Category Archives: Churchy

Resucitó, aleluya

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Nuggets from a hectic Holy Week and a glorious Easter.

Palm Sunday

The children’s choir joined the adult choir for 10 a.m. mass. They did an awesome job. A fourth-grade boy sang the psalm bringing tears to my eyes. (No surprise there. I think I cry every time the kids sing.) Hosanna in the highest!

Wednesday

The Passion Play.

The children’s choir added their beautiful voices singing, among other things, “I Think I Heard Him Say” while Christ carried his cross. I let them take their shoes off so they could move quietly in the choir loft when they weren’t singing so they could stand at the rail and see the whole play. Watching them watch was as precious as hearing them sing.

Helen and Mary Claire joined together in a very moving song.

Henry missed his cue for wind chimes at that the beginning of “And God Cried” but got it at the end. After, when he realized it, he said, “I was watching the play, and I couldn’t even think about the chimes. Jesus was dying and I was going to cry.” Enough said.

Good Friday Stations of the Cross.

With a short notice of cancellation for the second presentation of Passion Play (due to a nasty flu working its way through the cast and school at large, including Sr. Play Director), we put together a morning Stations of the Cross for children led by that trusty children’s choir. God bless those singing readers. What a capable bunch.

Easter Vigil

Our pastor sang his way through the beautiful Exultet. As a singer, I think I was holding my breath in support. It was lovely, and I let out an internal “woot” in silent approbation.

Standing in a candle-lit church hearing a 6’7” man’s voice ring through, “join me in asking God for mercy, that he may give his unworthy minister grace to sing his Easter praises” is indeed humbling.

After communion, we listened to a father and son play guitar and sing Resucito. Truth is, musically speaking, for me this is one of the highlights of the Easter season. I can’t begin to express how beautiful, amazing and fitting it is after all we just witnessed and celebrated during the vigil mass. This year, the son sang a kind of contrasting melody or echo or something. The combination of the father’s smooth and full voice with the son’s almost raw higher voice made the song even that much more moving if that is even possible.

It is such an honor to witness and be part of that mass.

And Helen, who was the cantor for the mass, said, “I’m pretty sure that was the most Jesus-filled mass experience I’ve ever had.” As the cantor you have the best view of everything that is happening at that mass. I was grateful she had that experience. (And she did a lovely job.)

Easter Sunday

We unwrapped the Alleluias we hid away on Ash Wednesday. We found Easter baskets and eggs. For Lillian, it’s all about that bunny. We read about the Easter story, but unlike the understandable idea of Jesus’ birth, the mystery of his resurrection is hard for a three-year-old to wrap her mind around. Henry told her that without Jesus there wouldn’t be Easter. But she reminded him it was the Bunny who brought the baskets. Hmmm.

After 10 a.m. mass, we spent a beautiful day with family.

Alleluia, Aleluya.

Boing

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It’s finally here. Spring.

Of course, today’s frigid temp was just a gentle reminder that we live in Michigan, so we shouldn’t get take any warm days for granted. But then the beautiful sun offered that ray of hope that comes with this time of year. I love how the little bits of green start to pop up under brown lawns. Buds almost magically appear on barren trees. And then, voila,  the world as we know it, has changed.

It’s so appropriate that Easter falls in spring.

Yeah, yeah, I know in other parts of the world, it’s still Easter and the weather won’t match my analogy. But I don’t live anywhere but here. In Michigan, spring is flirting with us. Offering us a reminder of the promise of something better. Just like Easter.

So consider Good Friday winter and Easter spring. Without one, there wouldn’t be the other. A fact we need to be reminded of year after year. (Or day after day!) And we shouldn’t take either for granted.

Have blessed Holy Week.

It’s on with the show

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I had the great fortune of being backstage with Helen and Mary Claire during last night’s performance of the Music Man. It was fun watching the scramble as all the kids changed costumes and waited for cues. Slipping in tap shoes, adjusting glue-on mustaches, reapplying lipstick.

What I’ll treasure most is the mere fact that Helen and MC got to do the show together. Almost five years apart in age, these opportunities don’t often present themselves.

Mary Claire’s excitement throughout the week was palpable. She was counting down the days. She enjoyed watching the backstage and onstage snafus get worked out with each practice. I’ve loved her daily run-down for me of technical issues and costume and hair worries. She couldn’t wait for me to see her sweet costumes and kept asking Helen if she was delivering her lines clearly and in character.

There's no business like show business

Helen had a few other challenges. She had to pull a Milli Vanilli and sing for the Marion Paroo character backstage during the dress rehearsal (with audience) because the dear girl playing the part was sans voice due to strain. She had to do that and still come onstage as her own kooky character as the mayor’s wife.  The extra day of rest paid off for Marion, because she sounded just lovely last night. It was a great experience for Helen who got a first-hand taste of that ever-famous saying: the show must go on.

It was especially fun watching Helen in a comic role, because quite frankly — she’s a hoot. She reminded me (and many others — based on comments) of me. A nice compliment.

It’s hard for me to believe this is Helen’s last big high school show. It’s time to move on. Which is all good. She’s made her college decisions and is ready for the next set of challenges that lie ahead. I can only wonder what’s in store for her.

In a little more than a year, it’ll be Mary Claire’s turn at high school, and she, too, is already busy making her plans. And likewise, I can’t wait to see how all that unfolds.

It’s times like these that make me grateful for the gift of faith. The complete realization that I really have to surrender to whatever it is God has planned for my kids. And that isn’t always easy. I recognize that believing in God’s plan doesn’t mean I don’t have to participate in this plan. Actually, it’s just the opposite. I have to do my part — with Him as the focus. There’s labor involved (a lot of labor). God says, okay, here’s faith, now do something with it. And with each child, I see that something. Differently, often surprisingly and with joy and hope for the future.

So here’s the analogy … the curtain never completely closes. The Lord is always there to open it again. Each stage of life is just that: A stage. And there’s always another show, whether it’s here on earth or in heaven. That said … this earthly life isn’t a dress rehearsal, and no one is singing behind the curtain for any of us. We have to get out there front and center and truly become our characters as servants of God. And we can remember our lines because the script is in the scripture. (Ba-dum-bum.)

Amen. Now let’s get on with the show.

Raising a saint

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Today when I was cleaning Clifford and Lillian’s room, I noticed the crucifix above Clifford’s crib was gone. The bare nail was exposed. I looked in the crib, under the crib. I was perplexed.

St. Lillian

I found Lillian and questioned her.

“Do you know where the cross with Jesus on it that hangs above Clifford’s crib is?”

She told me she had it.

When I asked her why she took Jesus down, she answered, “Because I just needed to hug him.”

Ain’t too proud to brag

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Okay, just when I want to throw up my hands in despair, my dear son Henry surprises me. I often think he’s just sort of floating through, not paying attention to anything because, you know, it seems like he’s certainly not paying attention to me. Then pow. Hope hits me between the eyes.

Henry

After this morning’s mass, I causally asked him if he could tell me about today’s readings — knowing that the gospel was the story of Jesus being tempted by the devil in the desert. The same story was his Bible reading for last week. I was just checking.

He said, “Yes, it was the same story I read but it was switched around.” When I inquired, he explained. “In the reading in Matthew, the devil tempts Jesus to put God to the test first. In the reading today, that was the last thing he did.” He was right. Today’s Gospel was Luke and the order is different from the account he read in Matthew.

I know it’s Lent and we’ve buried our Alleluias until Easter … but I have to just squeak out this one little one in celebration of my son not only paying attention to what he read, but actually listening to the readings without being prompted …  alleluia!

You like me, you really like me

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This morning, while cuddling in bed with Richard and me, three-year old Lillian had a lot to say.

She mostly told us about her dreams, which involved snowflakes and evil pumpkins. The pumpkins apparently ate the cake at the princess party. I’m not sure I got the whole thing, but I know the pumpkins ruined everything. And they were only a “little bit” evil. Her imagination while awake is vivid enough — add the bizarre world of dreams, and the stories get a little hard to follow.

We spent some time counting fingers, talking about letters and how big she was getting, even though (of course) she’s still my baby girl.  We tried to wiggle fingers one at a time, and she giggled at her inability to do it without holding the rest of her fingers with her other hand. Her little feet brushed my legs in our cozy flannel bedding, so warm and safe with the morning sunlight just outlining the shaded windows.

Little Miss Lillian

Then, that sweet little girl touched my face and said three magic words. “I like you.” Then she repeated. “I really like you Mommy.”

This is a girl who has always been free in declaring her love. An early talker and a profound little thinker — she’s happy to share the love with so many. “I love you” frequently just rolls off her tongue: I love you Mommy. I love you Daddy. I love graham crackers. I love soy  milk. I love princess dresses. I love Taylor Swift.

We are after all called to love. And Lillian does that and then some.

But that moment was different. She quietly offered me a uniquely thoughtful expression of her feelings. The fact that she loves me is a given. The fact that she likes me is a gift. One I will treasure always.

Oops, We did it again

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The candles were such a popular craft for advent, we decided to make more for Lent. Often on Fridays we have a late meal (after Stations of the Cross) by candlelight. So, with that in mind, I thought the candles would be craft worth repeating. Also, when we come together to pray as a family, candles are always a nice touch. We decided to use Easter colors so that even during the solemn season of Lent we keep our hearts on the promise of the resurrection and all that it brings.

As previously, it was a fun activity for all. Richard even made one, and we made one for the baby. And of course, the candles are so telling of each of the children. Helen’s was a creative flower, Mary Claire’s was orderly and in all in line. Henry made his with more glue, more glitter than everyone else. And Lillian’s had a lot of pink. (She needed a little help but enjoyed painting and painting and painting the glue.) We had one minor accident when the baby reached up on the table and grabbed a paper plate full of excess glitter. I’m sure we’ll all have little extra sparkle for days to come, but with each stray sparkle, I’ll be reminded of the fun we had putting our projects together.

Jesus spoke to them again, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)

Midnight Madness

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Sometimes I start these posts in the middle of the night and can never finish them because I’m usually sans glasses and can’t effectively proof read. Plus, I can’t always complete the thought I started because … it’s the middle of the night, and I should be sleeping.

I recently blogged about freaking out, speeding past mile markers. Blah, blah, life is out of control, passing me by.

All of a sudden I found myself slamming over a self-inflicted speed bump. Sacrifice, blah. Rules, blah. Expectations, Blah, blah. (You get the point.) With all that speeding, the worries, struggles and challenges of just managing daily life  (which I do love) seemed to take a toll on me.  More importantly, it took a toll on my relationship with the one I love most and who loved me enough to give his very life. And for more than a moment, I willingly chose to wallow in my complete unworthiness. I chose to separate myself.

After some wise counsel, some thoughtful reflection, some deep prayer and participation in those beautiful sacraments, here I am again. Ready. Still (always) unworthy, but grateful for the gift and promises of faith. Saint Thomas Becket was onto something when he said,

“The whole company of saints bears witness to the unfailing truth that without real effort no one wins the crown.”

Christ has the power to transform us — completely. Inside and out.

“He who sat upon the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new’” (Rev 21:5).

During this Lent I’m going to continue to put on the brakes a bit. I hope to slow down and continue to thoughtfully and prayerfully seek the Lord with complete faith in his presence.

Busted

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We’ve all been there.

Our child sees something beloved in the trash or St. Vincent de Paul giveaway bag.

“Mommy! My collage is in the garbage!”

I usually try to explain it away. It was a mistake. It must have fallen in there, etc.  Fish it out, then dispose of it later, when I’m sure it won’t be discovered. I’m a coward about admitting it was me. But sometimes, can’t get around it. (Will she be scarred for life because I didn’t treasure and keep all 750,281 pieces of collage artwork?)

This post at Faith and Family Live, Confessions of an Imperfect Mom: De-Cluttering Motherhood and Hoarding Faith, by Karen Edmisten, is nice read and puts into perspective how we shouldn’t define our parenting by our imperfections.

And, if you don’t read Faith and Family Live. You should.

Keeping watch

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“Could you not keep watch for one hour?”

Spending time at Eucharistic Adoration is a gift. One that I so infrequently receive these days.

Yesterday I was able to sneak away for that precious hour of face time with our Lord, and my multitasking brain was all over the place.

I felt like Peter. Unable to stay awake. Although I wasn’t sleeping, I was distracted and not devoted to our Lord during that one hour as I promised myself I would be.

It’s hard to shut off a mutlitasking brain when it is so busy multitasking to prepare for all the upcoming multitasking.

I spent two days this week preparing more than a dozen meals for my family so I can tackle all the stuff we have on our plates these next two weeks and still eat healthy, home-cooked dinners together.

I cooked and cooked, did laundry, homeschooled, picked up children, dropped off children, nursed a baby, wiped spilled milk, changed diapers, took care of business, ran to the bank, unloaded and reloaded dishwasher, dressed and bathed myself and others and the list goes on, and on and on.

Had I not done all that preparation, I wouldn’t have been able to steal that hour yesterday. So in an attempt to take a  moment of peace and reap the fruits of my labor, I knelt. And although my prayer was earnest, it was scattered, easily distracted and completely unfocused. I had so many people to pray for. So many intentions. My mind just raced hoping I wouldn’t forget this or that, while flashes of “don’t forget to move the laundry to the dryer when you get home” and “maybe I should read some prayers to get focus, but if I read prayers I’ll miss the conversation with God, then I won’t be able to listen” and “I forgot to mute my cell phone. Should I mute it now, which makes noise and could be distracting or take the chance that it won’t ring?” and, unfortunately, that list just went on, too.

I even found myself distracted with the thought of blogging about how distracted I was. Ugh.

But even in the midst of my mental chaos, the Lord, as promised, delivered. I returned home renewed. Happy to be able to easily put a good meal on the table, crawl around with the baby, read with the children and spend quiet time with my spouse. I’m sure even my distracted prayers were heard.

I am so grateful God is merciful and understanding.

I eagerly look forward to the next hour I can find to be with the Blessed Sacrament–however I can offer it. It’s my job to work toward giving God more, and I’ll just keep trying.

And no, I did not remember to move the laundry to the dryer.