Reconsidering Martha: On Musicians at Mass

Mary and Martha. We're all familiar with the story in Mark's gospel. Martha is rushing about, serving guests, while Mary sits at Jesus' feet. Martha says to Jesus, "tell her (Mary) to help me!" Jesus says no, she has "chosen the better part, and it will not be taken from her." The end. Right?

The point has been made before that Jesus' rebuke of Martha was not that she was serving their guests, but that she was "anxious about a great many things." It occurs to me that Jesus would not send Mary off to the kitchen to share Martha's hustle-bustle anxiety, but would instead draw Martha into his presence in the midst of her tasks. We as church musicians are faced with the same challenges in our ministry. Our "Martha" is seen in managing sheet music, watching the progression of the liturgy to know when to lead hymns and responses, being attentive to traffic and to the details of the action of the priest as they play out over time....  it's easy to get wrapped up in the details and grow anxious. What page is next? Parts or unison? Diction, pronunciation, how many verses? Are the ushers in place? Is there a second collection this week?  Father A walks fast, Father B walks slower...and on it goes. We forget that we must, first and foremost, be present with Christ at Mass, just as he is present with us. We still have to sing and play. We still have to pay careful attention to what's going on at the altar and in the congregation and adjust to any number of variables. The challenge is to do so while fully and actively participating in the the sacrifice of the Mass and giving ourselves fully to the sacrament itself. It is only too easy to become a door keeper - holding the door open while everyone else is ushered in, but remaining outside ourselves.

And perhaps a final point (or tidbit of advice) is important to consider. We need to take opportunity to be Mary, too.  This is unbelievably difficult for some who are committed to the music ministry in a parish, but I submit that it is absolutely essential to sometimes "choose the better part." Attend Mass with no responsibilities. Sit in a pew. Meditate. Pray. Go to communion and return to your seat and be fully mindful that you have received the living God, body and blood, soul and divinity. Sit at Jesus' feet and remain there. Don't rush off to help because someone is "anxious about a great many things." It will not be taken from you!

The Heritage of a Praying Mom

This was posted by my aunt on Mother's Day this this year.  For whatever reason, I didn't see it that day.  Instead, it came across my news feed today, when my nerves were a bit ragged and my patience with teenage boys was thin.

Okay. I admit it. I was losing my cool, and I was giving  better example of what NOT to do than what to do when you're frustrated.  But this little essay did a few things.  First, it reminded me of how blessed I have been by a heritage of praying women. Alma was my (biological) paternal Grandmother, and even though I was very small when she died, I was always aware of how strongly she had impacted my own mother. Her prayers and loving, Godly influence, along with those of my maternal Grandmother and my adoptive paternal Grandmother laid a foundation in which my mother stood, prayed, and loved me. Not only that, but in spite of unconventional circumstances, those who remembered and had been profoundly impacted by her life are very much a part of my early memories of extended and church family.

Second, it reminded me of the mom I WANT to be for my boys. I never want to rob them of that heritage. Furthermore, I want to help uphold the women they marry with my prayers, as they will provide the heritage of a praying mom for my grandchildren. My mother-in-law was a beautiful example of this, and I am so grateful for her heritage of prayer that has shaped my husband. She drew me under her wings on her prayers from the earliest days of our dating, and her prayers cover us still as we raise her grandchildren. 

Raising children is a humbling and daunting vocation. Every day I am faced with the choice to purposefully get on my knees or be driven there by the burden, but keeping a clear vision of passing a heritage of prayer is of eternal importance. Kyrie, eleison!

And it is now my privilege to share...

The Heritage of a Praying Mom

As Mother's Day was approaching of course I began thinking about my mother, Alma May Lovejoy,who was killed in an auto/motorcycle accident when I was only eight years old. Because I was so young a lot of my memories of her are actually based on the memories of others that have been kind enough to share stories about her with me. I am so thankful for that because I love to hear about her and it makes me feel close to her. I can remember some special things shared with my Mom though, like her making sugar cookie dough and telling my brothers to stay out of it while it was chilling in the refrigerator. I also remember her giving me two specific dolls she bought for me. One doll was Mrs. Beasley. She took me to Hill's Department Store where she found there was only one doll left and a gentleman had to get a ladder to get it down for her. I loved that doll and remember losing it in Kentucky while visiting my grandparents. It seems like I can remember my Mom and Dad saying the dogs must have taken it to the woods after carrying it off the porch. Everyone was searching for that doll. As I got older I began to wonder if because I was so attached to the doll that was their way of getting it away from me. Any of my siblings have any confessions they'd like to make? The second doll was a Chrissy doll. She had red hair and you could pull it out to make it long or pull back in to make short. Oh I wanted that doll so much, and I remember opening Chrissy for Christmas. I was so excited and happy I lunged into my Moms arms thanking her over and over. I don't really remember what happened to that doll sadly enough but I love the memory of that Christmas morning with my Mom. 

I can remember riding home from our church on Ronald Drive, pretending to be asleep and my brothers would say, "She's not asleep, I see her eyes moving." And my Mother would say, "Yes, she's asleep, now don't you wake her up." She never let on that she knew I was faking! I remember her singing to my brother, Tracy, a little silly song that went,"Tracy's mad and I'm glad and I know what 
will please him, a bottle of ink you make him stink, a bottle of wine to make him shine and a pretty little girl to hug and squeeze him". Not quite sure if I remembered all of that correctly but its close I think? I remember riding in the middle of the front seat and as she came to a stop her arm automatically stretched out across my chest to keep me from going forward. I remember one time we all wanted to go swimming but my cousin that was at our house didn't have a bathing suit so my Mother took one of my body suits, you know the ones that used to snap in the crotch area? And she cut the sleeves off of it and let her wear it as a bathing suit. I remember many neighborhood teenagers being at our house, many calling her Mom and my Dad, Dad. Oh, I remember one time she had just put a cake in the oven after taking some of my siblings to church, but then she got a phone call from one of the youth who ended up needing a ride to church. My mother took the cake out of the oven and out the door we went to drive that young person to the church.  I remember her going out in the neighborhood inviting people to church. My Dad drove the church bus but my Mom made sure there were children to pick up for Sunday School. I remember her singing, making up her own songs and yodeling! She would yodel just to aggravate my sister Barb, but I loved it! 

I remember sitting next to her on the church pew watching her write notes and scriptures, sometimes they were to my Grandmother asking for gum or a mint"(big smile)".

I even vaguely remember some of time we shared the day she passed away. Eating lunch at the park, which I think we ate Long John Silvers? Her speaking about how she would give her life to the Lord to see all of her children saved. I remember the accident and the passerby driving me to the hospital while the ambulance took my mother. I remember telling the nurse at the hospital my sister and her husbands names and the passerby happen to be friends of my brother- in- laws family and knew exactly how to get my family notified of the accident. I remember him asking me if there was anything he could do and I said can we pray for my Mommy? And we did. These are memories that I treasure and I'm sure there are a few I'm even forgetting to mention, but there's one memory that's my most vivid, most loved memory and that's of my mother praying. 

I can remember standing in the hallway listening to her pray. Quietly squeezing the door open just enough to peek in and see her knelt before the Lord. Oh, how I love remembering that. My mother wasn't always aware that I was listening and she may not have realized what effect her prayers would have on her children, or maybe she did? 

After my mother passed away I remember I could be playing in the yard, I could be at school or anywhere and when I would hear an ambulance I would associate it with the accident that took her life and I would stop and pray for whoever or whatever the ambulance might be for. Even at such a young age I began praying as my mother did. I remember her passion for the Lord , her love for prayer and praise. The joy she had that came from the Lord and the way she loved and served others.
Sadly, I drifted away from the Lord as a young adult and had some pretty " wild days" but I can honestly say that during that time I knew where I needed to be and God continually tugged at my heart. I'm sure it was my "mothers prayers" being answered that led me to rededicate my life back to Jesus.

I now find myself in amazement of the heritage she, and my Dad left to us and my number one prayer is that I can leave it for my children, and to their children, generation after generation. I encourage you if you have children or grandchildren not only let them hear you pray, but pray with them. We pray with our two year old grandson and if we happen to forget he reminds us. "Pray," he says. God has so richly blessed me in so many ways and I'm especially thankful for the heritage my mother and father left for my family. In the eight short years I had with my Mom, she left a lifetime of memories and a heritage that would not only impact my life here on earth but also lead me to receive the promise of everlasting life. I have to ask, what more could you possibly leave for your children? "Thank you, Mom (and Dad), for the godly heritage you gave to us, not so much in the things you said but for the examples you were by the way that you lived."

May 2014

Funny thing about the bread of idleness....

"She watches over the affairs of her household, and does not eat the bread of idleness."  --Proverbs 31:27

Funny thing about the bread of idleness:  it's often craftily disguised as needed rest or earned down-time.  At least for me, what I mean to be a five-minute break turns into a 30-minute exchange on Facebook or finishing a book instead of just a chapter.  I can spend a night out with my DH, and suddenly I'm looking for other opportunities to slip away with him for a cup of coffee or running errands. I think I'm going to scratch out a note or two, and the next thing I know, I have outlines for a half-dozen blog posts, a list of ideas to study and research for a book, and an itchy brain that will keep me awake all night. Meanwhile, the children are chasing fireflies in the rain-soaked back yard nearly an hour past when I meant to send them to bed. *sigh*

It's the same story, different day. It's about balance. It's about being diligent in what is before me today, and trusting that tomorrow will come with it's own provision for its tasks. It's about cherishing and nurturing the vision of what's ahead without squandering today's blessings. It's about focus...on my DAILY bread as it is provided.  Because when I'm being fed by that, I don't have much appetite for the bread of idleness.

What do YOU think of?

Almost a year ago, I posted the following note to my Facebook page. I got some interesting and compelling responses, but I feel the time has come for a broader forum.  Would you please leave me a comment below?  Or if you prefer, email me at mamacantrix@gmail.com.  I am particularly interested in the responses of those who are of other (non-Christian) faiths, and those who do not practice or identify with any faith or religious tradition.  I welcome ALL responses, so long as they are honest and respectful.  PLEASE SHARE THIS PAGE!  The more responses, the better! Thank you so much!!

Dear Friends,

I have been reading and thinking a lot about a particular statement made by St. John of the Cross: "In giving us His Son, His only Word, He spoke everything to us at once in this sole Word -- and He has no more to say ..."  

So I'd like to know...from whoever is willing to share their thoughts on the matter...what does that Word mean to you?  What do you think of when you hear or say Jesus?  I'm tagging some friends whose opinions I know are very different from mine, and some friends whose religious and spiritual leanings I don't know much about, and some whose faith and religion I know well.  PLEASE, comment, even if I didn't tag you.  Share with friends.  The broader the forum, the better!  I'd love to see as much of the whole spectrum represented as I can.  Just keep it civil.  I'm not looking for a battle or a thread full of insults, just a referendum of ideas and experiences.  Thank you!!

What does the word "Jesus" mean to you?  What do you think of or feel when you hear it or say it?

Called to Prayer

I love this prayer.  I pray it often, share it regularly, and pray, too, that the desires of my heart truly be conformed to the sentiments it expresses. 

Prayer for Ordering a Life Wisely
O, merciful God, grant that I may
desire ardently,
search prudently,
recognize truly,
and bring to perfect completion
whatever is pleasing to You for the praise and glory of Your name.

Put my life in good order, O my God.

Grant that I may know what you require me to do.

Bestow upon me the power to accomplish your will as is necessary and fitting for the salvation of my soul.

Grant to me, O Lord my God, that I may not falter in times of prosperity or adversity, so that I may not be exalted in the former, nor dejected in the latter.

May I not rejoice in anything unless it leads me to you;
May I not be saddened by anything unless it turns me from you.

May I desire to please no one but you,
Nor fear to displease anyone but you.

May all transitory things, O Lord, be worthless to me
And may all things eternal be ever cherished by me.

May any joy without you be burdensome for me
And may I not desire anything else besides you.

May all work, O Lord, delight me when done for your sake
And may all repose not centered in you be ever wearisome for me.

Grant unto me, O God, that I may direct my heart to you
And that in my failures I may feel ever remorse for my sins and never lose the resolve to change.

O Lord, My God, make me
submissive without protest,
poor without discouragement,
chaste without regret,
patient without complaint,
humble without posturing,
cheerful without frivolity,
mature without gloom,
and quick-witted without flippancy

O Lord, My God, let me
fear you without losing hope,
be truthful without guile,
do good without presumption,
rebuke my neighbor without haughtiness,
and -- without hipocrisy -- strengthen him by word and example

Give to me, O Lord God,
a watchful heart, which no capricious heart can lure away from you
a noble heart, which no unworthy desire can debase
a resolute heart, which no evil intention can divert
a stalwart heart, which no tribulation can overcome
a temperate heart, which no violent passion can enslave

Give to me, O Lord my GOd,
understanding of you
diligence in seeking you
wisdom in finding you
discourse ever pleasing to you
perseverance in waiting for you,
and confidence in finally embracing you.

Grant that with your hardships, I may be burdened in reparation here,
that your benefits I may use in gratitude along the way,
that in your joys, I may delight by glorifying you in the kingdom of heaven, you who live and reign, world without end.

Amen
--St. Thomas Aquinas 

The Plan of Attack

Lent is upon us...or will be in a few hours.  I've thought about my life and my habits, and about what I'd like to change over the course of this penitential season.  I've thought about my "idle", thanks to an article at Fallible Blogma.  I've considered habits, priorities, and things around me that need particular prayerful attention. It's a humbling realization that 40 days might only scratch the surface of my faithless heart, but I'll just have to pray for the grace to continue on the path of salvation with the same resolve that I feel today.

**I'm not giving up Facebook...completely.  I am going to log out on my phone so that I don't just wander there out of habit.  Fast days, I won't be on at all. I'm going to try to fill those "just a couple of minutes" times with work or prayer, and hopefully learn to value those moments more.

**I'm going to set aside some things in my diet that rob me of my energy and my health, since my good nature (ha!) and patience go with it.  Soda, sweets, afternoon coffee...buh-bye.  Hello again, Friday fasting.  Discipline in one area translates to discipline in other areas, and discipline and diligence are two virtues that I need to develop.

**I'm going to make a point of following some things that the Lord has placed heavily on my heart and in my mind the last few weeks, in prayer and study.  I'll  write as I go, and pray for the grace and fortitude to be bold, to be wise, and to be courageous.  "...courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the breaking point."  --C.S. Lewis

I wish you all a blessed, fruitful Lent that bursts into Easter joy, finding your soul ready to receive the blessings God has for you!

Basics

It’s been a challenging couple of weeks for my brain.  The political world has squarely taken aim at some of my fundamental beliefs about human life, and has declared null and void the right of Catholic institutions to adhere to those beliefs as a matter of conscience.  It’s gotten personal.  

Naturally, the ensuing discussions have displayed the full spectrum of political and spiritual convictions, leaving my head spinning on more than one occasion.  In the course of one exchange, a friend was ardently defending Planned Parenthood.  I was completely shocked by some opinions she holds, even though we’ve known each other for 20+ years.  What really sent me reeling, though, was the assertion that she, a Methodist, should not be expected to “feel the same as [another denomination] just because [she’s] a Christian.  …[W]e share the same BASIC beliefs.”  I was completely stunned.  If you, as a Christian, believe that a child has no right to be born because it is unwanted, and an organization like Planned Parenthood has a right to exist on the dime of taxpayers in this nation, then what basic belief do we share?  **Later discussion clarified her position:  she is PERSONALLY against abortion, but doesn’t feel that she can tell another what is right for her.  She considers Planned Parenthood to be something of a necessary evil because of the non-abortion services they provide.  

Christianity is not an acknowlegement of a set of historical facts about a guy named Jesus. Christianity calls us to look at that set of historical facts and see in them an interaction between creator and creation, bridegroom and bride, redeemer and redeemed, and be consumed in love.  It calls us to open our eyes and see what God sees, and love as God loves.  So what are the basics?  And how does faith have any relevance in secular politics?  Be still, my aching spirit....

God desired Humanity. (Gen. 1:27)  Humanity sinned, and destroyed the innocence that God had given.  God, in response, protected humanity by closing the way to the tree of life. In His mercy, He would not allow us to live forever, separated from Him. (Gen. 3:22-24)  God set before Adam and Eve the forbidden tree (warning them that if they ate of it, they would die), and the tree of life. Interestingly enough, in Deuteronomy 30:15, He is still offering the same choice.  In 1 John 5:12, the choice is the same.  He desires us, and wants us to desire Him.  How humbling a truth!  Behold, what manner of Love...!  The Psalmist, in pre-scientific wisdom declared the truth: we are wonderfully made, known as we are knit together in our mothers’ wombs (Ps. 139:13-16, et al.).  From the time of Moses, the law protected the unborn, with penalties for even an accidental injury to an unborn child (Exodus 21:22).  From the time we are conceived until the time of our last breaths, our Heavenly Father desires us.  He calls us by name (John 10:3).  We are His people; the flock He shepherds (Ps. 100:3).  We are members of His body (1 Cor.12:27), His radiant Bride (Rev.19:7, 21:2).  It is such very basic - God desires us and loves us unto death (Phil. 2:7-11) - but infinite, unfathomable truth.  No human life, from its scientific beginning (conception) to its last breath in this world, is exempt from this love.  Who are we, mere men, to determine that a life is unwanted? inconvenient? too burdensome?  Who are we to say that it is mercy to “free” a tiny human from a life of poverty or disability?  Who are we to decide that the course of a woman’s life is more important than that of her child? That one has more right to exist than the other?  Who among us could stand before the Author of Life and tell Him that a life that He desired into being was not welcome?  Oh, be still, my aching spirit!

The founding principles of this nation included a set of basic rights, afforded to us by our creator.  Among them were the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  These rights were not to be compromised by any law, and the rights of one were not to be held superior to the rights of another. Somewhere along the course of our history, the Declaration has been deemed inapplicable to those who had no voice of their own.  In 1973,  it was the unborn.  The right of Jane Roe to live her life without a child in tow was deemed superior to the right of that child to ever draw breath. Since that time, others have decided that their right to be childless (and grandchildless) superseded the right of a child to be born.  Or that one child in a womb had a “better chance” than another, and therefore should be allowed to continue to develop while a brother or sister was, quite literally, ripped from his or her side.  Or that a child in the womb was imperfect, and therefore should be “mercifully spared” this cruel world, a life of disability, or the indignity of burdening a family.  Since 1973, it has happened 52 million times.

In 2005, it was Terri Schiavo.  She became the public face of countless private battles.  Her life was ended by a court order, not a divine one.  Her heart was beating on its own, she breathed completely without assistance, and because she could not speak for herself in a way that was deemed “meaningful,” she was left to starve, dying of dehydration over the course of 13 days.  The aged, the infirm, the handicapped, are all vulnerable to such de-valuation in our current culture.  In other places, in other times, great crimes have been committed against humanity because of this same decision in its basic form:  I have the authority to decide that you must cease to exist, not because of harm you have done, but because of who or what you are, or because you are not useful to me in achieving my personal goals.  Be still, my aching spirit.

These examples fly in the face of our founding principles, but they also find conflict in the legal halls where they claim asylum.  If a pregnant woman is killed, the responsible party is held to account for the loss of two lives.  If that same woman walks into a medical facility to terminate that pregnancy, she is “within her rights,” up until the time that the child’s head leaves the womb. If she should die as a result, there will be no charges filed.  Two lives lost, just a part of the “accepted risks” of a “surgical procedure.”  If the child should be born alive, it will be denied care or comfort.  It will be abandoned to die alone and in pain, because we are a civilized nation that “respects the reproductive choices of women.”  Be still, my aching spirit.  

I believe in freedom.  I believe what I believe, and I believe that you are free to believe what you believe.  I want all others to have that same freedom, to the fullest extent possible.  If those beliefs constitute a complete, vehement rejection of all that I hold dear, then so be it. Until our convictions lead us to undermine the rights of ANY citizen - the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness - we are free.  The moment the government protects the rights of any group over those of another, the seed of tyranny is sown.  Unchecked, it will be the death of liberty in any nation.  Oh, be still, my aching spirit.

Untitled

There is an appointed time for everything,

and a time for every affair under the heavens.

...a time to be silent, and a time to speak.


I have been stewing on this post for a few days now.  It has kept me awake, it has swirled through my dreams, and it has commanded my waking hours, demanding to be written but refusing to be titled.  And so I write, with racing thoughts and brimming heart, my soul at once broken and steeled with resolve.

There have been several events over the past few days that have stirred the proverbial pot from which this post comes.  My husband's grandmother was called to her eternal reward last week.  As with any passing, memories come alive and I contemplate the impact that person has had in my life, immediate and long-term, direct and indirect.  It also leads me into gardens of remembrance of others who have gone before me, whose lives have left indelible impressions on me, on the woman I am and have been, and on the world around me.  I think of life and death, and the journey from our first stirrings in this world until our last breaths, and I am quieted and humbled by what C.S. Lewis called the "intolerable compliment."

Last Friday, by Presidential order, a full frontal attack was launched against the Catholic Church and the right of Catholic institutions and Catholic employers to omit contraceptive and abortifacient drugs and procedures from their health care plans.  (You can read more about the order HERE.)  I have been wary of government intervention in the private affairs of citizens, but never before have I felt myself (or a group with which I identify myself) singled out and targeted because of a moral conviction.  To say that I am shaken is an understatement.

Yesterday, our nation marked a tragic landmark in our history.  Thirty-nine years ago, the Roe vs. Wade decision by the Supreme Court struck down state laws in all 50 states, creating a Federal mandate for abortion-on-demand in this nation.  Since that time, nearly 40 million innocent children in our country have been denied the right to life, in spite of the founding principle of the right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."  I have friends who spent the day in Washington D.C. at the March for Life.  They were in my prayers, and I was with them in spirit.

My heart has been full, my spirit has been unsettled, and my mind has been a whirlwind these last few days.  I could spend pages pouring them out.  Just a few recurring thoughts will suffice, though; take them as you will and act as you are called.

There is a quote from Martin Niemoller, a German pastor in the 1930's that keeps coming to mind, and I wonder how it might read for our nation in this moment in time:

First they came for the communists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak out because I was Protestant.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Perhaps Niemoller would say today, as an American:
First they came for the unborn, and I didn't speak out because it was none of my business.  
Then they came for the old and the sick, and I didn't speak out because I was young and healthy.  
Then they came for the inconvenient, the weak, and the burdensome, and I didn't speak out because I was self-sufficient.  
Then they came for those of Faith, and I didn't speak out because it wasn't my place to decide right from wrong.  
And then they came for me, and there was no on left to speak out. 

God help us.

I'll leave you with the passages of scripture that have surged through my thoughts over and over again this weekend, and a simple request:  Pray.

Psalms 12
Ezekiel 22

"God has paid us the intolerable compliment of loving us, in the deepest, most tragic, most inexorable sense." - C. S. Lewis

Familliar Path, New Perspective

Happy New Year!  Yeah, I know.  But it's the first week of Advent, which marks the beginning of the Liturgical Year.  This year, we Catholics began using a new translation of the Mass...a bit of an adventure to be sure.  It is a beautiful translation, though, and I'm looking forward to growing comfortable with it in the coming months.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit what I'm about to share, but I'm too excited to keep it to myself.  I purchased a new Bible a few weeks ago.  It's my first Catholic Edition Bible.  I have continued to use my trusty NIV, even though I have been Catholic for nearly 16 years.  I am using this Advent as a jumping-off point to re-discover scripture.  It's been several years since my last "read-through" of the Bible.  I've grown, and God has led me down some paths that I never imagined even existed.  I've read, seen, heard, and experienced a lot during these years, and it has changed me.  My companion resources are different now, and the actual translation is new for me, too.   I can't wait to see what treasures I will uncover this time through!

So, in the spirit of expectation and new beginnings that Advent holds, I wish you a blessed Advent.  Prepare ye the way of the Lord!

No Storm Can Shake My Inmost Calm

A week ago today, I began to face the possibility, now realized, that my seventh child would not be born into this world.  As anyone might expect, I was scared.  I prayed. I begged God to keep his hand on my little one -- to keep him safe.  I began to dread confirmation of what, somewhere in my heart, I already knew:  the life I had carried inside me was gone. But even as scared as I was of what was to come, there was a stillness inside of me.  I knew that regardless of the medical outcome of the pregnancy, my little one was in God's hands, as was I.  In the stillness, gratitude became my strength.

I am so grateful for my family.  I have a wonderful husband who loves and provides for me and for our children.  I have six beautiful, healthy sons who make me crazy, and bring me such joy.  I have an extended family that has always encouraged, supported, and loved me, even when I have worked at being unlovable.
 
I am so grateful for all the women in my life who have had miscarriages, and have been so generous with their support.  They have not tried to explain, distract, or comfort.  They have simply acknowledged, and let their own silent triumph be my encouragement.

I am so grateful for kind words from sincere hearts.

I am so grateful that medically, this loss was a simple one:  early, uncomplicated, and without cause to fear future complications.

I am so grateful that in all the ways this could have been worse, it wasn't.

I am so grateful that the sun is shining today.

No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I'm clinging
Since Christ is Lord of Heav'n and earth
How can I keep from singing?


I am so grateful.

Into Thy Hands...

I think I knew that something was awry.  I haven't "felt" pregnant for a while.  If what I felt in the early weeks of my other pregnancies was anticipation and joy, then is this not feeling...dread? Emptiness?  And then when my body began to show the signs of what my heart already knew, there was no single event -- an infamous day from which I can move forward.  There was a twinge. A sensation. And then days upon days in which every time I move, my body reminds me of the child I will never hold.  There are familiar pains, but they have been soothed before by an infant nuzzled to my breast.  With passing hours, my eyes see evidence not of a child brought to birth, but of what remains of the child I will never hold, slipping away, lifeless.  How cruel, it seems, that they should look so much the same.

Truth remains, regardless of time or circumstance.  And this is truth:  Life is never an accident.  No matter how brief, no matter if it is lived in full view or passes unseen by any eye of this world, it remains a testimony of love and of divine life.  No life is without purpose. No human circumstance is beyond redemptive grace.  No suffering is without value when surrendered to suffering hands.

I murmur these to myself, gritting my teeth as the piercing pain in my body rises to keep pace with the one in my soul, aching for the child I will never hold.

Let reason speak truth to silence the senseless ravings of grief.  Let faith bind me fast to firm truth, lest I be engulfed by the sweeping tide of loss.  Let wisdom bring vision to clear my eyes of minute, agonizing detail and soften it to a single remembered moment of my time on this earth, when a child I will never hold burst into life from love, and was caught away into eternity, held here always, if only in memory, by the love that gave him life.

The Long Answer

The question has been asked: "What's with the mantilla?"  I've offered short answers, but here's the long one, at long last.

The notion of covering my head in worship settings has been with me since I was in Jr. High School.  That was when I first encountered St. Paul's letters on my own -- apart from the topical use of them in sermons and Bible studies I had attended to that point.  I remember being particularly interested in his "propriety in worship" teachings.  Someone had remarked once to me that the church I attended at the time reminded her of "kids playing church," and it had bothered me.  I felt a need to understand why we did things the way we did, and to understand why it didn't seem "real" to some.  I won't say it was an obsession, but it was certainly the beginning of a long journey to understand my faith and the way I practiced it, and the way I wanted to practice it.  Maybe it was my age, maybe it was the voice of the Holy Spirit already pulling me toward Catholicism, (probably both), but where I noticed things that the Bible directed that were not in practice in my church, I really dug to figure out why.

First Corinthians 11 was one of "those passages." But any woman who prays or prophesies with her head unveiled brings shame upon her head, for it is one and the same thing as if she had had her head shaved. For if a woman does not have her head veiled, she may as well have her hair cut off. But if it is shameful for a woman to have her hair cut off or her head shaved, then she should wear a veil...if a woman has long hair it is her glory, because long hair has been given [her] for a covering."  I had never even SEEN a woman with her head covered in church.  Imagine the fuss this discovery set off in my mind!  German Baptists, Mennonites, and Amish women (who traditionally cover their heads all the time) were a rare sight where I grew up.  There were plenty of unaffiliated Pentecostals around who all wore long hair, but none who covered.  I wrestled with the point with all the wisdom I could muster at 13, and decided that WE didn't cover at church (or anywhere else) because we weren't "long-hair" Pentecostals.  I made an uneasy peace with the explanation that Paul's words were a product of their time and culture and that they didn't really apply in our society.

Now, fast forward about 20 years. I hadn't set foot in a protestant service in 12 years or more, but that whole long hair/covered head thing was still with me.  I even had a little secret wish in the back of my mind when I saw women with their heads covered in church:  that I had always worn a veil so that I wouldn't have to figure out a way to start, or to explain myself if I did.  I saw those women as "grandfathered (grandmothered?) in" to the veil-wearing club before Vatican II changed the whole world.  Then one night, I was in the adoration chapel.  It was late (my hour was 1-2 am), and I was alone with Jesus.  It was winter, so the basement chapel was quite chilly.  I had a wrap over my shoulders to keep me warm, and I was overwhelmed by the urge to cover my head.  I pulled my wrap over my head, and something changed in me. I wrote to a Mennonite friend about it then:

I was immediately swept with a sense of rightness, and that passage of scripture came back into my mind. I was raised by some bull-headed, girl-power, no-man's-gonna-rule-me women, and so finding my right place in marriage and in faith has always had a taste of that rebellion in it. That night at the chapel, though, it was gone. I felt as much like a woman as I ever have. Not in a girly-girl kind of way, but in a truly, Godly-ordered kind of way. It was right and seemly, and I haven't cut my hair since. What's the point, after all, if it is covered? It has ceased to be a point of vanity because it is always up when I leave the house.

It took a few more years after that night, but I now cover my head at Mass and in the presence of the Most Blessed Sacrament.  It is my testimony to what I believe about the True Presence, and about a woman's  proper response to that presence.  That bit of cloth is the difference between me coming boldly before the throne of grace and coming brazenly.  I still struggle with being the woman I am to be before God, and I was worried about what others might say about my motivation in wearing a veil.  Here's the thing, though: we do not wait to do things until we have mastered them; we master them by doing.  From the time we are children until we leave this world, we practice to get things right, and then keep practicing to make them perfect and to sustain what we have achieved.  I wear a veil, fully aware of what it symbolizes: humility, submission, reverence, and being set apart in a uniquely feminine way.  I pray that by God's grace I will come more fully into those virtues, better living as Christ has called me to live.

Remembering...

September 11, 2001. Ten years later, the images and sounds of that day, and the fear that I felt, and the sense that my world had changed forever are still with me.  I knew before that day that there were people in the world who despised America and our way of life.  I knew that in other places, I could be imprisoned, tortured, or killed for even whispering opinions I held about freedom, faith, and a myriad of other "normal" aspects of my life as I knew it.  But never before that day did I feel unsafe.  Before that day, "those people" were faces and names far away, in countries I never expected to visit.  They could hate me from their world while I was safe in mine.  My parents' Vietnam, my grandparents' World War II -- these had affected them in fundamental ways.  The wars had affected their everyday lives and remained with them, but the bloodshed was far away, and the Americans lost, by and large,were lost in conflict.  September 11, 2001, the bloodshed was here.  Americans were lost not with guns in their hands, but with briefcases and serving trays and merchandise from their stores.  They were ordinary people, leading ordinary lives, who had no reason to think that that day would be their last.  So many had their lives taken that day, and so many more gave theirs away.  We will never know all of the stories.  We will never know just how many lives were saved because a police officer or firefighter stood in harm's way and gave others time to flee.  We will never know just how many ordinary men and women ushered others to safety as their last actions on this earth.  We will never know, at least not fully, the impact of that day on those who were there, on all of us who remember, or on the generations that follow us.

And so today, ten years later, we remember.  We pray for the dead and for those they left behind.  We pray for those who found joy in sorrow, and those who still suffer in bitterness.  We pray for those who did what they could to protect then, and those who are doing what they can to protect us now.  I am so grateful that, for all the possibilities that entered my awareness that day ten years ago, for all the vulnerabilities, for all the things I took for granted that could be used to harm me or my family, I am safe.  There are men and women every day, here in our country and abroad, who are working to protect and defend us, our way of life, our ideals, and our freedom to live and speak as we choose, without the constant threat of harm from those who would take our freedom and our lives simply because we are not like them and do not live as they live or believe as they believe.  I pray that we never, ever forget that freedom isn't free. 

We cannot really ever give a voice to the unspeakable.  I will chose silence today, as I am sure many others will, in remembering....

Song of Joy

Our summer vacation is winding down.  This time next week, I will be preparing to send four of my six little darlings (and their daddy) back to school for another year.  Bedtimes will be decided by the clock, not by the sun.  There won't be any more "late movies" where they all fall asleep and get left on the couches until morning.  They will all have to actually wear shirts for at least a big part of every day.  Yes, the day-to-day will change, but what a great "last hurrah" we had Sunday evening!


We were just getting ready to send the boys up to bed Sunday night, and DH was flipping through the Classical Channel on the Roku and found a recording of Beethoven's 9th symphony with Kurt Masur conducting the French National Orchestra. He told the boys that if they would sit still, he'd let them watch it. (!?!) Of course they agreed (they'd have agreed to watch the NYSE ticker if it meant they could stay up). And so it began....

It is helpful to offer at this point that I really like Beethoven, but DH is a passionate Beethoven devote'.  He can trace the lineage of his piano teachers back to Beethoven, and has always felt a unique kinship with him.  He plays Beethoven like no one else.  No one.

The first, second, and third movements of the symphony were nice.  The littlest kids were asleep, and the older ones were enjoying the music.  Just before the beginning of the fourth movement, the wind picked up and it started to rain...it was a glorious summer rainstorm, with no thunder or lightening.  It was a perfect backdrop to what is certainly among the finest musical finales ever written or performed.  Beethoven was completely deaf when he composed what would be his final symphony.  He had become a very reclusive, and was known for his explosive temper.  His life was marked by health problems, personal struggle, and what, to most musicians, would be a devastating sensory loss.  And yet, a poem he had carried in his notes since he was a young man finally bloomed in glorious expression, premiered less than 3 years before his death.  I offer the text below, with a link to the video (just the last 10 minutes or so).  Taking it in again, surrounded by our boys and warm summer rain, DH and I were wrapped in joy ourselves, so grateful for all we have been given.




Song of Joy


Joy, beautiful spark of divinity
Daughter of Elysium, 
We enter, drunk with fire into your sanctuary.  
Your magic reunites What custom strictly divided.  
All men become brothers where your wing tarries.

	Whoever has had the great fortune To be a friend's friend, Whoever has won a devoted wife, Join in our jubilation! Indeed, whoever can call even one soul, His own on this earth! And whoever was never able to, must creep Tearfully away from this band!
	Joy all creatures drink At the breasts of nature; All good, all bad Follow her trail of roses. Kisses she gave us, and wine, A friend, proved in death; Pleasure was given to the worm, And the cherub stands before God. Before God!
	Glad, as His suns fly Through the Heaven's glorious design, Run, brothers, your path, Joyful, as a hero to victory.
	Be embraced, millions! This kiss for the whole world! Brothers, above the starry canopy Must a loving Father dwell. Do you bow down, millions? Do you sense the Creator, world? Seek Him beyond the starry canopy! Beyond the stars must He dwell.

Jarring Juxtaposition

I love Facebook.  I love that I can keep in touch with friends and family in one place, no matter when or where I knew them first.  I love seeing the snapshot of their worlds spinning by and sharing little snips of my own life with them, and seeing so many different people, personalities, and lifestyles intertwining.  This weekend, that interplay assaulted my happy little world with alarming poignancy, and threw a sobering lesson about gratitude in my face.

A friend from college posted the news about her nine-month-old son having a severe brain injury.  I still don't know what happened; it hardly seemed appropriate to ask.  I scanned back through the posts, searching for explanations, but there are only little updates.  He was gone - they brought him back.  May not make it through the night.  Still here...no change.  The longer he is unconscious, the less it is likely that he will wake up.  Prognosis isn't good; we're leaving him in God's hands.  We won't pursue any further intervention.  We've decided to let him go...his breathing tube will come out sometime Wednesday.  I watched these updates trickle out slowly against the backdrop of other friends' weddings, sports events, news commentary, work news, pregnancy updates...their lives.  Their lives continued on while another family's came to a screeching halt.  The sameness of their days was dizzying next to the picture of lives that are forever different.  Then came the photos.

My friend posted pictures of her sweet little boy, alone, with his Mama, his Daddy, all three together, and with his grandparents.  They were beautiful.  In those images was the peace of a little one in the arms of those who love him, and the aching shadow of farewell.  As I held my own little one last night, snuggling him to sleep, I realized that I was holding him in just the same way as my friend was holding her son.  But I had no reason to believe that my baby boy wouldn't wake this morning, reaching out to be cuddled in the morning quiet.  I had no reason dread his leaving my arms, because I had no reason to think it would be the last time. I wept with an unutterable mixture of grief and gratitude.  I've spent nights in the hospital with sick babies, anxiously watching their breathing, fixing my eyes on the blinking monitors above their heads...but I've never had reason to fear their lives.  They have never been beyond 'routine' medical care.  They've never been unconscious...only asleep.  The magnitude of that blessing is blinding just now.  Even the bickering and whining has a sweetness in it today.  For all their 'problems,' my boys are healthy and normal.  I think my friend would remind me to embrace that, because it could change in a heartbeat.

I write this on a Monday evening.  Unless God chooses to reveal Himself in a miracle, in 48 hours or so my friend will have kissed her little boy's warm, downy forehead for the last time. I will hold her and her family in my prayers as they travel a painful road that I cannot even fathom.  I will praise God for the blessings of six strong, bright, healthy sons, and I will hold them a little longer and a little tighter when I kiss them goodnight. For today, He has not called me to trust Him in the midst of agonizing loss.  I pray that if ever He does, I will be prepared to be faithful.  What else can I possibly do?

A Woman's Heart

I have such wonderful friends.  Really.  They share the best of themselves with the world, and they inspire me to grow in new ways and be a better person.  I can never overstate the value of the people that I am so blessed to call my friends, or how grateful I am that the Lord has placed them in my life.  And with that, I'd like to share a quote that a friend shared recently, and a bit of the journey that it has launched.

"A woman's heart should be so hidden in God that a man has to seek Him just to find her." -Max Lucado


There's so much truth in that one little sentence! There's conviction, challenge, encouragement, inspiration - all in one tidy statement from...a man. It got me thinking (further) about what men really want in their wives. There have been some discussions about gender roles in my house recently; about why men and women are different, what that means for them as individuals and as couples, and how those roles reflect Christ and His Bride. This issue is one that I have had to look at pretty seriously over the years. Growing up around lots of independent single women and with very few glimpses of healthy marriage skewed my expectations of myself and of my husband, and of the marital covenant that we entered into.  

As life would have it, another beautiful piece of writing made its way across my computer screen.  When Queens Ride By   is a short story by Agnes Sligh Turnbull.   As I read it, I saw myself.  I saw a wife and mother wanting to serve her family, but feeling, in despair, that she had lost her way and was inextricably bound to exhaustion and failure despite all the best intentions.  I thought of the days when I wake striving for a Proverbs 31 day, only to be in tears, overwhelmed and desperate by lunchtime.  I thought of how often I miss the mark, how often I am drowning in frustration and a lack of direction, how often I feel like I'm trying to do what needs done - greasing the squeaky wheel, but in the end the wagon falls apart anyway.  I don't want to be the wife who brings dishonor to her husband and her household.  I love my family, and I want to be the woman.  Not just the one who wears skirts on occasion and has long hair and a high voice, but a true woman, with a woman's heart -- hidden in God, true helpmate and crown of honor to her husband, love poured out, 'unique embodiment of the sacred.'.  I want to live in the strengths and gifts of womanhood, not insert myself into the strengths and gifts of my husband.  You can't be a helpmate when you're a stumbling block.  What a hard lesson for me to learn, and how fortunate that my husband is a patient, dedicated man!

I am woman.  Please, Lord, help me learn not to roar.

Music est totus

It's Good Friday.  I've been trying to think of something to offer in contemplating Holy Week, but my mind keeps turning back to music.  The Eucharistic hymns of St. Thomas Aquinas...the passion hymns from centuries of Christian devotion...these are swirling in my mind and spilling from my lips this week.    So I'll leave you the "playlist" for my week in hopes that you will find a place to contemplate the Passion and death of the Lord, and truly celebrate His resurrection.

What Wondrous Love is This
O Sacred Head Surrounded
Were You There
Pange Lingua
Verbum Supernum
Ave Verum Corpus

Suddenly Anonymous

If I were suddenly anonymous, what would I do?  When I started to stew on this post a couple of weeks ago, I made some notes in my little notebook.  Then I started to string them together a bit.  Then I went back to them a few days later and realized that this was starting to read a bit like the Red Hatter's credo..."When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple..."    That really wasn't my intention, and it made me laugh, but on further consideration, I realized that the theme of the "red hat" poem and of my own thoughts for this post were not altogether different.  They're both about a woman growing into herself...shedding concerns about appearances and social propriety in favor of the liberty that comes with truth.  They're about a woman discovering what's most important, discovering what defines her, and letting the chips fall where they may for the rest.  I am not old (unless you ask my children), I don't have much purple in my wardrobe, and I look ridiculous in hats.  I do, however, have red socks...

I don't really get much time alone.  In a busy household, there's always something going on close by, even if I'm not directly involved in it.  Because of the constant noise and activity, I find my mind meandering at strange times - in the shower, at the grocery store, folding laundry - and moments of insight pop up wen they might be least expected.   On a recent intellectual stroll, I started to imagine how I might be different if I were to be suddenly anonymous.  After all, when you're anonymous, there are no expectations.  There is no novelty in new behaviors, attire, habits, etc., because there is no history of anything else.  So, then, what would I do?  How would I be different than I am every day of my life now?  And perhaps more importantly, if there would be some significant difference, what's holding me back now?

The first thing on my 'anonymous list' would be a covered head in church.  I already do this when I travel, but there are valid reasons to refrain in my own parish for now.  This has been an area of conviction for me for years, and I am growing into it slowly but surely.

Next up, I’d like to think I’d hold my tongue more if I were anonymous.  I’m very quick to open my mouth, even when wisdom would advise silence.  Smart girl that nobody knows keeps her mouth shut unless her input is solicited!

This item may seem to contradict the previous one, but it’s just the other side of the coin.  When wisdom says speak, I’d like to think that I could speak more freely and opt for directness over diplomacy.  If I were anonymous.  Hand-in-hand with this directness, I’d like to exercise more freedom in the words I choose about my faith and religion.  Somewhere between the “Praise the Lord, I think I broke my foot” of my childhood and disdain for “wearing my religion on my sleeve” is an honest, free expression of the faith I try to live.  I’m learning to breathe freely in this area again, but right or wrong, I’m hesitant to be different to those I’m with every day.  I don’t want the open discussion about what is, for me, a very private journey.  It’s hard to talk about it while I’m in the midst of it.

There are other things that have floated on and off of this list in the last few weeks.  Some are whimsical, some very serious, some passing and some convicting.  All of them, however, have challenged me to seek God, seek His call in my life, and seek His direction to answer it here, where I am known.  Anonymity has its fleeting freedoms, but freedom sought and embraced in the midst of the familiar is true, lasting liberty.

Addressing my tendency to procrastinate...

...wasn't on my list of New Year's resolutions, and it's a darn good thing.  I'd really feel bad about the timing of this post.  It was meant to be a New Year's post.  Then I figured that as long as I posted it before the end of January, it would be okay.  But, well, life happens.  And Lent is a great time for new beginnings and resolutions too, right?

It's no secret that I spend a lot of my days feeling overwhelmed and completely at a loss.  There are so many things to do, limited time in which to do them, and a myriad of distractions that follow me.  Such is life with small children...and large children...and husbands....  I feel pulled in so many directions, and none of them feel like a direction per se, but more like a tangent circle in which to chase my tail.  And then I wonder why I'm exhausted, frustrated, and lack a sense of order in my world.  In contemplating all the noble, idealistic, and heroic changes I was going to make in the new year that would make my house clean, my children behave, and keep me running on schedule with sufficient time to do all the things I want to do, I got bogged down.  I got discouraged.  Let's face it; there is no magic wand to wave, and that's what I was really dreaming about.  Then I thought, "maybe I should resolve to make peace with the fact that I'm a lousy housekeeper, that I have a short temper, and that my household is in constant chaos.  After all, we're not on the 6 o'clock news, no one's in jail, no one's flunking out of school...that's enough, right?"  But it isn't enough.  No matter how you look at it, to let that be enough is not a resolution but a resignation.  It is giving up.  And who makes a resolution to be a cop-out?  Better yet, who would post such a thing publicly and pretend to be proud of it?  Certainly not I.  And so here we are, at Ash Wednesday, and my New Year's post is just appearing.

You might wonder what changed.  What made me feel that I had something worth sharing?  What resolution did I finally make that I could live with and work toward in the coming year?  I realized that my point of origin for my actions is, most of the time, wrong.  I take action because of fear, anger, or frustration.  I rush around to get kids ready, to get meals on the table, and to keep at least some appearance of order.  I want things to look, at least publicly, like I'm not desperately struggling just to keep a modicum of functionality in my home and family life.  My point of origin needs a fundamental change, and that's a resolution I can make, work at, and feel good about sharing.

I resolve this year to make LOVE my point of origin for action and speech.  I will care for my family not because they are clamoring to have their needs met, but because I love them.  I will care for my home not because I have an image to maintain, but because I love my family and I desire order in our lives so that we can move through our lives more peacefully.  I will discipline my children not because they embarrass me or make me angry, but because I love them and I am called to bring them up in the love and fear of the Lord.  I will choose gentleness, I will choose calm, I will choose silence.  I will get this wrong - probably a lot.  But I will choose humility and begin again.  I will choose love above all, for in love is the beginning, the sustenance, the redemption, and the end of all things.

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest of these is love.
--1 Corinthians 13:13

...but only say the word...

Often, the familiar things in our lives become - well, normal.  They fade into the background and are the predictable, "beige" backdrop for the varied goings-on that each day reveals.  Every once in a while, though, some part of the mundane will burst to the forefront, dazzling us with fresh insight, new discovery, or broader understanding.

I was at Mass on Friday with the school kids.  Consecration was finished, the Agnus Dei had been sung, and Father lifted the host:  "This is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.  Happy are those who are called to His supper."  We responded in one voice:  "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed."  And there it was.  Words spoken time and again, suddenly alive with new meaning.  "Say the word, and I shall be healed"...this is true.  I speak it in faith before approaching the altar to receive Holy Communion.  So then, the converse must be true as well.   "...and if you do NOT say the word, I can not be healed...."  My soul cannot be made whole but that He ordains it so.  None of the things that fill my day, whether they are noble or servile, bold or subtle, faithful or false, whether I am proud of them or ashamed, no word or deed will heal me.  The Latin word we translate as "healed" is sanabitur - sound, healthy, sensible, sober, or sane.  It is the word from which we take "sanitary" and related words.  This simple response in Mass is a reminder that our wholeness - our redemption - is only possible because He has spoken the word.  I imagine that the "word" is not unlike what was spoken to those who came to Jesus for healing:  "Your faith has healed you."

What a way to walk into my day!  The idea that nothing I will do or say will trump God's grace...that He has spoken the word, healed me, and permitted me to approach the altar and receive Him!  What can I do but offer all else that I have in faith?  Even my failures are redeemable if I repent.  It is at once humbling and empowering.  I pray that my memory of this is long, and that I can be obedient to the word...that I can always approach Him in faith, offer all that I have, and be healed by the complete outpouring of His redeeming love.