Trail Turns

Sometimes, on the dogwood trail, the path would break to the left or right, and you'd have to crawl over the fallen branches and find your footing on the other side.

Our path has broken to the southwest, to be exact. Right over Tennessee and into Tyler, TX. We are on our way home!  No more hurricanes (hopefully), no more coats in the car, and no more of these crazy things that make you look like a chipmunk.

We're so excited, we're lost for words. :)

 

Steve has taken a position with a hospital there--we'll be able to drive to see family and share our lives with those we love. We'll be able to invite Daddy-O and Mamalise for graduations and 16th birthday parties, take baths with Susie and Jack more often, crash David's house and learn to eat crawfish with Casey. I am so excited to give this village to my children, especially Nick and Jacob.

We have been touched and blessed by many good people in New Jersey, and I will always consider myself lucky to have such a broad horizon of experiences. But my spirit feels peaceful and hopeful about this return to Texas. My children have seen so much (maybe too much?) for their short lifetimes. They definitely have the wings--I'm so happy we can dig in and give them roots.

Lessons from Sandy

Some things I knew, some things I did not. Sandy did not barrel in; rather, she crept into our evening like a welcome autumn storm. Calming, really, and quite romantic. Ten days later, we are tired of each other's company and had I known what a quiet, unwelcome guest she would be, I would never have stood staring at her from my kitchen sink. These days brought us some personal setbacks, but nothing, of course, to the many many people who lost homes, families or treasures. I do not compare my life to theirs. I only reflect on my little piece of the universe Sandy chose to invade.

 1. Never take Halloween for granted. Ellie was a scarecrow the Saturday before Halloween. The tulle episode still sits on her floor. 

2. When leaving your home for an overnight stay, remember your loofah. Washing without a washrag or scrub leaves you feeling like you did as good a job cleaning as Jacob. Which isn't good. 

3. People surprise you. I don't know how to phrase this one. . . I've gone back and forth trying to word it accurately. I think the most genuine way to say it is: (and after all, it's a blog, not a New York Times article. I write this for myself, not my job!) Friends and family I'd never expect to help, did. They called, asked, supported and prayed for us. Others' plates shrunk overnight and never even texted. Surprising, like I said, and a bit disheartening. A lesson for me, not a criticism on them. 

4. Ellie can use the phrase, "Mom, I need a beer" in correct context and with beautiful inflection. 

5. I knew Hillary and Kevin Shipp were darling and funny and great. I did not know they would be answers to my prayers.  

6. The majority of the country proved it does not think the way I do. I did not know it before Tuesday.

7. I knew Jacob and Nick were sweet boys. They are cooperative, flexible and very understanding. I learned how good they are. Truly, this experience brought out the best in them.

8. I love coffee. We are very close. We miss each other so much when we're not together in the morning, and when we don't know when we'll see each other again. It's painful, really.

9. Disasters can bring out the most resilient characteristics in us. They can also encourage our Quit.

10. Steve is a great daddy. I am so proud of myself for choosing him as a partner in all of This. He is dependable, funny, strong and honorable. I love him.

11. Sometimes, you have to stop to enjoy the moment and take in the scenery. In an effort to divert the troops, we took a nice driving tour of Allentown, PA. Right up there with the 2 hour lunch at Cracker Barrel, this was our favorite site. Yes, it reads Nappy BY CHOICE. As Leigh said, "Where is Miss Judy when you need her?" She would have died a second death at this.

12. When it can't get harder, it does. But you survive, or you die. And either way, according to my belief system, is pretty good. The snow came at just the time we didn't need it. Our house was cold, my family was tired (several different hotels, nights on mattresses in one bedroom, lots of peanut butter, no school, no friends, no RELIEF, no privacy) and I wasn't sure how to keep smiling when I felt like nursing a bottle of Bailey's. But Jacob's LSU Christmas hat made us laugh. And that, sometimes, is really all you need, yes?

13. Lastly, I realized that everyday, you need some naked time. Being dressed all day in front of your children in a bedroom or hotel room makes me feel suffocated. I missed the walk from the toilet to the shower, or the shower to the closet. Just the few moments to breathe by myself. And that was something Sandy taught me. It had never occurred to me before to seek out the Free Minute. But it makes a difference. Try.

Picking Fulton

Two things have been on my mind lately (well, more than two, but whatever). 

Fulton Sheen.

Picking up.

I discovered this treasured "Venerable Servant of God" when looking up "famous people from Peoria, IL" where Steve is from. I don't remember why I was doing it or how I convinced myself it was a good use of time. Nevertheless, the only name that had a hyperlink to it was Fulton Sheen! Let me say, I cannot get enough of this man. I've ordered two of his books (there are so many more!) from the local bookstore and cannot wait to feed my soul with his counsel. Treasure in Clay is his autobiography and Life is Worth Living is a collection of his television programs that ran in the 1950s. To quote from fultonsheen.com, "In 1951 he also began a weekly television program. . . Life is Worth Living. The show. . .was not expected to offer much of a challenge against ratings giants Milton Berle and Frank Sinatra, but surprisingly held its own, causing Berle to joke, "He uses old material, too." In 1952, Sheen won an Emmy Award for his efforts, accepting the acknowledgment by saying, "I feel it is time I pay tribute to my four writers—Matthew, Mark, Luke and John."

I find myself thinking of him during the day and finding comfort or grace in a man I've barely met. It's like I'm making a new friend, and I've just said, "Hi. I'm Katie. Welcome to our family! Would you like to be a part of our lives?!" lol. And I think, partly because he thinks of Steve as a neighbor and partly because I've nagged him enough, he said "yes."

The second thing, dear Fulton. Picking up. Holy moly. Lately, I've been exhausted and annoyed and feeling quite put upon with the CRAPOLA in my house that people leave like the scattered fallen leaves in my yard. I don't think the socks or crayons or jackets or shoes (we must have 5k pairs in this house) or underwear or legos or glasses of water or whatever are in any greater quantity that usual or, quite honestly, are in great quantity at all. I think it's me. Each little item nags at me, like some little annoying kid playing "Marco Polo" who just keeps yelling "Polo! Polo! Polo!" at the end of the pool and is no where near the Marco player. You know that little annoying kid who thinks he's all that and a bag of chips? I could name him with several examples of kids I remember, but that would be rude. That's what this house is full of. Annoying Polos. And they shout at me all day.

Plus. And this is an image from my mother. My love tank is emptied, like a little drip, all stinkin day. Just drained, sometimes punctured, throughout my waking hours. Rushing, seeping, whatever--it depletes until I have this little sloshing at the bottom like backwash. I want Jacob to be able to do his homework on his own. He's almost 12. I want him to be self-sufficient and confident and accountable and dependable and responsible. I don't want to fuss anymore or care that he's fallen behind or slipped up on homework. I don't want to have to check everyday (every. day.) with him, backtracking, confirming and reaffirming him. It's not very rewarding. And at 4 pm, I'm close to empty anyway. Ellie isn't napping well (or at all), the house is a disaster (did I mention that already?) and I've still not eaten yet. Grrrr. And we haven't even gotten to Nick getting home at 6 needing me to cut his hair into a "fauxhawk" for the cross country meet Saturday and Steve wondering why Ellie is in a bad mood and, with that look in his eyes, kind of sort of blaming me for her new habit called Throwing When I'm Frustrated.

And then I think of Fulton. And here's what he has to say about my plight. He's quite understanding.

“Love is the key to the mystery. Love by its very nature is not selfish, but generous. It seeks not its own, but the good of others. The measure of love is not the pleasure it gives-that is the way the world judges it-but the joy and peace it can purchase for others.” 

“Love burdens itself with the wants and woes and losses and even the wrongs of others.”  

“Each of us makes his own weather, determines the color of the skies in the emotional universe which he inhabits.” 

 “To value only what can be "sold" is to defile what is truly precious. The innocent joy of childhood, the devotedness of a wife, the self sacrificing service of a daughter--none of these have an earthly market. To reduce everything to the dirty scales of economic values is to forget that some gifts, like Mary's, are so precious that the heart that offers them will be praised as long as time endures.” 

And, I think, my favorite:

“The mark of man is initiative, but the mark of woman is cooperation. Man talks about freedom; woman about sympathy, love, sacrifice. Man cooperates with nature; woman cooperates with God. Man was called to till the earth, to "rule over the earth"; woman to be the bearer of a life that comes from God.” 

And there goes the filling back up of the tank. From within. My life is beautiful and a gift, and I know this to be true. I want so badly to matter. To really matter. And I realize, in the still quiet of my heartbeat, that I do. I mean, who's going to perfect the fauxhawk if I'm not around?

Endless Song

Every time I hear this song, I pray they are my last words. They bring me comfort and serenity in times of confusion or doubt. I find myself singing this song in the car or in the kitchen, and I love how the Holy Spirit must be giving it to me to remind me of the source of all strength and peace! "No storm can shake your inmost calm, Katie! What are you worrying for?"

The last few days have been interesting ones in our house. The boys started school. I started back to a mom's group I belong to. Steve is in conversation with some people regarding future opportunities. (That sounds like a mafia. For the record, he is not Capone.) We had a very big, crossroads kind of conversation with Nick regarding his "girlfriend" and, well. Should I just say that Steve used the phrases "playing with fire," "too big for your britches," "we're going to help you by eliminating some things for you," "in over your head," "possibly next year." We still pray for another baby and we still praise God for His many blessings. We are grateful but not satisfied. Is that an oxymoron?

Today, I will keep this in mind. God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. Oh, happy day!

My life goes on in endless song
above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation!

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds and echos in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to the rock I'm clinging!
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?

New Panty Day

 So. There's something about beginnings that gets people all "hot and bothered." Everyone likes a beginning, whether or not it's a new start to the year, the diet, the school semester, the project, the goal. New beginnings signal another chance to be right, to be good, to be successful. They are so full of hope and promise, some people like a new beginning everyday! And why not? Breaking fast is such a simple way to say, "Ok. I'm starting again. Not giving up. It's a new day. I've never lived this one before, so let's see what I can do with it." (That's a really good breakfast.)

My second favorite beginning is school starting. I love all that goes along with it, so much so that my boys think I'm the one going to school September 6th. I like the new supplies, the new socks, the new teacher, the new locker, the new friends, the new hope for great. Checking off the supply list does something to my heart. It's real love, I think.

My first favorite beginning is new panties. I love them. I don't buy them often. In fact, I buy them so seldomly my friends have taken to mailing me sets for my birthday. I don't know what it is about my unmentionables (that I'm mentioning) that makes me think they are made of steel and will survive the next nuclear holocaust. I wear them until they are riddled with holes and don't qualify as a garment anymore. But buying new panties, the 5 for $25 or even the 3 for $25 (splurge) is so exciting I feel like a new person. Kind of like new mascara, only better. And more colorful.

So today, my first day after LASIK surgery, I bought new panties. I figured, new eyes, new underwear.

Ellie agreed. New panties rock.

This summer, we celebrated my dad's beginning of a new decade. He turned 60 July 29th, so we all met Mom and Dad in Wyoming for a week of hiking, rafting, nail polish and napping. It was one of those times in my life that will always be remembered--we were all there. Dad kept mentioning it made him sad that Susie and Ellie won't really remember coming. That for them, it will all be only pictures. Of course Jack won't remember either, and neither will all the other grandbabies who will come along (God willing!) who won't even be in the pictures. Nick and Jacob will tell the stories and hopefully they'll remind the little ones of how much we are all loved and cherished by Daddy-O and Mamalise.


Right. Enough of that. Beginning again in this blog, here are some of those very pictures, taken
by David, my brother. He captured the essence of that week so well--joyful, energetic and so good for the soul.

The O'Banions.

Oh, Leigh. She's so good for Ellie.

 

Great idea.

Happy 2nd birthday, sweet girl.

The Banshees.

Oh Ellie.

Susie and Jacob. He loves that she loves him.

My Big Little Boys

It was a fun week in our house-- Jacob and Nick graduated from elementary and middle school and ended their first full year of school New Jersey. I can't believe how big they've gotten, how different they are from the children I met over four years ago. They have shared their lives with me, and I am privileged to get to love them.

Halloween 2010

Something scared Jacob. . . was it me?!

February 2011

Summer 2011

Now, they are young men who make Steve and me so proud. They are precious, funny, curious, imperfect children of God who test our patience and understandings while giving us such unabashed, limitless love. We are blessed to be on this journey with two such special people. Oh, the places you'll go!

5th Grade Recognition on Monday.

8th Grade Graduation on Wednesday. 

Last day of school on Thursday! Busy week. :)

I do!!

During Pentecost Sunday, we witnessed three people complete their Sacraments of Initiation by receiving the gift of Confirmation, being sealed by the Holy Spirit. I don't remember the day I received the Holy Spirit (on the calendar, not in my memory--I remember the day very well!), but I think Confirmation should always be on Pentecost. Maybe it is and I'm just late to the party. Totally possible. 

Before they received the gifts of the Holy Spirit, as is customary, we stood as a congregation to affirm them and to reaffirm our baptismal promises. I. Love. Doing. This. It makes me cry--more like gently weep--each time I do this. Because we are most often baptized as infants in the Catholic Church, it is one of the few, if only, sacraments we don't remember receiving. So, the renewal of these original promises made by my parents and godparents feels like I'm stamping a big fat YES onto the initial document. I imagine it's like renewing your wedding vows.

When I stand, I picture that I'm either in front of God, and he's asking me these questions, or in front of an executioner. My life depends on these answers. Would I stand just as proudly in front of someone wanting to kill me for my beliefs as I would in front of someone wanting to love me for them? Each time I say "I do," my heart fills up and "I can feel the love!" as my Arizona friend would say. It truly is an affirmation of faith. As the priest (or God or Executioner Man) asks, we answer.

Do you reject Satan?
 

I do.
 

And all his works?
 

I do.
 

And all his empty promises? 

I do.
 

Do you believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth?
 

I do.
 

Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary was crucified, died, and was buried, rose from the dead, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father?
 

I do.
 

Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting? 

I do.
 

God, the all-powerful Father of our Lord Jesus Christ has given us a new birth by water and the Holy Spirit, and forgiven all our sins. May he also keep us faithful to our Lord Jesus Christ for ever and ever.
 

Amen.

BC and AC

Dress up day. I wish everyday was.

Before Children, I had:

1. The top to my hairspray
2. Scissors
3. Paintbrushes in the clean bucket I put under my sink
4. Clean fingernails
5. Baths
6. Shiny car interior. I'm talking SHINY CLEAN.
7. Bobby pins
8. A Martha Stewart looking coffee table. With Martha Stewart looking breakable objects and fancy books.
9. My own bed
10. Long Saturday afternoon hair appointments
11. Less (aka NO) clutter
12. Two loads of laundry--a week
13. Lots of take-out
14. Dusted shelves
15. A cat

My sweets.

After Children, I have:

1. Topless toiletries
2. Lost modesty
3. Public bathroom lessons
4. Breaking fingernails
5. Mountains of laundry
6. Hiding Cheerios in my car
7. Lost objects. Nothing is anyone's "own" anymore.
8. A dog
9. Gray hair
10. Less time
11. Shorter mornings
12. Half of the bed
13. Lessons on tattling, bullying, sex, responsibility, lunch money
14. Mismatched socks
15. Peanut butter stuck to the counter. STUCK.

Getting a drink for Daddy. Sort of.

Of course, these are the things I think of when I'm frustrated. There is a different side to this list, and I love that one, too. I had things, time, independence, solitude, a small refrigerator--all were part of my particular picture of "SWF." Now, yes, I find Ellie wearing Steve's boxers around her head because she thinks they're "beee-yoo-te-FUL assessories" like Fancy Nancy, and Jacob in a pile of Legos when his room should be declared a National Disaster Site and Nick deep in a Halo book texting while turning pages. I find these things, these people, and they make me smile. Be still my heart! I have (and don't have) so much. God is good, all the time. And though I miss sometimes those quiet afternoons and dependably placed scissors, I would not give away my messy life for a clean car anyday. And I never thought I'd be able to say that.

Lord, I'm Coming!

I follow the blog, My child, I love you. It's beautiful. It's funny and caring and patient.  I'd like to quote from Lindsay's entry made January 20, 2010. She says: 

"We are made saints by doing our daily work beautifully. Not necessarily without tears, without frustrations, but with the resolve that God is teaching me something through this. Please open my heart. It may be a fussy baby. It may be a baby that doesn't sleep. It may be job insecurity. Whatever the issue, it is much bigger in the spiritual realm than we even know. The crosses I had picked for myself were along the lines of things outside our home. I didn't know that He was going to ask me to simply hold a fussy baby, be kind to John when I am filled with worry about a certain child, clean up vomit without complaining. Everything that happens now I try to respond in my head, "I'm coming, Lord." I try to treat everything as if God is calling me. I see the house a mess, "I'm coming, Lord." I have a fussy baby at my leg, "I'm coming, Lord." I hear the baby crying for the eighth time in the middle of the night, "I'm coming, Lord." It is my goal. Most of us will not die a bloody martyrdom for our faith, but we will be asked to die a dry martyrdom. Each day, one fuss at a time we can grow closer and closer to His heart. I want to be faithful in the small things. I hope at the end of my life He will say to me, 'Well done, my good and faithful servant.'"

This is my mid-year resolution. "I'm coming, Lord."

 

Also, she posts this--a note her mother wrote to her, following her husband's (Lindsay's dad) death.

"Wish I had Known"

"If I could rewind my mothering career, I would have put more energy and emphasis into being a better wife. Our primary vocation is to be a wife first and then a mother. Because of the exhausting demands of small children, most women lose focus on their marriage. Either they overlook their spouse and put him on the bottom of their “to-do” lists or they begin to treat him “as one of the children.” The bond of marriage is stronger than the bond of children because in marriage, “two become one flesh”—one flesh—you are no longer a single person after marriage you become absorbed into your husband.

I wish I had known how a man feels like a failure at work each day, and look to their wives to make them feel like a hero. If he comes home to a wretch, he feels like a failure at work and at home.

I wish I had known that a man is afraid that he can’t be a good provider, good husband, and good father, and that he doesn’t know what to do with his fear. I believe that anger is a sign of fear. I wish I had known that he wasn’t mad at me and that he was only afraid of NOT having the answers to life’s problems or quandaries.

I wish I had known that a man is afraid of NOT measuring up to other men, sometimes his own father and sometimes he’s afraid of NOT being able to measure up to the expectations of his wife. I wish I had known that God leads through the husband—not the wife. And even if the man’s decisions turn out to be disastrous, that a wife’s obedience will be blessed by God.

I wish I had known that the problems in raising children are the devil’s most powerful attacks on a marriage. The devil is after the marriage NOT the child. If he can destroy the marriage, he has captured the whole family in one swoop.

I wish I had appreciated the 1 million unseen, taken for granted acts of service. When they are gone there is a hole. My dear mother said “when you have a team each player has a role that is irreplaceable. When one member of the team is gone the entire team feels the loss.”

I wish I had been a better listener to his daily ups and downs instead of being focused on the woes and workings of my life.

I wish I had been more willing to fulfill his needs instead of trying to fulfill mine.

I wish I had been a better friend. As St. Francis said perfectly, “Master, grant that I may never seek to be consoled, as to consol. To be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love.” I wish that I could have consoled him more, understood him more and loved him more than I expected of him.

Be an excellent wife, you never how long you will have him."

I, Katie, get so, so, so caught up in the everyday failings of my life. In the everyday "I should have done betters." I wonder what the point is, I wonder what I'm doing. "Really, Lord?! This is how you want me spending this precious gift of life you gave me--going to track meets and reheating leftovers and sorting underwear? Argh. I've made this bed a hundred times and I hate it everytime I do. Why doesn't anyone else pick up their stuff? Why am I the only one who sees the shoes everywhere?! I wasn't made for this. I'm not good at it. I'm failing." 

This is sinful and discouraging and so damn easy to fall into! Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Make me a saint.

Integrity

It's a complicated idea. It is multifaceted and applicable in a variety of subjects: intelligence, morality, environmental, personal, cultural, artistic. Online, I found a site that reminds us: "The word "integrity" stems from the Latin adjective integer (whole, complete). In this context, integrity is the inner sense of "wholeness" deriving from qualities such as honesty and consistency of character. As such, one may judge that others 'have integrity' to the extent that they act according to the values, beliefs and principles they claim to hold."

Ben Franklin's virtues were his daily checklist. He decided, each evening, how "well" he had lived that day by checking off the following boxes:

1. Temperance: Eat not to Dullness. Drink not to Elevation.
2. Silence: Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself. Avoid trifling Conversation.
3. Order: Let all your Things have their Places. Let each Part of your Business have its Time.
4. Resolution: Resolve to perform what you ought. Perform without fail what you resolve.
5. Frugality: Make no Expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e. Waste nothing.
6. Industry: Lose no Time. Be always employed in something useful. Cut off all unnecessary Actions.
7. Sincerity: Use no hurtful Deceit. Think innocently and justly; and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
8. Justice: Wrong none, by doing Injuries or omitting the Benefits that are your Duty.
9. Moderation: Avoid Extremes. Forbear resenting Injuries so much as you think they deserve.
10. Cleanliness: Tolerate no Uncleanness in Body, Clothes or Habitation.
11. Tranquility: Be not disturbed at Trifles, or at Accidents common or unavoidable.
12. Chastity: Rarely use Venery but for Health or Offspring; Never to Dullness, Weakness, or the Injury of your own or another's Peace or Reputation.
13. Humility: Imitate Jesus and Socrates

I've never thought of this before. "At the opposite ends of the moral spectrum are holiness and multiplicity. This pairing of polar opposites may seem odd at first, but it is solidly biblical. Holiness is so named because it represents wholeness or unity of personality. God is eminently holy. . .God, who is “the fullness of Being and of every perfection” (Catechism, no. 213), has the character of simplicity. For St. Augustine, “God is truly and absolutely simple.” Multiplicity is fragmentation, fractionalization, dispersion, dividedness." You know the phrase, "going to pieces?" Well, there you go.

This is a harder paragraph, but worth the thinking: "Because our unity of personality demands the integration of its parts, there is always the possibility that we can break up (“dis-integrate”) into discordant pieces. But what are these parts that must be integrated if the person is to be whole? There are many lines along which personality can be unified. There is the integrity between word and deed, friendship and fidelity, private life and public life, mind and body, head and heart." (http://catholiceducation.org/articles/religion/re0352.html) The italics are mine for emphasis.

It is my desire to have integrity, to possess it, to (as my Bible study friend says) CLAIM it! As I'm typing this, I can think of times and crossroads in my life where I have failed to be a person of integrity, where my actions did not unify my behavior to my beliefs, whereby I felt fragmented and disintegrated. I do not want to be like this, and I don't want people to see me this way. I want to be a woman of my word. If we are "as good as our word," I want to be dependable, good and honorable. I want to try to say "no" to things I cannot do, and yes to things I can. I want to mean what I say (not necessarily say what I mean!). I want to make friends with people who strive to act this way, too. I've recently experienced something that taught me email and texting are very, very, VERY easy and comfortable modes of shirking and backing out. How clever it was of someone to invent ways to "communicate" with people without ever having to talk to them! I just experienced, in mass proportion, people being untrue to their word, fragmented and disgenuine. It hurt me, it was unkind, rude and incredibly convenient for everyone involved. . .but me. It was not virtuous at all, and it proved a big wake up call to me! I behave this way sometimes, and I am going to try, very hard, to avoid this at all costs. No one called. . .I'm guessing no one could actually communicate with me in such a personal way! They all dropped like flies as the day pressed on--lots of apologies and excuses and explanations, but in the end, the message was still the same from everyone "I'm not going to do what I told you I would. I'm going to leave you out to dry while I go on with my more important plans." 

This is my promise, oh Dogwood Trail and Cosmic Power! I promise to try to be cognizant of my agreements, to be sensitive to making them and be a person of integrity. I promise to try to be the best person, the most whole person I can be, with the help of the Holy Spirit and good sleep. I promise to try to be a woman of my word and a person who can be trusted, depended on and admired. 

I'm printing out ol' Ben's virtues and taping them to my mirror.

Suffering

No one likes to suffer. We don't even like paper cuts, for heaven's sake. They hurt, and we would rather not be inflicted by them. We don't like to struggle, we don't like to hurt, we don't like to be confused. And I don't think these "preferences" are bad; I think they are human. After all, even Christ, as fully human, did not want to suffer! (Matthew 26:38-39)

So, I'm suffering. I'll just admit it. The reasons are private and even too intimate for me to feel like typing (odd, yes?!), but suffice it to say that we would like the prayers of heaven and the planets and all the stars. We would like to have something that might not end up being our gift, and, as an American, as a woman, as a human being!, I don't like being told "no, that's not possible for you." What? Sorry, but don't you know, Mr. God, that come hell or high water, I eventually get what I want? Or, I just change my mind and then that "becomes" what I want? Steve and I are suffering, and we just don't want to. It hurts and it is difficult, and I know in this cross we will find joy and some kind of peace, but I don't want to go through the cross to find the happiness. I'd rather it be given to me easily.

I heard in a talk the other day we should be like little children, with our hands open, patiently waiting for the gifts God will give us. We should stand, with our faces towards God and heaven, being grateful for what is freely given and not grasping at things or people or stuff or hopes or, I guess, anything (Phil 2:6). We are to gladly accept what is given to us by our Father and not reach for those cookies in the cabinet (even if they are Girl Scout ones). If we can be like this, we can live our lives in complete and constant thanksgiving for the gifts we receive, rather than being bitter or resentful or feeling like life is unfair for the gifts we DON'T receive!

Jesus and all the saints and the stars in the heavens, help me to suffer with courage and peace of mind and stillness, and help me receive your undeserved graces gladly!

The N Word

Please help me understand. Please explain this God-forsaken, backward, racist, twisted society we call America. Or maybe it's humankind.

A child gets on a school bus, on his way home. His bus is commonly referred to as the "ghetto bus" because all the black kids ride it. The black kids get on the bus each day, hollering "What's up, nigger?!" to everyone--black, yellow, green and white. The student claims they say this to any shade of boy--as a form of greeting, term of endearment, casual hello, salute. When this child, though, says it in return, he gets pushed down in the bus aisle and kicked. His backpack is thrown and ripped open and he's in jeopardy of suspension. Why? Because he said "nigger" and he's white.

I am so angry and disgusted. What has happened? We are afraid of each other. No one knows anyone anymore. Everyone has their face in an Iphone and their ears plugged by music. This weekend at our local mall (I feel like my grandmother), the young adults (do I dare call them students??) were walking around with their pants below their private parts, the zippers to their belly buttons and their tattoos, earrings, foul language and overbearing, invasive, entitled behavior assaulting my senses and my children. Jacob looked horrified. Steve looked worse.

What has happened? How did the bus--with all its American history steeped in civil rights--become racist itself? My child, my white son, is afraid now to get on his bus because he's not a "nigger." He can't say it, he can't even acknowledge they're speaking to him. He has to sit and take it and hope he's quiet enough no one notices.

Hmmm. Sounds like angry racism to me. Thank you, Mr. President, for breaking all the glass ceilings. The shards are falling on your very own children.

Trash

Ever feel like you just need to go out and pick up your trash? My dad used to make his way to our back garage door, slowly picking up the random trash that had littered our front and side yard. He would finish his run at the end of our street, then collect the lids or sticks or little plastic pieces that might have blown out of the garbage cans (or been strewn by the dogs?) into the grass. I found myself doing the same thing the other day, as I walked to our front door. Just picking up the loose ends. Little pieces that are not consequential in their own rights, but together, make for an unsightly welcome.

And, my English major mind couldn't help but compare it to life. There I was, picking up the garbage. And people do it everyday, all the time. Don't we do it with our literal selves, too? Sometimes, it's just what is required. We have to go out, or go in, and pick up the unnecessaries, the things that have gotten in the way, the things that have littered our soul or our heart or our mind and recycle the heck out of them.

We heard this past week at a MOPS meeting of women and mothers searching to be better and kinder and simpler and smarter (and a million other things) that we must learn, as St. Paul preached, to be content. To seek it out and cling to it. Not settling for, but settling in. That idea helped me breathe this week. It helped me relax around the clutter or annoyances or mistakes or shortcomings and find contentment. This is not my strong suit--it's genetic, actually. That guy who picked up the trash--yeah, not a content, settled individual. :) He passed it on to me, though in a milder version, like Crystal Light. Maybe, hopefully, my kids will be normal? So, I must seek and want to be content. And it's hard, for there is always, always trash in the yard.

Out of the frame

Are we living our lives in the periphery? Are we being an audience member to our life? Are we choosing to be the understudy, when we should be the leading lady? Are we choosing to lead a passive, absented main life, while the rest of it, the stuff that matters, gets shoved to the side to be seen, when convenient, in our periphery, in our rear view mirrors?

It occurred to me the other day the roles have reversed: Steve and I stopped giving our kids remote games. They do not have any mobile devices except for Nick's phone, which is monitored and limited. They play the Wii on a very rare basis, and do not default to the chair facing their computer monitor. However, Steve and I, with our Iphones and kitchen computers, Ipads and laptops, seem to live our lives with our faces planted into some kind of screen. Playing a game, writing an email, searching for an answer, looking people up, looking people down. We spend our time with our family, except on rare occasions, with our phones very near our persons and the priority being its dinging, reminders, game pushes, etc.

Somehow, even family television night on Tuesdays looks like the four of us, watching big fat people lose weight, but there are two of us, really only listening to the show. We are devoted to the round three of a game, the email we've been waiting for, the crazy Wiki search of someone we just thought of--rather than the children and spouse in front of us.

Now, this is not all the time, clearly. But I've begun to notice it. And it made me wonder--will I look back on my life, this precious time of my adulthood and parenthood, and see it in a limited way? Will my memories, literally, be from the perspective of one looking down, rather than one looking at? A friend of mine the other day said she had been advised to try to be a human being rather than a human doing. Tough, but I understand. I don't want my life, my memories, to be framed by a stupid handheld convenience. I don't want my kids to remember me always distracted, always saying "Now, what?" to them. I don't want them to think they come after the computer, after the funny Facebook picture, after the. . .

I think my iPhone needs to go in "toy timeout."

The Bathroom

It's the great equalizer. Ever notice that? That we all go in, cram ourselves into this tiny little box, and, to some extent, have private time with our private parts. Odd, yes? What will people say of this custom in a thousand years? That people who don't even know each other's names, will never ask and will never see them again, share a little room, with only a pit (and where does that go?) covered in this mysterious blue cleaner, a sink fit for a squirrel and a mirror that only children would use because they don't know better. I mean, really. Does anyone look rested and relaxed and happy in that mirror? The answer is no. You always look terrible. Haggard, with static-y hair and runny mascara (though you'd just fixed that river of black two minutes ago).

And you manage to free yourself from this little box you electively entered, and then you have to excuse yourself past five people too big to be standing in the aisle and graze your private parts (again mentioned) against their legs or stomachs or (sorry) private parts. Why is this? Why do we enter into this game?

Ellie, earning her keep.

Men with starched shirts, women with knitting needles. Boys growing silver, pulsating earbuds out of their heads and little girls with light-up shoes. They all ache to get into that little box, invade all kinds of personal space getting to it and away from and then contemplate, after enough V8, Diet Coke or apple juice to DO IT AGAIN.

In case of a water landing, Ellie is prepared.

The airplane's bathroom. We are reduced to our faculties and our most humble of needs when using this ridiculous contraption. And then using it with a toddler. I will never mention how much entertainment we can generate in a tiny little box with a sink, pop down counter and soap.

Fever Breaks

I wrote to a priest friend of mine the other day, needing some help and guidance and counseling. You know when you just need an impartial ear, someone who is faith filled and kind and also wise and sturdy? I wrote to him in a frenzy of emotions, my voice crackling hot with anger and confusion and hurt.

And then a few days later, when his response came, welcoming a time to meet and talk and pray, I felt foolish! "Oh, man. That was dumb. I've worked it out (not really) and gotten over the adrenaline rush (again, not exactly). I can do this on my own, and now, because of my big, helpless mouth, someone knows I was crumbling. Great."

It had all passed and I was no longer hot (just warm) with confusion and emotion. And I felt like the morning sunshine and fresh air had eased my temporary state of madness. It reminded me of babies and their fevers. They are so hot--even to the touch!--and sometime in the night, with a little deep breathing and cool air, their fever breaks. In the morning, they are happy, maybe a little frayed at the edges, but over the maddening and detrimental fever. It is (almost) like it never was. You see some reminders--the damp jammies, the tired eyes, the parched mouth, but, your baby is cool again and so, so much better.

If I could keep in mind that the fever will break, the pulsating red river of anxiety and anger will subside and its tide will pull back out--I'd be calmer. Ha! No kidding, Katie. We are beautifully and wonderfully made, yes! I know! But, heavens. I could do without the roller coaster beating of my heart.

Playing the Game

Responsibility is a crazy thing. It gives you such freedoms and opportunities, but the price is very high. Responsibility is a liberator. If you're responsible for yourself, you have all the power and potential you'll ever need--right inside your hands. Right inside your mind. Right there! You are responsible for your homework, then your gas money, your rent, then your choices and behaviors. We have all kinds of mechanisms that remind of us this freedom. Jail, to start. Spouse. Fines. Children. Rejection. Self-doubt. By being truly responsible, yes, you get to take the credit for your work, but you also bear the load of the consequences.

I remember the first time I appreciated the grave reality of responsibility. I was a little girl, accustomed to directing and bossing and controlling my little brother. To do anything. And he would. Then one evening, I was falling asleep, tucked in, warm and perfectly still. And terribly uncomfortable. I had to go to the bathroom. Really badly. Right now. All of a sudden. And I sucked in air to scream out to David, "Please! Please! Hurry and go to the bathroom for me!" And I realized. Oh no. I'd have to do it myself. For the rest of my life. He couldn't do it for me. No one could. I would have to take time out of my day and  my thoughts and my momentum and go to the bathroom. Everyday, multiple times a day. No one would ever do it for me, no matter how nicely I asked. It was all on my shoulders forever. What a responsibility!

A friend of mine wants to lose weight this 2012. She said to me this morning, "You know. No one can do this but me. No one is to blame but me. And no one can change this but me." That's a great, empowering feeling! I can do it! But, the flip side is, the cost is, no one else can do it, either. It's how I feel about making friends. And keeping them. Do I think they'll land on my doorstep, straight out of a pretty hot air balloon, with intimate knowledge of me and so happy to be my life long confidantes? I much prefer being home with my family and reading a book or watching football, but that is not going to get me any friends, just like eating nachos won't take inches off my waist. Doesn't work, I've tried.

Without the responsibility, though, (I try to teach my boys) that we'd then have no control at all. If it wasn't your "fault" you failed the test, if it was the teacher's or the classroom's or the friend next to you or your dog or the weather or the whatEVER, then how will you guarantee you won't fail it again? How will you learn from this and adjust your pattern? If everything always happens to you, you must suffer a terrible feeling all the time! That sounds awful to me, to really believe my life is up to others' whims and influences on it than my own fallible mind and self.  Isn't it better to be the keeper of that ability (as broken and imperfect and short it may be) than to be the perpetual victim of life's circumstances?

"I am working on a project that needs some tweaking." No one can do it but me. I hope to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment when I finish. There's nothing worse than the feeling of chucking that horseshoe towards the pin and hearing it thud into the grass, feet and angles away from the target staring you in the face. That is not the feeling I'm aiming for, but at least I'm the one aiming.

Litany of Humility

There is a song by Danielle Rose I listened to this morning called the Litany of Humility. It's a beautiful, gentle reminder of what tempts us and how much we need the grace of Jesus to deliver and protect us. These passions are so real and so visceral. They make themselves attractive and interesting, so intriguing and "true." It is a constant battle, one that I must struggle against and stay ever vigilant for. These desires invade our personal space and demand, like a forgotten friend or irritated parent, to be heard and tended to. They are so compelling! Her prayer goes like this:

From the desire of being esteemed,
From the desire of being loved,
From the desire of being extolled,
From the desire of being honored,
From the desire of being praised,
From the desire of being preferred,
From the desire of being approved,
From the desire of being consulted,

Deliver me, oh deliver me Jesus
Deliver me, oh deliver me Jesus, Jesus, Jesus

From the fear of being humiliated,
From the fear of being despised,
From the fear of suffering rebukes,
From the fear of being calumniated,
From the fear of being forgotten,
From the fear of being wronged,
From the fear of being ridiculed,
From the fear of being suspected,

Deliver me, oh deliver me Jesus
Deliver me, oh deliver me Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
Deliver me Jesus
Deliver me Jesus

That others be loved more than I,
Others esteemed more than I,
That others increase and I decrease, in the world's eyes,
That others be chosen and I set aside,
Others praised and I unnoticed,
Others be preferred in everything,
That others become holier than I,
Provided that I may become as holy as I should,

O Jesus, grant me the grace
Oh grant me the grace to desire it.
O Jesus, grant me the grace
Oh grant me the grace to desire it
To desire it
Grant me the grace to desire it.
Meek and humble of heart, Jesus
Meek and humble of heart, heal us
Meek and humble of heart, Jesus

http://www.lyricshall.com/lyrics/Danielle+Rose/Litany+Of+Humility/

I mean, let's be honest. Who wants to be forgotten?? Isn't that what our tombstones are all about? Who wants to be humiliated? Humiliated?! It's a terrible, degrading, most humbling feeling. We can all recount, upon immediate demand, the times in our lives we've felt humiliation. I never want to repeat those moments (A 3 minute experience in 5th grade comes to mind. Three minutes of my life and I will never forget the pain.). What grace and strength and peace we need to truly desire holiness, to truly accept that others are esteemed and we are not, that others are chosen and we are not, that others are preferred or blessed or counted lucky and we are not.

"Believe in miracles."