The status quo...the way things are. We go to extreme lengths to preserve it, or at least the appearance of it. What I find interesting, though, is that over periods of time, the status quo can shift pretty dramatically. Then we may find ourselves preserving an image that is no longer real because it's what a given person may expect of us. I never would have thought about this had it not been for the magical world of social networking...Facebook.
It's a funny thing about my Facebook friend list: there are people there that represent some very different phases and areas of interest in my life. High school, college, married life; marching band, choir, church; former teachers and former students; knew me when, know me now...it's almost surreal to see these different circles meet and cross in one place. People who knew me as a mixed-up, rebellious, distrustful teenager might be surprised to see a friend's comment about faith or religion. People who knew me as an unapologetic Pentecostal with no plans for married life might be utterly shocked to see me as a married, Catholic mother of six. People from college might be startled to learn that I've set aside all my career plans, and those who only know me from my writing might not recognize me in "real life." It's almost enough to inspire an identity crisis!
As I've reflected over this, one simple reality draws it all together: it's all been steps on a journey. In the course of the journey, there have been some pretty dramatic shifts in my opinions, my philosophies, my priorities.... What is sometimes frustrating is that a dramatic shift in the mind only produces incremental shifts in the behavior. It can take a long time for a seed to really take root and bear fruit. And in the meantime, I maintain the status quo...a predictable pattern for a given relationship.
I suppose it is the way of things. In any given relationship, you at least start with the common ground. And I suppose there are no apologies to be made for growth -- for moving forward in the flow of our lives. Chances are that my high school math teacher will never meet my college music history professor, and my friends from church growing up will never cross paths with my current group of mommy friends. My half sister in Florida won't meet my youth ministers and Sunday school teachers from way back when, and my writing partner from English class won't meet the crazy girl from college. That's the status quo -- the way it is. It will grow and change through the years until it hardly looks the same, but it will be the same. It will be my path, graced by friends and family, teachers and students, knew me whens and know me nows. I will pray to be content with the status quo if it is but an honest picture of the journey, if not the destination.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Refresher Course on Grace
The summer days are waning. The kids are back in school, DH has returned to a “normal” work schedule, as crazy as that is, and I’m settling into life at home with just my littlest boy during the day. This summer, like all others, came with its familiar challenges. Financial matters are trickier in the summer, and life with all of us here brings more bickering, more chores to be done, and fewer willing hands (“but it’s summer vacation,
When I stop to evaluate these times in my life, a common theme always emerges. My prayer life has become less consistent, and the stress I’m feeling comes from believing that I need to fix, juggle, figure out, and manage everything. There’s always the sense that the disorder in our home can only be put right if I can suddenly don my magic "SuperMom" cape and be what I have never managed to be: able to rise early and stay up late, single-minded and ever diligent in keeping peace and order, able to easily step aside to tend to children and visitors, always temperate and modest, always keeping my attitudes in check, always keeping the deadly poison from the “restless evil” in my mouth…. Funny. That magic bullet hasn’t yet struck.
Somewhere in the harried madness of life, there’s a lesson that I have to revisit over and over: His grace is sufficient. It takes courage and strength to face my fear and my weakness and let God be God. It requires a daily choice – daily submission to grace – choosing my bridegroom and the choosing the willing surrender of the bride. I need to take time to reconnect with the truest longings of my heart rather than the loudest clamorings of my world. I need to take a refresher course on grace from the author of grace. And then we’ll do it again tomorrow….
Monday, June 22, 2009
Blessed Encouragement in Due Season
I can't take credit for this post, as it appeared in my inbox recently. I can, however share it, because I was so blessed by it. As moms, we get caught up in the minute-to-minute realities of life with kids, and it's easy to lose sight of what we're working so frantically for. So read, enjoy, and be encouraged!
The Invisible Mother.....
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids would walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken somewhere. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?!' Obviously not.
No one can see if I'm on the phone or cooking or sweeping the floor or even standing on my head in the corner because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible; the Invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: "Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?"
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car ride to somewhere 'Right around 5:30 please.'
One night a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read, no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
1 – No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
2 – These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
3 – They made great sacrifices and expected no credit whatsoever.
4 – The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life; in fact, it is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my daughter to tell the friend she's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. Instead, I just want her to want to come home. If she says anything at all to her friend I would like it to be 'You're gonna love it here.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot see if we're doing it right. And one day it is very possible that the world will marvel not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
The Invisible Mother.....
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids would walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken somewhere. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?!' Obviously not.
No one can see if I'm on the phone or cooking or sweeping the floor or even standing on my head in the corner because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible; the Invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: "Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?"
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car ride to somewhere 'Right around 5:30 please.'
One night a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read, no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
1 – No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
2 – These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
3 – They made great sacrifices and expected no credit whatsoever.
4 – The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life; in fact, it is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my daughter to tell the friend she's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. Instead, I just want her to want to come home. If she says anything at all to her friend I would like it to be 'You're gonna love it here.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot see if we're doing it right. And one day it is very possible that the world will marvel not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Tearful Day
Mother's Day
Call me a sap, a sentimental fool, an emotional what-have-you -- but I've spent most of today in tears or on the verge of tears. It's Mother's Day, after all, and and I was greeted this morning by sweet kisses from my monkey boy, hugs from the others (sniffle!), and off to mass I went. The book I referenced in the last post is still on my reading list, and I am learning to see a very human Jesus, and recognizing in newer, broader ways just how miraculous the incarnation is. All that new, fresh awareness bouncing around in my head is particularly overwhelming at mass, when the reality of that incarnation is staring me in the face. (Tears again.) Not only that, but our esteemed music director chose to use the Regina Coeli chant and an Ave Maria based on on the 13th century chant of the same text. (Sniffle, gulp!)
A quick trip home, get the boys all spit-shined and polished, then off to mass again. Three sweet boys in the pew with me, and my two fine young men serving at the altar. What proud Mama wouldn't cry? Just a little?
After church and a wardrobe change for everyone, we all piled in the van again to go to my nephew's first communion party. There was no shortage of tears in the reminiscences scattered through the day -- my mother-in-law and my grandmother are both three years gone this year. We stopped at the cemetery on the way home to leave a rose for Mom. There were tears all around, and more tears at bedtime from our two oldest, who have the most vivid memories of Grandma Mary.
Off to the chapel at midnight, and there were tears to offer there, as well. Tears of thanksgiving, joy, penitence. Tears of grief and petition, some for me, some for others. Then into bed with one more tear as I sigh, content, that my dear husband sleeps beside me, my sweet boys dream in their own beds, and my Father has ordered it, just so, in his abundant mercy.
Call me a sap, a sentimental fool, an emotional what-have-you -- but I've spent most of today in tears or on the verge of tears. It's Mother's Day, after all, and and I was greeted this morning by sweet kisses from my monkey boy, hugs from the others (sniffle!), and off to mass I went. The book I referenced in the last post is still on my reading list, and I am learning to see a very human Jesus, and recognizing in newer, broader ways just how miraculous the incarnation is. All that new, fresh awareness bouncing around in my head is particularly overwhelming at mass, when the reality of that incarnation is staring me in the face. (Tears again.) Not only that, but our esteemed music director chose to use the Regina Coeli chant and an Ave Maria based on on the 13th century chant of the same text. (Sniffle, gulp!)
A quick trip home, get the boys all spit-shined and polished, then off to mass again. Three sweet boys in the pew with me, and my two fine young men serving at the altar. What proud Mama wouldn't cry? Just a little?
After church and a wardrobe change for everyone, we all piled in the van again to go to my nephew's first communion party. There was no shortage of tears in the reminiscences scattered through the day -- my mother-in-law and my grandmother are both three years gone this year. We stopped at the cemetery on the way home to leave a rose for Mom. There were tears all around, and more tears at bedtime from our two oldest, who have the most vivid memories of Grandma Mary.
Off to the chapel at midnight, and there were tears to offer there, as well. Tears of thanksgiving, joy, penitence. Tears of grief and petition, some for me, some for others. Then into bed with one more tear as I sigh, content, that my dear husband sleeps beside me, my sweet boys dream in their own beds, and my Father has ordered it, just so, in his abundant mercy.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Happy Easter!
I love Easter, and I love that as Catholics, we celebrate the Easter season, not just the day. We'll be alleluia-ing like crazy until Pentecost. Gotta love that....
There's a new feature on the blog...I added a "what I'm reading" spot. The current link is a book I picked up in response to the "Consider the Source" post from a couple of weeks ago. I'm loving it, but it's a challenging read. If I can get through a whole chapter at a sitting, then I'm doing well. Usually it's just a couple of pages. So very much to think about!
So what are you reading now?
There's a new feature on the blog...I added a "what I'm reading" spot. The current link is a book I picked up in response to the "Consider the Source" post from a couple of weeks ago. I'm loving it, but it's a challenging read. If I can get through a whole chapter at a sitting, then I'm doing well. Usually it's just a couple of pages. So very much to think about!
So what are you reading now?
Saturday, April 11, 2009
While we wait...
This is from an ancient homily on Holy Saturday, and is part of the office of readings for the day. The Liturgy of the Hours is a distinctly Catholic thing, but this reading speaks to all of us who wait, poised to celebrate the Resurrection tomorrow morning. I was so moved by it that I wanted to share it, and hope that you are blessed by it as well.
Something strange is happening -- there is a great silence on Earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear. He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. At the sight of him, Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: "My Lord be with you all." Christ answered him: "And with your spirit." He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: "Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light."
I am your God, who for your sake has become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated.
For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home in above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.
See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.
I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.
Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.
Something strange is happening -- there is a great silence on Earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear. He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. At the sight of him, Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: "My Lord be with you all." Christ answered him: "And with your spirit." He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: "Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light."
I am your God, who for your sake has become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated.
For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home in above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.
See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.
I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.
Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Consider the Source
I've been accused of not existing outside my own mind. That's a stinging observation, to be sure, but Grandma always said "consider the source." Considering the source, this deserved some serious reflection (proving the point, perhaps?). The more I've reflected, the more I've had to admit that it just might be correct.
I've never been the physical type. I'm not athletic or particularly adventurous. My physical interaction with the world around me is limited to things that help me relate to the non-physical. I'm the spiritual, thinking, feeling, contemplating, theorizing type, and I've always considered the mystical and the eternal to be superior to the concrete and temporal. I've even caught myself (God forgive me!) resenting the immediate, here and now realities that claim my attention and my energy because they take me away from the "things that really matter." But here's the kick-in-the-teeth-reality-check of the day: Christ embraced humanity to the point of becoming human. The God of the universe deigned to encompass His deity in human flesh -- to step into the temporal, physical world and walk among us as a man. He was raised in a traditional Jewish home; isn't it reasonable to assume that he was taught Joseph's trade? He hung out with fishermen; isn't it probable that he did some net-hauling along the way? Jesus laughed, cried, worked, played, celebrated and mourned...as a man!
I don't do well with managing my time or my tasks...the time seems to get away with the tasks undone, or ten other things demand attention and my "did it" list at the end of the day looks nothing like my "to do" list did at the beginning. I get so frustrated with things that seem so easy to other moms but that I can't seem to grasp. I can read, research, write, and plan, but in the practical application, I always seem to miss the mark completely. I've never been able to marry my contemplative personality to the practical necessities of my world, no matter how hard I try. Perhaps it's time for a new approach....
If I am to truly embrace Christ, mustn't I embrace his humanity just as fervently as I embrace his deity? He is fully God and fully man, body and blood, soul and divinity. No element is extricable from the others. I have to look again at this savior of mine, and open my heart to see him more clearly.
We are on the cusp of Holy Week, and I am challenged in a new way. Fully human, the God of all creation bore the entirety of human suffering and sin, obedient even to a disgraceful and gruesome death. Can I embrace Christ in his humanity now? Can I see what was here, temporally present, and embrace it rather than looking past it to the resurrection? The battle for salvation was won on Sunday morning, but it was fought at its fiercest in the garden, before the Sanhedrin, and on the cross. Is Christ in his humanity the key to my freedom in mine? Consider the source....
I've never been the physical type. I'm not athletic or particularly adventurous. My physical interaction with the world around me is limited to things that help me relate to the non-physical. I'm the spiritual, thinking, feeling, contemplating, theorizing type, and I've always considered the mystical and the eternal to be superior to the concrete and temporal. I've even caught myself (God forgive me!) resenting the immediate, here and now realities that claim my attention and my energy because they take me away from the "things that really matter." But here's the kick-in-the-teeth-reality-check of the day: Christ embraced humanity to the point of becoming human. The God of the universe deigned to encompass His deity in human flesh -- to step into the temporal, physical world and walk among us as a man. He was raised in a traditional Jewish home; isn't it reasonable to assume that he was taught Joseph's trade? He hung out with fishermen; isn't it probable that he did some net-hauling along the way? Jesus laughed, cried, worked, played, celebrated and mourned...as a man!
I don't do well with managing my time or my tasks...the time seems to get away with the tasks undone, or ten other things demand attention and my "did it" list at the end of the day looks nothing like my "to do" list did at the beginning. I get so frustrated with things that seem so easy to other moms but that I can't seem to grasp. I can read, research, write, and plan, but in the practical application, I always seem to miss the mark completely. I've never been able to marry my contemplative personality to the practical necessities of my world, no matter how hard I try. Perhaps it's time for a new approach....
If I am to truly embrace Christ, mustn't I embrace his humanity just as fervently as I embrace his deity? He is fully God and fully man, body and blood, soul and divinity. No element is extricable from the others. I have to look again at this savior of mine, and open my heart to see him more clearly.
We are on the cusp of Holy Week, and I am challenged in a new way. Fully human, the God of all creation bore the entirety of human suffering and sin, obedient even to a disgraceful and gruesome death. Can I embrace Christ in his humanity now? Can I see what was here, temporally present, and embrace it rather than looking past it to the resurrection? The battle for salvation was won on Sunday morning, but it was fought at its fiercest in the garden, before the Sanhedrin, and on the cross. Is Christ in his humanity the key to my freedom in mine? Consider the source....
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