The List of What Went Right

The day wasn't a total loss, after all!

1. The choir sang at the mall, and no one threw rotten tomatoes.
2. We had french toast and scrambled eggs for dinner...always a good thing. And the kids cleared and rinsed their plates without a fight.
3. Mr. Redsocks had lots of here-there-and-everywhere stuff to do yesterday, and he made it home safely and without major incident.
4. I managed to get a couple of loads of laundry done so no one had to go to Mass naked this morning.
5. A skilled friend agreed to come and hang our old kitchen cabinets so we can use them until we can afford new ones.
6. My children, despite the fact that they drove me crazy, gave me hugs and kisses goodnight when I tucked them in.
7. I was kept in the hollow of my Father's hand, preserved from harm, and granted his provision for another day by his love and grace.
8. I have stuff to do today -- another chance to do better! And a reason to cut this post short and get busy, because my blessings are innumerable!

Misnomer?

This blog is subtitled "what went right when things went wrong...". Today, however, I'm having a hard time finding the "what went right." I'm feeling behind the game so far that I'm not sure I'll ever get close enough to eat last place's dust. I also suspect that no amount of chocolate, ice cream, or other mind-numbing, soul-soothing delight is gonna make this one better. In fact, a "pause" button is all I can think of that would truly be helpful -- freeze everyone and everything else around, take a moment to clear my head, make a well-prioritized to-do list, and then tackle it, uninterrupted, one task at a time. So far no luck on that one, either.

Here's the part where I grit my teeth, pray for enough sanity to make it until bedtime, and head to the kitchen to start dinner. I'm definitely wearing my red socks to bed tonight, and taking time to make a list of what did indeed go right today. I'm sure there's something. It's just going too fast to see from this close....

Springtime Reminiscence

BACKWARD, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night!

I read this poem years ago, sitting in the chair at my grandmother's house. (Read the whole poem HERE.) I was young enough then that I could read and understand the poem, but not truly grasp the sentiment. Now, though, I understand. My thoughts turn to my grandmother and my mother-in-law whenever I hear the opening line. They've both been gone for nearly three years, and they'd both be celebrating birthdays this week. Now I know what it is to long for the honest, simple presence of these two women in my life.

My grandmother's hand in my childhood was my touchstone of stability and order, but it was also the hand that led me into new places, new experiences, and new arenas of thought.

My mother-in-law is the image I hold as the mother I want to be. She had a way of shepherding her children with a loving touch, tempering the passions of those around her, and inspiring the best in all of us. She was quiet and simple, instinctively patient, and somehow always held things together.

At the end of my days, I am tired. I'm aware of all that I have left undone, time I might have spent better, words I wish I'd never said, ways that I've not lived up to my own expectations or to the examples set by these women I so long to emulate. I want to hear them reassure me that morning will come with new grace, and that whatever my frustration, time and love will be enough to bring it into perspective. I want to feel a comforting hand stroking my hair, hear a gentle voice bearing wisdom born of faith and experience, smell the familiar smells of each of their embraces as I bury my face and let the rest of the world slip from my awareness.

And just so, I draw my children to me. I embrace them, kiss their foreheads, stroke their hair away from their eyes, and pray that someday they will take comfort in those simple memories, just as I will tonight when I close my eyes and let my memories rock me to sleep.

Happy New Year!

Yes, I know it's March. I say "Happy New Year" for two reasons. One, I haven't posted since last November (Yikes! Where did that time go?). Two, I have come to mark this time of year as a new year in a spiritual sense.

I spent last weekend away at a Mothers' retreat at a local retreat center. It is an annual event, and it takes place the first weekend of Lent every year. So we begin with Ash Wednesday, a day to fast, pray, and focus on the penitential season at hand, and almost immediately find time away to pray, go to confession, and be instructed and encouraged by other moms and some perfectly wonderful retreat directors.

Over the last 20 years or so, I have come to more and more fully realize that to truly embrace the anastasis, resurrection, of Easter, we have to more and more fully embrace the aftothysia and thanatos, self-sacrifice and death, that precedes it in lent and Holy Week. So I begin another Lent, a "New Year," resolved to grow in faith, hope, and love, embracing the passion of my Lord with renewed commitment.

"Draw me nearer, nearer blessed Lord, to the cross where thou hast died. Draw me nearer, nearer blessed Lord, to thy precious bleeding side."

Sacrifice

Sacrifice is an everyday reality for me, like most moms. We sacrifice our bodies, our intellectual pursuits, our careers, our leisure time, our privacy.... All these sacrifices leave us with less of certain things, in exchange for the rewards of happy, healthy children and marriages. Would we change much? Probably not.

I have to admit, though, that I have moments of selfishness when I want to scream "MINE!" and grasp frantically to hold on to a few moments alone in the bathroom, or with a book, or a meal, or coffee, hot to the bottom of the cup.

In this selfishness is a certain amount of desperation -- of hunger. It stirs a cry of longing, and in that longing, I am focused on my lack -- lack of time, lack of resources, lack of freedom, lack of devotion and prayer. In that longing, the last thing I am thinking about is greater sacrifice!

My previous post was about the power of praise to transform circumstances. How much more sacrificial praise!

I was in the chapel recently, in the depths of one of these "cries of longing." Okay, I admit it. I was whining. But in the corner of my mind came the smallest whisper: "Sacrifice of praise". It was a phrase used so lightly in my upbringing -- it really had very little meaning for me beyond its use in a rather up-tempo praise chorus we used to sing. But there, before that altar, in the presence of Christ, I began to read aloud psalms of praise -- psalms that acknowledged God for his attributes and exhorted others to do the same. I didn't feel like praising. It was truly a sacrifice to lift my voice just then. But as I did, something amazing began to happen: a transformation of my perspective. My circumstances didn't change. My needs didn't change. My attitude, however, did. There, before that altar, I acclaimed aloud that He is holy, He is worthy, He is the joy of my salvation, He is able.

I acclaimed Christ as King, and in my acclamation I found peace. I found rest for my soul. I found myself able to return home and face the day in gratitude for the many blessings I have been given.

Bloom Where You Are!

How often do you see a movie or TV show, or read something that you've seen or read countless times before, and suddenly see it in a way you never have? How often have you said "I can't believe I missed that!"? So this is how my day began...

I was reading morning prayer, and one of the selections in the psalter for today was Psalm 84. I have been through the psalter many times - it's a four week cycle. I have read the Psalms through more times than I can remember. Somehow, though, this particular passage has always just skimmed past my eyes; I never really saw it until today.

"Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself where she may have her young - a place near your altar."

Now, as a "nesting bird" of sorts, this tickled my awareness. What better place to care for my young than near the altar of the Lord? As I've considered this further, maybe I have less need to feel out-of-sorts in church with my children. This reassures me that doing "mom stuff" that addresses my children's immediate needs and helps to direct their attention to Jesus and His unique presence at Mass really is okay, after all. (You too, Mrs. J.L.!)

Ah, yes...my original point.

"Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you. Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have their hearts set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baca (translates to "weeping"), they make it a place of springs; they go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion."

What admonition! What encouragement! What simple direction!

Praise is, for lack of a better term, magic. It turns the driest, bitterest valleys we pass through on this pilgrim journey into places of springs, where we may find strength and refreshment - strength that carries us until we see Him in Zion.

Afternoon delight

(October 4, 2008)

Ah, children. As I write this, I am watching a mess o' kids in a McDonalds playland. The dynamics are fascinating to me. It's lunchtime on a Thursday, so the kids are all toddlers and preschoolers. A microcosm of their demographic, they're all finding their places and making their ways in the pack, as it were.

There's my preschooler, talking big and tough, challenging other kids at every turn. He's almost always outrun, outjumped, and outdone at home, where he's the fourth in line. And there's the kid who just punched him in the head for pushing him out of the way and beating him to the steering wheel.

There's my toddler, following around and petting another little guy who's about his size, but probably six months younger.

There is a veritable gaggle of little girls, squealing in ways that only little girls can, and the one who'd rather play with the boys, I think, but is instead wailing piteously. You'd be inclined to worry, but there's not a tear in her eyes and she's continuing to play on the fringe, waiting to see which grownup will come to her rescue.

There are moms who are oblivious to the activity on the playset, and there are those following their little darlings to catch them before they land on their well padded backsides.

There's the nubile walker who insists on keeping up with the big kids, and the kid who's pushing four but still running around with a pacifier and blankie.

In this world of ketchup-eaters and slide-climbers, there is no notion of crises, impending legislation, or global tension. For them, there are french fries and ice cream cones, tunnels and slides, and any slight of etiquette or aggression will be forgotten before bedtime. The kids will figure out how to be and how to go forward because there are grownups to show them the way until they can do it on their own. I wish that I could feel that sense of freedom sometimes: to live in the moment, and leave the bigger picture to the bigger people. But I am one of the "big people" now, and the task of looking forward and back to understand the significance of this moment lies with me. Lord, grant me eyes to see, ears to hear, and a childlike spirit to trust you for the rest...and eat ketchup.