My Granddaughter

Last summer seems a lifetime ago!

In September, on the feast of St. Pio, my granddaughter, Vivian Marie, was born. When we realized that she was alive and was going to live, at least for a time, there was such joy in the crowded birthing suite! Two sets of grandparents, two aunts, an uncle, cousins, and dear friends celebrated her birth with her parents and brother. Prayers had been answered and the glory of God was visible.

You see, Vivian Marie had a condition called anencephaly, in which part of her brain and skull did not form. Her chances of surviving birth were a little less than 50:50. But survive she did, and we were graced with 15 hours of miraculous life. I don't think it's hyperbole to say that her 15 hours with us changed our lives. Her parents gave their fiat to God, and agreed to accept whatever time God would give them with little Vivian. What's more, they did so with love and a desire to honor her life, however short it might be. I could not help but think of our Blessed Mother as I watched my daughter-in-law labor for hours, knowing all too well that she would be giving the life of her daughter to God, much as Mary gave Jesus to the Father.

Vivian Marie is our little lamb, my son and daughter-in-law's, my husband's and mine, all of us who loved and love her still. Certainly we, and hundreds of people on prayer chains far and wide, were praying for a miracle, were praying for Vivian Marie to be born intact, whole, and healthy. God had other plans. We who love her suffer, and yet we are called to unite our sorrow with that of our Lord in His Passion. "Not my will, but Thine," said Jesus to His Father.

I pray that God will do wondrous things with our suffering, with my daughter-in-law's and son's acceptance of theirs and Vivian's cross. My mother used to tell me that God loves more those to whom He gives greater sufferings. (She probably learned that from St. Terese of the Child Jesus.) Experiencing Vivian Marie's birth, brief life, and death has shown me a reason why. It is because He is thereby allowing us a fuller participation in His Passion, and therefore in His Life. That is indeed a great gift.

I give thanks for Kyle and Genece and Jonathan. I marvel at their love that was incarnate in Vivian Marie and shown to all through their actions, as they carefully honored her life and cherish her memory. God gave the Virgin Mary (and all of us) the joy of the Resurrection. I cannot but hope that He will--even in this valley of tears--give Kyle, Genece, and Jonathan a resurrected joy, a healing of their brokenness, and a peace which surpasses all understanding.

Merry Christmas!

Wow, I didn't realize that I hadn't wished you all a merry and blessed Christmas! Well, it is still Christmas, for which I'm very grateful. I love that our Church gives us not just a day, but a season for our celebration. It will come to a close with the feast of the Baptism of Our Lord, which this year falls on January 11th. Our parish will keep its decorations up until the 12th, as will we. It truly is a gift to be able to feast -- both spiritually and temporally -- for all these days!

Something to Contemplate

My thanks to Nancy Carpentier Brown over at Flying Stars for bringing to my attention the Holy Father's

Angelus address

from the First Sunday of Advent. This was just what I needed to lift me out of my own limited view of time! How remarkable that we never feel that we have enough, even though, as Pope Benedict points out, "God gives us His time."

Our Lady of the Rosary

Today's her feast day! And today's Mass readings included the story of Mary and Martha, the one in which Martha is complaining to the Lord about her sister's lack of help, and Jesus tells her that Mary has chosen the better part. The story that gave me the title for this blog!

So what does that tell me, that on the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary the Church in her wisdom chooses to remind us that we mustn't worry and get overly concerned with tasks such that we miss listening to Jesus? It tells me that praying the Rosary is a wonderful way to become recollected and to prepare my soul to hear the Son of God made Man. It tells me that through the Rosary I will find the balance between the Martha and Mary within me. It tells me that my heavenly Mother wants to come to my aid! I feel so blessed to have Mother Church and Mother Mary!

The Prison Angel

Currently I'm reading the book of Mother Teresa's private writings, Come Be My Light. There is so much to reflect on in the holy nun's experience! It brought to mind another book by Mary Jordan and Kevin Sullivan that I read a couple of summers ago: The Prison Angel: Mother Antonia's Journey from Beverly Hills to a Life of Service in a Mexican Jail.

Admire her though we might, Mother Teresa's quest to serve the "poorest of the poor" is far beyond what most of us can envision. And her work having begun half a world away (from us in the USA) adds to the sense of uniqueness of Mother Teresa's call. But what about a mother of seven who grew up with every advantage, who, after two divorces, gives up everything she has to move into a Tijuana prison to serve? We can't distance ourselves from Mother Antonia as we do Mother Teresa because Mother Antonia, albeit most of us don't have Hollywood roots, is one of us: an American, a mom, a woman with a very imperfect life.

This is a book you should read for many reasons. Sometimes called the "Mother Teresa of Tijuana," the former Mary Clarke had a heart for service nurtured in her from when she was a little girl and would accompany her father on his charitable work. Now Mother Antonia, she is an inspiration not only for her ministry to brutal criminals and drug dealers inside the prison and out, but also because she embarked on this work full-time at the age of 50! She started a religious order specifically geared toward helping women in their later years realize a second vocation. There's a lot to contemplate here about what we do with our lives once our child-rearing and homemaking duties are no longer front and center.

Not only that, but Jordan and Sullivan's book presents a vivid picture of the plague affecting our southern neighbor--and us. The drug dealing just south of the border reaches into our country, as does the violence which comes with it. In our fair, free country, where the accused and prisoners have rights, it is eye-opening to discover that the poor in Tijuana's prisons are left to fend for themselves, even for basic necessities such as food and medical care. Mother Antonia works tirelessly to provide for them, and like Mother Teresa, embraces their poverty, living in a cell within the prison.

Married to one another, Jordan and Sullivan are Pulitzer Prize-winning reporters with the Washington Post. Their book has garnered 5 stars on Amazon in 21 reviews! Read it. Tell others about it.

This Church Should be Filled...

I was sitting at adoration yesterday evening in a nearly empty church, and wondering how could that be...

There are 12,000 people at my parish; how is it that not even 10%, nor a mere 1%, are present every Tuesday evening?

Oh, I know, people are incredibly busy and there aren't enough hours in the day for most of us. But, if people only knew, only knew Who it is Who calls to them from that monstrance on the altar! "You are the Christ," said St. Peter to Jesus.

Yes! It is Jesus the Lord who humbles Himself awaiting our adoration on altars and in tabernacles all across the world. Won't you oblige Him?

He is Risen! Alleluia!

What a glorious day! Great joy! I just want to share one thing from a terrific homily this morning, which Father Marty says he borrowed from Pope John XXIII. "On the third day, John and Peter run to the tomb. Easter morning finds the Church running toward Jesus!"

What a magnificent image, the Church of the new age running toward Jesus! May the good Lord see fit to spur me on always, ever running to Him!

The Monastic, Domestic Life, Part 2

What brought my attention to the article by Rev. Rolheiser was the following which was posted to my local homeschool group's email list:

What is a monastery? A monastery is not so much a place set apart for monks and nuns as it is a place set apart (period). It is also a place to learn the value of powerlessness and a place to learn that time is not ours, but God's.

Our home and our duties can, just like a monastery, teach us those things. For example, the mother who stays home with small children experiences a very real withdrawal from the world. Her existence is definitely monastic. Her tasks and preoccupations remove her from the centers of power and social importance. And she feels it.

Moreover, the demands of young children also provide her with what St. Bernard, one of the great architects of monasticism, called the "monastic bell". All monasteries have a bell. Bernard, in writing his rules for monasticism told his monks that whenever the monastic bell rang they were to drop whatever they were doing and go
immediately to the particular activity (prayer, meals, work, study, sleep) to which the bell was summoning them. He was adamant that they respond immediately, stating that if they were writing a letter they were to stop in mid-sentence when the bell rang. The idea in his mind was that when the bell called, it called you to the next task and you were to respond immediately, not because you want to, but because it's time, it's God's time. For him, the monastic bell was intended as a discipline to stretch the heart by always taking you beyond your own agenda to God's agenda.

Hence, a mother rearing children, perhaps in a more privileged way even than a professional contemplative is forced, almost against her will, to constantly stretch her heart. For years, while rearing children, her time is never her own, her own needs have to be kept in second place and every time she turns around a hand is reaching out and demanding something. She hears the monastic bell many times during the day and she has to drop things in mid-sentence and respond, not because she wants to, but because it's time for that activity and time isn't her time, but God's time.

This was apparently taken from an article in the Seattle archdiocese's newspaper, The Catholic Northwest Progress. Not wanting to post the material secondhand so-to-speak, I went to their website, but its search function wasn't operational. So I Googled and found the link I gave in my previous post to another article of Rev. Rolheiser's on the same theme. However, upon more reflection, I decided to post this quote, because I think it more directly addresses our lives as homeschooling mothers.

A second reason I decided to post this quote was reading Flying Stars this evening. Nancy C. Brown talks about accepting life's interruptions cheerfully! Note to self: I'm to live a monastic life, not a moanstic one!

The Monastic Domestic Life

About 12 years ago Kimberly Hahn spoke in Des Moines, Iowa. She related a story about holding the baby while trying to cook dinner with a toddler clinging to her legs and how she thought of the cloistered nuns going into prayer about this hour and said to God, "Wrong vocation, Lord! Wrong vocation!" She was kidding, of course. But we moms do have our moments!

So it was with great interest that I read this about how our lives as mothers at home can be truly monastic.

Happy Lent!

Rudy's Daughter, Too

March 1st. I still remember the snow on the ground, lawns buried in icy whiteness, and sidewalks that were navigated with peril. I remember awakening at 6 that Thursday morning to sounds in the living room: my mom sitting on the davenport in her nightgown and robe sobbing, two police officers standing there--strangers let in on an intimate moment, witness to the pain. My 17 year old brother was there, too, and as he saw me amble in he grimaced as if to say, "You don't want to come in here! Go back to bed!"

I saw my brother's look and ran right past him to my mom. Ignoring the policemen I asked her what was wrong. "I'll tell you later," she said through her tears. But I was persistent, and she too weak to fight me. "Your father's dead," she said at last.

What does that mean to a 7 year old? "Your father's dead." It would not be until later that evening that it would sink in, that my mind would finally try to grasp the meaning of the words. And then it felt as if I would die, too. "Never coming home" was too big a reality to take in, and as I contemplated exactly what that meant, that I would never see my daddy again, I became hysterical with grief, feeling that my very heart was being pierced and I could not survive.

Over the next few years I would have moments again of that unbearable grief. I was a latch-key kid of a single mom and my brother had moved away, so alone at home I would pray to God to please let it all be a mistake and please let my daddy come walking through the door. I would remember his last words to me, and remember how he sounded, and what it was like to climb into his lap. I had been his princess.

Then the memories of his person faded and one day I realized that I could no longer recollect in my mind what his voice sounded like. A new loss, to not be able to recall that sense of him alive, but with it I gave up wishing for his return. Eventually the overwhelming sorrow subsided.

I determined to be strong in life and did not grieve again for many years. I've often been told that I think like a guy, that is, I'm analytical, methodical, a problem-solver. It took me many years to ever let myself be vulnerable, especially to love. Still, I was extremely rational and fought off feelings of sadness, dismissing the loss as being "a long time ago."

A freedom of middle age has been to learn to honor my memories. No longer do they threaten anguish against which I must defend myself. No longer do I listen to my internalized elders--or others--telling me not to weep, not to feel the sadness. No, today I allow my tears. No little girl should have to lose her father, although many of us do. No little girl should have to grow up so fast, although I did. In many ways, I became the father I didn't have. But on this day, on March 1st, I let myself be the daughter again, the daughter mourning the loss of her daddy.

A Light to the World...

With yesterday having been the feast of the Transfiguration, I thought it a good time to link to this post on Maureen Wittmann's blog regarding the mountain top experience of Franciscan University.

More Wisdom

Speaking of The Cobbler, I was checking out his other blog, and found this post about why young men need their own retreats. I especially liked reason #7: "Because religion isn't just something we do to keep our moms happy, it's something we do because we know better than to try to be men without it." Wow, pretty cool insight for an 18 year old!

Grace & the Mass

Today I received a note in a Christmas card telling me how lucky I am that my children love their Faith. Believe me, I feel deeply blessed and tremendously grateful! God has granted me my heart's desire with that one, and I pray that He always will.

Today we also got a card and note from a dear Carmelite priest who lives in Ireland. He's the priest who gave the contemplative prayer retreat on which dh and I met so many moons ago in California. Once again, Father has given us the supreme gift: twice weekly Masses for our family for a year!! Just thinking about it overwhelms me!

Getting the two cards on the same day made me think that perhaps it's been Father's spiritual bouquets of Masses for us all these years that has enabled the faithfulness of our family. Oh, I'm by no means claiming sainthood for any of us; we confront our fallen natures on a daily basis I'm afraid. But it is true: my kids love God, love their Catholic Faith, and they want to do God's will. I don't deserve this gift. Thankfully, God doesn't usually give us what we deserve.

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.

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.