92 Valentines Later…

No, that’s not how many Valentine’s dates I’ve had.

And it’s not the number of Valentine’s Days I’ve celebrated either. I just turned 40, not 92 — of course, I’d be looking darn good for my age if the latter were the case.  :-)

92 is the number of Valentine’s cards Claire and Ella are making for their friends who attend our home school park day (46 cards each).  Tomorrow is our “Valentine’s Day celebration” so I bet you can guess what we did for school today. Yep, we were up to our eyeballs in Valentine’s Day Cards.

Now I know what some of you are thinking — Those home school families. They do a craft for an hour or two and call it a school day. Who do they think they’re fooling?

But hold on for a minute before you make any judgments and determine we home school moms are slackers. Let me share the educational value of making 92 homemade Valentine’s cards.

Math, Economics and Home Economics: First we went looking for store bought, pre-made Valentines –we aren’t all Martha Stuart moms, you know. During this process we added up the cost of several boxes of cards and determined that the cost of buying 92 pre-made cards was more than making our own. This meant shopping for some materials and comparing prices per unit so we could get the best deal.

Note: Ella, of course, could care less about the cost. Claire on the other hand was calculating how many kids in Africa she could feed if she bought the cheaper construction paper.

Spelling and Handwriting:  I made each one figure out what they wanted to say on the cards and write it out for me. Then they had to sign each one (46 times each). Claire in cursive and Ella, well, I’m not sure how many she actually signed.

Religion, History and Reading: Being a Catholic family we of course talked about St. Valentine. And I, being a former “Bible alone” Protestants, made them look up and read Bible verses about love so that we could put them on the cards.

A little more Math: While cutting out hearts for Ella I had Claire determine how many sheets of paper I’d need if  I could get three hearts out of each piece of paper. That covered multiplication and division for the day and moved into a little exercise of counting by threes for Claire while Ella kept track of the number of hearts by counting by twos.

Finally, the character building portion of this crafty home school project….Patience and perseverance. By card #10 the girls were over this project (this non-crafty mom was over it well before that). At card #11 we discussed the importance of finishing the job with a good attitude (my own included).

Here’s to a fun-filled Valentine’s Park Day tomorrow. Oh, did I mention the high is supposed to 50 degrees with a wind-chill factor of God knows what? (That’s cold for us Floridians.) I’m beginning to think we should have skipped this park day altogether.

Oh, well. Here’s your early Valentine.  Happy Valentine’s Day!

Three steps forward, two steps back

 

It seems like it’s taking forever for me to grow up in Christ. Just when I think I’ve learned what it is that He’s trying to teach me through my circumstances I’m tested and once again I fail and fall down.

Being patient with myself is not my strong suit. It’s easy to think I should know better, do better and be better so I can be more like Jesus. This is not necessarily a bad thing; it’s only by grace that we even desire Godliness. The problem comes when I think I should reach that place overnight.  I read the devotion below in Magnificat last October. It spoke to this very issue. I recorded it in my journal so I wouldn’t forget this valuable lesson.

God knows that humans are by nature slow and even slothful, and that it takes a long time for us to become mature adults and finally bear fruit. It has not been given to humans to reach perfection overnight; our conversion requires much time…For this reason he waits very patiently and gives us time: He let’s time do its work.

For that matter we should know all too well that we can only make progress with the aid of time, by trial and error, three steps forward and two steps back.          

This problem with patience isn’t just applicable to myself. I need to be careful that I don’t expect others to grow and change overnight lest I place unreasonable demands and expectations on those I love. I’m thinking I can’t be the only one who struggles with this. Perhaps, when it comes to growing in Godliness, the place to begin is to have patience with ourselves and with others.

We’re dating other people

 

Yes, it’s true. Scott and I are dating other people.

Surprising I know. Especially because we’re not divorced or separated. 

To clarify, we’re not dating other individuals, not technically. It’s more like group dating, large group dating, as in a family of six. Yep, we’re dating a family. And no, Catholics aren’t into polygamy. 

The best way to explain is to start at the beginning…

We met at the park (romantic I know). It was our home school group’s first park day of the new school year. My girls immediately took to child #3 in their family’s birth order. They begged for a playdate. After the first one, well, my girls were head over heels.

A few months later all the parents finally met (I think it was at a church Christmas play practice.) No love at first sight. No sparks. No visions of future family gatherings, just a few introductions.

This is where the romance could have ended before it even began. Just because my girls find a good friend doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll become buddies with the other mom (I know you moms out there get this). And, even if the other mom and I really like each other, that doesn’t mean Scott will enjoy hanging out with the other dad (I’m cringing as I think of some of the awkward couples dating scenarios in our past).

Bottom line: When your kids are young your social life pretty much revolves around theirs, it’s nice when the parents really enjoy each other’s company but that’s an uncommon find (at least it has been in our world).

Back to the courtship…

Our first date was a group date with another couple. We could have easily been intimidated;  the two other couples had a history and we were the “new girl and guy” in town.  But, we weren’t looking for anything exclusive so all was well. Turns out, we had a great time. By the end of the night Scott was making plans to see Avatar with the other dad. A second date perhaps?  ;-) 

Husbands hit it off. Wives connect. Kids play well together (in one case maybe too well, Ella and their only son seem rather fond of each other). Everybody’s happy. How rare!

And so, just like that, we’re back in the dating pool. I say “back” because we’ve been away from the dating scene for a while. I’m sure our story’s the same as many couples; life gets busy, there’s a dry spell and of course we’ve been burned before (who hasn’t?).

Faithful family friends with shared core values and kids that get a long are hard to come by.  Sadly we lost a few close friends when we became Catholic. And, as life and luck would have it, some family friendships faded when the intersections that brought us together no longer existed–no love lost mind you, just a different phase of life for each family.

Dating analogy and kidding aside, there are seasons in all relationships and that includes these family friendships. Quality friendships, whether seasonal or lifelong, aren’t easy to forge. And once forged, they’re bound to grow and change–even the lifelong ones.  It’s good for our kids to  understand this as they learn to be faithful friends.

As we enjoy spending time with this family I’ve thought of Proverbs 27:17:   As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.  Ideally our friendships sharpen us (and our families). They should help us move closer to Christ and be more like Him. This is a good reminder of the deeper value of a friend and the reason we’re out there dating in the first place.

Lordy, Lordy, today I’m…

…40?

 

Say it isn’t so!  

How quickly time goes by. Seems like just yesterday Claire was defending my youthfulness to her little sister.

For whatever reason our culture places a lot of importance on this birthday. I suppose for some it marks the turning point where one begins the second  half of their life (as if the years of anyone’s life are actually guaranteed and can be marked by a specific number of birthdays–a bit presumptuous of us humans don’t you think?). 

I may joke around about turning 40 and this ”mid-life” thing but I’m not sure that deep down I buy into this viewpoint. I do however think it’s only natural to reflect on the years gone by and my life choices thus far–you know the drill…

I’m glad I did…

I wish I’d done…

and of course,

If I’d known then what I know now…

Here are some of my reflections and what I hope my girls might learn from me as a result.

I’m glad I…

…became Catholic. Words can’t even describe how grateful I am that my faith journey landed me in the Catholic Church. There is a fullness to my faith that didn’t exist before. This is hard to describe to someone who doesn’t understand what Catholics really believe. All I can say is this is the best decision I’ve made in the last 10 years of my life. On this faith journey we each have to follow our own conscience but if you’ve never taken the time to understand what the Catholic Church really believes then I’d encourage you to find out (from an orthodox source). You may discover the depth and riches of this treasure we found.

Lesson for my daughters: Our Catholic faith is a pearl of great price. Your dad and I gave up a lot to find it. Don’t just take our word for it, study the Faith in order to know what you believe and why.

I wish I’d…

…followed my heart and double-majored in college. I had two loves when I was young–teaching and music. I’ll never regret teaching speech communication classes at the community college, it was a great career choice for me. But, I wish I’d had the courage to pursue a degree in music too. I didn’t believe enough in my talent and potential and so I went with what my head told me was the safe bet. I should have followed my heart as well, not because I want a career in music but for my own growth, enjoyment and for the glory of God .

Lesson: Claire and Ella, listen to your head and your heart. Pursue your dreams. Don’t be afraid to have confidence in the gifts God has given you and use them for His glory.

If I’d known then…

…the truth about artificial birth control and the beauty of the theology of the our bodies, I would’ve done things very differently early in our marriage.  My house would probably have a few more kids, be a little messier and a lot more chaotic. But oh the joy and love that comes with each miraculous gift of life!

Lesson: Claire and Ella, don’t just accept what our culture teaches about fertility and artificial birth control (ABC) like I did. Take the time to understand why the Church tells us that ABC is not God’s plan for His children. Trust the Word of God that tells us fertility is a gift, not a curse and children are a blessing, not a burden. 

Hmmm, a light-hearted beginning and heavy ending. Such is life –made up of both and everything in- between.

She’s mine in the morning

 

Ella is a “daddy’s girl.” She loves her daddy. I mean it, she L-O-V-E-S her daddy.

When will Daddy be home from work?

Will you sit with me on the couch and hold me Daddy?

Claire, you ride with Mommy, I want to ride with Daddy?

Daddy, sit next to me during dinner!

Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home, hey Claire, Daddy’s home! (imagine loud shrill voice!)

Get the picture?

Day and night, she’s her daddy’s girl. Except, except for a brief time each morning.

Ella is our morning bird. Ever since I can remember she’s woken up well before sunrise and consequently, so have I. Occasionally I bemoan the fact that Ella’s body clock has yet to reset itself so she’ll wake a little later each day. But, the truth is, I really wouldn’t change it now. Because, in those last moments of darknes before the dawn, Ella is mine.

Each morning as I sit in my chair next to the fire-place, sip my coffee and read the daily Mass scripture readings, I also wait. I wait for the moment when Ella slips from under her covers, wanders into the living room and crawls on my lap. It’s a ritual. It’s our ritual. And I love it. In those quiet moments she’s still my baby girl. I hold her, tell her how much she is loved and quietly pray for her in my heart. In those early hours of the morning she’s mine, and I treasure every minute of it.

I know Ella will probably always be a daddy’s girl. And that’s ok.

I know one day soon, Ella is going to start sleeping in.

But, until then…

She’s all mine in the morning and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

3 Women + 3 Crosses = A little perspective

 

When my own cross seems a little heavy I find it’s not just good to look up toward Jesus on the cross but also out toward others and the crosses they bear. It seems to bring a little perspective on the weight and length of my own cross.

Today I’m thinking of and praying for three women.

A wife and mother of two who lost her husband in December.

–God the Father, be a father to her fatherless children, God the Son, be her spouse and God the Holy Spirit, comfort her broken heart.

A young mother who lost her prematurely born son in January.

–Blessed Mother, you know what it is to lose your own son “too soon.” Please pray for your daughter.*

A mother of five little ones who is suffering the end stages of cancer and hoping for a miracle.

–Father, somehow bring peace in the midst of what seems so tragic. Comfort this mother as she comforts her own children. 

 

*Note: If you have a problem understanding why I’d ask Mary, the mother of God incarnate, to pray for this woman, you may want to read this post

“Tell me about it”

 

 

Our church is under construction. They’re at the point where they’re moving things from the old church building into the new one. Last week they took the life-sized crucifix down and placed it over the new altar.

I miss it.

The wall where it once was is glaringly bare. If you’ve never been in our church you wouldn’t know the difference but for those who’ve spent hours praying and worshipping in that space, well,  it’s just not the same.

A few weeks ago I was talking with a friend from church. We were sharing some of the challenges we’d both faced in the last year and how often we’d found ourselves on our knees before the cross. I smiled as she talked about her prayer time.

I’ve knelt before that crucifix so many times and said, “I’m not sure I can take much more of this Lord” and when I look up at the image of His suffering it’s like He’s saying, “Tell me about it.”

Her words express exactly why I’m so fond of that crucifix and any crucifix for that matter. No matter what trial or suffering I may face in this life, it will never surpass that of  Jesus. He gets it. He knows my pain.  

He knows what it means to love and forgive those who’ve hurt you even while they continue to hurt you.

He knows the anquish of rejection, hatred, and the unfaithfulness of friends.

He knows the suffering that comes with intense physical pain.

The crucifix reminds me of these truths. It tells me I am not alone but instead I have a friend that loves me so much He was willing to undergo great suffering to prove it.

The crucifix reminds me that even though he was tempted in his own suffering to find a way of escape he chose the path of sacrificial love instead. And now I am free to do the same–to bear my own cross with as much love as He bore His.  

This is why the crucifix has such meaning to us Catholics. And it’s why that wall in our sanctuary seems so bare without it.  Yes, I know, with or without it, the truths remain but I miss this beautiful and humbling image of suffering and sacrificial love.

I look forward to moving into the new sanctuary and seeing that cross again. Meanwhile when I kneel in church and see that empty wall I will follow the spiritual direction of St. Francis De Sales.

With the interior eyes of your soul, contemplate Jesus crucified, naked, blasphemed, calumniated, abandoned and overwhelmed with all kinds of disgust, sadness and labour. Then consider your own afflictions, which neither in number nor intensity can be compared with His, and reflect that never shall you be asked to suffer for Him so much as He has suffered for you. 

Carry on

 

We are called to carry our cross.

It’s up to God to determine its weight and length.

(Unknown)

 Father, today I pray…

…for the one who thinks their cross is too big to bear

–remind them of your constant presence and help in their time of need. 

…for the one who is falling under the weight of their cross

–strengthen their faith and provide a friend to help them carry their cross today.

…for the one who resents their cross

–soften their heart as they recall how you carried your cross just for them.

 

On folding laundry and following God’s will – Claire’s perspective

 

Claire came into my room a few months ago while I was folding laundry. She sat herself down in the middle of the piles of folded clothes and began this conversation…

Claire: You’re not folding that towel the right way Mom.

[No doubt about it, she really is Scott's daughter. Not that there ever was any doubt mind you. This only proves it ]

Me: Claire, did you really come in here to tell me the right way to fold towels?

Claire:  No. 

Me: So are you here just to keep me company or are you gonna’ help me?

[She proceeds to pick up a towel and fold it the "right way"]

Claire: I think God might be telling me I should be a nun.

Me: (surprised but not really surprised) Really?

Claire: Yes really.

Me: So what do you think about that?

[Without missing a beat, in a matter of fact tone of voice...]

Claire:  I think I’m gonna’ tell Him ”no.”

Me: (suppressing a grin) You sure you want to do that. I mean, tell God “no.”

[Putting down her properly folded towel, she gets up to leave]

Claire: I don’t know. I might change my mind.

Me: Yes, you just might.

Several months, masses and moments spent with Claire in prayer later and I’m beginning to think she might just change her mind. That is of course , if God is calling her to a vocation in the religious life–which He may or may not be doing. 

In some ways it wouldn’t surprise me. Claire is the one who regularly asks to stay a little longer for adoration. She’s disappointed when we can’t make it for benediction or liturgy of the hours. She has such a tender heart toward God and great empathy for others, remembering them in her prayers (the blessing at dinner is usually quite long). And I swear she can’t watch the Hallmark movie about the life of Mother Teresa without crying. Of course she’s still very young and we’d never pressure her one way or the other but it wouldn’t surprise me if she seriously considers choosing a vocation in the religious life. 

Regardless of her future vocation, I’m just pleased Claire is listening to the stirrings of the Holy Spirit in her heart.  While some might see her “no” as a defiance or disrespect for God’s will, I see in her response a trust and openness with God. There’s something refreshing about her faith and her honesty. She trusts her heavenly Father enough to be honest with Him. She doesn’t fear that her “no” would make God love her less. And, even at her young age, she knows her “no” right now is not the final word. It’s not the first time her childlike trust has spoken to my heart and I have a feeling it won’t be the last.

During Advent and Christmas we talked a lot about Mary’s fiat, her “yes” to God. Claire says she wants to be like Mary and do whatever God asks of her. Something tells me that she will.

The beauty of the oyster bed

 

I grew up living on the water. My parents were lucky, smart, blessed (you pick the word) and bought a waterfront lot on a relatively undeveloped Florida barrier island in 1971. 

I loved growing up on the water. Fishing, swimming, sailing, I was blessed to be able to do them all and often.

Our backyard was at the end of a canal on the intra-coastal waterways. A mangrove tree hovered  over the corner of our seawall and a large bed of oyster shells grew below. I never thought these shells were particularly attractive. In fact, we deftly avoided them when we ventured below the mangrove branches to launch a boat or go for a swim. If you’ve seen an oyster bed then you know they’re not beautiful. Oyster shells aren’t like the star fish or conch shells that tourists and natives alike seek as they walk the white sandy beaches of Florida.

Lately, I’ve been re-thinking the attractiveness of this rustic and under-appreciated shell.

It started when I re-read a chapter of Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s book, Gift from the Sea. In it Lindbergh compares the stages of love to different seashells she finds on the shoreline. She likens the intial romantic stage to like that of a double sunrise seashell, a beautful, delicate bivalve; each side mirrors the other and is held together by a fragile band that’s easily broken.

For Lindbergh, the middle stages of love and marriage are like the oyster shell. An uninviting analogy, at least I thought so when I started to read her book. But now, as Scott and I move into our 15th year of marriage, I find her description of this season of married life familiar and even comforting. So much so that I’m sharing a few of her words with you (ok, more than a few, but they’re worth the read, so keep reading)…

The sunrise shell has the eternal validity of all beautiful and fleeting things. But surely we demand duration and continuityof relationships, at least of marriage. Not necessarily continuity in one single form or stage; not necessarily continuity in the double-sunrise stage.

There are other shells…here is one I picked up yesterday, an oyster…Sprawling and uneven, it has the irregularity of something growing. It looks rather like the house of a big family, pushing out one addition after another to hold its teeming life– here a sleeping porch for the children and there a veranda for the play-pen; here a garage for the extra car and there a shed for the the bicycles. It amuses me because it seems so much like my life at the moment, like most women’s lives in the middle years of marriage. It is untidy, spread out in all directions, heavily encrusted with accumulations…

Yes, I believe the oyster shell is a good one to express the middle years of marriage. It suggests the struggle of life itself. The oyster has fought to have that place on the rock to which it has fitted itself perfectly and to which it clings tenaciously. So most couples in the growing years of marriage struggle to achieve a place in the world…In the midst of such a life there is not much time to sit facing one another over a breakfast table. In these years one recognizes the tuth of Saint-Exupery’s line:

“Love does not consist in gazing at each other (one perfect sunrise gazing at another!) but in looking outward together in the same direction. For in fact, man and woman are not only looking outward in the same direction but working outward.” 

Observe the steady encroachment of the oyster bed over the rock. Here one forms ties, roots, a firm base. (Try and pry an oyster from its ledge!) 

Here the bond of marriage is formed. For marriage, which is always spoken of as a bond, becomes actually, in this stage, many bonds, many strands of different texture and strength, making up a web that is taut and firm.

The web is fashioned of love, yes, but many kinds of love: romantic love first, then a slow-growing devotion and, playing through these, a constantly rippling companionship. It is made of loyalties, and interdependencies, and shared experiences. It is woven of memories of meetings and conflicts; of triumphs and disappointments. It is a web of communication, a common language, and the acceptance of a lack of language too; a knowledge of likes and dislikes, of habits and reactions, both physcial and mental. It is a web of instincts and intuitions. The web of marriage is made in the day-to-day, living side by side, looking outward and working outward in the same direction. It is woven in the substance of life…

In the oyster stage of marriage, romantic love is only one of the many bonds that make up the intricate and enduring web that two people have built together.

I am fond of the oyster shell. It is humble and awkward and ugly. It is slate-colored and unsymmetrical. Its form is not primarily beautiful but functional. I make fun of its knobbiness. Sometimes I resent its burdens and excrescences. But its tireless adaptibility and tenacity draw my astonished admiration and sometimes my tears. And it is comfortable in its familiarity, its homeliness, like old garden gloves which have molded themselves perfectly to the shape of the hand.

Today, at Claire’s request, we went for a family jog. Before returning home we stopped for a rest at the bridge a few blocks away and peered over the seawall.  A large oyster bed was nestled below.

I marveled at the the beauty of these shells and the life-sustaining nature of each oyster. Each oyster strong and unique. Each shell protecting the life within. Each one clinging to the solid rock underneath.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they Claire?” 

“I’m not so sure Mom.”

“Oh, but I am.”