Category Archives: Faith

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)

Oh, just give it up

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I’m not much of giver-upper in Lent.

I used to sacrifice chocolate or some other specific sweet guilty pleasure. But then I decided I wasn’t sure how doing that brought me closer to Christ. I thought more about the chocolate than the chosen one. I know that in my suffering, I was supposed to turn my trials to him, but the self-inflicted chocolate deprivation just didn’t seem to do the trick.  The sacrifice, at least for me, seemed misplaced. Besides, I found that I turned to him so frequently throughout the day, that I couldn’t figure out why I needed some planned punishment to do it more. Why not instead plan to be more specific in my prayers? Why not offer myself willingly and lovingly? After all, that’s what he did for us.

So, instead of sitting down and mindlessly turning on the TV, I mindfully crack open the Bible or read a Lenten reflection. Instead of vegging out in front of the late night news shows, Richard and I will share time with the next day’s readings or saying the Divine Mercy Chaplet.

I guess in a way, I’m giving up something: wasting time on activities that don’t bring me any closer to the cross and resurrection. By doing so, it gives me an opportunity to focus more on my relationships with Christ and my family than my relationship with chocolate (which, by the way, remains strong).

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.

No longer sleep deprived

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I just have to report — with joy: The baby has slept through the night four consecutive nights. My life has officially changed. Yahoo. I feel a little bit more like myself again. Funny what 10 months of no REM can do to a woman.

Now we’re heading out to for Helen’s audition #3. Another fun (and long) day.  After today, there is only one left. Then waiting. Ugh.

Prayers would be good.

Freak Out

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There is a ride at our church fair called the Freakout.

Its name suits it well. You are strapped into this swinging contraption. Feet dangling. Steel, over-the-shoulder harness. There’s upside down turning, twisting and lots of screaming involved. It’s really a great ride. You have to remove your shoes if you are wearing flip-flops or any other loose shoe that may take flights as you soar, spin and screech.

As a lover of all things carnival, I’m usually ready for the ride. I know I am (reasonably) safe and secure and will appreciate the outcome. Except that’s not where I am right now.  I can’t hop on the ride. I’m stuck at the scariest part.

I’m next in line.

That spot of anticipation. Can I handle it? Will I trust? How much of the 2 minutes and 30 seconds of the ride will be clouded by fear before I allow myself to relax and embrace what’s ahead?

Truth be told, I’m pretty sure my whole life could be analogous of something related to amusement parks. Maybe someday I’ll muse about elephant ears and caramel apples. That’s another post … because I’m still stuck in line at the Freakout.

As I approach the part of life that includes sending a child off to college while wiping teething drool off another, I’m forced to realize I can’t duck out of line. I can’t give my spot to someone else, and I eventually have to trust, relax and get on that darn ride. Which, by the way, I want to. After all, that’s why I’m standing here to begin with. I gave the guy my tickets, and I’m next.  Soon enough, he’ll open the gate, I’ll take my shoes off, get strapped in and be as ready as I can be.

I know I can’t focus on the past, I’ve already been at the back of the line. I’ve done my time and, rightfully so, I’ve taken my place at the front. It’s just that the seemingly long line has moved much more quickly than I anticipated.

I’m trying to take comfort in knowing that after I get off this first ride, I will again be getting back in the queue. I’m hopeful that maybe next time I’m at the front, I’ll remember the thrill of the ride, how much I’ve enjoyed my time in line and remind myself to trust that I’m being held in.

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.

Part of your world

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I was picking up toys in Lillian’s room and came across this.

Part of your world.

The Princess and her reptiles.

A princess in an air balloon with a frog and lizard, positioned just so in the midst of her well-appointed menagerie.

Lillian lives in a remarkable place.

Her feet may be on the ground, but her imagination takes her far, far away.

Case in point: A few weeks back, I heard her playing and say she needed to take her princess on her noodlecorn (unicorn) to the woods to escape the Drooling Giant (Baby Clifford). Once she made it to her safe haven, behind the couch I heard her say, “Help me Obi Won Kenobi.”

She loves little toys. The greater choking hazard, apparently the better. I love when I open a lower cabinet and find her Littlest Petshop toys positioned in a private conversational circle. Or balanced just so on the base of a lamp or top of a heat vent.

Those little surprises make me yearn for those moments myself. The freedom to let my mind take me somewhere. Sometimes anywhere but where my feet may actually be. Just to escape. But come back, of course. Moments like that make me grateful for prayer … and the promises of one day living forever in another remarkable place.

Until then, I need to go dress my darling girl in her princess-the-pencil clothes. (Aka Princess Rapunzel).

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.