Love Song

When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole word is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

 

 When the evening shadows and the stars appear

 

And there is no one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

 

I know you haven't made your mind up yet

But I would never do you wrong.

I've known it from the moment that we met

No doubt in my mind where you belong.

I'd go hungry,

I'd go black and blue.

And I'd go crawling down the avenue.

No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do.

To make you feel my love

A Difficult Situation

I am nervous writing about this because it's not a conventional "dogwood trail" topic. My kids are good. Steve is good. Our life is good and happy and pretty (operative word) normal. We have a new puppy (Max) and we are all looking forward to the summer. 

That being said, I have something to shout to the universe again. As before, when I talked about Nick and his struggles, my issue has to do with the dignity of the human person. It has to do with the belief that, unlike all other created life, we are made in the image of our Creator. And it is wrong to trample on the dignity and sanctity of that image. It is wrong to abuse women and objectify them for personal gratification. It is wrong to sell children in sex trades. It is wrong to ignore the poor, oppress the addicted, marginalize the mentally handicapped and ridicule the imprisoned. It is a sin against humanity and against God. 

My heart, though, aches and is offended at the murders of our most innocent and perfect--the unborn children. And it is this topic I write about today. 

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, And before you were born I consecrated you; 

Jeremiah 1:5

1.3 million abortions are recorded every year. In the United States, it is the single most commonly performed elective surgery. And you can't watch it. You can't find it anywhere. No one talks about its truth. 1.3 million--That is a college football stadium sold out 13 times. That is the Vietnam Memorial (which holds 56,286 names) stretched for 40 miles. We, in this land of "equal opportunity" profess to believe "these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." But we kill 1.3 million of our people every year. That's 3,561 children EVERY DAY. 

For what? What excuse can we give? What reason is good enough? We dehumanize Michael Vick, we retire his jersey, we call him all kinds of horrible names, we ostracize and humiliate him. Why--because he abused and killed dogs. Certainly an offense! They are innocent creatures of God! It should be criminal to treat a dog the way he did! But they are not children. They were not created in the image and likeness of God. They are not fetuses with a heartbeat and toes and little hands and brains that are murdered and discarded into stainless steel buckets. 

As I listened to Fr. John Riccardo's podcast on the dignity of the human person (http://frjohnriccardo.libsyn.com/webpage/category/RCIA%20for%20Catholics), I learned more about the Supreme Court case Gonzales v. Carhart. Though I certainly knew about the Court's decision to continue banning partial-birth abortion, I had never read Justice Kennedy's majority opinion. This is an excerpt from his opinion:

"The Act proscribes a particular manner of ending fetal life, so it is necessary here, as it was in Stenberg, to discuss abortion procedures in some detail...

    Abortion methods vary depending to some extent on the preferences of the physician and, of course, on the term of the pregnancy and the resulting stage of the unborn child’s development. Between 85 and 90 percent of the approximately 1.3 million abortions performed each year in the United States take place in the first three months of pregnancy, which is to say in the first trimester. Planned Parenthood, 320 F. Supp. 2d, at 960, and n. 4; App. in No. 05–1382, pp. 45–48. The most common first-trimester abortion method is vacuum aspiration (otherwise known as suction curettage) in which the physician vacuums out the embryonic tissue. Early in this trimester an alternative is to use medication, such as mifepristone (commonly known as RU–486), to terminate the pregnancy...

    Of the remaining abortions that take place each year, most occur in the second trimester. The surgical procedure referred to as “dilation and evacuation” or “D&E” is the usual abortion method in this trimester. Planned Parenthood, 320 F. Supp. 2d, at 960–961. Although individual techniques for performing D&E differ, the general steps are the same.

    A doctor must first dilate the cervix at least to the extent needed to insert surgical instruments into the uterus and to maneuver them to evacuate the fetus... A doctor often begins the dilation process by inserting osmotic dilators, such as laminaria (sticks of seaweed), into the cervix. The dilators can be used in combination with drugs, such as misoprostol, that increase dilation. The resulting amount of dilation is not uniform, and a doctor does not know in advance how an individual patient will respond. In general the longer dilators remain in the cervix, the more it will dilate. Yet the length of time doctors employ osmotic dilators varies. Some may keep dilators in the cervix for two days, while others use dilators for a day or less...

    After sufficient dilation the surgical operation can commence. The woman is placed under general anesthesia or conscious sedation. The doctor, often guided by ultrasound, inserts grasping forceps through the woman’s cervix and into the uterus to grab the fetus. The doctor grips a fetal part with the forceps and pulls it back through the cervix and vagina, continuing to pull even after meeting resistance from the cervix. The friction causes the fetus to tear apart. For example, a leg might be ripped off the fetus as it is pulled through the cervix and out of the woman. The process of evacuating the fetus piece by piece continues until it has been completely removed. A doctor may make 10 to 15 passes with the forceps to evacuate the fetus in its entirety, though sometimes removal is completed with fewer passes. Once the fetus has been evacuated, the placenta and any remaining fetal material are suctioned or scraped out of the uterus. The doctor examines the different parts to ensure the entire fetal body has been removed. See, e.g., Nat. Abortion Federation, supra, at 465; Planned Parenthood, supra, at 962.

    Some doctors, especially later in the second trimester, may kill the fetus a day or two before performing the surgical evacuation. They inject digoxin or potassium chloride into the fetus, the umbilical cord, or the amniotic fluid. Fetal demise may cause contractions and make greater dilation possible. Once dead, moreover, the fetus’ body will soften, and its removal will be easier. Other doctors refrain from injecting chemical agents, believing it adds risk with little or no medical benefit...

    The abortion procedure that was the impetus for the numerous bans on “partial-birth abortion,” including the Act, is a variation of this standard D&E... The medical community has not reached unanimity on the appropriate name for this D&E variation. It has been referred to as “intact D&E,” “dilation and extraction” (D&X), and “intact D&X.” For discussion purposes this D&E variation will be referred to as intact D&E. The main difference between the two procedures is that in intact D&E a doctor extracts the fetus intact or largely intact with only a few passes. There are no comprehensive statistics indicating what percentage of all D&Es are performed in this manner.

    Intact D&E, like regular D&E, begins with dilation of the cervix. Sufficient dilation is essential for the procedure. To achieve intact extraction some doctors thus may attempt to dilate the cervix to a greater degree. This approach has been called “serial” dilation...

    In an intact D&E procedure the doctor extracts the fetus in a way conducive to pulling out its entire body, instead of ripping it apart. One doctor, for example, testified:

    “If I know I have good dilation and I reach in and the fetus starts to come out and I think I can accomplish it, the abortion with an intact delivery, then I use my forceps a little bit differently. I don’t close them quite so much, and I just gently draw the tissue out attempting to have an intact delivery, if possible.” Rotating the fetus as it is being pulled decreases the odds of dismemberment... A doctor also “may use forceps to grasp a fetal part, pull it down, and re-grasp the fetus at a higher level—sometimes using both his hand and a forceps—to exert traction to retrieve the fetus intact until the head is lodged in the [cervix].”

    Intact D&E gained public notoriety when, in 1992, Dr. Martin Haskell gave a presentation describing his method of performing the operation... In the usual intact D&E the fetus’ head lodges in the cervix, and dilation is insufficient to allow it to pass. Haskell explained the next step as follows:

‘At this point, the right-handed surgeon slides the fingers of the left [hand] along the back of the fetus and “hooks” the shoulders of the fetus with the index and ring fingers (palm down). While maintaining this tension, lifting the cervix and applying traction to the shoulders with the fingers of the left hand, the surgeon takes a pair of blunt curved Metzenbaum scissors in the right hand. He carefully advances the tip, curved down, along the spine and under his middle finger until he feels it contact the base of the skull under the tip of his middle finger. [T]he surgeon then forces the scissors into the base of the skull or into the foramen magnum. Having safely entered the skull, he spreads the scissors to enlarge the opening. The surgeon removes the scissors and introduces a suction catheter into this hole and evacuates the skull contents. With the catheter still in place, he applies traction to the fetus, removing it completely from the patient.’ H. R. Rep. No. 108–58, p. 3 (2003).

    This is an abortion doctor’s clinical description. Here is another description from a nurse who witnessed the same method performed on a 26-week fetus and who testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee:

    ‘Dr. Haskell went in with forceps and grabbed the baby’s legs and pulled them down into the birth canal. Then he delivered the baby’s body and the arms—everything but the head. The doctor kept the head right inside the uterus…The baby’s little fingers were clasping and unclasping, and his little feet were kicking. Then the doctor stuck the scissors in the back of his head, and the baby’s arms jerked out, like a startle reaction, like a flinch, like a baby does when he thinks he is going to fall. The doctor opened up the scissors, stuck a high-powered suction tube into the opening, and sucked the baby’s brains out. Now the baby went completely limp…He cut the umbilical cord and delivered the placenta. He threw the baby in a pan, along with the placenta and the instruments he had just used.’

    Dr. Haskell’s approach is not the only method of killing the fetus once its head lodges in the cervix, and “the process has evolved” since his presentation. Planned Parenthood, 320 F. Supp. 2d, at 965. Another doctor, for example, squeezes the skull after it has been pierced “so that enough brain tissue exudes to allow the head to pass through.” Still other physicians reach into the cervix with their forceps and crush the fetus’ skull. Others continue to pull the fetus out of the woman until it disarticulates at the neck, in effect decapitating it. These doctors then grasp the head with forceps, crush it, and remove it. Id., at 864, 878; see also Planned Parenthood, supra, at 965.

    Some doctors performing an intact D&E attempt to remove the fetus without collapsing the skull. Yet one doctor would not allow delivery of a live fetus younger than 24 weeks because “the objective of [his] procedure is to perform an abortion,” not a birth. The doctor thus answered in the affirmative when asked whether he would “hold the fetus’ head on the internal side of the [cervix] in order to collapse the skull” and kill the fetus before it is born. Another doctor testified he crushes a fetus’ skull not only to reduce its size but also to ensure the fetus is dead before it is removed. For the staff to have to deal with a fetus that has “some viability to it, some movement of limbs,” according to this doctor, “[is] always a difficult situation.” (http://www.law.cornell.edu/supct/html/05-380.ZO.html)

"I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. So choose life in order that you may live, you and your descendants."

 Dt 30:19

Please join me in praying for these children. Please pray for their mothers and the healing these women will need. Please pray for the "doctors" and nurses who perform abortions. And please pray for our country and our humanity.

http://hopeafterabortion.com/

http://hopeafterabortion.com/?p=106

Why I Wish Everyone Was Catholic

Good Friday is the darkest and most sombre day of the year. Actually, it is the only day our Church asks us to be mindful and contemplative and quiet for the remembrance of our Most Blessed Lord's death. We get to celebrate Him all year and think, if we choose, of only the lovely salvific things He did and said. For three days, three holy days, and one wretched morning and afternoon, we are asked to enter into His sufferings and humiliations and desolation, to be one with Him and be like Simon, and help Him carry the very burdens we inflicted upon Him. A book I recently read said it is like asking the murderer to touch the wounds of his victim--go, lay your hands into those deathly blows, so you appreciate what you've done. I don't exactly look forward to doing this, but I know my salvation rests upon this very acknowledgement of my sins and my desperate plea to His oceans of forgiving mercy.

I wish everyone could be Catholic. I wish everyone was. Our faith is so rich, so deep, so meaningful. The Catholic Church is the oldest institution in the history of humanity. It is the only institution of human beings that has lasted over 2000 years. Led and inspired by the Holy Spirit, the Church offers us innumerable gifts, tools, guides, lessons and opportunities for sanctification. Though I am not qualified or nearly educated enough to list all the reasons I wish people would be Catholic (there are RCIA programs near everyone! :)), I call to mind today, on this most Holy and beautiful days of forgiveness and compassion and patience, my 

Top Ten Reasons I love the Catholic Church.

10. The smell of incense. Ellie asked me what this was last night. I told her "It's the smell of Jesus." It is the most wonderful, heavenly smell on earth (close second is the gardenia). Incense is the sacred oil, offered to Jesus, we believe, at his Nativity. To think He might have known this scent is a great comfort to me. That and chrism oil. Anyone who's smelled a newly baptized baby knows what I mean. Smell of angels. And to think you'd go your whole life and not be captivated by these scents is a catastrophe. Truly. They are gifts from heaven, little glimpses into what the holy gardens must be like!

9. Traditions. Texas A&M thinks it has the copyright on "traditions." 2000 years gives you a leg up in that category! Often, the Church receives criticisms for its traditions that are not found in scripture. Of course, where in scripture does it say everything has to be from scripture? I like to think of our traditions as those practices a family enjoys, the little but meaningful things a family does, every year or every day or every evening that reinforces its beliefs and values. We dress our little girls in beautiful white dresses for their First Holy Communion. We build our churches in the shapes of crosses. We walk the Way of Sorrows, the Via Dolorosa, the Stations of the Cross, each Lent and especially each Good Friday. We venerate Mary, the saints in heaven and the angels who aid them and us. There are so many, and such good traditions! What a sacred richness they add to our worship of Jesus.

8. The Vatican. Ok, so it's the smallest country in the world, the guards have to speak seven (at a minimum) languages, and its museum houses some of the greatest art in the world. Michelangelo painted its ceilings, the garden looks like a picture book and people live there in constant prayer. Of course, anyone can enjoy its historical significance and marvel at its size and prominence, but Catholics call it home. I love that I have a home with everyone else in the world. The Catholic church (another thing I love about it that I'm squeezing into a related topic) is universal, by name and definition. I can go to church anywhere I want and it's the same Mass said everyday, everywhere. It's a body of Christ that only depends on its head, Christ. No pastor, assistant pastor, organist, lector, teen service makes or breaks the church. So, Mass in Italy, Mobile, and Johannesburg are all the same. I love that. And we all call the same place, the same building, the same collection of grottos and altars home. Yessssssssss. 

7. So, speaking of Rome, my next reason is Jesus speaking to Peter. Matthew 16:15-19 says, "He said to them, 'But who do you say that I am?' Simon Peter answered, 'You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.' And Jesus said to him, 'Blessed are you, Simon Barjona, because flesh and blood did not reveal this to you, but My Father who is in heaven. I also say to you that you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build My church; and the gates of Hades will not overpower it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven; and whatever you bind on earth shall have been bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall have been loosed in heaven.'" This is the birth of the Church. This is also the institution of the sacrament of reconciliation. Though the Church has convened councils and issued official papal encyclicals, nothing has ever changed. No word issued officially has been contrary to sacred scripture and Church teaching. The Catholic bible (now it has to be distinguished as such since there are so many "versions") has not changed. I love that.

6. The Saints. America has its heros. Those men and women who we believe were exceptional Americans, who might have even died for the beliefs they knew were right and true for a good government! We honor them with days of the year, commemorative stamps and songs trumpeting their heroism and dignity. The Church has her saints. We pray to them, we ask for intercession, we want to be like them! We read about them, we study their faults, their failings, there unending dependence and trust in Jesus and we pray to emulate their struggles to heaven. Help me be like them! Their stories are so rich, their persons are so real. Surely, in 2000 years, we could come up with some wonderful people who have followed Jesus so fully that they are granted immediate and pure access to Paradise. Shouldn't we study them? Shouldn't we think of them and pray to them? St. Teresa, St. Anthony, St. Michael the Archangel (defend us in battle!), St. Gianna, St. Paul, St. Joan. Yes, Lord, make me like them!

5. The rosary. I would have to write and think and pray for a long time to do this reason justice. Suffice it to say (but not really) that this one is a biggie, and I could not live without it. One writer puts it, "The Holy Rosary is considered a perfect prayer because within it lies the awesome story of our salvation. With the Rosary in fact we meditate the mysteries of joy, of sorrow and the glory of Jesus and Mary." Jesus gave the public world and His apostles three years. He gave His mother 30. He lived with her, in perfect obedience and love for 10 times as long as He lived with His followers. He made her important in every way. God deemed her worthy to carry His Son in her womb; therefore, we pray this beautiful meditative prayer to her, thinking on the life of her Son and the stories of His life with her and with His apostles. The grace and peace that flows from this little circle of beads is unparalleled.

4. Speaking of the rosary, how could one go one without the next reason? Mary, Mother of God, Queen of Heaven. This one boggles me--why don't more religions and faiths love her?? Why don't people talk about her? No human being has been given the honor and grace and sinless state Mary was. No other person was chosen by God Himself to bear His Son. She is the only created human who can understand every emotion we experience. She is considered the queen of all martyrs--can any of us imagine enduring the sword that pierced her soul, watching your son, not just your Savior, but your son, your baby, be humiliated, tortured, beaten, unjustly treated, scourged and crucified like a common criminal? She is the greatest of all saints and she is the mother of us all. By the final act of Jesus, she was given to us, as a mother. It is written, "When Jesus saw his mother, and the disciple whom he loved standing near, he said to his mother, 'Woman, behold, your son!'. Then he said to the disciple, 'Behold, your mother!’" (Jn 19:26-27). Another author writes, "Jesus' words acquire their most authentic meaning in the context of his saving mission. Spoken at the moment of the redemptive sacrifice, they draw their loftiest value precisely from this sublime circumstance. In fact, after Jesus' statements to his Mother, the Evangelist adds a significant clause: 'Jesus, knowing that all was now finished....' (Jn 19:28), as if he wished to stress that he had brought his sacrifice to completion by entrusting his Mother to John, and in him to all men, whose Mother she becomes in the work of salvation." She loves everyone and is available (clearly!) to anyone who wants her friendship and her intercession (didn't Jesus demonstrate to us in scripture that whatever she asked of us, He would do?). As mothers in this world of chaos and sin, we need her! Badly.

3. The Holy Father and his legion of priests. The priesthood is a holy vocation. That does not mean I think they are perfect! But I do think they take holy vows and are united to Christ and His Church in a most special way. They are direct descendents of Jesus and His Apostles. Direct lineage. They are imperfect men, entrusted as shepherds to the Body of Christ. They take various vows, depending on the order to which they belong, but all are chaste in physical body and obedient to his bishop. Their life is a very gift to others. They are servants, striving for sainthood like us all.

2. The sacraments. A concise and clear quote comes from the USCCB website:

"We recognize that the Sacraments have a visible and invisible reality, a reality open to all the human senses but grasped in its God-given depths with the eyes of faith. When parents hug their children, for example, the visible reality we see is the hug. The invisible reality the hug conveys is love. We cannot 'see' the love the hug expresses, though sometimes we can see its nurturing effect in the child.

The visible reality we see in the Sacraments is their outward expression, the form they take, and the way in which they are administered and received. The invisible reality we cannot 'see' is God's grace, his gracious initiative in redeeming us through the death and Resurrection of his Son. His initiative is called grace because it is the free and loving gift by which he offers people a share in his life, and shows us his favor and will for our salvation. Our response to the grace of God's initiative is itself a grace or gift from God by which we can imitate Christ in our daily lives.

The saving words and deeds of Jesus Christ are the foundation of what he would communicate in the Sacraments through the ministers of the Church. Guided by the Holy Spirit, the Church recognizes the existence of Seven Sacraments instituted by the Lord. They are the Sacraments of Initiation (Baptism, Confirmation, the Eucharist), the Sacraments of Healing (Penance and the Anointing of the Sick), and the Sacraments at the Service of Communion (Marriage and Holy Orders). Through the Sacraments, God shares his holiness with us so that we, in turn, can make the world holier."

They are the cornerstones of our faith. They allow us to receive undeserved graces and to grow closer to Christ. They are based in scripture, instituted by Christ. They are pathways to heaven. 

1. The "sacraments of sacraments" is the Holy Eucharist. It is the most important reason why I love being Catholic. It is THE reason. John 6:22-59 is commonly called the Bread of Life Discourse. In this section, Jesus uses the word "eats" or "feeds" four times. He says in verses 54 through 56, "Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him." Afterwards, many of His followers left Him. If they had misunderstood the severity of His words, wouldn't He have corrected them? What is said is not easy, but He is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world! Happy are we to be called to the Supper of the Lamb! I cannot imagine living without this heavenly food. It is a mystery, for sure, and as I stated earlier, I am no theologian. The Real Presence involves the doctrine of transubstantiation, and is most easily understood (if at all) by speaking of a property's accidents and substance. The accidents (those qualities we perceive through our senses) all remain the same, but the substance, through the consecration by the priest, changes from bread and wine to Christ's body and blood. This I believe. And though no one is worthy to receive Him, we beg of His mercy and ask Him to allow us to be a member of His mystical body on earth. John 6:51 states, "I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world." Alleluia! 

I wish everyone I know and love could experience these lovely and true realities. I wish they could experience the deep richness of the Catholic faith. It is so generous and wide and good! Have a blessed next few days and a joyous Easter Sunday!

Never, Never, Never Give Up

I just finished a beautiful book called All But My Life. It is a true story written by a survivor of the Holocaust, Gerda Weissman Klein. She tells of her life, her memories of the German occupation of her native Poland and the three years, three months she spent enduring labor camps and a death march through the winter roads of Czechoslovakia (http://www.amazon.com/All-But-My-Life-Memoir/dp/0809015803). She lost everyone she knew. Every single person. Her entire family, her friends, her lovely little Polish town. If you were living, you were killed. And somehow, through the grace of God and cosmic serendipity, she came out of it alive. 68 pounds, but alive. It is the most authentic, wonderful, meaningful story of relentless hope, dogged love and humble courage I have ever encountered.

I began this book on a friend's recommendation. "Miss Gail," lost her son in January. Clay's accidental death has stolen the breath from his parents and the brother he left behind. As a young man, Clay's life was just getting its footing. He was a gift, a soul, a good person who deserved to be laughing and living and hoping and planning and struggling to become the Clay he wanted to be. He was full of desires and questions, dreams and doubts. But death is so final. It is the ultimate Period. All of that is over, in a breath. In a few short seconds, that boy is no longer on earth and the hole he leaves is immense and very painful. Miss Gail knows Mrs. Klein and so read her story of hope and perseverance. Years of heartache, unfair treatment, inhumane behaviors and complete darkness would have done anybody in. And yet, Mrs. Klein holds on, in the face of Death itself, to the belief that we are good, that life is worth living and that love prevails. And it did. Unbelievable. 

In this coming week, Clay's family will face three difficult days. The two brothers share a birthday, April 4th. Miss Gail's birthday is the next day, April 5th. And years ago, while in nursing school, Miss Gail lost her youngest brother, John, in a car accident. On April 6th. Please, if you are reading this, pray, pray, pray for them. Pray very hard and lift them to heaven. Let them find some peace and happiness and strength. God can give it to them. Please ask Him to.

I don't know if Miss Gail found solace or strength in Mrs. Klein's story, but I know I did. It was difficult to read, but it haunted me until I finished it. I wanted to know she turned out ok. I wanted to see and know the happy ending. I needed the assurance that after this agonizing pain and unbearable suffering, she laughed again. And she did. And she continues to. 

I believe that somewhere beyond our wildest imaginations and dreams, Clay is not over and in fact, he is just beginning. He is like my backyard dogwoods. Just when you think the woods have gone to sleep forever, those little relentless trees remind you that life is here. And worth celebrating. 

Never, never, never give up.  Winston Churchill

The Dogwoods

Legend tells us Jesus died on a dogwood. The dogwood tree was the largest tree available in Jerusalem and so therefore used often for crucifixions. Afterward, Our Lord changed the tree, making its trunk smaller and its branches twisted, preventing it from being used as a torture device any longer. He made the beautiful white flowers stained with red, symbolizing His holy wounds and crown of thorns.

And it's my favorite tree. Each year, it blooms for such a short time and the woods light up with a dusty white. As soon as you appreciate their flowers and little white shows of happiness, they're gone. The trees melt back into green and you can't distinguish them anymore from any other tree in your backyard. 

I find them so poetic and romantic. Some English major should write an entire paper on the symbolism of the dogwood. On its meaning and place in life. I love that this little tree is a reminder of the saddest, darkest day the world has ever known and yet God, in His infinite goodness and mercy, makes it the herald for spring, the ultimate re-do, re-start, re-charge, re-birth of life!

I sat outside yesterday while my babies played and Ellie continued believing she is Elsa or Anna (depending on the moment and the mood) from Disney's Frozen. She's quite taken with the idea of being a princess with magical powers and a sidekick who's a talking snowman. I mean, who isn't? Nick says she needs real friends. 

While I watched a storm come in, I noticed the early poppings of dogwoods. Some, across the street, were in full expression, opened flat against the rain. Others, like the one in our yard, just barely waking up with little yellow buds not stretched out yet and determined to make it to Easter for their show. (Another point the English major should make in his paper. Dogwoods always open during the Lenten/Easter season. Ironic. . .I think not.) It was a perfect spring afternoon, in my little corner of the world. All was hopeful and smelling of rain. 

SomethingThat We Do

A family is the most dynamic, complicated living organism I know of. I feel like a broken record, for I write on this topic often. Clearly, it's the stuff my days are made of, so it's on my mind a lot. 

Steve was out of town this past week. And, like a cue from backstage, our family falls a little bit apart when he's away. Nick was late for curfew. A whole hour late. Jacob admitted he wants to move to Arizona and live with his mom. Ellie regressed into wetting her panties and the babies were, well, babies. 

I felt discouraged. And very tired. Shouldering this all, and the daily living of a family of six, made for hard, long days. My heart felt torn and mangled. Why would Nick just disregard a standard rule, especially when his 16th birthday is right on the horizon? Why is poor Jacob so confused, so sad, so angry?! Why does he think life would be better, happier, cooler, simpler, I-don't-know-what with a woman he, honestly, barely knows? The things he has admitted to doing there, the things he's admitted to seeing, saying, asking for are frightening and tragic. What have I done wrong? How have I failed to show him what real commitment, consistency and caring look like? And, why oh why, does this ALWAYS happen when Steve's away? I told a friend--it's like bad writing, it's so predictable. 

And then I heard this song. I have always thought of it as a love song, for it definitely begins as one. But as I listened to its verses and chorus, I realized it could be sung as a fight song! It's a fight song in the spiritual warfare we are all waging for the preservation and protection of children, marriage and family. It is sung as an anthem for life, for beauty and for strength. Wow, I needed to hear this and I needed to hear it in a new way. Don't you have such great comedic timing, Lord!

I remember well the day we wed
I can see that picture in my head
I still believe the words we said
Forever will ring true

Love is certain, Love is kind
Love is yours and love is mine
But it isn't something that we find
It's something that we do

It's holding tight, It's lettin go
It's flying high and laying low
It lets your strongest feelings show
And your weakness too

It's a little and a lot to ask
An endless and a welcome task
Love isn't something that we have
It's something that we do

We help to make each other all that we can be
Though we can find our strength and inspiration independently
The way we work together is what sets our love apart
So closely that we can't tell where I end and where you start

It gives me heart remembering how
We started with a simple vow
There's so much to look back on now
And still it feels brand new
We're on a road that has no end
And each day we begin again
Love's not just something that we're in
It's something that we do

Love is wide, Love is long
Love is deep and Love is strong
Love is why I love this song
And I hope you love it too

I remember well the day we wed
I can see that picture in my head
Love isn't just those words we said
It's something that we do

There's no request
Too big or small
We give ourselves
We give our all
Love isn't some place that we fall...
It's something that we do

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFas-cB9LG8

Runner's High

People speak of this phenomenon called "runner's high." Some runners experience it, others swear it is completely bogus and just a way for crazy people who run long distances to make others want to do it. 

Last December, we found out we were expecting, and pretty much, since then, we've been on a marathon run. I was sick at the beginning of the pregnancy, we moved across the country just as I was beginning to tolerate the smell of chicken, we settled into a new home, new life, new job, new friends, had babies in July, started new schools in August, added on to our house, braced for the holidays and are about to break into 2014. And I feel the runner's high! It's here, and somehow, we've made it. 

I feel so humbled by God's confidence in me. I know He would never give me more than I can handle, and some days, I feel like surely He's gotten me confused with someone else. The days when everyone's hormones are out of control--the days when we are all emotional, but denying it, we are all over-tired, under-nourished, confused, frustrated and somehow kind of lonely in a house full of people. I don't know why He thought I was qualified for this. 

And then I get this:

 

And a this: 

And a:

At five months old, the babies are starting to sleep better. They are both on their tummies, with fingers securely in their mouths. They smile and laugh and watch everyone. I love this time when they are becoming people with personalities! What a privilege it is to be the first to see these developments. I feel like I'm backstage with God Himself, just watching and studying as He creates these little lives. 

The months before this have not all been hard, but they certainly have not been easy ones. And to remind myself that the hard parts of living make the person is just fine and dandy. But to be living those hard parts? That's another story all together. The reason people call it "hard" is because it is. It hurts. It's confusing. It is daunting, never-ending, lonely, tiresome, monotonous, difficult and just plain hard. And plain hard wears you out in ways other things don't. It changes you. 

It's like I'm on the dogwood trail again and I'm seeing pieces of it for the first time. I'm appreciating little things and rediscovering the importance of details. I'm realizing that though my body is not what I want it to be, it's not how I want it to look or feel, my body built two babies at one time. It carried two babies successfully, and they are perfect and healthy and beautiful, and so I can forgive myself the "flaws," for though I've run the marathon and earned the medals, my greatest accomplishment, my greatest feat will always be building human beings. 

And that, for me, is a great high. To say, "Good morning, God!" rather than "Good God, morning?!" feels like we've made it through the tunnel and have hit a nice stride. I have no delusion that there are no more hills or valleys or twists along this early part of child-rearing; but there's been a little angel with me lately who keeps whispering, "You are doing it. It's working. Your life will never be the same, but isn't that marvelous?!"

Dear Babies

My dear babies,

For the record, you are so loved. I marvel at you everyday. I cannot believe we get to love you so much! 

I am humbled at the belief that you were planned, destined, built before the stars and heavens and little fish in the sea were fashioned. You have been Known since the beginning of Time and I get to be your mother. What a sacred, wonderful, beautiful honor! Thank you for letting me be your mother. You will never understand the wonder and hope you brought to Daddy and me. You cannot fathom the joy you have given us, by letting us touch your ears, feel your toes, nuzzle against your cheeks. We feel like we've been knighted! Such a fantastic, unbelievable gift you are to us. We believed in miracles before we knew you. Now, we live one everyday. 

Know you are a gift of God, you come from Heaven and you are loved with a depth and breadth that is indescribable. You are perfect, more than the sum of your parts, and because you were both created in His image and likeness, little windows into the Love of God. 

 Twins. Two. My arms are so full, but my heart is fuller.

Our Holy Day

The day I found out I was expecting another baby is a day I'll always remember. We had asked God and prayed so fervently to Him for this miracle, I cried and sobbed with unimaginable gratitude and joy. The day I was told we were having two is also fairly memorable. :) After that day, when the babies' hearts weren't even beating yet and were only a fragile and sensitive 6 weeks old, we prayed and prayed that God would let us keep both. And He did. Of course their birthday will always be one of my best and happiest and most remarkable days of my life. . . and following this incredible list of beautiful moments is the day Olivia and Tommy joined their cousin Jimmy in the Body of Christ as they were baptized, all three, together at the Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart. I will always remember how white the event was, how brightly the sun shone through the enormous stained glass windows. It felt as if the Holy Spirit was truly in our midst. I think He was. 

See--look at all that white!

Jacob and his patron saint, St. Juan Diego

Sweet Susie wearing the Archbishop's cap.

Nick and Tommy. See--white.

Olivia and her godfather, Uncle David.

Baby Jimmy

Baby Tommy

Baby Olivia!

The O'Banions were all there, and Uncle James' family. You three babies are so loved!

Again. . . the white, right? Was a heavenly day, truly.

One is Silver and the other Gold

During my long stint in Brownies, we learned a song I've always remembered: "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold."

I have golden, golden friends in my "the Shellies." I met them while living in Arizona on a fifth grade field trip to the Grand Canyon. They are neighbors with each other and good friends, and they accepted me and loved my family and made Arizona an experience full of love and great, true blessings. 

They are the kind of friends you want to be to others. They are honest, funny, gentle, strong and good. They consider motherhood their most important job. . . and their hardest. They support their husbands, organize block parties and have the gift of living in the present.

Shelly J has big hair. Like fluffy big. She would wear fake eyelashes if she knew how to put them on. She makes the best guacamole this side of the Pacific and she used to think toilets operated only if the electricity was on. Yep. She thinks she's a wild child who thrives on adventure and spontaneous day trips. She is the most dependable, loyal, dedicated person I know. People leave Shelly J with a bigger, fuller heart. She's all about the love.

Shelly B rides a motorcycle. She thinks etsy.com, up-cycled cardboard, and camping without deodorant are kind of cool. She's so real, she still wears a 1980s cross-stitched applique sweatshirt with her name on it. She makes her bed before her housekeeper comes, will read any book with words in it and treats everyday like she can move mountains. She is the most independent, confident, generous person I know. She loves my kids a lot and my dog more than I do.

They came to visit for a few days. Or at least that's what I thought they were doing. They came to fill my love tank. They did my laundry, played board games with Jacob, cooked several dinners and froze others, let me nap (ahhhhh!!!), listened to my stories, read to Ellie, rocked my babies, made me laugh, cry and think. They, in giving of their time, gave their very selves to me. And I love them and their spirits more than I can articulate. They are golden friends I will always hold closely.

I dig them. Totally.

Doing Your Best

I have a sign that hangs above our kitchen door--"Just Do Your Best." It's a motto and a reminder that is not unusual to many families. I tell my children, myself, my husband all of the time--just do your best. Try your hardest, show up, put your best foot forward, life is not a dress rehearsal, etc. Miss Judy used to tell us that the audition started when you walked into the ballroom, not when you first danced. It all mattered, even how you put on your ballet shoes. 

But, by example, we're not living this for our kids. We are not. I've written about this topic before today, but recently, the "living hands free" thing has presented itself to me again. 

We have a babysitter who keeps my little kids a few afternoons a week so I can get other things done quickly (It's amazing how fast I can grocery shop.). I pay her to be responsible, present and active--all the things I am (or should be) when I'm parenting. She is 19, newly engaged, and ON HER PHONE ALL OF THE TIME. She's "reading" to Ellie, and half of her attention is on her text messages. She's rocking the babies while checking her Facebook status. She pushes Ellie in the swing outside, while with one hand, talks with her fiance. And it dawned on me--these will be Ellie's memories of adults. Of life. Of "normal." And that is just not acceptable to me. Watching this sitter half-ass her job reminds me of how I half-ass my vocation. 

I do not want Ellie's memory of me to be the top of my head. I do not want her to remember looking over at me from the playground and seeing me more engrossed in a friend I haven't seen in years but who posted something on Facebook than on her--the most important contribution I will make to this universe. I do not want her to think it's ok to be halfway paid attention to, halfway listened to, halfway appreciated. What am I teaching her when I treat her this way? To expect others to treat her the same. "Your friends, spouse, co-workers, boss, children--none of them, Ellie, will give you 100% because I don't." If your mother doesn't, who will?

Now. I am not a very messy mom. I am not into sensory play (whatever that means), pouring and dumping and gluing and cutting just for the sake of exploration and discovery. It doesn't mean I shouldn't be, it just means it takes a lot from me to prepare myself for a kitchen to look like this after Ellie discovers sand and rice and lentils: 

I have to remind myself that being present doesn't mean being perfect. It doesn't mean thinking everything my kids say is critical or earth-shattering or hysterical. It doesn't mean I have to stop what I'm doing every time they speak or need me or decide to treat Bonnie as a small horse and ride her until she bites. But it does mean that SOMETIMES I do stop what I'm doing, lock eyes with them and listen. Pay attention. It means it's unacceptable to go to bed at night and think I know my children when I've spent the entire day "with" them but really with my phone. It's unacceptable to treat the people on the phone more importantly than my children or my husband. Just not right. And that's what we're telling each other when we are captivated by the text and not by the person with us. That's what we tell our children--you are not as important as this other person and the gossip we're engaging in. Your story, problem, question, observation--has to wait. It has to always wait for me and my attention because I have 267 contacts who are all saying different things I have to notice.

Put it down. I say this to myself and to you. Put it down. Put it on silent and plug it in by your bathroom sink. It can wait. What are your childhood memories? How did your mother make you feel? Did she make you feel valuable and worthy and interesting, like you could do anything and be anyone and that your best was amazing? Or did she make you feel like you were boring, kind of interesting, adequate company for when she had the leftover time to spend with you? 

Do your best. Nothing is really acceptable unless it's your best. Be the best mom and wife and friend you can be today. And today will be different than tomorrow and next week and next year. And your best might not look like someone else's life, but that's ok because it isn't someone else's life. It's yours. And if you look back on it and realize you half-assed it all, you'll be sad. You won't know your kids, you won't know your spouse, you won't know yourself. But you'll know your 267 contacts. Kind of. 

See your children. See your family. See your friends. Look at them. Pay attention.

"Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike." J.K. Rowling

“To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.” Elizabeth Gilbert

“I will love you always. When this red hair is white, I will still love you. When the smooth softness of youth is replaced by the delicate softness of age, I will still want to touch your skin. When your face is full of the lines of every smile you have ever smiled, of every surprise I have seen flash through your eyes, when every tear you have ever cried has left its mark upon your face, I will treasure you all the more, because I was there to see it all. I will share your life with you. . . and I will love you until the last breath leaves your body or mine.” Laurell Hamilton

When God Created Mothers

I was visiting with a young priest recently. He and I have become friends, and he has been a sweet part of our family since moving to Tyler. We were sharing our experiences in the common trials and challenges of living your vocation. He as a priest and I as a wife and mother can relate to many more emotions than I first realized.

We laughed about the concept of "dying to self." That, when spoken and written of, this concept is often seen through rose colored glasses. Dying to yourself is expressed through beautiful language, lots of sacramental images and sacred descriptors. It is seen as a privilege and an honor, something you should want to do and enjoy doing everyday. When you choose (or rather follow the choice God has made for you) your vocation and you die to your individual self little by little, you expect it to be happy and liberating and energizing. 

This is why we were laughing. Because it's not any of those things. It's hard. And constant. And, as Ellie says, "exhausterating." Father said something, though, that resonated with my tired little brain. It went something like this:

"The reason this 'dying to self' is so hard for humanity is that Christ knew why He was dying. He lived for that one purpose. He was born to die for us and for our sins, and He knew every moment of every day His life's purpose and goal and reason for 'dying to self.' We, as humans, do not know our life's purpose everyday and every moment. We do not always know why were are dying little by little. And it is in this not knowing that we find our faith and we find our strength to continue dying so we might live."

So, on the day we celebrate our Blessed Virgin Mary's birthday, I ask her to continue helping me die to self. I ask her to help me be a better mother and wife and woman. I ask her to help me be gracious and graceful, humble and strong. It is a prayer with an answer that is far reaching, with lasting effects. This is a time in my life that cannot be mastered or survived without prayer. How to be the kind of mother Nick and Jacob need and want and deserve is a different challenge than being the kind of mother Ellie needs or even the kind of mother the babies need. Remembering my first calling is as wife and partner to my husband requires another kind of patience and dedication, and then knowing that caring for my health is critical to the health of my family is an additional daunting reality. 

Therefore, I pray! And drink coffee. And take naps. And know that life is so beautiful, especially in the dying moments. 

In honor of Mary, our Mother's birthday, I share this from Erma Bombeck:

“When God Created Mothers"

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of "overtime" when the angel appeared and said. "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order?" She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands.... no way."

"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."

"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded.

"One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word."

"God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...."

"I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick...can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger...and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower."

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.

"But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can imagine what this mother can do or endure."

"Can it think?"

"Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.

"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model."

"It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."

"What's it for?"

"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."

"You are a genius, " said the angel.

Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there.”