.  Now it's time for me to go about the rest of my day, peaceful in the knowledge that God created me for these children and this good man. And that's enough. Really.

Before the Feast of St. Anne

I meant to share this post from the archives with you yesterday, so that you could begin the novena then if you liked. But the day got away from me. You can still begin the novena today and finish on the feast. I did want to post one update to the post below. I shared here how fruitful my novena to St. Anne was last year, with regard to the nitty gritty of our lives. I think that mothers are naturally considering the management of their homes and their schedules this time of year. For me, forever more, that will a St. Anne thing. I heartily encourage you to offer it all o St. Anne to bring before our Lord. 

Sometimes, a saint finds you.

And those are very, very special times, indeed. Two years ago, around this time, St. Anne found me and I will be forever grateful.   There is no saint more dear to my heart, nor more frequently invoked by me than the grandmother of our Lord. She walks beside me, whispers in my ear, and makes sure I get my laundry done! My binder of St. Anne prayers is well-worn and nearly memorized.

July 26th, the Feast of St. Anne and St. Joachim,was a Sunday last year and it found me in a beautiful new church at the baptism of my godson, John (Marisa never did blog the day--I might have to do that for her;-). And every prayer we prayed there went to Louisiana, too, where Bryce Mitchell was being baptized.

July this year finds me taking up my binder of prayers once again, not for a pregnancy this time, just for the comfort of knowing that such a dear mother is listening and praying and interceding. Tradition teaches us what we know about St. Anne and her husband, St. Joachim. I think though, that some saints come to be known even more dearly in our prayers. It is in praying with St. Anne that I have grown to love her.

I've included here for you a copy of my favorite, now very familiar prayers. There are short daily prayers, a chaplet explanation, a litany, and two different novenas. Depending on whether you want to finish on the feast or the day before, you want to start a novena on the 17th or 18th. My St. Anne chaplet broke a few weeks ago, so I do plan to spend these days of preparation for the feast repairing it. Alice Cantrell provides a lovely illustrated tutorial here,should you want to try your hand a crafting this beautiful aid to prayer. I have found that handwork that aids our prayer are the crafts that are most treasured and beneficial in our home. We don't always bead a chaplet, of course, but decorating a vase to fill with flowers next to a saint's icon, or pouring or dipping or decorating a candle to be lit on the feast are also favorite, simple, meaningful family traditions. And sometimes, there is no craft at all.

In our family, we celebrate a name day on St. Anne's feast. There was considerable argument around our dinner table when we discussed what to name our baby girl. It was settled by giving her both names: Sarah and Anne. (To this day, two of her brothers have yet to call her "Sarah." They only call her "Annie.") My mother, Mike's mother, my stepmother, and I all share Sarah's middle name. But only Sarah Anne gets the extra "e":-). And oh, how we love to celebrate Sarah Annie!

Our family looks forward to feast days with quiet, familiar joy. As a child grows, the day takes on its own traditions because the child begins to make it his own. For instance, the Feast of St. Michael around here always smells like incense and a kahlua devil's food cake baking in the oven. That has been Michael's preference for as long as I can remember. For the longest time, we had pizza on the Feast of St. Patrick because Paddy insisted on it.

St. Anne's feast will begin for me as all days do, with the Liturgy of the Hours. I'll pray the Morning Prayer and Office of Readings by myself in the quiet of the dawn. Both prayers bring me into the celebration of the feast with the universal Church. I will light a special candle, put her statue and her icon on our little prayer desk, and make sure that the children notice when they awaken. Then, it's up and out the door. The true "feast" is the Eucharist and we are fortunate to be able to go to daily Mass on feast days, where we celebrate the feast with the community of God. Father delights our children by always, always speaking about "their" saints. Usually, there is a special blessing after Mass for the name day child, as well. And there might be donuts on the way home, too;-).

Sarah Anne is just old enough that she might be able to express her preference for dinner and dessert as is our family custom. Already the lobbying has begun as certain brothers try to persuade her that her favorite dinner resembles their favorite dinner. Almost certainly, there will be chocolate for dessert. Sarah Anne is a big fan of chocolate. 

The day will end for my sweet Sarah Annie with more of that heavenly scent, this time it's St. Anne soap and lotion (as much a treat for me as for my baby). Sweet dreams, my darling girl; your heavenly grandmother continues to be so very good to us. Blessed, we are, those of us whose name means "grace."

St. Anne prayers and devotions:

Download Prayers to St Anne

 

It's all in the noticing

Gratitude. A deep-down sense that God is good and that life is a gift. It's there for the taking. Sometimes, though it's all in the noticing. I can't notice when life is whizzing by. I can't notice when I'm so tired my eyes don't focus. Noticing happens best in the slow time.

I have to stop. Be still. And notice. 

It helps to wake up in my own room in the "kids' wing," the one with the beautiful blue walls and the ceiling fan. In the house where I'm not the most grown up grown-up of all.

There is a winding country drive, early Sunday morning, to monastery quiet nestled in the hills.

 

The sky is so blue and the hills so green.

The church bells ring out when Mass begins and again when Our Lord is present. Bells ring, echoing off the hills, filling an early Sunday morning with the sound of pure joy.

I am sitting outside this church with a squirmy Sarah Annie. We notice a bird with a hollyberry in his beak, a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, weeds in the garden (she wants to pull - "to help the sisters). We are stilled, heads bowed at the sound of the bells.
 

Breakfast after church. The Mudhouse Cafe. Fair trade, local, organic, friendly, cozy, small town perfect.

A soy mocha latte that tastes more like coffee than chocolate--mocha perfection.

 

Art for breakfast.

And then on to the orchard.

Yep. She'll ask Grandpa for peach ice cream at 10 in the morning. And yep, she'll get it.

 

It's a beautiful day. She's styling her shades. Let's get out and pick.

Precious cargo.

{Dear, sweet man.}

Nothing says Virginia morning like the smell of fresh peaches and the sight of crepe myrtles in the sun.

To Mint Springs Lake, where there little girls can lie on their bellies in the sun and run their fingers through the sand.

Just sit on the shore, toes in the water, and inhale. 

This friendly competition did NOT end in screaming and shouting the revisiting of game rules. Mountain miracle, no doubt.

Just a day. One day. Not a fancy vacation in a far-off land. Not a two week reservation and a ticket to ride. Just a day. Surrounded by people I love and people who love me.

In a place that never fails to remind me how loved we are by the Master Artist who created it.

Joining Ann to count blessings, except I've again lost count..

Yarn Along: Praying As We Go

Hi there! I'm still knitting along with lots of friends, stitching a Baby Surprise Jacket.

Surprise! It's too big for my "baby." Looks like Karoline will wear this jacket before Sarah Annie does.  That's just fine with me; I was sort of sad that when Sarah outgrew it, it would be relegated to the giveaways or to my hope chest. Now, two little girls will wear it (unless Karoline wears it out). Still investigating exactly what this means in terms of adapting the pattern. And trying not to hyperventilate.

I'm reading Mysteries of the Jesus Prayer, by Norris Chumley. This has been a bit of a serendipitous read. Before the book arrived, I was looking to settle into a rhythm of knitting and praying when I am away from my audio Bible. A little digression: when I was being treated for cancer, I discovered that I had just enough time while they zapped me with radiation to pray three Hail Marys, followed by imploring St. Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, to pray with me that I would be able to conceive, carry, bear, and raise healthy, happy, holy children. My third child born after those treatments, and first daughter, was named Mary Elizabeth. Ever since, I've keyed prayers to certain activities. For instance, I had different repetitious extamporaneous prayers for each of my labors.

My girls have all repeated the words, "in, around, through, off" as they've learned to knit--words that match the actions, marking motion with meaning. I have discovered that in exactly the time it takes me to knit a stitch, I can pray the ancient Jesus Prayer: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God,have mercy on me, a sinner." It fits just perfectly. It's rhythmic and contemplative and meaningful.There is an inner peace to be found in the rhythm of the prayers and the needles.

Chumley's book is a bit of a documentary in print, taking the reader to visits hermits and monks and nuns who share how the prayer is lived in their lives. The rich layers of the ancient prayer are revealed to the reader as they draw us into the practice of simple, simple prayer. Chumley writes, "The point is to try to maintain connection with God at all times, remembering that God is here with us at every moment. The practice of prayer and meditation helps us do that, uniting the inner core of our being, our soul, with God and with all the scattered parts of us."

Knitting and prayer. So simple.

Be sure to stop by and visit Ginny and see what other folks are knitting and reading.