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?
