To Share or Not to Share...

I've been pondering Nancy Brown's post about Mother Teresa's outward cheerfulness even though she did not feel so inwardly, and in fact, for a long time she didn't feel God's presence at all. Nancy says she thinks this is saintly. In Blessed Mother Teresa, I have no doubt that it reflects heroic virtue.

But what about the rest of us? Are we to feign joy when we feel anything but? I will have to think more on this, but right off the bat, I'd say no. "The truth will set you free." I was once asked by a priest while on retreat to pick words I could live by, base my entire life on. That verse is what I chose then, and it is what I'd still choose.

Now I don't mean to say that we can never smile when we feel sad, never choose kind words when we feel angry. Indeed, a part of self-mastery is learning to do just that, to exercise our wills in favor of virtue. But I think that we also have to be wary of suppressing our feelings. Suppressed feelings don't just go away; in fact, they often erupt at the least convenient times or in much less than desirable ways. We have to be honest with ourselves, I think, about how we feel. And I do think Mother Teresa was doing that.

But here comes the thornier part: do we share those feelings? It might be virtuous to take a deep breath and carry on as though we were in no pain, had no anger, were not sad. But could it also be a gift to share with a friend our hurts, our fears, our doubts? If we are stoic, do we deny that friend the opportunity and gift of ministering to us in our need? Could it be a prideful thing to suck it up and act in a manner that hides our true feelings? Does that distance us from others, from our shared humanity with its times of frailty? Sharing what we truly feel inside is often a moment of exquisite vulnerablility and trust.

It is generally good to emulate the saints. But we also need to cultivate our relationship with Jesus, to ask Him what He wants of us, and to prayerfully discern that to which He is calling us. Which is to say, God could have been asking Blessed Mother Teresa to be cheerful in spite of interior dryness and desolation, whereas He might be asking us to reach out to others in our times of distress. We have to ask Him! And we have to be willing to listen for His answer, even wait on it.

Five More Days...

Tonight we went to our parish Reconciliation Service at which there were 11 priests to hear confessions! What a blessing! As I was one of the last in line, I saw a lot of people after they received God's great mercy and I noticed something: most people came back to their pew smiling! I mean, really big, joyous smiles! Indeed, the 7 of us felt like celebrating this wonderful grace we'd received, and we broke our Advent fast and went out for ice cream. It seemed good and fitting in this third week of Advent.

Eight year old LM was positively jubilant as we left the church tonight. On the car ride home she remarked that avoiding sin was "like being on a diet, where you don't swallow what Satan wants you to." An apt description I think.

May our heavenly Father help me--and all of us--to stay on the sin-free diet, feasting on all the good things He has given us. Come, Lord Jesus!

Enchanted Still Has Me Smiling

Krazyglue and I went to see the movie Enchanted, and it was, well, enchanting! Imagine: classical fairy tale and old-style musical-comedy, but with depth! Amy Adams was delightful as Giselle, a princess-to-be, who suddenly finds herself in New York City. Giselle is all goodness and cheer, and as she waits expectantly for her prince to rescue her, she helps others realize the goodness in their lives. And this is done without being sappy; in fact, Adams gives Giselle great authenticity. Or to use Roger Ebert's words, "effortless lovability." There is also a refreshing lack of political correctness. I have never even seen the Disney fairy tale films of the last 5-10 years as they aren't my cup of tea. Yet I'm so glad that I didn't miss Enchanted, and I can't wait for the kids to see it, too.

A Different (for me) Kind of Advent

I'm basically a homebody. Oh, I have an adventuresome streak, but I thrive in time spent at home with my family. And I have no trouble staying home to work on things; in fact, I prefer to do that and will sometimes decline social activities because I have "so much to do." It's the Martha in me.

This Advent I feel called to step out of my comfort zone and to counter the busyness of the season with spending time with people, being truly present to them. It's a different kind of contemplation, but a form of it, none-the-less, as I devote my energies to seeing Christ in others and trying to reflect Him in my own being.

With a houseful of boys and only one daughter, most of the holiday preparation falls on me. If I work from now until Christmas Eve, I might get it all done! Instead, I'm accepting invitations:

Last Thursday I was asked if I could host a potluck dinner on Saturday for our newly formed small faith community at church. I said yes. And it was a very blessed evening of fellowship and intimate sharing, even though we've not been together long.

This weekend I am joining a dozen other Catholic homeschool moms for a get-away to central Ohio, to a bed & breakfast run by one of the mom's parents. We will meet for early morning Mass, then carpool to the B & B, and spend the day and night together, including going on a guided walking tour of 8 of Lancaster's historic churches. We'll have a gift exchange to cap off the day before retiring to a restful slumber. Or maybe not; it is a slumber party for moms, and whoever sleeps at slumber parties?! The next day we will go to Mass together, have a wonderful brunch, and drive back home.

I will return just in time to attend the Christmas party of our local diabetes support group Sunday! We have declined this invitation in the past, but this year we are going, to honor all those families who so bravely face the challenges of type 1 diabetes day in and day out.

The next weekend is yet another diabetes related holiday party. Depending on who attends, the hosts are the only people we may know at this one, and our association with them is mostly through email. But again, it is an opportunity to be other focused, to delight in the company of good people! The hosts of this party extended the invite to all those on a parents of children with diabetes email list which is international. We, in turn, said if nearby hotels weren't do-able for any family wishing to attend, they could camp out at our house. So far, two families have expressed an interest. I don't "know" either of them!

Now, running from party to party is standard fare for many at this time of year, but not for me. I'm very task-oriented, but this Advent I wanted to be relational. I wanted to focus on people. I wanted to show my children that what is important is being with others, not racing from store to store in search of perfect gifts.

And on the home front, I've resolved to be present to my children. For example, I'm helping them with their Christmas projects for their friends and one another when they ask, instead of putting them off, too busy with my own stuff. As a family we are reading Jotham's Journey again, and I am making time to discuss their other reading with them. Maybe all good moms do this, but I'm often too consumed with the business of running a household to take time out for such things, even though I know how valuable such time to talk is.

Mostly, I'm adopting a mindset that says, quite simply, "You are a gift to me." In this way, this Advent, I am contemplating (or trying to!) the Christ child within each one of us. I'm not sure how all the work will get done, but I feel confident that what needs to will get done. Mt 6:25-33 comes to mind:

Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your body what you shall put on...But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well.

A Close Call

I was editing my profile last night when I heard a terrible tumble from the stairs. Mr. Encyclopedia had fallen down a dozen oak steps! I found him laying on the tile floor perpendicular to the stairs screaming he needed ice. Where to put the cold pack? There were too many places hurting! When asked what happened and how did he fall, he said his feet had slipped forward out into the air and he bumped his way down the stairs hitting every step with with the back of his head. Thank God he was conscious and could move his hands and wiggle his toes! After the initial yell for ice, he was remarkably calm. But he was in tremendous pain from his head down his back. Krazyglue and I debated about taking him to Children's Hospital ourselves vs. calling for an ambulance. Mr. E started shivering and clutched at his stomach; we feared shock. Krazyglue carefully elevated his feet and covered him with a blanket. I dialed 911.

As I held his hand while we waited for the rescue squad, Mr. E remarked, "First Aid Class was right: when someone gets hurt, it does help to have your loved ones nearby," and smiled at me with his eyes. Pretzel and his sister, LM, knelt in the family room praying for their brother.

Mr. E was was blocking the front door but trying to move his torso in the slightest brought shooting pains. So Krazyglue had to open the garage for the paramedics to enter through our laundry room. We both sent a quick internal plea to the Heavens that they'd be able to make it through the narrow path to the door with their equipment. The back board they brought was surpisingly narrow (thank You, Jesus!) and they managed just fine. Once they'd secured Mr. E to the board, they were able to move him out of the way of the door and the gurney was waiting for him on the front porch. Thankfully, too, Children's Hospital was one of the choices we were given for where to take him, even though it is much farther from our house than at least 3 other hospitals. They let me ride with him to the hospital, albeit in the cab. Krazyglue followed in the family car.

Mr. Encyclopedia went straight to the Trauma Room and the hospital staff was very good with him. In response to the question "What happened to you?" Mr. E replied, "I fell down the stairs in an ugly manner." (Hmm, have I mentioned that this 10 year old is well-read?) The registration process was simple and was carried out in the room. (Why can't it be that simple when we go for blood work or for other less complicated reasons?!) After a neuro assessment, a new neck brace was applied and they gave Mr. E something for pain after which they took him to x-ray for neck and spine films.

Then we waited. My last time in the ER was with D Kid who had broken his wrist. We waited a long time after his x-rays, too, and I found out later it was because the chief resident was discussing with the other docs whether to take him right to surgery to set the fracture. So as the time wore on, I couldn't help but wonder what lay in store for Mr. E. "He doesn't have any fractures," came the good news at last! They had deliberately waited to observe him, so as to decide whether he ought to go home in the neck brace. He'd responded well to the pain medicine, so they said he didn't need to wear the collar. During our wait time, I'd found a big bump to the left of midline on the back of his head. They checked that out, and decided not to treat, but to send us home with the protocol for head injury. It seemed answered prayer that Mr. E had little pain except for that head bump.

Today he looks pale and has a headache. We figured out after we got home last night that because he'd been holding the railing with his right hand when he first slipped, the initial impact had been to the left side of his head and back. So today he's got some swelling on his upper left back and he's hurting a bit. I've called our pediatrician to see if the spine x-rays showed his rib cage just to be sure he hasn't cracked a rib. All in all, we are very grateful that Mr. E wasn't hurt worse. In our six and a half years in this house, no one has ever fallen on those oak stairs. Now we just have to hope (and pray!) that his head bump heals with no complications.

God certainly has a way of slowing us down (and making us pray!) at Advent! We've skipped today's swim lessons, and I think ice skating tomorrow will be put on hold, too. Just going to hang out at ye olde homestead and enjoy each other's company.

Our Advent Tree

For many years we have done the straw-in-the-manger thing, where we fill a rustic basket (our make-do manger) with pieces of straw for each good deed done or sacrifice made during Advent. We've used both real straw and cut-out strips of yellow paper. The idea is to build a soft bed of hay for the infant Jesus, represented at our house by a baby doll.

Well, our kids are older, and this year we're trying something different: We're setting up our tree as an Advent tree, as we bought lots of purple ornaments at some ridiculously low price a few years back. And for every good deed or sacrifice made, the kids can hang an ornament. As Acrobat said, "So if the tree isn't pretty, it means we should be doing more!" You got it!

What if we run out of ornaments? Well, I hope we will! And then I think we'll make small bows out of purple and pink ribbons and place them on the tree. I'll be sure to post pictures later, when we've made some progress.

The Father Brown Reader

I am reading Nancy C. Brown's

The Father Brown Reader right now. It's delightful! Krazyglue couldn't put it down last night, after I told him how much I enjoyed the first story. Nancy Brown has taken 4 favorites of G. K. Chesterton's mystery stories featuring the unassuming and wise Father Brown (no relation--LOL!) and adapted them for children. Her craftsmanship in doing so is superb! And the illustrations by Ted Schluenderfritz are just perfect for this volume.

I have already purchased two for Christmas gifts, and you can order autographed copies for those on your list by visiting Nancy Brown's blog Flying Stars. Be sure to see her November 23rd blog entry entitled Why is Chesterton for Children?

Imagine your kids telling your relatives how much they enjoy Chesterton!

Call Me Old-Fashioned...

I still remember preparing for my First Holy Communion. The nuns insisted that we hold our open hands palm to palm, fingers pointed up. "Don't be lazy like some adults," they admonished, as they forbade us to interlace our fingers. It was made very clear that receiving Jesus was the best thing that could happen to us, and that our prayerful posture was the least we could do to show Him reverence. But I confess, I eventually became one of those "lazy adults."

And then came the challenge of keeping active children focused at Mass. For many years, I held the nursling, while Krazyglue (my DH) helped the toddler keep interested by redirecting his attention and explaining quietly what was happening. We brought religious kids' books for the next one up, in his "church bag". It was when they were starting to pray the Mass with us, that I remembered my training and instructed them to fold their hands in prayer just as I had as a young girl. "Fingers pointed to heaven," I told them.

Fingers pointed to heaven... That was almost the title of this post, because that is the habit that we still have, and never a Mass goes by that I am not glad for it! Through the years it has minimized all sorts of fidgeting, and most importantly, prevented sibling wars over, "He's touching me!" or, "He keeps leaning his hands on my part of the pew!" Oh yes, occasionally I still have to remind them to point their fingers to heaven, as they get sloppy from time to time. It's actually a very good thing, too, because those whispered words serve as a reminder to us all on why we're there: the Mass points to heaven and the Eucharist gives us the graces we need along the way. We're supposed to be praying the Mass, and our hands -- fingers pointed to heaven -- keep us attentive to the task. Old-fashioned? Maybe; but definitely worth doing!

Why Connie's Daughter?

I love my mom. And I haven't had the privilege of telling her that in person in 31 years, as she died at Thanksgiving when I was in my very early twenties. When I was too young to know much and thought I knew everything. My dad had died when I was seven and so my mom and I were very close. I was her "spittin' image" and proud to be "Connie's daughter." But as often happens with mothers and daughters, we grew apart when I was in my teens.

My mom was troubled at that time, and so I set out to make a life of my own. I was determined to not make the same mistakes that she had; this was something in which she'd encouraged me at every turn. Along the way, I shed the identity of "Connie's daughter." I was my own person, or so I thought.

My first son was born in December of the year following my mom's death. Wow, I never knew...I never knew what it must have been like for my mom to be a mom! My appreciation of her has only grown through the years. I have a lot more kids than my mom; I think she'd have really enjoyed her grandchildren! I know she would have adored my husband.

It's been years since anyone has called me "Connie's daughter." Probably most of my moms' friends have now joined her at the heavenly banquet, so there's really no one save a couple of distant aunts and uncles who might think of her when seeing me. But I think of her often. I am deeply grateful to my mother for handing on the Faith, and especially giving me a love of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. I'm so glad she shared with me her passion for literature and good music! She was a connoiseur of the English language; maybe there's a gene for that: my eldest was an English major and two more of my sons aspire to be writers.

Calling myself "Connie's daughter" is a way to pay tribute to my mom. It's a way to make her more present and to acknowledge the role she has had--in life and in death--in shaping who I am. It seems fittng as I embark on blogging to once again embrace being Connie's daughter.