>Not the fun one.

>By which I mean: me.
I am not the fun one.
That would be Coffeedoc, Dad, Tom.
He is the fun one.

He is the one who travels the world and gets twitchy when he’s been home for more than a few weeks.
He is the one who drives fast, be it boat or car.
He is the one who takes the kids tubing and tries to dunk them with donut circles in the chop of the wake.

He is the one who makes silly voices and tells silly stories during dinner.
He is the one who makes gross out jokes during dinner.
He is the one who will buckle and snap endless coats and ski boots to get the kids on the mountain.
He is the one who will take them to Monkey Joe’s so they can run and slide and shriek to their heart’s content.
He is the one who will jump out of a plane, or hike up the hilltop to see what is there.

I am the one who could stay home forever.
I am the one who savors the different light of the seasons.
I am the one who stays off the lake while they flip off the tube, to make dinner after they come home wet and cold and laughing.
I am the one who stays with the baby while they see the Imax movie, ostensibly because it’s too much for the baby…but really because the swooping bigger than life high definition 3D makes me queasy.  It’s too much for me.
I am the one who plays bananagrams and counts it as big fun.
I am the one who makes yogurt in a slow cooker, for pete’s sake!

He is the fun one.
He is the fast one.
I am the slow one.
I am the one that holds to bedtimes and routines.

{football at ND, last year}

This weekend, all the girls are with dad at Notre Dame.
They have gone up to see their brothers and a game.

My boys, yesterday on campus.

They will get to bed late, and eat way too much junk food.
They will yell at the pep rally and shout over the band.
They will see the drumline way way after bedtime, staying up until far into the night.
They will roll their eyes at his silliness and bad jokes.
They will alternately giggle and fume over his benign neglect of their girly natures.

{football game last year, ND}

I will fret that the change in routine will throw a few of them off kilter.
I will fret that the lack of sleep will be a catalyst for meltdown by multiple girls.
I will worry about them coming back rather undone, frazzled and unable to recalibrate into the instant return to daily life and requirements.
I will wonder if medicine was taken and how the moods are swinging.
I will brace myself for the impending meltdowns upon re-entry.
I will see the texts to me, complaining and fussing, and deflect them with “be nice, have fun.”

But, because after twenty-one years of being a mom, I am learning…..
that they will survive this weekend away without my ‘stick in the mud’ tending,
that they might even build new memories that will make them laugh til they cry….someday,
that they can live off of some junk food and be happy for my cooking when they get home,
that they can learn to be cranky and out of sorts and still survive,
that getting to bed crazy late is not the end of the world,
that Dad is not Mom.
And that he is the fun one.
And that there is time for that too.
And that their world is better for it.

I am not the fun one.
I am glad that he is.

>For any mom

>

drawing by Kate Kollwitz, 1903
Today is the day we remember Our Lady of Sorrows.
Oh, there is so much to this one…
As a mom, this resonates with me.  
Ok, maybe as an older mom it resonates.
As a mom of sons who’ve gone to college, who has just sobbed goodbye to them…
as a mom of kids who come from hard places and  have endured hardship and trauma…
as a mom who has held other mom’s babies and children across the world in dark hot smelly orphanages, waving flies off their face as I feel their damp bottoms but also their arms clinging to my neck, or see them lying limp in my arms just gazing out – disconnected…
as a mom of kids who have struggled with different needs, some of them very hard and/or intense…
as a mom of kids who’ve gone through life-threatening events and as a mom who has sat vigil bedside in the PICU….
gosh as a mom who has lain awake countless nights worrying over  her kids…
over things big or small….
As a friend to moms who have lost children…
as a friend to moms who’s kids have been in the PICU, or hospital too….
as a friend to moms who have had kids go through the hardest scariest time in their lives and/or those of their parents…
goodness, as a mom who WATCHES THE NEWS, for pity’s sake…
….this memorial is for us.  
Because this Blessed Mother, she is us.  
She is every mom.  
She is the mom giving  her portion of food for her hungry child.
She is the mom sitting bedside by her sick child.
She is the mom who weeps sending her child off, to work, to college, to a new life in a new country.
She is the mom who wishes she could hurt so her child doesn’t have to.
She is the mom who carries them, bodily, but also in mind and heart….all day, every day, all night, every night. 
She is the mama.
She is us.  
She gets it.  
And she helps us carry it all….all those things that no one but a mom can fathom, truly…well, she does.  
As I wept and wept a few weeks ago, worried over my son, him moving out and having to say goodbye to him in a new place that didn’t feel like home, at all, to him or to me…my other son said this: “Our Lady of Sorrows mom….the litany, it will help.”  I said, “She didn’t send her son to college!” (I know, I’m a selfish idiot)  He smiled and said “Yuh, she watched him be crucified.”  
So…with that, I give you this, it helped me then, and it is a reminder that she is not just the remote Mother of God.  
She is everywoman.  
Everymom.  Us.
 Litany of Our Lady Of Seven Sorrows 
By Pope Pius VII
Leader Response
Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, hear us. Christ, graciously hear us.
God, the Father of heaven, Have mercy on us.
God the Son, Redeemer of the world, Have mercy on us.
God the Holy Spirit, Have mercy on us.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us.
Holy Virgin of virgins, Pray for us.
Mother of the Crucified, Pray for us.
Sorrowful Mother Pray for us.
Mournful Mother Pray for us.
Sighing Mother Pray for us.
Afflicted Mother Pray for us.
Foresaken Mother Pray for us.
Desolate Mother Pray for us.
Mother most sad Pray for us.
Mother set around with anguish Pray for us.
Mother overwhelmed by grief Pray for us.
Mother transfixed by a sword Pray for us.
Mother crucified in thy heart Pray for us.
Mother bereaved of thy Son Pray for us.
Sighing Dove Pray for us.
Mother of Dolors Pray for us.
Fount of tears Pray for us.
Sea of bitterness Pray for us.
Field of tribulation Pray for us.
Mass of suffering Pray for us.
Mirror of patience Pray for us.
Rock of constancy Pray for us.
Remedy in perplexity Pray for us.
Joy of the afflicted Pray for us.
Ark of the desolate Pray for us.
Refuge of the abandoned Pray for us.
Shield of the oppressed Pray for us.
Conqueror of the incredulous Pray for us.
Solace of the wretched Pray for us.
Medicine of the sick Pray for us.
Help of the faint Pray for us.
Strength of the weak Pray for us.
Protectress of those who fight Pray for us.
Haven of the shipwrecked Pray for us.
Calmer of tempests Pray for us.
Companion of the sorrowful Pray for us.
Retreat of those who groan Pray for us.
Terror of the treacherous Pray for us.
Standard-bearer of the Martyrs Pray for us.
Treasure of the Faithful Pray for us.
Light of Confessors Pray for us.
Pearl of Virgins Pray for us.
Comfort of Widows Pray for us.
Joy of all Saints Pray for us.
Queen of thy Servants Pray for us.
Holy Mary, who alone art unexampled Pray for us.
Pray for us, most Sorrowful Virgin, That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.
Let us pray.

O God, in whose Passion,
According to the prophecy of Simeon,
A sword of grief pierced through
The most sweet soul
Of Thy glorious Blessed Virgin Mother Mary:
Grant that we, who celebrate
The memory of her Seven Sorrows,
May obtain the happy effect of Thy Passion,
Who lives and reigns world without end.
Amen.

>Assumptions on the Assumption

>

Mary’s house in Ephesus, where she is believed to have lived out her days.
It’s the feast of the Assumption of Mary!

I know, another uber Catholic post and event. Still, fascinating and cool for us and if you want to know more, go read here. I love this one!

It’s also a big Ethiopian Feast: Ethiopian Orthodox celebrate this feast in a big way and it is called “Filsata Mariam” – and Marta grinned with excitement when told what today is. So it’s a big deal even in the the other ancient Christian faith traditions.

That said, however, this is one of those Marian Catholic things that makes some folks a bit nuts. But really, it all makes sense. It is traced back to the apostles themselves:

At the Council of Chalcedon in 451, when bishops from throughout the Mediterranean world gathered in Constantinople, Emperor Marcian asked the Patriarch of Jerusalem to bring the relics of Mary to Constantinople to be enshrined in the capitol. The patriarch explained to the emperor that there were no relics of Mary in Jerusalem, that “Mary had died in the presence of the apostles; but her tomb, when opened later . . . was found empty and so the apostles concluded that the body was taken up into heaven.”
In the eighth century, St. John Damascene was known for giving sermons at the holy places in Jerusalem. At the Tomb of Mary, he expressed the belief of the Church on the meaning of the feast: “Although the body was duly buried, it did not remain in the state of death, neither was it dissolved by decay. . . . You were transferred to your heavenly home, O Lady, Queen and Mother of God in truth.” from Catholic Culture.org

Again, it makes sense to me and to me, it’s beautiful.

“The Assumption completes God’s work in her since it was not fitting that the flesh that had given life to God himself should ever undergo corruption. The Assumption is God’s crowning of His work as Mary ends her earthly life and enters eternity. The feast turns our eyes in that direction, where we will follow when our earthly life is over.” From Catholic Culture.org

When I think of and meditate on this mystery, this feast, I always can’t help but think of Mary and her close relationship to her Son. A love from two pure souls, not smudged up by selfish hurts or striving, pure true love.

And, because it’s always about me, I think of me and my sons. I am about to take my second son up to school, to move him out of the house. My eldest has already moved back up, he left last Sunday.  And I am already starting to leak tears here and there. And it will make me cry when we have to begin our drive home again, without him. I will try not to sob (not in front of him on campus, ok? Not cool.). But I will grieve him going. I will be very happy for him to be there, but it makes me cry to let him go. The house will echo without them here.

And then, I remember, when they come back on break or I go to visit them, the electric JOY that makes the world light up and a grin break across my face and dance to my feet. And that, that feeling, that reunion is what I think about, finally, every time, on this day.

My Jon
My Chris

Because no matter how old the mom is or how old the son(s)…..that feeling surely cannot change, it hasn’t yet.

The sheer undiluted JOY that must be had at THIS reunion – when Mary is lifted to heaven, after being physically separated for so long from her only dearest Son, and His for her. Think of that glee, those grins…I don’t imagine a static statue of elegant repose and small appropriate smile on their faces. I hear and see whoops of laughter and hugs and glee and tears and grins and kisses. The best reunion of all. Glorious.

So, does the Assumption make sense? Oh yeah, to a mom, I think it makes Perfect sense. And it is a happy glorious feast!

painting by Botticini
{official busy disclaimer; much borrowed from years past, but not all…mom to eight, ’nuff said}

>St. Jane Francis de Chantal

>Today is the memorial of St. Jane Francis de Chantal.

{Reposted from last  year because there are so many great saint days this month, but with school starting for seven of my kids….it’s busy!! See that “Seven” connection, just below}

Now, she is a fascinating saint to me because, for one thing, she was mother to seven children.
That’s right!
Mom to seven kids, and STILL she made it to sainthood.

I’m tellin’ ya, it gives me hope, it does.
If nothing else, here is a gal that I figure can understand me to a fair degree and I can hit up for prayers on my behalf.
We moms of big families stick together!

She was french, born into a noble family. She also married a nobleman. Which is cool in it’s own way because, once again, we see that saints can come from any circumstances; it’s the disposition of our hearts and the choices we make, not the situations we are born to that determine the outcome. I think that’s fairly encouraging! St. Jane was widowed due to a hunting accident – her husband was shot. She struggled for many years to forgive the man who killed her husband; eventually she succeeded after much prayer and counsel.

Her closest counselor, friend, confident was none other than St. Francis de Sales (another top notch fav saint, and the author of this amazing book). So, here we have St. Jane showing us the importance of true friendship and how a holy friendship can lead to amazing things. Another reason I am keen on her. Her long friendship with St. Francis led her to eventually found the order Visitation nuns. Eventually she founded eighty-five convents.A woman who can be a mom to a bunch of kids, manage her household in a holy manner, forgive the hardest things and be a long and true friend, and still then manage to found an organization that does eternal good in the world…..now there is an example!
I have much to learn from a woman like St. Jane.
She is not of this era, but I daresay that Oprah and the modern reality tv micro-celebs could take a lesson from her too!
St. Jane de Chantal, pray for us!

>Another Day Older, Again!

>

{Reposted w/ current tweaks from two years ago…
because I’m traveling and it’s my birthday and so I’m taking the easy way out}
Today is my birthday. I am 48.
I had always naively entertained the idea that I would age “gracefully”….
Whatever that meant…

HA!

Now of course, I have come to realize the truth: I have never done anything gracefully and won’t be able to do this so either.
Rather, I will do it like I do most things: clumsily, boring all around me with my vanity and driven controlling ways and opinions and ideas. And at the same time I will go kicking and griping over the cliffs of the inevitable decline and collapse of my body.

I will never be elegant and chic.

I will have very gray hair turning all too quickly to white.
I will have a thickening body being remapped with wrinkles and sags.
I will have spots from too many days in the sun.
I have my mother’s hands.

Middle age is no picnic.

Yet, despite my clumsy ways and self, I have a richly woven tapestry of a life – surrounded by so many that I love so dearly. I have the strength in my arms to hold eight children. I have the arms to hug so many others for missing moms and try to let them know that a mom loves them and it feels like this. I have been able to find niches in my heart for many here and others I have even recently met in Africa, ones I won’t see again but who will stay with me.
All that is worth every gray hair, every wrinkle, sag, and spot.

I used to be bothered by looking at my hands and seeing my mother’s. It was, somehow, shocking. But oddly enough, not anymore. They are mine. They are hers.
They’ll do.

I never used to tell folks when it was my birthday, although I’ve always told my age. Somehow it didn’t seem like I should mention it. But, then, I decided that sets a bad example for my kids. As I tell my children, birthdays are for celebrating! And so not to be a hypocrite (at least this time)….I’ve said it. And tonight I will have some red wine and a piece of tiramisu or icy lemoncello and kiss all my children and husband. And while the kid’s bdays and my husband’s are ever so much more fun….I am very grateful for mine.

>Every Man for Himself….Hell yeah!??

>That’s the American way, no?  That’s the pioneer spirit….straight outta that whole westward HO, expansion thing, right?  “Get while the gettin’ is good.”  Right????

From the lone wolf cowboy iconography that pervades our American mindset to the reptilian yet oddly emulated Gordon Geko/Donald Trump icon….our culture too often puts up that attitude as a goal.  Even we moms get this message hammered at us: “Gotta make time for me,” “Are you getting enough, YOU time? ” So, that’s how we should operate, right? Hmmm…

Now, I’m not saying everyone actually lives this way all the time. But at it’s core, it’s base greed. So, what I want to say is that this is something I’ve been stewing about this week, after last week….seeing it too much in  my own family, and even myself.  That stance, of “what about me?” and “I’m just looking out for number 1,”…..it is, in it’s own way……a kind of hell.

Hell, yeah, it is.

Edvard Munch, Anxiety 1894

I think it is what hell will be, too, eventually.
Hell is, to a large degree, our own construction, right here right now.
We create our personal circles of it.
Hell is when we consciously, intentionally, shut others out.
Hell is looking only to ourselves.
Hell is navel gazing.  Even when we do it unconsciously, unintentionally, there it is.  What did Buckaroo Bonzai say? “Wherever you go, there you are.”  Right, that applies even to hell.  However you get there, on purpose or by general neglect of intention, there you are: hell.

And if we are NOT vigilant, and are not fighting EVERY single day against our natural tendency toward this kind of natural consuming slippery selfishness….we lose.  Period.

If we don’t fight against that tide, daily, we will find ourselves and indeed our whole family slipping perilously towards it.  Kids are naturally programmed to grab for themselves, be it toys or the last cookie or the best place in the car.  We, as parents, are supposed to train it out of them.  But, we cannot if we are too busy, too loudly, putting out the licking tips of hellfires all around as this selfishness crackles through a family. Our good parenting instincts alarm us to the danger, all the time.  It is the most insidious danger to any of us, and to our families.  That navel gaze, though, is a tough habit to break and one that can create a stranglehold before you realize it’s choking you.

The only way I see to loosen it’s grip, douse those licking flames, is to slow down, simplify, {‘nother post that, later} look out.  See beyond you..by which I mean, me.
I need to see each child, and what’s going on with them, right then, not just with my reaction to what’s going on around them.
I need to stop paying so much attention to the reactions it all creates in me, and instead find a gentler way and lead them out of it too.

No.  It’s not really the American way; nor should it be.  Despite what we see and hear all around us, shouted at us from every electronic box,  it is most definitely not every man for himself; Survivor be damned.
It is every man for each other.  And that is what will save us.

Even right now, on a topical news level – we are seeing this good play out, right here in our flooded town.  It is what is making this devastating flood keep our town and city from breaking…the people here are reaching out to each other, strangers and friends alike.  A hellish disaster is being overcome by the heaven of reaching beyond our own self, to each other.  This town is pulling itself out of the flood waters by looking to care for our neighbors.

Here’s what I know, it’s been a very tough few weeks here in this Coffeehouse!  Some of that  has been being over scheduled, overtired, overrun, overstressed…. each and every one of us.  It’s crunch time. End of year events and trips and graduations and confirmations and programs, all jammed into a very small fixed amount of time.  That has made each one of us have a harder time to push back that base selfish striving.  Tempers short, gentleness….gone.

The good news is that we get to try again.  I get to try again.  Every day.  Many many times every day.  We get to redirect and try to reclaim that gentler manner, and look out beyond ourselves.  Heck in  my family, that opp comes around oh, every 8 seconds or so.  But we have to try.  We have to fight against that oh so human impulse to be concerned primarily about, well, us.  Me.  And so I must and will set my mind to it, and deliberately choose to step out of that loop.  Hell, no.  Not now, not then, no more.  I choose to look again, out, again…without taking the register of “how do I feel about this/them/him/her?”  But just to look out and try again, softly.  That very effort brings the heaven of family right back into our/my hands…right here, right now. 

>Holy Mama! It’s May!

>

So, it’s May! You know what that means…not only that we can all jump for joy that the crazy stormy April is finished, but that spring has sprung and it’s a new start and it’s a beautiful new month, new season, new start.  May is also, in Catholic life, a month devoted to Mary. By which I mean, it’s all about the mama.
 

No, not only all about me (which of course, it always is!) but even more so, May is all about our Blessed Mom, Mary.  She is the one that I look to this month, today in a bit of needy plea (it’s been a tough week), to give me example of how to do all this mom stuff right.  I look to her to see how to really love, to model humility for me (stop laughing, I know I know, better than anyone  how desperately I need that one), to model kindness and patience and just, baseline, real, love.

Joss van Cleve, Madonna and Child (see even baby Jesus was awfully busy!)

You know that it gets all tangled up too, that love stuff. It gets knotted up in needs and wants and crises and pushing and pulling of all sorts: worldly, culturally, friendly, husbandly (Is that a word? It is today).  My dear pal Sonja writs eloquently on this very thing here, today, in honor of today’s feast of St. Joseph the worker.  Go, read.  It’s so worth it.  (Sorry St. Joseph, not trying to slight you, but Sonja does a much better write up.)

But this month we honor Mary.  It’s her month.  Because May brings new growth, literally, all around us.  So too, does Mary.  Without her fiat, her humble acceptance of a surprising radical challenge to love, we wouldn’t even have a chance to know the truest Love.  She is the spring of our faith, our hearts and their growth too.  She tends and nurtures our hearts through her prayers so that we can grow and bloom and come closer to the truest Love, her Son.  She is “everymom,” it’s too easy to forget that, that while she is unique and selected particularly to be the earthly mom of Christ himself, she is also us, in the trenches, mom to this beautiful hard hurting but glorious world.

After this past week, I figure I am at the baby sprout stage of loving.  I could easily have been mistaken for a weed, oh, even this morning.  So, I am looking to Mary, my Blessed Mother, and asking for her prayers to humble my stubborn selfish self, to grow my ability to love, and to pray me into a bloom of some sort, someday.

In the meantime, I hope to get back to a steady consistent daily rosary (lost too often in the shuffle of some insane days) this month, and to pay more attention to the best mom and mom-model I know:  Mary. 

“The mood of springtime informs the church’s interior; nature’s
blossoming, the warm air of May evenings, human gladness in
a world that is renewing itself — all these things enter in.
Veneration of Mary has its place in this very particular
atmosphere, for she, the Virgin, shows us faith under its
youthful aspect, as God’s new beginning in a world that has
grown old. In her we see the Christian life set forth as a youth-
fulness of the heart, as beauty and a waiting readiness for
what is to come.”
– Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, Seek That Which is Above
(Ignatius, 1986), pp. 95-96.
{quote h/t wff.org}

>Sunday, seeing beauty

>

Too often I fall into the trap of only seeing the kids, especially the girls, in the light of the current swell of activity on any given day.  
By which I mean, too often I’m just evaluating the state of their rooms, or the chores, or if they are dressed appropriately (not to sound like a Nazi, but you know, “No flip flops, it’s snowing.  “You cannot wear that to Mass, put on something nicer.” “Your uniform is stained, find a new shirt, please.” etc).  It’s a easy trap to step in; don’t we all sulk a teeny bit when our husbands step into this very trap and stop really “looking” at us (well on our good days….)?

It’s all too easy to get caught up in the surge and swell of the tidal pull of any given day.  It’s all too easy to stop paying attention to the fleeting nuances of expression and capturing them, both in photos and our memory.  
 
When they were small, we did it, showing the pics off with abandon, because they were just SO cute, so beautiful.  Now they are older, and it’s not as seemly somehow.  We are not supposed to ‘go on’ about our children.  We want to protect them from the outside world a bit more yes, but that can then become a box of “less.”  It’s more complicated now. 
Are they not beautiful enough to comment anymore?  Is this the message they internalize as we protect them from dangers outside and in?…Because so too, I tend to not want to go on about their beauty too much out loud so they don’t get the “big head.” Then again, it is important that they know, really know, that I see their beauty, inside and out. 
But Sundays are a day to relax.  A day to see again, with clear eyes.  To notice the beauty given to us in this world, it surrounds us…. all too often, without our notice anymore.

 

I don’t always manage it in my task oriented nature, but some days, for a moment or more, I do.  
 So, permit me to put it on the record, and go on for a moment (whether it’s pc or not) about my girls.
 Because I want it on the record (especially for their sake) that I see them; they are so beautiful. 
My girls.  
I might be biased, but, they are – simply – beautiful.

Each and every one.
(Pics courtesy of my photography nut daughter, Hannah Banana)

>Tripping

>

Falling. Stumbling. Slipping. Stubbing.
Tripping.
We all fall down.

I fall down.

It’s why I grasp onto the prayer of the Stations of the Cross.
Because Christ falls, not once, but THREE times, as he carries his cross. And today is Friday and so I am thinking about this, tis the season….yeah, for falling.

Thus, as I fall, every darn day…it helps me. It helps me to pray the stations, to read and contemplate his exhaustion, how very hard it was to take the next step, any step, to just hold.
And he needed help…or, more precisely, he ALLOWED help.

Now he allowed help in order to let us participate, in order to show that through weakness we can be strong, together. He allowed help because that cross was SO. VERY. HEAVY….from us.
Perhaps if he hadn’t fallen, and allowed help to get up and keep going…just contemplating this walk would break us too. It would break me, I know. As it is, just contemplating it is heavy on my heart, every time.

And yet, it’s also such a help. Because I fall.
I’m falling. I fall again and again, ever, in carrying this measly hollow reed of a cross that I’ve been given.
I throw it down, tired and fed up. I gripe, I moan, I whine. As if that will help. It doesn’t. It only annoys everyone, not the least of which is myself (I offer a blanket apology to all my long suffering friends and family).

It’s OH so easy to compare crosses. Such a trap.
I do, though. All the time. And then I want to skulk away, knowing my cross is a twig, a hollow twig. It is filled with sweet kisses and belly hugs, soft sighs in the morning, and inside jokes.
Even so, I know this but some days I drop it, again and again. Because too often I focus on the struggles the fussing the attitudes the physical tiredness. But that mere twig, woven from eight (ok, nine) special souls in my care, grows in my selfish tired heart and hands into a giant redwood.
On those days, I strain to see through the gloaming…the shadows are long.
But I have blinded my own self. I am only looking at the hard, the tired…me.

Then another blessed Lenten Friday arrives, again, and I kneel to pray the stations.
I sing, off key, the Stabat Mater, in between the Stations.
And I blink to keep the tears back as my eyes, my heart, comes into focus again.
My twiggy cross is filled with sweet kisses and belly hugs, soft sighs in the morning, and inside jokes.
It is MY cross.
It is MY joy.

I fell down.
Tripped.
With help, and new eyes again, I get up.
It’s Friday…time for the Stations…again.

>Sunday Snippets

>

Il Papa! Or, in my current effort: Abbat!!!
The Pope is going to Africa!

Well, ya just gotta love that! We are too (I hope)! Here is the lowdown:
In this morning’s dispatches, the Holy See rolled out the Pope’s program for his March visit to Cameroon and Angola — a seven day pilgrimage that’ll mark B16’s first journey to Africa.
Go to the excellent Whispers in the Loggia for the full article (h/t to this site).

Next snip: Of course, it’s Sunday, so Deacon’s got me thinking…here’s a snip:
“This week’s gospel tells us about Christ’s power over unclean spirits. They come in many shapes and forms – including, I think, the kind that took hold of Paul Wilkes.

They can overwhelm any of us, if we aren’t careful. They can come as jealousy, or self-indulgence, or arrogance, or neediness. They can make us spiritually bankrupt.
They are part of our broken, imperfect, wounded humanity.
And, as he did in the temple, Christ calls out to them – firmly, persistently, patiently.
Quiet, he says.
Come out. How can we not listen to that voice, that stirring in our hearts?

Boy this practically shouts to me. Because that’s what I need. Those words: “Quiet. Come out.” Come out of my instant selfish reactionary ways, my snap, my indulgence. Come out. Quiet.
There is a line in one of my favorite prayers: Anima Christi, that goes “keep me from the malicious enemy” and I think often that while in the night when I wake up from another nightmare I might think of the movie version of a malicious enemy (the devil himself), ever so much more often that very enemy is my own self. Me. My selfish little self-absorbed self. My own personal malicious enemy to the growth of my heart. ack. So this homily hit home for me today. Good stuff.
Go, read. It’s good and worth a slow Sunday thought or two.

Lastly, this is what I have to go do now: study. Working my way, at a glacial pace, through this text:

That and tutoring with Wayzaro Loula on Mondays, and working through TalkNow’s Amharic cd on the computer. You’d think I’d be chatting it up by now, wouldn’t ya?? Well, you’d be wrong. I can barely say hello. Sigh. So, back to work for me, no more procrastinating. Happy Sunday! dahna hun!

>Funky, Fine, or Freaks? Pondering the Large Family

>Fair warning: LONG post.

I have been stewing a bit lately. Maybe it was another migraine, pushing my thoughts outside their normal box. Maybe, but I don’t think so. Maybe it has been the intensive discerning process we’ve been in. Or now, the idea that we have EIGHT children (we just need CIS to verify). Very likely, that.

(This is an older picture, w/ our Korean exchange student/daughter from afar,
but not counting Gabriel or our new daughter to come)

But, clearly, I’ve been thinking, a LOT, about the large family.

Now, we, to some, are a large family. To many of the families I know, we are a smallish large family. Or maybe a largish, medium size family. Or a big small family. By some standards we are a middling family, no big deal. But, by others, the vast majority, we are a Large family. By modern American standards we are a freaky big family!

And I think, isn’t that odd?
And isn’t that kind of sad?

But then again, I have to think about that a lot. Because my kids have to grow up in this family. And some people have written about how hard and bad it is for kids to have to grow up in a large family; what a disservice it does to the kids. Hmmm.

Obviously, I have a bias.

I like to think that a large family, or a largish medium size family, or even a crazy big family is on the whole: good for the kids. Kim at Starry Sky Ranch is thinking about this, living it, as well. Worth a read that.

But too often, in our modern or postmodern culture, the large family is considered not only not so good, but detrimental. Huh? Because in the modern ethos, if you are filling all the bedrooms and then some in your house then surely you are shortchanging your kids, right? They must not have all the “things” they need materially. Because modern kids are not only entitled to their own room and an education but the newest backpacks and electronics and flat screen tv’s….really? Ok, I’m not saying everybody holds to this, but oddly enough, I get asked about this sort of thing. And of course, you might guess, I disagree. Kids are not entitled to such, to our excess consumerism, nor is it best for them (and we are all too guilty, all too often, mea culpa). But this is another post topic, really…the idea of how much and of what? Kids need a certain financial stability to thrive and certainly the adoption process ensures that. But it is a much wider swath than some I meet presume.

But to take it further, people wonder, and (to my waning shock) ask outright, if we are being “good stewards” of our resources. We have been questioned, point blank, on whether we have all our kids’ college funds funded (more than once). And you know, thankfully, so far, God has provided and no we don’t have every child’s entire education funded. We are figuring that we will figure it out and we will find a way to be sure that all our children get the education they want and need. It is a priority, but not a panicked stash. This is our personal decision (so don’t flame me, I get it when you decide otherwise).

So really, it begs the question: good stewardship, how is it applied to kids and a big family? Well, I think it’s simple. The best investment, ever and always, is in the life of a child. Period. That may be easy to say, but if we can make it work, we are gonna and so we figure we can raise one more, again. It might not be easy, it’s an expensive process and prospect. But, we, in faith, figure we will figure it out as we go.

But as for stewardship and the good of the kids, there is a much bigger picture to go with…..again, the fingers get pointed at the bigger family. Because you can’t possibly be a good steward of your other resources if you have so many kids can you? Can you really give those kids all the attention they need? Really? The love, the time? Can you really focus on their needs, their individual quirks and nurture them fully?
Yes, you can.
Is it hard and challenging at times?
Um, yeah.
Is it noisy and messy and chaotic?
Oh boy, yup, it is that!

But here’s the secret that people forget. They must forget because surely they know, if they pause to consider. One of the best, the very best, reasons to have a large family is: siblings. Yeah, the rivalry thing is real and can be maddening and intense. But siblings are simply the greatest gift you can give a child, any child. Even kids who have special needs, and might need more of your attention and resources (financial or otherwise); their best gift from you is a sib. Because only a sibling will always be there for them. Siblings are the only people who will have a relationship that spans the lifetime – even if it gets broken. There is still something there. And more siblings aren’t a drain, it’s a literal expansion: of fun, silliness, madness, emotions, opportunities, support, touch, love. They may not always be happy about it, and some sibs will be closer than others. But no one else will make you fall off your chair laughing til you cry when you’re grown. I remind my boys when they fuss that no one else will be able to make fun of me, after I am dead, like his brother. OK, or even now as I am quite alive. Love ’em or hate ’em, there is nobody like a sib. Ever.
And then we come to the one that makes me feel quite the curmudgeon:
“what about you?”
“How can you, as a mom, as an adult woman, feel fulfilled and challenged when you are tied to a house full of kids?”
What about “me time”?
People have asked me this in opposition to our latest adoption.
And you know, here’s my answer:
I do not live under a rock, I am aware of this concept, I see the magazines. And yes I do get tired and burnt out too sometimes. However, I am the most selfish person I have ever met and I must say I have a remarkable knack for carving out ME time.
But my “me” time may not be yours.
And it is a huge mistake to judge how much or of what type is claimed.
And in our culture, there is such an emphasis on self that it has gotten skewed. The best sort of “me” time I can really give, is to my kid (one or all). Not that I always remember that point, or do it. But the times I DO remember and value and that restore, are the ones that are those good quiet parent moments: laying down with a cuddled up small one for a rare quiet moment or two, the discussion (happy, funny, sad, intense) where you make those connections, the sideways look of understanding each other in a crowd (even if that crowd is your own kitchen). Don’t get me wrong, I love having a hot bath, I took the time to run far slow runs, I love a good book. But. When someone, friend, family, or stranger, tells me that we shouldn’t have another child, love another, because it will cut into “my” time (and they have, more than once)…then I’m thinking, um, something is wacked.

And I guess that’s where I’m at. I’m a bit dismayed over the flip. The cultural flip. It’s wonky. We are the stranger now. Our family. We have gone off the grid. We are freaks. We don’t fit, anymore. Because we have been deemed freaky. We are, weirdly, “other.” We feel freaky, really.

But here’s my take on it: it’s not politically correct, but I think our culture is freaky. Our society, in postmodern America (ok it’s even beyond, look at Europe) is the freaky thing. It’s wacked. The family, no matter the size, is under attack and when you are obviously centering your life around the family instead of the golden calf of “self”…well, you are labeled as a freak or crank or a pompous poof….or well, the list could go on and on.

If you are “lucky” people will presume you are ‘strong” or “good”…but even that is not so. Nice to hear, if embarrassing. Because, in actuality I am (we are) selfish, again. Because loving this family is everything to me. These kids, this life, this family, even as it grows…..is the biggest challenge, hardest, most exhilarating, most exhausting, most worthwhile thing I can begin to imagine.So, tell Gabriel that we are a freaky funky family, right after you pry him out of his big brother’s arms. Try it. I think he would disagree….