One Hundred Years, Never Enough

Sometimes you hear words that are so discordant, they aren’t easy to process.  “Guys, GeeGee has gone to be with PopPop. She’s finally able to meet her Jesus.”.  The message to the children was met with, “I really don’t comprehend this.”  How very apt.  None of us can.

I sat up late. Playing over in my head were her phrases, her lessons, her laugh - that infectious one, that made you laugh with her when something hit her funny bone:

“Oooh, that’ll be nice.” “Veeeery good..uh huh, VERY good.” “Well I’LL say…” “Show me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are.” “Let’s go say our prayers, then.” “Let’s get to church and thank God for the new baby.” “oop, I have to get my washing!”  “ISn’t that NICE…”  “oooh, Kris, I was just thinking..” “I’ll have a half a cup of coffee, dear..” “we had NOTHING…” “you know, we had EVERYthing.” “oooh, skeezix, I just love ya.” “punkin’” “well, let’s get to work, then..”  Those and roughly five thousand others.

I remember them all.  Because she was a constant. One of the few constants in life.  Right and wrong, what she held dear and knew to be good and true, what she espoused. Her workaday and methodology. Her reliance on Our Lady. Her praise. Her chiding. Her love for all the babies. Faith. Fastidious prayer. Her common sense. Standards. What she expected. What she did for others. Keen propriety. Her thanks to God for it all. She shared it.

We learned. She set a high bar. We benefitted.  She loved us fiercely, despite us. Likely one of the best people God ever created. A powerhouse. A legend. And we know her.  She LOVES us. What a thing to have her form us, in part. She is ours. We are hers.

When Grandpa left us, I sat with her one day.  She said that for her, nothing had changed. He was still present, she loved him dearly and she knew he loved her dearly, and they were not separated. She drew a clear picture for me that the veil is very thin.

When I understood that she had gone, I whispered, “no.”,  but an overwhelming peace washed over me, even a joy. The text I got that she was now dancing with Grandpa… How can that be received and your heart not leap with happiness? Every bit of her days was spent in preparation. Didn’t she pass along well that this is what we are born to do..

So now what? What are we supposed to do? Grandmom had to go. What on earth are we supposed to do?  Can’t you just hear her, though? I feel a definitive scoff, maybe a bit of a “whaddyamean?”.  Because, see, nothing’s changed. Grandpa never left us. She certainly won’t.  We had everything, skeezix. Say your prayers. There’s plenty left to do.  Let’s get to work, then.

Grandmom and Grandpop...pray for us. You are missed terribly. The two of you have touched the world profoundly. May we always be worthy of your efforts.

Our Lowly Bodies

 

I have a friend who, when embarrassed by her special needs daughter in public, later complained to her husband about how she felt.  Her husband lovingly chastised her to "stop right there" - did she think she was better than her daughter? This story struck me, and has stayed with me for years.  What a loving and wise father and husband.  This happened well before my daughter was even a twinkle in my eye.  It helped develop how I view the world. 

Proverbs 14:31:

"Whoever oppresses a poor man insults his Maker, but he who is generous to the needy honors him."

      SInce my daughter was born, I feel like I've been fighting for her dignity since the maternity ward.  How dare that woman from records say "I'm sorry" when learning of her diagnosis?  Since she was born, I have been on the offensive - "you WILL love my child! look at how beautiful!" It hurts me, on behalf of her and those like her, when people think her condition is undesirable. The vanity of this world is so strange. So, I have been walking around uselessly injured, unbeknownst to those who hurt me.  My kids have a saying. "That sounds like a 'you' problem, Mom." Praying for a charitable heart, the truth of that becomes clearer and clearer. I cannot dictate to another how they deal with an unexpected circumstance. But I want to. Pray for me.  

     Yesterday was World Down Syndrome Day.  I don't reject the notion of having a day to celebrate our "special" kids and advertise how remarkable they are.  I love it.  What I take umbrage at is that we need to show the world, justify, in a sense, their humanity.  I happen to have a child with DS, but it could be ANY anomaly, any disease, any condition that is atypical...every one of our children is fully human. Worthwhile. Necessary. 

     Because DS is a repeat of the 21st chromosome, March 21st was chosen to be World Down Syndrome Day.  Because of 3/21, I went in search of Holy Scripture, any book, to see what each ch.3, verse 21 had to say.  Some were irrelevant to my purpose (I'm not fully sure what my purpose was, other than to find something that applied to where I am right now), but didn't Philippians 3:21 come up:

Philippians 3: 

"And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, 21who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body."

     To me, this verse proves that we are all broken, on a level playing field, equal to the guy next to us.  We all have lowly bodies.  We are a fallen people.  We all have sin, and vanity and pride and bad hearts and TBIs and bum legs and failed kidneys and anxiety and depression and cancer, or any malady.  

     One day all of our bodies will stop.  Our bodies are not who we are.  We will be freed the bonds of this plane, and we'll each have our transfiguration moments, of a sort, when we will be seen as we truly are, and we hope, with grace and mercy, go to Heaven where we will be free of ailments.  

     Are diagnoses that are genetically detectable before birth any different? I would argue that these pure souls will touch God's face LONG before the rest of us. 

     Are they to be mourned? Or do we serve Our Lord, Creator of each one of us, who knew us before He formed us, when we delight in the gift of every child He sees fit to send us, for us to care for as our own.... 

     

My Child Is Good

     I am not a wise person, nor particularly bright, but there are a few things I've picked up along the way (this is not the inclusive list).

     One of the first things you will often hear new parents say is, "It's not about me anymore."  God's Design and Infinite Wisdom is so evident.  Just as Our Lady's motherhood helps us to fall in love with her Son in the Infant, our babies awaken in us a love that indelibly imprints on our hearts, and everything we do is for this child. These children. We love them first, the most, more than our own lives.  They are our favorite people.  We like them. 

    This is good.  This is very very good.  Because those bundles of innocence one day turn into three-yr-olds.  They made us love them (thank you, Lord, for the Design), therefore we are able to deal with "three".  Then seven.  Then eleven.  And we are able to keep our thumbs on them, their worlds revolve around us, and we kind of like it that way, I think. We say something  - It shall be. We're in charge.  This, of course, is part of the purpose of childhood - they learn the rules, they learn what's expected of them, they learn how to do things, and we give them a foothold on autonomy.  You know, so they can be good adults, go into the world, be capable, and lead responsible lives.

      Then, well....then come the NEXT years.  You know, where they have to put their autonomy into action.  Where they need to make their own decisions.  And we have to LET them. 

     I want to say a few things.  They are not universal.  They are not aimed at extreme cases.  I am still learning.  I am not done rearing my children and I have no idea what's in store for all of them, or for me, in the years to come.  However, some of my big kids are adults now.  It wasn't always easy, and still isn't, and some lessons were a long time coming, and some were VERY VERY HARD!  But I know some stuff now, especially regarding our older children - our teenagers: 

     - Your child will do bad things. 

     - Your child will be belligerent. 

     -  Your child will embarrass you. 

     -  Your child will get carried away and exhibit poor judgement.  

     -  Your child will disappoint you. 

     -  Your child will break expensive things. 

     -  Your child will enrage you.

     -  Your child will make you feel betrayed by them.

   

Nota Bene: your child is NORMAL! They're stupid...and normal. (sometimes it's a humbling thing, isn't it, when we thought ours were better than the other ones).

      I've been blindsided.  I've been enraged.  I've been shocked.  I've felt betrayed.   I remembered something, though.  I remembered that it's not about me.  I also remembered that my child is not his actions.  My child is not defined by what she does wrong:  

      - My child is good. 

      - My children are the same people who stole my heart before they were born.  

      - My child does more good than wrong.  

      - My child is good. 

      -  My children, despite their failures, need to know they are loved. 

      - They need to know, despite their failures, that they have security. 

      - My child is good. 

      - A car can be repaired easier than a broken heart or spirit.

      - My child needs guidance, not rejection. 

      - My child is good

      - My child may need punishment, but I need to have perspective about the severity of the infraction.

      - My child, guaranteed, was not thinking about betraying/hurting/embarrassing ME when they did whatever. 

      - My child is good.

      - No institution, school, group, or team deserves my loyalty over my child.

       - My child feels worse about what happened than I do, because she lacks the perspective of a more experienced world-view. 

       - My child is good.

So, sadly, there's no handbook.  I messed SO much up. I'm going to again.  Now, though, I have a child who's learning to be an adult, and even though we don't have the same control over them as when they were small (nor should we), we are still so paramount and central to their world.  This may be more crucial now than when they were babies.  My most fervent prayers are for my children. I pray that I don't overreact when they do wrong.  I pray that I remember to not be heavy handed; that when I'm hysterical about something that's "not so bad", what's left? 

I see a lot of similarities in what they need as in what I need.  I need, and ask daily, for forgiveness.  You know how pitifully we ask Our Lord to show us mercy, even underserved?  We have to give that same, loving, parental forgiveness.  I need, know, and see daily, the assurance that I am loved, I am remarkable, I am worthy, I am wonderfully and fearfully made.  I MUST mete that same security to the child who relies on me to instill it, as a microcosm for Our Father's love.  I make mistakes; I sin and I sin big; and then I pray that, in my sorrow, God can't see my transgression anymore.  My child needs me to recognize the other parts of his life that he's experiencing, not just what he recently did.  There is more to me than the harm I commit.  My child is more valuable to me than anything, despite their mistakes. 

 

It's not about me.  Perspective is everything.

These children. We love them first, the most, more than our own lives.  They are our favorite people.  We like them. 

      

  

When I Die....or..."Is She OK?"

     Yep. I am SO ok it's ridiculous. No worries. But I am going to die. Not anytime soon, Lord willing, but, well, life is terminal.

Seriously, none of us leaves here alive. Well, alive in Christ, but we'll get to that. 

     

     For the past few weeks, my sons have been called to serve midweek funerals at a local parish, since they're available b/c of the homeschool schedule. I figure, since I'm there, I might as well go to Mass, too (I learned to do that from my grandmother). 

     I have some funny thoughts and observations from being in attendance with these grieving families, as well as more reflective ones. Let's do funny first:

1)  I want to be buried from Mass at 1:pm.

    

    My aunt's friend, Barbara, an Anglican, says, "no WONDER you Catholics are weeping and wailing at your funerals - you're EXHAUSTED!".  There is something to be said for that. Also, in solidarity with the parents of young families, have you ever tried to get your whole family beautiful (because it's a funeral, right?), make it to rosary at the funeral home before the Mass at nine, and then convoy over to the church for 10? BLECH!  So, 11:am would be better, but by the time Mass is out, it's lunchtime and there's a mini-rush hour and then everyone has anxiety about the funeral procession being broken by people who have to get back to work. So, 1:pm allows you to get ready, eat something so you're not dying (har har) because you haven't had lunch, and then after interment, you can reasonably have baked goods snacks! Then everyone's home in time for supper. boom, boom, done. 

2) FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY PLEASE NO "EAGLE'S WINGS"!! 

   Self-explanatory. Oh, and if you can throw in some Latin Hymns (maybe asking for the entirety of Mozart's Requiem is a little much), that would be great. Thanks. 

3)  I want altar boys. Maybe my boys. It's way nicer. 

     Now let's hit reflective:

1)  It's evident, from their demeanor, that many people haven't stepped foot in Church in a while,  at the funerals my boys serve. Maybe, just maybe, this experience will be a catalyst. It will be the thing that gets them there and makes them stop and think, "someday this will be me".  And they'll see that this, Church, is important.  At funerals, I ask the intercession of the loved one being buried, so that Our Lord will touch their hearts, and make them want to come back. So, when I die, maybe, just maybe, someone whom I love will step back into the Church, too, and maybe their heart will be touched and want to keep coming back...what an amazing thing, to have one life gather many in the nave of the place where the Holy Sacrifice is offered.  I suppose we all have the potential, with our funeral Masses, to witness to others. So, when I die, I kinda hope that happens. 

2)  The priest at that parish is really very good.  He protects the Blessed Sacrament by saying, "all who are in a state of grace and are eligible to receive, please come forth into the communion line." It's a gentle way of saying, "if you haven't been to confession in a time frame that is quantified in 'years', and if you're not a Catholic in communion with Holy Mother Church, you probably should skip the communion line."  At my funeral, I want that kind of priest.  See, because even though you're there because of the Dearly Departed, Mass is about Jesus. I mean, if it wasn't, any old place would do, right? So, even if a "few thoughts" are read outside of the parameters of Holy Mass about the person who died, the Mass is focused on the Source and Summit of the life of the loved one.  So, when I die, I hope Father does just as lovely a job keeping anyone who comes (presuming anyone comes) focused and trained on Jesus. 

3)  When I die, I don't want people to be sad. See, Jesus is Divine and Merciful. And I will live on, because I trust in His Mercy. There are a few things that I presumptively and selfishly will indeed ask for, though.  I want prayers for my sorry soul. I will need them. I want people to pray to God in thanksgiving, on my behalf, that I got this stunningly amazing gift - life. I don't want anyone to be dressed in black. Unless you're in a cassock. And mostly, I will ask that my family, my friends, my neighbors, my acquaintances, will remember why we are on this earth to begin with. See, we were not made for this place. We were made for Heaven. We need to encourage each other to that end. We need to live lives of service, out of love for God, manifest in our fellow man. See, when I die, my chances at doing that for others will have ended. But I want people to know that their lives go on, and I want them to do that, because they still get to work on their souls, which are eternal, and we were made to live on in CHRIST! really. Heaven is our real life. And because God is good. and because I have control issues...

4)  and really, in all seriousness, PLEASE NO "EAGLE'S WINGS"!!! 

These Forty Days

He is Risen! He is not here!

Oh, my goodness, how light my heart is now that Easter is upon us and this Lent, this Lent, this LENT has passed. Lord, thank you for the Lent!

At Mass, on the first Sunday of this season, Father posited, "If we cannot deny ourselves the good things, how can we resist that which is harmful? How can we say no to sin?" Again and again, I reiterated those words to our family, weekly, as much to remind myself of the benefit of sacrifice.

So many fruits poured forth from the sacrifices made, the daily denials of little luxuries or pleasant options, and the extra "things I just don't want to DO".

Self-knowledge is surely one of those fruits. We discover, don't we, where we are weak, how easily we forgive ourselves, and how often we deny Our Lord, failing to even "stay awake one hour".  Lord, forgive me in my weakness and self-indulgence.

But He knows we are weak. He knows we fail. At the culmination of all of His sufferings, He saw us, as Father tells us, through the blood and mud and sweat and filth of His terrible via crucis. He trod forward in pain, bearing it for us. 

This act of love, this salvation for ME, who deserves none, edifies my soul that my life matters, is seen and noted, and my life is worth His being given, because of His great love. For me. Because He wants me to go to Heaven. 

Because then, of His Sacrifice, I chose to offer my Lent for another. The fruit of THIS is - closeness with Our Lord!  How much easier is it to bear a suffering when done out of love for another? For the life of their soul? And don't we, then, see why and how Jesus Christ, the King of Kings, bore His ultimate Sacrifice and Death on behalf of His children? 

So now these forty days are done. Our Lord is no longer in the tomb. He is Risen in Victory- Victory over death!

We commemorate it every year. Every Lent, every Holy Week, every Easter. And every Easter I am utterly astounded at the relief from penances and suffering (if you could call it that) we attempt to share with Jesus, and the great joy and love unmerited by me that He so freely and willingly bestows upon me, and us all. 

My heart is full, because of the parchness of the last forty days. My joy in the Risen Christ overwhelms me! I cry out again and again, "We are the Easter people! Alleluia is our song!". 

Matthew 6:33

         There's a boy who lives here.  He's sensitive and obnoxious; precocious and juvenile; insightful and obtuse;  mostly he's just good.  We talk a lot.  We butt heads a lot, too.  We love each other very much.

     There's a mom who lives here.  She's well-intentioned and falls short;  a success in some regards and a colossal failure;  insightful and obtuse;  mostly she's clawing to keep her head above water and somehow get herself and her family to heaven.  She talks a lot.  Sometimes she even listens.  And she loves.


 

      As parents who want to pass along something so great as our Faith, we do a lot.  We keep Catholic our lifestyles, we observe the liturgical seasons, participate in tradition, and tell our children, every day, something about what it means to be a follower of Christ, and how to live out our Catholicism.

      And then, sometimes, as Catholic parents, we are struck with fear.

      One very late night, in a reflective tone, the boy says, "Mom.  You know how you feel close to God?  I know you do, because I see you get really animated when something moves you and all." "Yes, I guess I do feel close to God.  Not all the time, but mostly.  When I don't, it's because I've moved away from Him.  We're all human, so I fall a ton."  "Mom, how do you do that?  I want to feel that.  I want to feel Him in me.  I want to 'feel' like I'm close to God.  How do I know He's there? How do I get that?"

      Instantly, my heart breaks and aches on so many levels.  If one can internally sob, I think I did. My thoughts crash one upon another, "Have I failed him? Is it too late? Did I lose him? Did I never give him enough in the first place? Is my example too poor? Oh, child! I know...I know that longing!"

      I have to stop myself.  I have to collect myself.  I have to trust that I have given him good things.  Yes, I have given him knowledge and prayer and habit and examples, and examples of things to NOT do.  I have given him richness and beauty, a faithful lifestyle.  I have to trust that I've given him a foundation.  That I have been, and will continue to do my job as "carer for his soul".  I have to stop and think...

     Yes, I have GIVEN to him, and then I remember being his age (which really isn't as long ago as he would think).  I, too, had a foundation.  A long, storied, firm foundation.  I have good parents.  I have good grandparents (who also formed me).  However, there came a time when every day was closer and closer to me being farther and farther away from their influence.  And go away I did (don't press, just trust me, I did).  And then there came a time..when I had to go in search of instead of having it be handed to me.

     When I had children I had to decide how to live and what we would pass on.  Yes, I always knew we'd be a Catholic family, because, well, I came from a Catholic family.  But I had to make choices, grow, and learn.  I really hadn't thought about that as a stupid teenager.  I didn't realize that faith and religion had to be cultivated.  I just thought it "was".  So I understand completely how it felt to my boy; that faith is something that some people have and some people want, and how the hell did people GET it and why don't I have that strong feeling?

     "You know, I'm not sure how to answer that", I say quietly, "but I will try."

     Silently, I pray, "Holy Spirit, give me words..."

      "I had a child who was born with a pneumothorax, because he was such a strong baby and his first breath burst the alveoli in his lungs.  On the second night of his life, he turned gray because he stopped breathing.  They brought you back.  I know that was God."

       I whispered, "My eighth baby, the one who needed the most, had RSV, and then it turned into pneumonia, and then her lungs collapsed and then she went to the hospital, and it took three hours to stabilize her, and she should have died, and the hospital staff encouraged me to call a priest, and this holy, holy man administered extreme unction with a relic of Bernadette on baby's chest as he prayed, as he cried throughout the entirety of the sacrament, and then within hours she turned around, so that I could stop wracking my brain, wondering where we would bury her...I know that was God."

       "Not for nothing, but my third baby had RSV, too, when she was twelve days old, and was in Children's Hospital for eight days, and then she got better and we baptized her the day after she got home. I know that was God."

     "One day, and you know this because you were there, son, we all watched in horror as your four year old brother rode a bike with no brakes into route 140 at rush hour.  No matter how quickly we reacted, no matter how fast we ran, we would never catch him in time. Oh, my Lord, I wondered in that split second what the accident would look like, what his body would look like in the grill of a box truck....and so as we ran down the driveway I screamed 'JESUS! JESUS! JESUS!' the whole time and then, as if a hand were pushing them, the cars, in both directions, slowed. Then they stopped.  Ten cars in either direction.  And not one squeal of brakes.  I know that that was God."

     "These things, and a thousand more close-calls, and a thousand comforts when they're not close calls, but the real thing, these are signs to me that Our Lord is with me.  These are the things that make me feel Him in my life."

     "Before all this, though, I had to decide to have faith. I had to decide to trust God.  I had to choose to see him."

     I was able to say to my child that night.  We were both in tears; the written word cannot convey the emotion in what I told him.  I know that the boy had a sense of what I was trying to say, but I need to expound on it.  To give him just a little more.  Even if it's only a smidgen of what he needs.

     My son, (all of my children, for that matter)  I want to tell you something.  Jesus is always here.  You are never alone, even if his presence is intangible. These episodes that I mentioned, they are my signs, and you will have your signs, but before I ever ever EVER felt a closeness, I had to seek him.

      When I finally understood that I had to turn to God, I didn't have to look far, because He's always with us, but I did have to LOOK for Him.

     When we genuinely seek Him, we know the route to follow, because the Church gives us the rubric to being in a state of grace.  We have faith by knowledge, not feelings, but guess what?  When we have grace, we are blessed with the feelings, many times, too.  Not always, but very often.  Our eyes must always be open, though. We have to search for, find, and get to know God.  I didn't really realize, when I was a kid, that I needed to put myself into it, as well.  I never want you to not know that.

     My child, whom I love more than my own self, I want nothing more than to give you Jesus.  I have brought you to him.  He has given his own self to us.  You know what to do, and how to do it (read the saints, scripture, apologetics, good Catholic authors, receive the sacraments frequently, spend time before Jesus in the tabernacle and at adoration, live a life of service).  But, see, I alone cannot give him to you.

     You. You must seek him. Never stop seeking him.  He won't let you down, I promise.

Where's God?

     I am reading a book in which one of the characters, a monk, who is devout and loves Our Lord, describes the murder of his family, their torture, and the torture he himself survived during wartime.  In his agony remembering their deaths, he sobs, "where was God?".  What a seemingly strange query to come from a holy brother in a monastery...

     This plea led to me to reflect on our current time.  We have hectic lives, fraught with busyness, financial hardship, and exhaustion, and we often feel alone, suffering.  The details of life cloud our perspective (because sometimes it really all comes down to perspective) and make our own selves the center of our gaze.  We have a skewed vision of what suffering really is, don't we...

     And then, thrown in to our busy lives, sometimes the terrible occurs.  There ARE sufferings.  Real sickness, real homelessness, real hunger, real terrorism, real disease.  Real death.  When we are (I am) focused on how long-suffering we are, what could be the result when Awful Things happen?  We are human beings.  Sometimes the result is "where was God?".

     In our frenetic stupor, how often do we step back and make it a point to unite all of our prayers, works, joys, and sufferings, in union with the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass throughout the world?  How often do we judge if what we are doing is pleasing and worthy to offer? How close do we keep Our Jesus, so that we may converse with him often?  How willing are we to praise His Holy Name in all things, for better or worse?  Do we contemplate his Sacrifice and know that our little crosses cannot compare? We are not little gods, and our suffering simply can NOT compare..it's united with his.

     By human standards, our real sufferings often feel like the worst thing that could possibly happen.  We convict Our Lord by saying, "a just, merciful and good God could not allow these things!", when in reality, because we have faith by reason, we should know that the opposite is true.  When we suffer, especially in cases of atrocities, don't we know that Jesus suffers there with us?  That he has the MOST compassion for what we endure?

     Bad things are coming.  There will be incredible trials for every single person on Earth.  I mean, it is going to be terrible.  We need to prepare, by making God present in all the things we do - the things that tax us, the things that hurt us, the small things that irritate us, and the everyday things we must go through, as well.  We need to make him real and here and keep Him the focus of all of our days. We need to know that His ways are not our ways, and trust Him in all that he allows, so that when dark times (really dark) we are not left to wonder, "where was God?".  We'll know that He is with us, even unto the ends of the earth..

     This world is not the end game.  Paradise awaits.  There is no greater mercy...

a lovely little transfiguration

Pueri Cantores 2014, New York City. The vigil of the Feast of the Transfiguration.  

Firstly, I've never driven to NYC before. Never been there, ever.  It was much easier than I thought, though leaving at 5:30 in the morning with five children leaves a little to be desired. I anticipated a tired, cranky, restless bunch as the day would wear on, with an hours-long journey back home after the full day, but I remained hopeful. Practice for the festival began at 11, and we were at St.Ignatius in Manhattan on time.

Children are silly, itchy, and chatty.  This particular bunch was no different.  Mischief, squirming, giggling and talking at inappropriate times happened, but with roughly 250 children in one spot, that's to be expected.

The children's choirs (13 of them) were under the tutelage of a choir conductor from Chicago for the afternoon.  He handled them masterfully, and culled from them rapt attention and beautiful vocalizations that perhaps they weren't aware they were able to perform. The culmination of hours of practice blended these choirs into a well oiled machine, each performing their own piece then becoming one for Holy Mass.

During Father's homily, he mentioned how at Mount Tabor, Christ was revealed for Whom He truly was, transifigured before men so they might know His True Nature.

Mass continued, and the children performed piece after piece, lovelier and lovelier as they went along.  Even our beloved "Panis Angelicus" was sung so that it was the most impressive rendition I'd ever heard.

Then it was time for the recessional.  The opening strains of "Jubilate Deo" began.  At first, I dismissed how well I thought they were performing as a natural reaction from a proud mother. Then they sang louder, and broke into their parts, harmonizing and singing the refrain in the sweetest rounds. Yes, I was proud. But this was magnificent. I cried.

These children - itchy, silly, chatty, mischievous, and squirming - I watched them, on this Feast of the Transfiguration, experience their own little transfiguration during their emotion-evoking performances, so that we might see them as they truly are:  pure, beautiful, joyful, powerful young souls.

I can only imagine that we heard a small portion of what it must sound like in Heaven. I wish you could have heard them.

Oh, my child...

Dear Little Teeny Baby,

Do you know I love you? I want you to know I love you, even though the  last thing I expected when the doctor called after my blood tests was the news that you existed.  I wasn't expecting to be pregnant, but you know, God has different plans than ours, and His ways are better than ours, and I loved you right away. Can you even imagine that He picked me to be your mother?  I started to take the medicine we all thought was going to help you live, but the blood tests showed the numbers were starting to go down. Your dad and I weren't expecting to lose you so soon, but God has different plans than ours, and His ways are better than ours.  I want to let you know that I love you, even though I won't ever get to stroke your little cheek, blow on your downy hair, kiss your toes or even know if you are a boy or girl.  You know, you have lots of brothers and sisters in heaven, and Dad and I love them so much, too. You also have lots of brothers and sisters who live here in our house, and I love them and they love YOU.  They're pretty sad they won't get to meet you until their time here is over, but they're happy you'll meet God.   I want you to know that I love you, and I am grateful that for a while you lived inside me.  Your short life showed us how good God is to us, you made us see yet again how wonderful your brothers and sisters are, you reaffirmed how important the gift of life is to us, and you sure did make us realize once again to never EVER take anything for granted. Your life is important, and now you get to live in heaven, too, that's how important you are.  I submit to the will of Our Lord, even though I love you so much, and don't want to let you go.  We've been through this before, and know what to expect, but  I want you to know that I still love you, and I miss you.  Even though we lost those other siblings before, it doesn't get easier, and you are unique, and wonderful, and your life has such meaning, and now it's even more significant because you will be forever pure, and you get to be in paradise! Do you know I love you? You do, better than I could ever tell you in words, because you live with God now.  Until we all meet again and our family is whole in Heaven, I love you, my wee little child. Please pray for us.

Love, your mommy

Embrace the Fire

" 'I have already forgiven you. You are absolved. I do not remember your sins! Why, then, do you sanctify them? Why, then, do you make them holy to you?' This is what God tells us! Leave the ashes. Do not dwell in them. Embrace the fire, instead!"


"The Bible, you see, is a book containing the fiercest love story, between God and us. Why then, do we look at it as a book of rules and regulations and restrictions? We do this when we do not believe that we are TRULY forgiven!"

- Fr. John Welch


In the ongoing saga of life, doesn't pride rear it's ugly head, again and again and again!  Who are we, that we feel we are so special that our sins are so great that the Blood of the Lamb does not cover them?  Anger, sins of the tongue, sins of omission, sexual sin, yes, even murder - none of these things bars us from the salvation of God if we truly are sorry for them and place them in front of Our Lord in the confessional!  They are not unforgiveable. If we feel that way, that absolutely makes vain His sacrifice! Why did he do this? Why did he hang on the cross? The cross that he carried and that so wounded his shoulder? The cross under which he fell TWICE on his way to Golgotha? The cross the Cyrene had to help him carry? Oh His Precious Blood! It washes us clean and purifies us so that we shall not die, but live! But, see, here's the rub: we must believe it! Now let's get over our big bad selves. Let us leave the ashes. Let us embrace the fire, instead!

The Physical Presence - Joy to the World

Somebody really smart probably already made the correlation about a thousand times, but then again I'm a pitiful and ignorant sinner, so it took me 41 years. 

The boys served midnight Mass.  I sat there and contemplated the Gift of God's only begotten Son.  The baby, the manger, the reality, the humanity of the Holy Infant, come to us in lowly form, yet so sweet, so beautiful, so perfect, so innocent.

Transubstantiation.  The unbloody sacrifice (gift) of the life of God's only begotten Son. In the Eucharist, He comes to us - real, present, human, physical, in lowly form, yet so sweet, so beautiful, so perfect. so innocent. 

The gift of Christmas time is with us every day in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.  Golgotha is ever present. The manger is, too. 

I know that I cannot survive without Holy Communion.  I know people who don't believe, and my heart aches for them, because they have no physical connection to the only Hope we have. The world needed Him, physical and present and amongst us two thousand years ago.  Why would we not need the same now? So of course He is with us now, just as He was then.  

My prayer is that all people ever seek Him, as they watch for Him in Advent. I also hope they find Him, in their hearts, yes, but also in the Blessed Sacrament, where He truly is.

"can we at least call it by it's name?" or "a call for honesty in the the public discourse on abortion"

       ::sigh::  I annoy people.   I am pro-life.  This isn't a position I just "chose" or "fell into", nor is it a position that was "fed" to me by political parties or family tradition (though I'm grateful for my family which does indeed happen to traditionally be pro-life, informed by our faith).  Being pro-life is natural, because it follows natural law, the Law of God (thou shalt NOT KILL).  Every person begins their journey in this world with a pro-life outlook, because even small children know that the weakest and the smallest among us need to be protected.  Truly, it's the opposite position, pro-abortion, which is acquired, not the natural inclination to protect life.  

     I say "pro-abortion".  That rubs a lot of people the wrong way, because, I've been told, that nobody WANTS abortion, but it's "good" to have the option available to them, so I should say "pro-choice".  Honestly, though, isn't that what "pro-choice" is?  I mean, if you are not choosing abortion, what are you choosing? Life already exists.  That choice has already been determined and "IS", so all that remains is the choice to kill in-utero.  That's abortion.  So let's honestly call the position that deems a "woman's right to choose" what it is. Pro-abortion. 

      There has been a lot of buzz regarding people who are "championing" a "woman's right to choose", especially in OK, TX, and other states who are cutting state funding to abortion clinics.  These people are arguing on state senate floors right now, this week.  Championing?  You're a "champion" if you are fighting to the extent of your talents to retain the right to kill your child?  Nobody wants abortion? But these legislators and PACs and "health professionals" are tooth-and-nail doing whatever it takes to hang on to that right?  Champions? Shame on you. All of you involved in such an ignoble fight.  Shame on you, not only for doing the devil's work for him, but for cloaking your words in such terms as pro-woman, rights, reproductive choice, ending oppression against women, etc.  Shame on you for being dishonest.  Shame on you for not being up-front about what it is you are fighting for.  The evil one is the father of lies.  Let's be honest, and call abortion what it is.  Killing an unborn person.  Murder.

      There are those who would discount the pro-lifers because of religious argument.  Those who argue against religion often purport to "scientifically" discredit it.  Except for in the case of abortion.  There is no scientific rebuttal to the fact that abortion kills a human.  Because it's true.  If you don't like the pro-lfe argument that God commanded us not to kill, let's be honest.  Say that.  Don't call that human a "potential life" or a "clump of cells".  Say, "I don't believe in God's law, and want to be able to kill my baby."  That's honest.  It  doesn't sound as nice as the pro-choice euphemisms, though, does it....

      My grandmom, from as far back as I can remember, has said, "Dear, if people only knew what abortion was, not one person would be for it."  She was referring to the brutality, the violence, the bloody reality of just one abortion.  I know she is right, for the most part (obviously some people ARE aware, for they are the ones masking the ugliness in whitewashed, clinical terms),because the surviving victims, the mothers who believed the lie, are traumatized when facing the reality of what they've done, of what's been done to them.  Because it's bloody. It's violent. It's brutal. It's death.  Let's be honest.

        I love people.  I have friends, dear friends, from all walks of life.  I love these people.  I'm grateful for the beautiful things they contribute to my life, and this world which we all share.  I am respectful of others (not to be confused with "I respect their positions"), even if I don't share their ideologies.  I have to be, because I love people.  Everyone I know, and those I haven't met yet, are unique and unrepeatable - every face a reflection of God, because they are wonderfully made in His image.  All of them.  And me.  I love people.  Some of the people I love are "pro-choice".  I am not going to stop loving them.   Because I love, my heart is troubled when I hear people defend abortion as if it were a good thing.  I physically wince when I hear someone use the words "God bless you" regarding those who commit abortion.  It hurts me to think of the injury against Our Lord  when someone invokes Him to speak of the unspeakable.  That is the ultimate dishonesty: taking the vilest of actions and promoting it as something God would bless...but nobody wants abortion, right? But we're blessing those who take the lives of the innocents, right?  Honesty, please. 

         I am not going to change anyone's heart.  I can't.  Only God can.  What I CAN do is pray for people, especially those I love.  I can and will continue to defend life.  I can and will continue to present facts.  I can and will continue to challenge those who are pro-abortion to be honest: that abortion has nothing to do with rights - that it is bloody and violent and the death of a child.  

        I challenge everyone to be honest about what abortion really is.  By the way, I love you.





"Jesus' attitude is striking: we do not hear the words of scorn, we do not hear words of condemnation, but only words of love, of mercy, which are an invitation to conversation. "Neither do I condemn you; go, and do not sin again." Ah! Brothers and Sisters, God's face is the face of a merciful father who is always patient. Have you thought about God's patience, the patience he has with each one of us? That is his mercy. He always has patience, patience with us, he understands us, he waits for us, he does not tire of forgiving us if we are able to return to him with a contrite heart. 'Great is God's mercy,' says the Psalm". ~ Pope Francis

culture, counter-culture

    Counter-culture.  Angst.  Turmoil.  Searching.  Pain.  Torment.  Hand-wringing.  I’m different.  Nobody feels what I feel.  Aloneness.  

    Reading pieces by peers of a certain Boy I Know.  Impressions of gloom.  Hints at where a consolation might be.  Rejection of such.  Everything artsy.  Everything counter-cultural.

     Prevailing themes similar.  Styles different.  Same effort.  Same atmosphere.  Counter-cultural?  Unlikely.  Culture of despair.  Culture of empty.  Culture of....oh wait, this is a culture.

     This Boy I Know:   He wears his hair high-and-tight.  He nurtures babies.  He has a sense of duty.  He doesn’t always budget his time well.  He likes games and hanging out with friends.  He has a goofy laugh;  It sounds like Scooby-Do.  He sometimes rough-houses too much, because it’s fun, and he doesn’t know when to quit.  He eats. He eats everything. All of it (review: he’s a boy).  He loves to ride his bike. He loves to wrestle.  He looks really handsome in a suit, and never feels like a monkey wearing it (he feels handsome).  He can’t write an essay on time for beans.

     He prays, this Boy I Know.  He has a well-formed conscience. He doesn’t always follow it.  He wears a cassock when he serves at Mass.  He serves at Mass.  He loves Our Lord, Our Lady, and St.George.  He thinks deeply on our Faith, and is learning to practically apply it to history.  He counts his pastor amongst his great friends.  The Boy has joy.  He has hope.  His hope comes from informed faith, which gives him answers.  He loves his family.  He knows the Cause of his joy.  He knows to be thankful.  He is not lost.  He may have fears, but he knows them to be temporal, and doesn’t despair.  He knows Whom to turn to when he’s not as awesome as his mother makes him out to be.

      I asked this Boy I Know to write a piece for his school’s publication.  He thinks no one would be interested in it.  From my observations, I suspect him to be a counter-cultural revolutionary.  I hope so.

The Grace of God - A Hard Lesson in Gratitude

     His sobs came up from his toes.  He was a tall man, roughly my age or a couple years older, two pews behind me.  He was able to control himself enough to continue attendance at Mass, and then stayed for Stations, but his tears flowed freely.  Everyone around him knew he was crying, and every heart was breaking for him.  At the kiss of peace, I pressed a tissue into his hand, for I'd heard him sniffing, and it was the only thing I could think to do for him.  I didn't know him, but I put every ounce of love and compassion for a suffering man into that hand-off.  I asked Our Lady to hold him close.

     I complain about my children, expressing frustration at things that irritate me, which I should recognize as "kid-like".  Teenagers bring that out the best.  So I want to "kill them". (not really, but it falls too easily from our lips, sometimes, doesn't it).  Nine of them.  Healthy. Beautiful. Bright. Funny. Interesting. Capable. Accomplished. Faithful. Amazing. Healthy. Shame on me for ever uttering that phrase.

     There is a young man in our parish, whom I don't know.  His name is Colin, and he's 17.  Friends went to see him last week, only to find him with his eyes closed.  Colin awoke, but didn't open his eyes.  He greeted his visitors jokingly with, "DUDE! go away,,,I'm trying to get my beauty sleep."  He wasn't catching up on his beauty sleep.  He was sleeping because he's end-stage.  He maintains his teen sense of humor, and comforts everyone with his jovial nature, but he's going to suffocate to death.  The cancer has now spread to his lungs.  Thursday, he had difficulty taking a breath.  As parents, when our kids are sick, we take them to the hospital to alleviate the symptoms and help them get well.  Colin's folks took him to the hospital.  The hospital could do nothing to help him.  This is how it goes, you see,,there comes a point when there's nothing to do.  He will suffer until he dies.  What a shocking reality, to be that child's mother,,,what impotence,,what fright,,and no relief for her, either.

     I don't want to "kill" my frustrating children.  I am refocusing (which is evidently an ongoing process), and firming my resolve to pray for them more, to encourage their prayer life,  to ask their guardian angels to help them, to focus more on the Virtues, to point out the many tools available to us in our Faith to help us be better. To be a better example to them, myself.

     Colin is not going to be with us much longer.  His beautiful soul is ready to meet his Maker, though, I can tell you that.  He wants to go to Mass in the worst way.  I think Father is planning on meeting that desire, soon, in Colin's home.  He thought maybe they might let him go to Mass and Stations last Friday night.  With his dad.  Who went for him.  Who is living out Mary's Via Cruces. And sobbed openly through it all.

A prayerful suggestion. Or, Put a Sock In It

       I don't normally respond to every offensive thing I see or hear about the Church, or I'd be responding all day.  I used to do that, but then I discovered that my house was dirty and my children needed to be fed.  This is my one commentary in response to what I've seen in the last twenty four hours.  

     

       Our Holy Father announced yesterday his intention of retiring at the end of the month.  The obligatory Pope jokes ensued. That's to be expected,,yeah yeah, funny, ok, I can take a lick or two.  What is also to be expected, though I really had hoped not, was that the detractors are now coming out of the woodwork to add their two cents (overvalued) on how our beloved Shepherd- this holy, learned, prolific, humble and honored Pontiff -was a pedophile protector (barf), a suppressor of women (teehee), a money grubbing egomaniac (oh, PLEASE), and a Nazi. uh huh,,yep,,that's him - a Nazi. This man who suffers greatly for the sake of millions is a Nazi. un. believable.  They forgot to throw in that he's an enemy of social justice. So far.

     The distressing element of having the woodwork lurkers offering such sage nuggets today,  is that the world has changed greatly since our last Papal election.  There is acridity in words that we didn't used to have.  There's more "celebration" of dissention as an "alternative world view".  This emboldens a would-be mud-slinger into an actual mud-slinger.  There's a level of civility no longer present in polite company.  Actually, I find it difficult to FIND polite company.  Am I a rube for thinking that discourse should be respectful? I am hopeless.  Regardless, people are enemies now.  As such, the attacks are vicious.  On my Church. And hailed as "brave" for being so bold - isn't that just...fantastic. 

     So,  instead of having a personal disagreement with the Holy Mother Church's perfection, (which of course indicates an ignorance, a misunderstanding, or a hurt - and mostly pride),  the cry goes out that "the antiquated, outdated, male-run oppressor, the Church, MUST change, MUST bend to the will of the people".   There's a vague hope that the Holy Father's successor won't be just "more of the same", and that the Catholic Church will keep up with the times (holy cow, it's the 60's again,,).  

     I said my Hail Mary's, so now I type:  Why, if you have issues with the Church, do you insist on remaining Catholic?  Do you find the Blessed Sacrament to be the Source and the Summit of your existence?  If Our Lord in the Holy Eucharist is indeed, precious to you, please, remain Catholic, and get catechized. Read the Church Doctors, read papal encyclicals, and read Holy Scripture. On the other hand, after you prayerfully consider that you DON"T believe what the Church teaches, kindly find a "church" that suits you better.  And go there. Quietly.

ocean of mercy

I need to retell a story Mother Angelica told. I heard it about two months ago, and it's been resonating with me since (though it was a re-broadcast of 'Mother Angelica Live' from about 1997).

Mother had been to a conference on the east coast, probably the Carolinas, somewhere. During a break, she was taunting the waves. "C'mon, is that all you've got? You can't even get my toes? You can do better than that." Suddenly, a larger wave surprised her. It splashed up to her knees and spattered her whole self. As she was flinging the water droplets back to the sea, Our Lord spoke to her, though I don't know if she heard it with her ears or her heart. He said, "My daughter, did you see the size of the that droplet flung back to the sea?" "Yes, Lord, it was very tiny!" "That droplet represents your sin. Do you see the size of the ocean?" "Yes, Lord, it's ENORMOUS!" "Daughter, once you flung the droplet, was it distinguishable to you any longer?" "Oh, no, Lord! The ocean is too large!" "The ocean represents the ocean of my Mercy. Do you not think the ocean of My Divine Mercy is not large enough to absorb and obliterate your sin? It only remains to be asked of Me."

During Lent, there's usually a theme that keeps appearing to me, unsolicited. Last year it was forgiveness for others. The year before it was unconditional love.

What I keep realizing THIS Lent, through overheard snippets of conversations, radio programs, and words that catch my eye from a page, is that I am worthy of forgiveness. I struggle with that, even though I shouldn't. I mean, is that the absolute affront to the Passion and Cross, or what? Once in confession, I told this to Father. He said, "You know that that's your pride, right? That you think YOUR sins are so big. That you think YOU have the worst past. How can YOU be forgiven these terrible things. What do you think Jesus thinks about THAT, hmm? You MUST accept your absolution,,that is what He died for!" Boy, was I chastened! Now, I think he misunderstood to a degree, as I never questioned when absolution was administered that I was absolved,,I was trying to convey that I didn't feel worthy, though I did get him, and know that we are all worthy. See, He made us. That alone makes us worthy. It makes ME worthy.

There are times still, though, when I'm ashamed, even of things I've confessed and promised to change with a firm purpose of ammendment. Sometimes these terrible, horrible, evil things haunt me. That is why Mother Angelica's story touched me so profoundly. "Do you not think the ocean of My Divine Mercy is not large enough to absorb and obliterate your sin?" Whoa. Oh, thank you, dear Lord,,thank you for this, when I need it most, because I call upon it often now. This is the clarification of Father's admonishment. You, oh Lord, are bigger than my worst sin, confessed with contrite heart, and You have forgiven me, and I am worthy of Your forgiveness. Thank you for coming to me as Merciful Savior, not as Just Judge.

For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us, and on the whole world.

simple thoughts on a joyful monday

I love the Joyful Mysteries. I didn't used to. The first three I got, but the last two I didn't. Simeon and Anna's words of warning? I'd be scared. Losing your boy? Angry, to say the least.

Reflection is amazing, especially when you have time to kill in the car, so you whip out your rosary beads. Sometimes I have to remind myself, even at 40, to reflect on each mystery, not just recite the words. Shhhh. Don't tell anyone.

I was driving to the doctor on Monday, and began my rosary. "C'mon, self, don't just drive and mumble your prayers,,think about the mysteries,,,reflect,,," Interesting fruit comes of these kinds of promptings :). I love the parallels and lessons.

Obviously mothers have an affinity for the BVM. She's a mother; we're mothers. She loves her boy and feels his pain; we'd gladly experience our children's sufferings for them if we could. The Joyful Mysteries are particularly Marian, and relate-able to us as human mothers:

-The first Joyful Mystery: The Annunciation -

Mary's news is beautiful, wonderful, and disconcerting, but she trusts God. So, we get our news, especially for the first baby, and we know our lives will change, and we wonder if we're ready for this and we have to adjust our thinking about everything and sometimes THAT's disconcerting, but don't we have this young, beautiful, grace-filled, marvelous example,,our own Mother in Heaven, to show us that we trust God! "I am the handmaiden of the Lord,," yes, Father, be it done unto me according to Thy will..

-The second Joyful Mystery: The Visitation -

Our Lady was sent to her cousin Elizabeth, and what affirmation it must have been of God's goodness and the Truth of what was happening, to hear her say "how is it that the mother of my Lord has come to see me?".

-The third Joyful Mystery: The Birth of Our Lord -

Love, just,,love,,

-The fourth Joyful Mystery: The Presentation of Jesus in the Temple-

We get these gifts, and then we are so joyful, and we give them to God, in an act of utter faith that He will guide their lives and their lives are His. This parallel with baptism, where our children are claimed for Christ, is magnificent.

-The fifth Joyful Mystery: The Finding of Jesus at the Temple-

Jesus reminds his parents, "did you not know I would be at the house of my Father?" Our babies are "little Jesus-es". They are not ours. They belong to their Father.

Hail Mary, let me value my children as you valued you Most Precious Son. Holy Mary, pray for me as I teach them His ways, so that they, claimed for Him, will return to Him in eternal life. I love you.

running interference

I have a hard time stopping myself from preemptively running interference between my daughter and the world. I often find myself presuming the judgments that others make of her. I adopt a knee-jerk defensive posture, and I know this is the wrong thing to do. By doing so, I am complicit with the very notions that I want to keep her safe from, I insult others, and I injure her dignity.

Mary is 2 1/2. She was born two weeks late, the smallest of all my babies. She was perfectly and wonderfully made. She is bright. She is funny. She is very pretty. Sometimes, she is a little fresh. She loves doggies. She dances at prayer time, because she thinks we are singing. She is the joy and love and delight of her brothers and sisters. She is totally innocent. Mary has Down Syndrome.

My protective instinct about her trisomy is primarily in reaction to the abortive culture we live in, and has little to do with Mary. Sometimes I feel that when people see Mary, they don't see a unique and wonderful individual; a whole person. I hear "They are so happy, aren't they?" I hear "Did you know she had Downs before she was born?" The proverbial "they", as if another category other than human; less than human. The "testing" question, as if a test should have made any difference at all; as if it would have been perfectly fine if we chose not to have her. Don't they know? Can't they SEE her perfection? Don't they recognize the work of God? So, in instances when I don't need to say anything at all, I feel the need to address the elephant in the middle of the room. I want to pave the way for her, before people meet her, to make it a smooth meeting, and I want to dictate people's reactions to her. To tell them "you WILL love my baby." I want to make people accept and WANT people with Down Syndrome, all by myself. This is really all wrong, and it presumes the worst of people. I try not to do this, but don't always succeed, even though it undermines Mary on her own merit and God's handiwork. I don't trust. And that's just not fair.

Mary, upon meeting someone, looks up from shy eyes, as she backs away a little bit. Her wonderful belly juts out, and sometimes her hands come up, and she makes the sign for "mom", just for a little reassurance. Sometimes she waves, sometimes she claps, and sometimes she'll allow someone to hold her, but only with her head down on their shoulder, and looking the other way. She smiles, she runs, she hides and then peeks back around a corner. She laughs and yells and points. She'll lift up her shirt and advertise how wonderful her belly is. She'll bend in half and bellow, as if she has just heard the FUNNIEST joke in the whole world. And then, there are times that she's just, really, not in the mood to meet someone, and will cry, and only want Mom.

At the doctor's office, there are certain predictions and expectations for Mary. Sometimes she's just achieving them; sometimes she's far surpassed them, but generally speaking, the doc is usually impressed with her ability. I get to brag, there. I tout her accomplishments, cognitive skills, appetite, and physical prowess. And Mary gets to show off her belly for another audience.

In short, Mary is her own ombudsman. She makes people love her and respect her, all by herself. She needs to learn her own way in the world (though hopefully not any time soon), and she'll need to handle, or maybe not notice, anyone who might have a negative reaction to her. I need to make myself trust that Mary is witness to God and a reflection of His pure love. Mary already, in the little bit of time she's been on this earth, has opened up a world of love, acceptance, and humility to so many people. Mary is going to change hearts with each one that she touches. And she cannot do that with her mother running intereference.