Category Archives: Faith

Time alone

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I had the opportunity to have  a date night with our eight-year-old son. I took him to the movies to see The Blind Side. The movie is rated PG-13, but  I’d already screened it and thought it would be good for Henry.

Although some of the material is mature, it is presented in a way that doesn’t seem gratuitous. The story has so many lessons. Even the elements that might be beyond him are wrought with opportunities for explanation. And I wanted the explanations to come from me.

At this point of his life, I still want to be his filter. He has plenty of time to sort the stuff of life out, but for now, I want to provide him with the guidance he needs to understand our family’s values. As his parents, we are after all his first teachers.

When he’s older he’ll take what we’ve taught him, weigh it with what he experiences, along with what our culture tells him is so, and have to figure out what is right and what is wrong, what is truth and what is not.  I hope he remembers some of what we talked about tonight. Even if he doesn’t remember that specifically, maybe he’ll remember that he held my hand as we skipped to the car and that we returned home well past his bedtime on our special night together.  And maybe that alone will be enough of a lesson.

Lego Nation

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Sunday we made a trip to the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn . We’re frequent visitors and have been members of the museum and village for 17 years. If you don’t go, you should. But that’s another post.

They had a special “exhibit” of Lego castle stuff. I put exhibit in those annoying ironic quotes because it was hardly an exhibit. I think my expectations (as well as many others’) were that the exhibit was going to be something it wasn’t. We’ve all seen some of those amazing Lego creations on the internet. Heck, we saw some amazing youth-built Lego creations at the State Fair. That’s not what this exhibit was, but it’s hard to market something with the caveat that says, “Oh, by the way, it’s not at all what you think it is going to be, but come anyway and feel duped.”  Anyway, I hope that the thing brought more people to the museum, because that place is always worth the trip.

Back to Lego Land … at one area of the room there were multiple tables set up for kids to build their own Lego creations. Each table was flanked with bins of the building blocks in all shapes and sizes. Around each table stood many very busy children. And here’s a description that some might not like … most of them were boys. (That’s just a reality check and shouldn’t surprise any parent of a boy.) Yes there are some girls who totally get into Legos. But the fact of today’s visit is that those tables were surrounded with more serious boys than girls. The girls were good for a while but the boys were there, in community, building.

The table Henry was working at was all boys with the exception of one little girl. She was very busy and holding her own next to her older brother. There were at least a dozen or more boys at this one spot, and together they formed a sort of Utopian Lego Nation. Peacefully working together.

“Dudes, anyone see this shape?” A bigger boy asked holding up a piece. Searching for treasure, little boy hands dug deep into the trenches of the closest H1N1 infested bin to find that prized piece. Each eager to take part in contributing to that big boy’s vision. Success. Then back to work.

They casually shared stories of their design. Its function. Its form. All standing, quietly building. There was agreement, encouragement and many approving nods as they looked about.

All I could do stand back and admire the comfortable comradery among total strangers — all focused, working with a purpose.

When the boy next to Henry was having difficulty figuring out how to fit a piece a certain way, Henry reached over, put his hand on top of the boy’s hand and showed him how to turn the piece to get the desired positioning. A brief smile of thanks from the boy, and they were back to work.

I felt like I had witnessed a little glimpse of heaven and was just short of tears. For a brief sweet moment, I just imagined what the world would be like if it were run by these generous little boys.

(And no, The Lord of the Flies didn’t cross my mind until later.)

Hard Core

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Someone referred to our family as “hard core” Catholic when we were at a party this weekend.

Hard core is usually found modifying other choice words, and I’m pretty sure Catholic isn’t one of them. I had to chuckle. Actually, when I started this post, then went back to edit it, my parental controls blocked me. That made me chuckle again.

I couldn’t help but reflect on what makes us worthy of such a description. I don’t sport a mantilla, the girls wear pants, we consider ourselves rather hip. (And now I suppose even contemplating our hipness has knocked us down a few notches.) Henry plays the drums and beat-boxes like a madman. We love Harry Potter and Santa and let the kids dress up as goblins and the like for Halloween.

Okay, we homeschool a Catholic and classical curriculum. But we also gleefully read the Diary of a Wimpy kid. We block out a majority of commercial television and record the Duggars, but we also regularly watch Mythbusters, Dirty Jobs and What Not to Wear. Our favorite family movies are It’s a Wonderful Life and the story of St. Therese of Lisieux, but we can’t get enough of the slapstick mayhem in Home Alone, What’s Up Doc, Nacho Libre and Kicking and Screaming. We love to sing in church, but I also love Lenny Kravitz, Ani DiFranco, Queen and old David Bowie. Go figure.

And yes, we have five children. But that’s only one more than four — and we know many people with four.

After a little more contemplation and some discussion, the only things Richard and I could think of that earned us that moniker are that we pray together (and apart), we still regularly go to church and we try (as much as our imperfect selves can) to teach to our children how to live and love our faith. We try our hardest to help them see this world through the lens of our faith (instead of the opposite), to love one another and to serve — all in the name of Christ. Which hopefully makes our cores not so hard but much more loving.

Jesse is a friend

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A few years back we made a Jesse Tree to use as part of our advent preparation. I believe I said something like, “So help me, we’re going to have a holy advent if it kills me.” So my dear spouse fashioned the tree. Helen decorated the ornaments, I tied ribbons and hot glued and our tree grew from wooden dowels and discs into a much-treasured family tradition.

Starting on the first day of advent, we read daily scripture that tells of the genealogy of  Jesus. Then we hang a little ornament on the tree. It’s similar to an advent countdown, but with a scriptural focus.

Jesse is a friend.

This is our fourth year, so the readings are familiar to the older children. Henry can’t wait to hear about Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac and the stories of destruction–especially the serpent in the Garden of Eden and the great flood. Mary Claire takes charge and organizes our nightly gathering and does most of the reading or designates a reader.

I’m especially eager this year for the readings about the birth of Jesus because Lillian is all about the nativity. We’ve been reading books and are frequently talking about the birth of Christ. We make special efforts to stop and admire all the outdoor nativity scenes that adorn the local landscape. (Because if we don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it from my 30-pound back-seat driver.) And every time she sees an angel she folds her hands in prayer and says solemnly, “And the angel of the Lord said, hail Mary, full of grace.” I look forward to her recognizing those same stories as we gather as a family and read from our Bible, counting down another day closer to Christmas.

The best part about the Jesse Tree is that it brings us together nightly. It’s a series of quiet (okay, not always quiet) moments that have turned into memories we will treasure. And those memories are centered where they should be — around Christ.

War of the Rosaries

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We put saying the rosary on our calendar.  That sounds like it takes away some of the romance of our relationship with God. But like any good relationship, there is work involved. You have to make time for each other. The truth is God always makes time for us, we’re the slackers. So that’s why that rosary deserves an entry on our calendar. Actually two.

Sundays and Tuesdays are Rosary days.

Imagine this, I call the children, singing their names: Perpetua, John Paul, Benedict, Agnes, Damien. I’m blinded by the streaking light of their bouncing halos  as they jump to their knees, eyes toward Heaven …

Okay. It’s nothing like that.

The plan is to gather the kids and pray together as a loving family of God. It’s just that sometimes the loving part of the plan is foiled when expectations aren’t met and someone is late, or the little kids are more rambunctious than usual, or a certain teenager who has the ability to stay up until the wee hours starts to fade by the end of the second decade, or a dear little baby complains through the whole thing.

But still, we do our best to follow through. We say intentions for people and causes, we end up laughing at least once or twice (because if we didn’t, we’d go insane). And we get through that Rosary, always grateful that we took the time. By the end I’m often looking forward to our next attempt and wondering if I’ll ever actually know the words to Hail Holy Queen.

Fostering love

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Last week, we attended a Halloween party hosted by a lovely family. They have five children, seven and under. The house was decorated adorably, games were planned and played, even the food fed the theme.  All of that was great, but one moment made it the best party ever.

Tiffany, Blayne and their beautiful family.

Fostering Love

Our hostess was busy preparing her laptop to show the guests a video clip where her children’s faces were fit into a comical clip of the Monster Mash. As her computer loaded, it revealed a desktop photo of their baby getting baptized.

Her five-year-old son pointed to the photo, “That’s when Itty Bitty got dunked. When he got baptized. Right Mom?”

Through the busyness — waiting for the computer to finish booting up and the website to load — his mother affectionately smiled at him and said, “Yes, it is.”

Then he inquired, “Did the judge say we can keep Itty Bitty yet?”

She looked at him and said, “Not yet. Hopefully soon.”

Other adults in the room inquired about the status of the baby’s adoption. Postponements, future court dates were briefly mentioned. Then, that dear boy looked up at his mother and asked, “The judge said you can keep me, right?”

“Yes. We can keep you.” She reassured him. “The judge said we can keep you.”

He asked a few more times, interjecting his query Continue Reading »

Preparing the way

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We made an Advent candle project yesterday. I know, it looks like I’m on the ball — planning ahead. Yep, that’s me.

Hardly. It was more an effort to avoid my usual Advent candle mayhem, which goes something like this:

Our project

Henry, MC and Lil admire their work.

We make a trip to the Catholic bookstore to buy candles in early November. (They actually run out.) I buy them. I stash them some place I’m sure to remember when the time comes. But instead, I forget. I look in all the reasonable spots. Accuse my spouse of moving them, then I end up blaming the candles themselves  (as in, “where are those stupid candles?”).  I buy a second set. Then mid season, find the first set. Promise myself I’ll remember I have them for next year … but I don’t. And so it begins all over again. Oh, and by the way, the candles never quite fit the wreath properly. So I’m always melting them, shaving them, adding extra wax, you name it.

Not this year. I won’t be able to lose these. And the kids are so excited about them. So for once, I’ll actually be prepared to prepare the way.

Is there some special sin category

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for yelling at your kids to stop asking when we are going to say our morning prayers?

“We’ll pray when I’m good and ready!”

This, after I’m trying to feed the baby and unload the dishwasher before we start school, then unexpectedly have to change the freshly dressed baby from head to toe, rinse out his clothes and warm up my coffee (again), drag the walker downstairs all to the tune of … “Can we pray now?” or “Mom? When are we going to pray?”

I sing back, “Start your math.”

The chorus responds, “We can’t until we pray.” Which means: they won’t.

Which makes me raise my voice in the most unbecoming anti-Duggar way.

Ah … I have so much to learn. Patience is apparently a virtue that only visits me occasionally. I think I’ll pray for that … when I’m good and ready.