A Faith to Die For

I'm praying a "Seven Day Rosary" this week. It's a rosary developed by John F. Kippley and it's beautiful. It uses eight sets of mysteries rather than the traditional four, and it incorporates biblical passages. Yesterday, I prayed "The Parables" rosary, which focused on the parables of the "good seeds," the "good Samaritan," the "two barns of wheat," the "talents" and the well known "prodigal son." I prayed (and had to read) it while driving yesterday all around New Jersey (not the best time to be reading, I know, but I took what time I could get!). In the first day of the rosary, the mysteries were about the preparation of the people for Jesus' public ministry. It included the familiar Nativity and the Visitation stories but ended with something I wasn't expecting--the martyrdom of John the Baptist.

The notes on this mystery said, "St. John the Baptist is the first adult martyr of the New Testament. He is the only person in the Bible to die specifically for his witness to the marriage bond" (http://www.nfpandmore.org/rosary.shtml).  I didn't realize this. I don't think I actually knew why he was imprisoned to begin with. Not the specific reason, anyway. Because he refused to validate Herod's marriage to his brother's wife, he was jailed and then beheaded. In this act, he prepared the way for the sacrifice of his cousin.

This way of praying the rosary has made me feel many things--sadness, joy, amazement, desperation, hope, revelation. And it made me wonder that day--what would I die for? Not who, because that's easy. I know who I would give my life for, and I'm no saint for that list. It's the easy people--the people I love, the person I co-created, the people who love me. I doubt if I could die for someone I don't know, or don't love or don't, heaven forbid, like very much. But, the question surprised me in the car that day (yes, again in the car)--what cause, what belief, what issue is great enough to you, Katie, that you would die upholding its rightness? What is worth it to me? And, most frankly, do I even have the courage to know? How do I know if I would DIE for something? I mean, really? I would let someone cut off my head or burn me alive or shoot me against a wall--that would mean leaving my children and my husband and my family and my life!!!--for a CAUSE? For a belief? I'm afraid I would give in. When I think of my most beloved truths--the True Presence in the Most Holy Eucharist, the God-given freedoms of every individual, the liberties and justness afforded you because you were born human, the dignity of and protection for our most vulnerable and precious--the unborn. . .I still don't know if I could be like John and offer my greatest gift (not right or entitlement. . .gift) for an idea. What, then, does that mean about my strength in these ideas and beliefs and truths? Are they like my family and loved friends, or those people I don't know or would rather not?

Twisting Half Moon

Any of you who practice yoga will know how I feel. Twisting Half Moon. What? Everytime I get my legs and arms and torso into this position and hear it announced, I laugh. Really? Am I actually trying to get into a twisted shape that resembles a half moon? What does that mean, anyway? And I'm supposed to be "clearing my mind" and "thinking about nothing." I can only count the remaining seconds and wonder what a twisting whole moon would look like.

It's how I felt all day today when I answered questions from my 10 year old about puberty. Those kind of questions. The ones that involve words I'm too embarrassed to type. Questions about diseases and activities and changes in a boy's body and dreams and contraception. Oh, and sins. He wanted to know what was sinful and what was not. "I thought you weren't supposed to do some of these things Mom because it would mean not sharing your most precious gift with the person you love?" (I guess he was listening in our previous educational talks.) This all happened, too, in the Target facewash aisle. Holy moly. I finally realized what twisting half moon was supposed to feel like! There I was, looking at exfoliants and toners and trying not to act stunned so he'd keep asking questions and I could keep helping him, all the while feeling like a twisted half orbiting body! Can't wait to do yoga, again.

The Mud Between our Toes

 Ellie and I went to Louisiana this past weekend to, as my grandmother would say, "get the mud between our toes." We (or I) needed to refill our spirit, and there is no better way to feel you again than to surround yourself with people who know you better than you do (insert "mother" and "sister" here). There is something inside of me that relaxes, something in the very center of my very center that rejoices and unwraps itself when it is hugged and loved and known by people who love me despite myself.

There is something so wonderfully familiar and happy about the words "snoball," "beignet," and "hun." Susie, my niece, loves snoballs. Frozen sugar in a cup your mommy lets you dump all over yourself--how could you NOT love them?

 Ellie learned new words, too. "Mine," "no," and "hold you!!!!" (what Susie says when she wants you to hold her--"Want me to 'hold you?'"). Ellie learned that showing something to Susie also meant giving it to her. She learned that sponges tasted just as good wet with sprinkler water as they do wet with bubbles in a bath.

 She learned that two shovels are better than one--kind of.

We breathed in the powdered sugar of Cafe Du Monde, and I thought of my grandmother who would have loved being there with Susie and Ellie. Mamere would have been proud to share her New Orleans with them, and being there makes me miss her.

 And the beads. Oh, how the beads became a source of joy and sparkle and happiness and jealousy. :) The girls learned to share (again. . . kind of) and be happy (kind of) with the beads they had. Susie liked to call them her "ros-ries," and I think that made our Blessed Mother smile. Why can't Mardi Gras beads be rosaries? I think it's a great idea.

We read books Leigh and I enjoyed as kids, played "This Little Piggy" and "cooked" in the beach sand of Gulf Shores. Ellie is so much like her daddy--she didn't like how the sand made her hands messy! Makes playing in it difficult. I was thankful for the few days of relative relaxation we shared, and I cried when we left. I felt like we were abandoning a piece of ourselves there in the swamp, and though I celebrate the new adventures God gives me, I cherish and cling to the smells and tastes and sounds that raised me.

Do it Big, or Stay in Bed

So, I'm struggling with lukewarm. I'm struggling with the American trend of accepting it all and refusing the specifics. I don't like being lukewarm, and though I'm sure I am at times, I pray those times are few. My brother-in-law will tell you the O'Banions heat up their food and coffee 15 times before they finish it, at least three times before they sit down with it. I had never noticed that before James pointed it out! But, I want it hot, not kind of hot. And if the a/c is blasting, I want it cold. Like the bottom section of the blue diagram that indicates "freezing." That setting. 


We are surrounded, literally, by a culture of mediocrity and relativity. I feel as if I'm battling against it all to protect my children. I value diversity. I like and honor different traditions from my own. But, good grief, BE that tradition. Commit to it and love it and wrestle with it. Everyone I talk to seems to want to be all faiths and all nationalities and all cultures at once. How is that possible? How are we not all suffering from a fundamental identity crisis? It's not trendy to be commited to anything. To be "labeled" by beliefs or practices or prayers or right and wrong. What happened to loyalty and dedication and work ethic? I don't like the loss of these values, either. I just watched a beautiful tribute to a man named Welles Crowther. This is commitment. He is a hero, one who died saving others.


http://espn.go.com/video/clip?id=6929979


We have crucifixes in our home, and I am proud of them. I am proud to worship Jesus Christ and believe in His sacrifice and promises. We are surrounded by a culture of fear, a culture of walking on eggshells. So, as we are taught, those who are lukewarm will have some trouble. . . . 


Rev 3:16


Somewhere, I read that funny quote, "Do it big or stay in bed." I've always liked it--if you're going to bother doing it, do it like you mean it. Or, better yet, just mean it. I am trying to remind myself and teach my children that we must mean it. We must cling to the cross and seek Mary's help and reach out for the saints' intercession when we waiver. 


"The wonderful thing about saints is that they were human. They lost their tempers, got hungry, scolded God, were egotistical or impatient in their turns, made mistakes and regretted them. Still they went on doggedly blundering toward heaven." -- Phyllis McGinley


And, a personal favorite. . . :) "If you start to take Vienna, take Vienna." -- Napoleon Bonaparte


Dear Lord, please, please, help me stumble persistently towards heaven. I'll try to bring Vienna with me. 

Missing my People

It's my sister's birthday today. And I miss her. I'd like to meet her today for lunch or for a swing. I'd like to walk with her and tell jokes or, really more comforting, say nothing. You can only really do that with people you know best-say nothing. I miss her. I miss my people. The boys started school this morning. It's raining outside and a little chilly. I'm excited for them (5th and 8th grades!), and I'm excited for me, too. :) But today, I ache somewhere inside. I want to know people. I want to run into someone I know in the cereal aisle. I want to go to a birthday party or be asked for a cup of sugar. I miss my parents. I miss the comfort of being myself around people who love me even though they know me! Today, on a day of new beginnings for my kids and my sister, I find myself just wanting the old and missing the broken in.

Silence in the Walking

So, Nick is 13. All the way. He's cute and funny and has a great smile. His little eyes really twinkle. His voice has changed, his skin is different and he listens to music. A lot.

And our drives to football practice are now silent. He isn't mad. He just doesn't talk. And I pull the "let's see how long HE can last if I don't say anything" game. And he can last--the entire 7 miles (yes, I've clocked it). And I'm the one who is miserable. Lesson learned. Initiate the conversation or sing with Mariah. I grew up with brothers; gosh, I walked the Trail with David. And he didn't always talk. In fact, I think he preferred the silence (Maybe he was praying, for that is the ONLY time I "like" silence). I should remember how pleasant the quiet walks actually were, how you could hear the leaves crinkling and the wind moving the trees. When Katie accompanied you, often, you couldn't hear those forest sounds because, well, there was so much to say!

We sang our way through Irene and heeded Daddy-O's request to "blow the rain to Texarkana!" Irene wreaked havoc on much of New Jersey, but the Gale family fared well in the. . . gale. After their experience with Katrina, Jacob and Nick thought the category 1 hurricane was kind--our house didn't flood and our power was only out for a day!

And Ellie. Like riding a bike or popping up on waterskis, she just stood up and walked today. Really walked. Lapped the sofa. Brought us keys, stuffed chickens and her "CCCCOOOOWWWW." She gripped her little ice cream purse Mamalise gave her, and decided today, our official Gale Pajama Day (in honor of the final Friday of summer!), would be her Walking Day. 

Oh precious one. This is so fun! Each of my kids seems to be in a bright spot in their trail. Steve and I are the luckiest to get to watch them become themselves. 

"Wherever you are now call it perfection and know that in this moment it is really enough."