Secret agent man

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“I am an agent of God.”

That’s the sentence Henry wrote in his effort to use his spelling word agent.

When we were praying at dinner, he said that when he prayed at school, the two boys around him asked what he was doing. He told them. They said they don’t go to church. He asked if he should hide his prayer. We said, no. It’s fine to pray silently before your meal.

Then he asked if he could wear his St. Michael necklace or his Miraculous Medal to school. (I didn’t even know he knew it was called the Miraculous Medal.) He gave a quiet, “yessss,” when we said he could. Richard reminded Henry that by his good example, he could encourage other boys and girls to want to know God.  Henry smiled and nodded. His IS an agent of God.

I’m not really sure what his teacher is going to think of our secret agent when she reads Henry’s other sentence: “I practice shooting guns at the range.” God and guns. Great.

Dear John

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If you don’t listen to Fr. John Riccardo’s podcasts of his weekly homilies, you should. He’s pastor at Our Lady of Good Counsel in Plymouth.

I do it on my itouch while unloading/reloading the dishwasher. It makes one of my least favorite housekeeping tasks something to look forward to. I go back and listen to old ones, too. 8 minutes of always enlightening, meaningful good stuff.

Here’s the link. Or you can get them free on itunes.

Easy peasy

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Not so much.

I went up and took Helen out to dinner on Friday night. It was great. She brought a bunch of her music from classes with her. Showed me these “beautiful chords” from a big choir piece. Some jazz ensemble stuff. Very exciting. She told me stories that made me laugh my bar-room laugh (n’er a dainty giggle from me). We ate. We shopped a little. I drove her back to her dorm. Then, drat, we said goodbye.

Moving in

Um. Excuse me, but is this going to get easier? I cried the whole way home. I’m sure it didn’t help that we were listening to that Taylor Swift song, “The Best Day with You” …

And now I know why the all the trees change in the fall
I know you were on my side even when I was wrong
And I love you for giving me your eyes
For staying back and watching me shine
And I didn’t know if you knew, so I’m takin’ this chance to say
That I had the best day with you today

He’s my brother

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I watched Clifford free fall from the hearth into Henry’s waiting arms. Cliff would chuckle; Henry would rub the baby’s head. Then Clifford was back on his feet, climbing up, ready to do it again (and again and again). I have to admit, I had to stop myself from stopping them. I think I silently gasped each time. Although it’s only about an 18 inch drop, it was a sight to behold: Cliff’s absolute faith that Henry would be there to catch him.

He's my brother

I finally said to Henry, “Wow, he really trusts you.”

“Of course he does,” said Henry. “I’m his brother.”

That is what Christ asks of us. Complete trust. He is, after all, our brother. We should look to him with the simple trust of a little child.

It took a while for me to come to grips with that particular familial relationship with Christ. It sounded a little groovy to me. You know, like people calling each other brother or sister. As in, “Peace, my brotha.” Farrrr out.

But once I finally got it: God father, Christ brother, Heaven home–his place in my day-to-day life forever changed. I finally realized I could put my trust in Him in all things. Big and little. Even when I’m in a free fall. He is, after all, my brother.

At that time the disciples approached Jesus and said, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children,  you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.” –Mat 18 1-5

10 surprising things

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I’m following today’s trend at Faith and Family Live. What the heck.

So here are 10 surprising things about me.

1. I’m lousy at making pie crust. I have tried to master this skill to no avail. I can make a tasty crust. Just not a pretty one. I’ve replaced the tools of the trade repeatedly (blaming them) only to be defeated. I don’t think I have the patience.

2.  I sneak candy in my house and stash it so the kids won’t consume it. I think I’m totally sugar dependent. (Which with my schedule, really isn’t surprising.)

3. I keep my Mrs. Beasley doll in a zippered vinyl bag in my bedroom closet. When I see her, I remember all the comfort she brought me as a child. And every now and then (once a year or so), I take her out and smell her. And she smells exactly the same. Wonderful. I even cried when last year my dear spouse put her in a bin to go in the attic. I was totally dismayed that after 20 years he didn’t understand what she meant to me.

4. I love blue cheese stuffed olives as much as I like candy.

5. I am a library and movie rental loser. (Almost) always late. I’d like to change, but at this point, it’s unlikely. I’ve pretty much stopped renting movies altogether. Even though you’re never late with Blockbuster Online, blah, blah, I think keeping a movie (that you never actually watched) for two months or longer is a little dysfunctional.

6. I’m obsessed with clean ears.

7. I refer to Frank Sinatra as Uncle Frank.

8. Against the direction of my dear spouse, other than clearing off large pieces of remnant food, I hardly rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher.  I let the machine do it. (And for some reason, I secretly celebrate my triumph.)

9. My eyes were blue until I was about 14. Although I appreciate the uniqueness of light green eyes, having blue eyes was a special thing that of my siblings only I shared with my beautiful mother. (Since I look like my father.) I still miss that.

10.  One of my favorite TV shows is Dog the Bounty Hunter

School daze

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And I’m talking about me.

After five years of homeschooling, kids are back in school. Helen’s off and away studying music, Lil in Montessori school. And our lives are drastically different. And I am dazed and confused.

Cherished evening time has become evening rush time. Homework, soccer practice, piano lessons and practice. Today we actually stood around the fridge to pray. Instead of lighting a candle for day one of our novena in lovely nine-candle plate, I ran off a copy of the prayer on a sheet with a table of days so we can check them off. Plunk. Used a magnet and stuck it on the fridge. It felt kind of pathetic. And that made me sad. That’s not what I want.

When we homeschooled, we didn’t have homework. We just had work. We finished and then went on with our lives.  But since we had such a difficult year last year, with Helen’s senior year and all the events associated with that, with college apps and auditions. Not to mention a new baby and (scarily diminished) business. I felt like a homeschooling failure. Or at least inadequate. We didn’t even belong to a group or go on many field trips. I couldn’t begin to contemplate the logistics of any of that. My brain and body were maxed out.

So after lots of prayer and questionable moments of sanity, we decided school would be best.

And I’m not saying it isn’t. Teachers seem great. The kids are adapting beautifully, are well prepared and enjoying their days. But I have to figure out how to cope. If we’re called to be a people set apart, how can we do that when we’re stuck in the throes of all this? Can I still do my very best job keeping faith as the focus in the the lives of these precious gifts from God? How do we add a rosary at night when we’re scrambling to finish dishes, homework and get them to bed on time?

I know we’re only in the second week.

But this is our new normal. At least for now, and we have to figure out how to make it all work.

Prayers would be great. (Ain’t too proud to beg …)

Fly like a bird

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Fly Like a Bird (a clip of Helen and me singing at our benefit concert.)

Well, today was the day. The day we moved Helen to school. The moment the  soundtrack to our daily lives changed, forever.

This is the day, as parents, we look forward to. Not because our fledgling is gone, but because she can fly. I can’t feel sadness. How could I? She’s wonderful. But I can feel the pain of separation. And, that is what I think we all fear most and try to avoid. The pain of separation.

Flying high

I could give you a blow- by-blow of the events. From my avoidance (not going upstairs at all through most of this week), to the the tearful goodbyes of the younger sibs, or the sweet note she left for Henry, and the gut-punch sound when it finally hit my dear spouse. We both kept so busy focusing on the process to try to avoid the inevitable feelings of disbelief that we could even be at this stage in our lives. Our daughter could not possibly be leaving our safe little nest.

But she is. And it’s good. (We’re happy she’s not too far away.) It’s her turn to fly,  and our turn to sit back and wonder how high.

Fly like a bird to the Lord, my soul.
I want to soar like an eagle.
Though I may journey far away from home,
I know I’ll never be alone.

O God, you know who I am.
You know my hopes and my dreams.
In my pondering and fears,
in my joy and in my tears,
O God, your presence is real.

Where can I run from your love?
Where can I hide from my God?
From the dawn of morning’s light
to the darkness of the night,
O God, your presence is real.

–Ken Canedo

A sneeze in time

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Shouldn’t there be a quota for sneezing in a single day? Week or month? And I promise–if asked–I would be generous in assigning the quota. You know, if it were up to me.

I’d be okay with 20 or 30 sneezes in a single day. Not 20 or 30 in a 10 minute period. I’m very wearing of being a Benadryl Girl living in the Benadryl world.  My head is spinney, my nose is runny, and my throat is tickley. Not to leave out every other part of me.

I’m used to allergies. They are a life-long, year-round visitor for me. My mom told me that when I was a little tot I asked her what noses were for, because mine didn’t seem to work. I did shots and all for years and years. I manage my world and most of the time do okay, but inevitably my body every now and then says, “Sorry, I’m taking over, and you lose.” And today I am a BIG red-nosed loser.

Instead of just complaining, I can find some benefits to my frequently congested olfactory system . I can even sing praise for my allergies. (Literally.) I learned how to sing properly pretty quickly because of the snot rattling around in my head. My voice teacher was brilliant in helping me pinpoint resonance based on the buzz of the rattle. So, for that, I am grateful.

Also, when clear, I have an almost bionic sense of smell and taste. This nose knows. Which is as good as it is bad. (I can smell a stinky diaper a mile away. Good for changing. Bad for smelling.)

And, since I’m stuck taking Benadryl here and there, I’m  usually assured a decent night sleep once and awhile.

One final bright side to being the All-American Sneeze Queen is that I pretty much leave a trail of Kleenex wherever I go. I can always find my way home. (Which is good … cause that’s where the Benadryl is.)

Fighting temptation

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When Helen was a toddler, we instructed her that if she was tempted to touch something that might be off limits, she should just come and get one of us so we could help her through making the right choice.

Our big girl.

One day, while shopping in Ann Arbor, we were in a store full of breakable eye candy. I was busy admiring one thing, Richard another, when above the mellow harpsichord Muzak track, our two-and-a-half-year-old Helen stood beside her stroller, paralyzed, bouncing in place bellowing, “Help me! I’m tempted! I’m tempted!”

Now, soon off to school, we won’t be there to help her through all the trifling and tremendous moments of  temptation.  She surely will face many lures and promises of this world that we’ve tried so hard to balance through our faith and family life.

We’ve all been in the position of confusing a temptation with an opportunity. And the reality is, sometimes by giving in to those temptations we’re bound to make mistakes. But by the same token, we should never be bound to our mistakes, understanding that it is through our mistakes we discover more about ourselves and grow. There are many mistakes in my life for which I am grateful. It is through them that I’ve grown closer to the Lord, with the extra-added benefit of knowing myself better and gaining wisdom through the process. Wisdom that I hope I’ve shared with our daughter.

We can only hope that we’ve done what we can and given Helen the tools to sort things out. We can only hope and pray her decisions don’t paralyze her and that she will do her best to make the right choices. Although we won’t be there in person with her, we’ve taught her that God will.

Our pilgrimage on earth cannot be exempt from trial. We progress by means of trial. No one knows himself except through trial, or receives a crown except after victory, or strives except against an enemy or temptations. — St. Augustine