When homeschooling seems impossible…

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Friends…I’d like to share an open letter (a re-post from 2008) to all homeschooling moms.  I sense a growing despair amongst some of us “moms of many.”  This is for all of us…most especially those of you who think you simply can’t do this anymore. It is so easy, as the year winds down, to judge oneself a failure, to give in to self-doubt and discouragement. And while there are many reasons why a family might choose not to continue home educating, there are also many who will consider abandoning homeschooling for all the wrong reasons. I would like to share my story in hopes that no one ever undergoes the same suffering that our family experienced, or at least, offer the advice that I never sought. Please don’t carry this cross alone…

Dear “mom”

I’m a homeschooling mother of 9 and had been home educating for many years when the stress of two back to back pregnancies and bed rest, coupled with near paralysis and postpartum depression, caused me to doubt my ability to effectively parent and educate my children. I began to feel that my physical incapacity and obvious emotional weakness was damaging my children. I told wistfulmyself that I was crazy to continue this way. That they would get along better if they weren’t in each other’s faces day and night. That it would be a relief to not have to keep records or worry about being accountable for my “failure.” In other words…I felt more like a lousy parent than a lousy home educator and feared that my children would judge me harshly one day for the many ways that I was failing at my vocation. I didn’t want the guilt of it all, anymore. So I cried. I begged and pleaded with my husband. I told him I simply couldn’t do it anymore. Never once during this time did any of my friends have a clue just how much I was suffering. I didn’t seek the wisdom and counsel of mothers who had been down this path before. I was far too ashamed. I seemed to really have it all together, on the surface. Goodness, people sought my advice! They looked to me for solutions for their problems…how could I ever let them know how much I was suffering?

So my husband, out of his great love and concern for my physical and emotional well-being, allowed me to return the five children that were homeschooling at that time, back to public school. We lived in a very small town, with an excellent school less than three miles from my house. I packed lunches, loaded backpacks, signed up for PTA and Band Boosters and became a Homeroom Mother. My children joined the dance team, band, academic team, theater, basketball, tennis, track, drum corp and Raptor club. I (along with the younger children) spent my time in the car, chauffering each child to the next event, waiting for the bus and keeping appointments. I had told myself that we would continue faith formation after school…but there was never any time. If the children weren’t in some type of practice, then homework, dinner, bath and bedtime were all we ever had time for.

But those were the little things…the worst of it? The relationship the children had with one another completely disappeared. They became jealous and argumentative. They wanted to hang out with their school friends, not the pesky little brother or sister. And they were sick. Horribly, miserably sick. During our homeschooling days, none of the children had been on an antibiotic for more than 5 years. After entering public education, we were in the emergency room, doctor’s office or urgent care center a minimum of once a week. Three months after entering public school, every single one of them came down with community acquired pneumonia. Then strep. And so on. It was horrific. I watched our family relationships disintegrate, as we were all so very exhausted and sick so much of the time. This went on for eighteen months. During this time, I never once considered that perhaps we would be better off homeschooling. After all, what could I offer them compared to all the great things they were participating in at public school? My heart was broken as I realized that I had thrown away a beautiful thing…that I had sacrificed a temporary stress for permanent suffering. And I would NEVER ask them if they wanted to come back. It would be too painful to be rejected in such a way.

Then one day, as I was lamenting to a friend just how much my children had changed, how my family was not the same, and was also encouraging her in pursuing her goal of homeschooling, she asked me why I didn’t just ask them if they wanted to come home. “Right,” I said. “Like they would. Here, I’ll show you…Hey son…how would you like to come back home for school?” Without hesitation he says: “I could come home? Really? And not go back? Sure!” I sobbed aloud. I said “You don’t mean it! You have basketball and academic team…you would really come back?” He said: “Mom…I’m exhausted. I never have time to play anymore. I’m sick a lot. I want to come home.” A quick survey revealed that all of the children were ready to return home. That no matter the allurement, they wanted to come back to the place where faith, family and love reigned.

One month later, they were back. It has taken a few years to undo the damage. We had to rebuild relationships and trust, but we are all committed to this crazy idea we call home education. It is hard. Some days are harder than others. But we’ve remembered why we’re doing this. We want a strong family of faith. We are raising saints and not scholars. We want our children to love one another and look to the example of those who love them best. When they were away…there was just never enough time, no matter how good our intentions were.

Dearest mother…if there is anyway you can think a little longer on this, I urge you to. Just to be sure that you won’t suffer the way my family did. I offer you no judgment whatsoever, I’ve been where you are. I know how painful it is. I just wish that someone, anyone had offered me counsel…but I just didn’t ask for it. I hope that by sharing my story, you will find within yourself the strength to persevere in the face of seeming impossibility. You can do it. God will give you all the graces you ask Him for.

Please…ask.

An Extraordinary Confirmation…

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This past Sunday on the Feast of Pentecost, three of our children were confirmed in the one, holy, Catholic and apostolic Faith.  We journeyed, as a family and amongst many friends from our parish as well as our parish priest, to St. Josaphat’s Church in Detroit, Michigan.  A traditional Confirmation in the Extraordinary Form, as it had been celebrated throughout many centuries, was offered by his Excellency, Bishop Francis Ronald Reiss.

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His Excellency, Bishop Francis Ronald Reiss

Abigail, Michael, Maximilian, my dear Goddaughter Charis and their many friends, could barely contain their excitement, as they took this next step in completing the work which their Baptisms had begun.  They were born for this…born to know, love and serve God in this world that they may be happy with Him in the next.  And they had prepared for this, the many years of catechesis and sacramental celebrations culminating in the determination to live the Faith as true soldiers for Christ.  Our three young ones marched forward with their sponsors, their older brother Joseph assisting the Bishop, along with our pastor, Fr. Kevin Lutz, each  solemn yet joyful…the pronouncement of their Confirmation names given in Latin:

Sancte Raphael Archangele…

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Michael Gabriel with his sponsor, Michael Connaughten

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“Be sealed with the Holy Spirit..”

Sancte Maximiliane…

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“Be sealed with the Holy Spirit…”

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Maximilian Harrison

Sancta Ioanna de Arc…

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Abigail Elise and her sponsor, Sandra Smith…

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Sancta Ioanna de Arc, ora pro nobis…

Sancta Philomena…

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My lovely Goddaughter, Charis…

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“Be sealed with the Holy Spirit…”

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Sancta Philomena, ora pro nobis…

And so it is done…and now the long task of working out their salvation “in fear in trembling.”  May the Holy Spirit kindle their hearts with the fire of His love…may every good fruit and gift come to them as they live out their Faith!

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Teaching to the test…a home educator’s thoughts

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Last year, I wrote an essay on the problematic nature of “teaching to the test” and the devastating effect this has had on the American education system. As the implementation of the “common core” looms before us, promising educational mediocrity and the end of innovation and creativity, I thought might post my thoughts on this important subject, whose only substantive means of evaluation will be more and more assessment tests. Yet, it doesn’t end there…the government wants to “data mine” all students, and home educators, particularly those who participate in online charter school programs, will not be immune to this invasion. As a home educator, I simply must affirm that education consists of so much more than a leveled field where all effort is expended towards the unexceptional. So…here are my thoughts, such as they are. Ignore the scholarly citations and lack of revision. I received an A on the rough as submitted and in the midst of a busy home educating week, opted to go with it, rather than fine-tune. I wrote this with many of my public school teaching friends in mind as they are pawns in this game, too…

Teaching to the Test: How Assessment Tests Are Failing American Students and Educators

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“Teaching to the test” is an educational mode, born of annual assessment testing requirements, that is of no value whatsoever to students or educators. Through these performance based tests, educators are stripped of their dignity and creativity when forced to adhere to a limited academic scope that fails to demonstrate any real mastery of the subjects at hand. Students receive only cursory information deemed applicable to these assessment tests, consequently resulting in the “dumbing down” of the American educational system and concurrent poor morale among educators.

For decades, the American educational system had been acknowledged as a world leader and innovator in the academic sphere. The traditional mode of educating students through the implementation of core subject proficiency and teacher autonomy produced generations of students well-equipped to compete in college and the work force. Alas, this is no longer the case. In 2010, the United States slipped into mediocrity, falling below the mid-point in an evaluation of 34 countries. As reported by the Associated Press: “Out of 34 countries, the U.S. ranked 14th in reading, 17th in science and 25th in math,” placing this country “far behind the highest scoring countries, including South Korea, Finland and Singapore, Hong Kong and Shanghai in China and Canada” (USA Today). As troubling as these figures are, it is even more telling that among these 34 countries, only 8 have lower graduation rates than the United States. China, at the top of the list and exceeding in all three subjects, has a lower GDP (gross domestic product) than the majority of the countries in the PISA study, which shows that “Low national income does not necessarily signify poor educational performance” (PISA/OECD – 36).

This is in direct opposition to what most American taxpayers have been told: money and assessment testing equals better students. Unfortunately, the facts argue against this as none of the top performing countries spend even half of what the United States spends per student, nor do they exclusively rely upon assessment tests as the means of evaluating students and rewarding or punishing educators and schools. Only Luxembourg spends more, operating similarly to the United States, with equally abysmal student performance and one of the lowest graduation rates in the world (PISA/OECD – 30).

The impact upon students and educators, as the U.S. continues to plummet academically, is not to be underestimated. There are real people and real consequences for this devastating outcome. At the heart of this failure lies a problem, the annual assessment test, which has long been touted as the solution to what ails the American education system. There are nearly as many assessment tests as there are students. Educators utilize CTBS, ITBS, CAT, ACT, and PSAT, just to name a few, each promising to measure competency in a variety of subjects. It seems to make sense on the surface. The purpose of a test is to measure the understanding of a particular subject. Unfortunately, these tests are used not only for the evaluation of student proficiency and understanding, but are now the criteria which determine whether a teacher is successful in the classroom. Dana Goldstein, a Spencer fellow in education journalism at Columbia University, addresses this issue in “Is the U.S. Doing Teacher Reform All Wrong?” The evaluation of student and teacher proficiency is no longer simply in the hands of administrators, for as the article reveals, there are now “new state laws written in response to the Obama administration’s Race to the Top grant program, some of which base up to 51 percent of a teacher’s evaluation on student test-score data” (Goldstein).

A teacher’s job security and determination of success is now tied primarily to the student’s performance on these annual assessment tests. Is it any wonder that many schools and educators, under increased pressure from the Department of Education, are now devoting most of their efforts towards insuring that students are simply proficient or at least receive passing marks on these tests? This phenomenon has had a marked impact upon the way teachers teach, how they view their role as educator, and how they determine success in their career. The temptation to focus on these assessment tests, as a means of job security, is great.

Dawn Shirk, an English teacher in Reidsville, North Carolina, knows the real challenges that face most teachers. Excited over the prospect of a new and realistic form of teacher evaluation in her state, she nonetheless expresses her frustration that assessment tests still form the bulk of success determination:

“I have worked in schools, for example, that taught nothing but reading and math in third grade, because those were the tested areas for that year. No science was included until fifth grade, because that is when students are tested in this subject. The students might pass those tests, but what kind of education are they getting? And what will become of the low-performing schools? No good teachers will want to go there. How does this serve the students?” (Shirk)

Shirk, as an educator, raises quite a few important considerations. “Teaching to the test” is something that she has personally witnessed, and she knows that students and teachers alike ultimately lose in this mode of education.

“Evaluating Teacher Evaluation” by Jesse Rothstein, Associate Professor of Public Policy and Economics at UC-Berkley, also reveals the necessary understanding that administrators and teachers alike must have when evaluating the “luck of the draw” aspect of education. Students come to teachers with many variables: intellect, culture, proclivities and disabilities, excitement or apathy, and so forth. These variables have a tremendous impact upon teacher performance and the ultimate determination of success and failure. Assessment tests are used to determine whether the teacher has “added value” from the prior year’s performance. But, as the article outlines, many teachers reveal “they couldn’t identify a relationship between their instructional practices and their value-added ratings, which appear unpredictable” (Rothstein).

With such arbitrary results, one should ask the obvious questions: How did we get here? When did annual assessments become the gold standard by which a student and teacher’s effectiveness are measured? According to Peter Henry, “The Case against Standardized Testing,” this is a relatively recent development:

“In little more than a decade, the frequency and number of standardized tests has doubled and redoubled in response to public concern about the quality of high school graduates, and thus, the effectiveness of public school” (Henry). The fallout from heavy reliance and now insistence upon these tests has resulted in an “entire gestalt of the “accountability” movement (which) holds that teachers are not to be trusted or believed when it comes to student learning” (Henry).

It seems that the American educational system has lost sight of its original intent which is to produce generation after generation of thinkers, doers and innovators. Instead, students are expected to spit out the right answer to the right question, and educators are simply there to assure that they know how to do both. This is not education as it has been undertaken throughout history. Nor is it education, as it is understood in several of the countries which rank significantly above the United States in academics.

Consider Finland. Forty years ago, Finland implemented a comprehensive education reform program which has now placed the country significantly ahead of most nations, including the United States, Germany and Japan. These reforms are significantly different than those that have been suggested and implemented in the United States. Not by the privatization of education, nor through annual assessment tests, but “by strengthening the education profession and investing in teacher preparation and support” (Aho, Pitkänen, Sahlberg). Educators in Finland do not utilize annual assessment tests, but “make their own assessment tests, not quoting numeric grades, but using descriptive feedback, no longer comparing students with one another” which allows teachers and students to focus on “learning in a fear-free environment, in which creativity and risk-taking are encouraged” and gives them “more real freedom in time planning when they do not need have to focus on annual tests or exams” (Aho, Pitkänen, Sahlberg).

By emphasizing training for teachers and encouraging diverse modes of pedagogical instruction, as well as choosing the “best of the best,” Finland has demonstrated that teacher autonomy and creative freedom is the key to a vibrant and successful academic environment. The proof is revealed in not only Finland’s outstanding performance in mathematics, science and reading, but also in its top ranking in economic competitiveness.

When it comes to “teaching to the test,” student and teacher both lose. Educators simply must be allowed to educate, demonstrating through student grades, outside observation, projects, etc. that students are accomplishing an authentic education. It is working in Finland and it can work here, in the United States. Most educators agree that the ultimate goal of education is to produce a generation of thinkers, students engaged and excited about the subject at hand, able to speak and demonstrate proficiency through means that go beyond “fill in the bubble on this multiple choice test.” If the system fails to give teachers the freedom, encouragement and means to accomplish this end, then it has failed not only students and teachers, but society as well. For as Dorothy L. Sayers so eloquently states in “The Lost Tools of Learning:”

“What use is it to pile task on task and prolong the days of labor, if at the close the chief object is left unattained? It is not the fault of the teachers–they work only too hard already. The combined folly of a civilization that has forgotten its own roots is forcing them to shore up the tottering weight of an educational structure that is built upon sand. They are doing for their pupils the work which the pupils themselves ought to do. For the sole true end of education is simply this: to teach men how to learn for themselves; and whatever instruction fails to do this is effort spent in vain” (Sayers).

Works Cited

Aho, Erkki, Kari Pitkänen, and Pasi Sahlberg. “Policy Development and Reform Principles of Basic and Secondary Education in Finland since 1968.” Worldbank.org. World Bank Group, May 2006. Web. 23 May 2012.

Associated Press. “In Ranking, U.S. Students Trail Global Leaders.” USA Today. Gannett, 7 Dec. 2010. Web. 26 May 2012.

Goldstein, Dana. “Is the U.S. Doing Teacher Reform All Wrong?” WashingtonPost.com. The Washington Post, 31 May 2011. Web. 20 May 2012.

Henry, Peter. “The Case Against Standardized Testing.” MCTE.org. Minnesota English Journal, Fall 2007. Web. 23 May 2012. <http://www.mcte.org/journal/mej07/3Henry.pdf&gt;.

Jesse Rothstein, et al. “Evaluating Teacher Evaluation.” Phi Delta Kappan 93.6 (2012): 8-15. Education Research Complete. Web. 20 May 2012.

Sayers, Dorothy L. “The Lost Tools of Learning.” GBT.org. Escondido Tutorial Services. Web. 23 May 2012.

Shirk, Dawn. “Test Scores Are Only a Snapshot.” The New York Times. The New York Times, 16 Jan. 2012. Web. 20 May 2012.

Strong Performers and Successful Reformers in Education: Lessons from PISA for the United States. Paris: OECD, 2011. Print.

The Beauty of the East…revisited

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It was with great awe that we received the news that the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople Bartholomew I, would be in attendance for the first time since the Great Schism, at the installation of our newly chosen Holy Father, Francis. I wrote this piece last year for an arts and humanities class, reflecting upon my first-time experience attending the Eastern Rite. It is so important to remember the whole Church, all of our Catholic brothers and sisters who embrace the beauty of liturgical tradition and to acknowledge the connection that we share in the Faith of antiquity.

In the twilight darkened sanctuary we hastily found seats, small rugs in hand, armed with missals and a good deal of curiosity and nervous expectation. Four of my children and I had accepted an invitation from a dear family friend to attend a Byzantine Rite Mass at St. John Chrysostom on Cleveland Avenue. It was the Liturgy of the Presanctified Gifts and Holy Chrismation, a sacred rite reserved for the Wednesday of Holy Week, the week before Easter. As western Catholics, we had no real experience or preconceptions regarding the eastern traditions of the Holy Catholic Church, and though open to the experience, were a bit trepiditious as to what should expect. The eastern and western rites are markedly different, as we were about to discover.

The sanctuary, itself, was a marvel to behold. The interior was much lighter than expected, with nearly every surface embellished with icons, startlingly simplistic paintings, beautifully austere, large-eyed and staring from every corner, dome and panel. The iconostasis, a screen that separates the worshippers from the priests, deacons and servers, stood imposingly, adorned with iconographic images, a seeming gate between heaven and earth. The heady aroma of incense filled the air and soon did voices, alternating voices of men and women, chanting verses of the Psalms, interspersed with many “Lord have mercies” and “Alleluias.” We knelt upon the small rugs placed on the stone floor, watching as the faithful knelt, and then bowed in prostration, foreheads upon the floor in a gesture of humility and repentance. The priests and servers, bowing and genuflecting, draped in rich brocade and moving amidst the swirls of wafting incense, offered prayers for the faithful, all coordinating in a graceful dance whose ebb and flow transcended time and understanding. Young men in long robes carried ornate fans, fans which wafted the incense throughout the sanctuary. Every single word was sung, voices rising and falling in unison, a beautiful and ethereal harmony that touched the soul.

Each parishioner moved forward, following the liturgy, to receive a personal anointing from the priest. Speaking the recipient’s name aloud, the priest proceeded to anoint with the richly scented oil, the feet, hands, ears, eyes and mouth of each person. Returning to the pews, many individuals were in various postures of adoration and worship…some were kneeling, some bowing, some standing, others seated and a few prostrated upon the stone floor. Holy Communion was distributed with a long handled golden spoon which carried the wine-soaked Host, the precious Body and Blood to the waiting recipient. Every movement was imbued with solemnity and deliberation, with reverence and holiness.

Throughout the service, I found myself nearly lost in all the sensory experiences. The entire service was a feast for the eyes, nose, ears, heart and soul. It was rather like a work of art, with each part of the Mass woven into a seamless, flawless “whole” of such beauty, yet still possessing such simplicity and relevance. The children, too, were over-awed by this trip through time, a time and rite established in ancient Greece and created to immerse the soul into the mystery and beauty of the Eternal. It still retains all the beauty, tradition and timeless grace that connects the worshipper to the historical roots of early eastern Catholic Christianity.

Bright

Unexpected.

The sound of rushing water at 5:00 a.m. coming from a darkened bathroom, sounding very much as though someone was in the shower.

Alas, it was a broken pipe, insufficiently tightened after the installation of a new faucet, and a minimum of four hours of spraying, soaking, drenching water, spilling into the cabinets, spraying into the drawers and ruining nearly everything it touched.

On Easter morning, no less. Yet, it was only water and a few towels and some elbow grease later, the mess was dried up and those things destroyed will be replaced or…not. I really didn’t need three hair straighteners.

So, up and at ‘em, early yesterday and out the door in plenty of time for the boys to serve the Mass. But not for one moment did I think we’d arrive early enough for confession.

You see…prior to the 9:00 a.m. Mass, Father offers Confession, and the lines are always a mile long by 8:30 a.m. I walked into the sanctuary and noticed that the confessional light was on, but the line was empty! And I needed grace, after a grumpy weekend of too many chores and not enough family time…too much shopping for a couple home improvement projects and very little prayer; a poor way to finish up the Lenten season. And, of course, the usual weight of sin…petty and not so petty. I waited for the current penitent to exit the box, joined by four of my six children, who were only too happy to wait their turn for the sacrament, behind mom.

When a heart is emptied of all those petty things, those little unkindnesses and reproaches, there’s all this room for grace. God knows it…knows that we must be regularly emptied that He might fills us with the good things that come to a heart unburdened. Father, full of wisdom and good council, advocates for joy…and suggests that I become “bright,” much as ancient Catholics observed the renewal and “brightness” that comes from the living of the Resurrection of Christ. The Eastern Church calls the week following Easter, Bright Week.  My heart thrilled…actually leapt at the thought of intentional, conscious joy…every decision infused with the gladness of Easter, every moment as bright as I can make it by choosing the better part, one little step at a time.

I felt brighter. Lighter.

Joyful.

And just in time, for darkness hit quickly, with two troubling phone calls, one last night and one today; two crises of enormity impacting the lives of two women I greatly love.  Brightness?  It seems more than necessary right now, lest darkness obscure my ability to see at all.  God always seems to know when we need light the most…sometimes, we must work to generate the very light we need, yet He is the provider of the grace that provides true illumination.

I love Easter…love this feast of hope and renewal…praising God that I may share this joy with the ones I love best:

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I’m so glad it’s Easter…and that Easter is a season. I shall be bright…I shall share joy.  I shall endeavour to trust God in these things that seem so dark, looking to the Light that will make it all clear…in time.

Blessings,

Easter Cleaning…because we should!

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This is a repost…from years past and dusted off, ahem, so to speak, for the coming season.

Why should we engage in Easter Cleaning?  Here are a couple reasons that appeal to me:

Deep cleaning is cathartic…penitential, even.  And nothing says “welcome and rest” like a well-ordered, tidy space, when chaos and disorder have crept into the nooks and crannies after weeks of woeful, worrisome winter.

And if this isn’t the best reason to start spring cleaning a bit early, then I don’t know what is…
From the Handbook of Christian Feasts and Customs by Francis X. Weiser, S.J. (1958)

EASTER CLEANING — According to an ancient tradition, the three days after Palm Sunday are devoted in many countries to a thorough cleaning of the house, the most vigorous of the whole year. Carpets, couches, armchairs, and mattresses are carried into the open and every speck of dust beaten out of them. Women scrub and wax floors and furniture, change curtains, wash windows; the home is buzzing with activity. No time is wasted on the usual kitchen work; the meals are very casual and light. On Wednesday night everything has to be back in place, glossy and shining, ready for the great feast. In Poland and other Slavic countries people also decorate their homes with green plants and artificial flowers made of colored paper carrying out ancient designs.

This traditional spring cleaning is, of course, to make the home as neat as possible for the greatest holidays of the year, a custom taken over from the ancient Jewish practice of a ritual cleansing and sweeping of the whole house as prescribed in preparation for the Feast of Passover.

Moms, dads, kids…grab the mops and brooms! Time to ready our households for a Very Important Guest…

Need some help getting started? Try this for inspirationand this for information!   And there’s always the 10 minute tidy…it really helps in a pinch!

Ozzie

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What’s all that white stuff?

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Nothing that need trouble this kitty…

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My kitty friend is healthy and happy…a rescue retrieved from certain death when his mother abandoned him last year…a young cat that nearly died from a terrible infection and you prayed…and a beloved pet who entertains us with his antics.

He has such a melancholy expression, doesn’t he?

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What a good God we have to grant us the companionship of His animals!

Blessings,

White not green…

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Ah, Spring…the earth begins to warm, things new and green peek from hard, brown earth…promises and hope in the rise and set of the sun.

And then there’s this:

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White…not green!

The unexpected in March, at least this late in March for this midwestern family! Still lovely, though…fresh and clean…soft and nearly welcoming as snow can be.

I foresee a snow day. A “let’s play ’cause it will soon be gone” day. I see the promise of green to come, beneath all this wondrous white…

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Blessings,

A glimpse of green…

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We’ve been through trying times…times of sickness, surgery and worry…and yet, these times have brought us closer together in faith…given us hope…and shown us the beauty of true Christian charity.

I’ve been absent once again, dear friends. Living day by day, struggling to get to the next place and praising God for all the little graces in between. February is always such a brutal month in the life of this home educating mom. The gray sky, frigid temperatures and harsh winds seem to go on interminably and the shortest of months seems always the longest.

And then, without warning, it’s March. We hope anew. We watch and wonder, awed by the renewal and rejoice with friends, this month of Feasts…

I leave you with many pictures and few words until I can find more. A glimpse of green from the little bit of Ireland we tried to conjure as Spring approaches. Blessings to you…and prayers, too!

The Christmas Cactus that missed the date...

The Christmas Cactus that missed the date…

A pretty shamrock bun

A pretty shamrock bun

A shamrock ponytail for my little colleen...

A shamrock ponytail for my little colleen…

The lovely Maura, in her Irish-green kitchen...

The lovely Maura, in her Irish-green kitchen…

Saints Patrick and Joseph preside over the Feast...

Saints Patrick and Joseph preside over the Feast…

Happy Irish baby...

Happy Irish baby…

Leprechauns beware...this cake's for you!

Leprechauns beware…this cake’s for you!

Key Lime cupcakes!

Key Lime cupcakes!

The beautiful Theresa...baker extraordinaire!

The beautiful Theresa…baker extraordinaire!

Friends of the heart...

Friends of the heart…

Reading in me best Ireesh accent...

Reading in me best Ireesh accent…

Such a lovely lassie...

Such a lovely lassie…

Banger Puffs and Miniature Shepherd's Pie...mmmm...

Banger Puffs and Miniature Shepherd’s Pie…mmmm…

A not-so-traditional Irish Soda Bread...couldn't resist the currants!

A not-so-traditional Irish Soda Bread…couldn’t resist the currants!

Laughter is the best medicine...

Laughter is the best medicine…

What's St. Patrick's Day without Corned Beef, Cabbage and Potatoes?!

What’s St. Patrick’s Day without Corned Beef, Cabbage and Potatoes?!

Hungry guys...

Hungry guys…

Adorable...a rainbow baked in the middle!

Adorable…a rainbow baked in the middle!

Craft time with friends is "fun time!"

Craft time with friends is “fun time!”

Kiss Me, I'm Irish!

Kiss Me, I’m Irish!

Nifty Trinity magnet craft...

Nifty Trinity magnet craft…

Love these girlies...

Love these girlies…

Creative lassies...

Creative lassies…

I hope to see you in this space a bit more often…after months without a camera, I’m happy to be capturing our joys again!

Blessings,

Sheen-tastic!

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Wow…I’m truly humbled.  For the past several months, with all the harried-worried-scattered and battered days we’ve had, I had pretty much ignored this space.  So I was quite surprised that anyone, even a dear friend, would consider my little blog worthy of any kind of award, least of all one tied to one of my all-time favorite saints, the Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen.

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Now…I’m certainly not a recipient just yet…there’s still this whole voting thing, and I humbly submit to you a list of candidates who are far more worthy than I in the category of of Smartest Blog.  Check out the list at A Knotted Life, where the amazing Bonnie has assembled quite a selection of nominees and categories!  And vote…sure, I’d truly appreciate a vote, but I promise you there are lot of amazing bloggers in the running, and a few blogs I was unfamiliar with and am happy to have happened upon.  Thanks to my dear friend, Ana Maria, for her sweet endorsement!

Shattered Innocence

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An article I wrote in 2008 for Catholic Exchange. Happily, all the negative comments associated with its original publication have been removed, since it was allocated a new link…

I was nine years old when the beauty and innocence of my childhood faded…

I had been outside, riding my bike, when I ran in to get a drink of water. My mother, who had been reading the local newspaper, was quietly weeping.

I asked her why she was crying. I looked over her shoulder to see what she had been reading and saw a picture of the sweetest little boy. He had the face and smile of a cherub, a head full of dark curls, and very large, brown eyes. I asked who he was. I don’t remember his name, but I’ll never forget his beautiful face. As I gazed into those eyes, my mother told me his parents had beaten him to death.

He was four years old.

Perhaps my mom shouldn’t have told me; raw with emotion and lost in her own pain, she had blurted the words without thinking. I wept for another child for the first time in my life. This little boy would never ride a bike or run in the park. It was incomprehensible to my young mind. Almost immediately, my lighthearted nature and joy evaporated. A true depression, a sadness that I couldn’t articulate for many months, enveloped me. I lost interest in day to day pleasures. I quit playing outside. Fear and anxiety dwelt closely in my heart. My world was no longer safe.

It took several months before I could pull myself out of that depression. Nine years old and no one really knew just how disturbed, how profoundly changed I was by the death of a child I had never known. I kept my secret for many years and only recently shared it with my mother as we were discussing the importance of maintaining purity and innocence in the life of a child…

Innocence.

A state of blessed “unknowingness” that is markedly different from ignorance. So many of our children are increasingly subjected to sights, sounds, and situations which may mar or altogether destroy their innocence. Most Catholic parents are vigilant keepers at the gates of the family castle, seeking to provide a refuge against the irreligiosity of the world and its seductive whispers. We set up filters on computers, block-out television channels or eliminate commercial programming completely, screen videos and literature, and make every effort to know as much as possible about our childrens’ friends. Additionally, some of us have chosen “the road less traveled”: educating our children at home to shelter them from the storm of secularism and accepting the monumental responsibility that is inherent in being the primary role model of the seven cardinal virtues.

And yet…we can still be bombarded from the most unlikely sources.

As a vehemently pro-life Catholic, I’m well aware of the challenges that exist in spreading the truth about the horrors of abortion and the industry of death. I’m proud of the men and women who have put their very freedom on the line to protect our littlest brothers and sisters. These gentle souls, by their prayers and sacrifices, and their peaceful protests continue to send a message that is counter to the hatred that is so rampant amongst the pro-death camp. Prayer is, and always will be, the most effective way to counter evil in this world.

Alas, there are those within our movement who have begun to despair, and in that despair have sought to win souls and save lives through “shock and awe.” Graphic depictions of aborted and mutilated children are paraded on banners, emblazoned on trucks and carried on placards. These are real babies, little boys and girls horribly mangled and nearly unrecognizable. How heinous and frightening the reality of abortion! Is it any wonder that not a few young women have changed their minds after viewing these images? Fr. Frank Pavone of Priests For Life shares the following observation:
“There is no single thing that I have seen more powerful to change people on abortion than simply showing them the pictures… When people see what abortion does to a baby, they are stung to the heart and their consciences are awakened.” Should not our reaction always be one of fright, disgust and extreme heart-wrenching sorrow? When working against the hardened hearts of adults who have hidden themselves from the reality of the violence of abortion, it would seem that these tactics are particularly effective.

But what if you were six years old…what would you think? Could your parents explain it away in a nice, tidy manner that would make it okay to display this dead child’s body? Can a death so horrible, delivered by the hands of those who should love, protect and nurture this life be explained that easily to one so young? Would you be surprised if this young child consequently had nightmares after seeing these images; contemplating and hearing the horrible reality? Would it be surprising if eventually, after years of viewing these images, the child ceased to weep or feel revulsion, having become desensitized after having seen them so often?

I’m simply not satisfied with the answer that seems to imply that “the end Virgen_de_guadalupe1justifies the means” when it comes to exposing young children to images of such extreme and graphic violence. Our young and innocent ones should never be asked to bear this adult burden of knowledge. Somehow, I can’t imagine our Lady carrying one of these banners…I imagine Her banner would hold the body of another Innocent Victim. One that doesn’t scandalize the innocence of childhood, but convicts the heart of the sinner with a message of everlasting peace, love and redemption.

As a nine year old, I gazed upon a lovely photo of a child who had been murdered. Not his beaten and bruised body. A beautiful photo of a living child. And I’m haunted by the image and the knowledge of the death of that very small boy.

I believe these images are necessary and can be a powerful tool when placed in the right hands, and used properly. But their efficacy is certainly far below that of prayerful and peaceful protest. As we are trying to to change the hearts of adults, these images should never be used in the presence of young children. No adult, no matter how well-intentioned in this very important fight has the right to scandalize the innocence of another parent’s children. We mustn’t make the fatal mistake of discounting the sensitivity of our little ones just because we understand, because the stakes are so high and because we’ve begun to believe that only by extreme action will we accomplish our goals.

Have we really entered a place where we believe that the bloody image of an aborted child has more power to convert than the image of our Lord crucified? What of the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe? Did not our Lady appear in radiant splendor, beauty Her banner, to counter the horrors of human sacrifice?

Evil is rampant in our world. We would never take our children into the “dens of iniquity” to show them that evil exists. It is scandalous to expose young children to a graphic depiction of any despicable, sinful or perverse act… we must preserve and protect their innocence with the same vigilance that we have for the babies being lost to abortion.

Last week, the children and I participated in a peaceful protest outside an abortion clinic, taking our turn as prayerful witnesses for the sanctity of life. No sign holding, no passing out literature. Just prayer. Remembering this: “Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words” – St. Francis of Assisi.

I am a Catholic parent…

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The Holy Family...the model of perfection

The Holy Family…the model of perfection

Catholic parenting…how on earth does one do it, let alone define it?

In a perfect world one might say it’s “the loving and successful completion of child-rearing and instruction, put forth by two parents, to perfect one’s child in the areas of faith and morals as defined by the Catechism and Sacred Traditions of the Catholic Church.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t a perfect world, and at last check, there are no perfect parents or children residing upon it. Flawed humanity, with all its sins and vices, is raising the next generation, and that includes the next Catholic generation. Yet, in this country and others, amidst great challenges and persecutions, many Catholic parents are striving to impart a sense of the sacred, awake to the great beauty, majesty and richness of our Holy Faith and its spiritual and cultural significance.

Tertullian once said “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church,” thus giving rise to the notion that the Faith flourishes under seemingly impossible conditions. Today’s parents might be tempted to challenge that assertion, firm in the conviction that this crazy world and the people who live in it, put every possible obstacle in the way of the solemn charge to raise a holy people for the Kingdom of Heaven. It would seem that knowledge and desire, quite simply, aren’t enough.

Fear not! This task is not as formidable as it seems, for at the heart of it, is this promise from Sacred Scripture:

“Train up a child in the way he should go, And even when he is old he will not depart from it.”
Proverbs 22:6

“…And even when he is old he will not depart from it.” The key word here is, of course, “old.” And old can seem so very far away at the beginning of this Catholic parenting journey. The “way” is often obscured by the noise and distractions of this mad world, which pushes and shoves its way into home and heart. How does one do this? Is it even possible?

Perhaps you’re looking at that sweet baby, nestled in your arms, wondering how you will ever show him the “way he should go,” particularly when the “way” seems so treacherous and fraught with every danger. Would it comfort you to know that parents have been doing this since time out of mind? That our own dear Savior, as an infant, had to flee the murderous wrath of a king and that His Mother and Father faced poverty, persecution and uncertainty with courage and resolve?

Perhaps you’re surrounded by the needs of many little ones, overwhelmed with exhaustion as the work of parenting seems to stretch onward to infinity. Would it benefit you to remember that the most beautiful images of our Blessed Mother show Him in her arms, pressed closed to her breast, a reminder that this busy time is yet a time of sweet joys, too?

Perhaps you’re reflecting upon the rebellious teenager asleep upstairs; the one who stayed up far too late playing video games and who is alternately sullen and good-humored, depending upon his mood and yours. Would it comfort you to imagine that our dear Lady understands? That her precious Son was often misunderstood and even in the eyes of His parents at least once engaged in behavior they found perplexing, as He was “about His Father’s business?”

Perhaps you’re worried about your adult child, the one that quit attending Mass some time ago…the one whose life seems a scandal and a trial in the eyes of the world. You wonder how you managed to give so very little of your faith to this wayward one and lament that you’ve failed in your duties as a Catholic parent. Would it help to reflect upon the twelve Apostles, who ate, slept and worked in the presence of the Messiah and yet, following the Crucifixion, engaged in behavior that was anything but faithful? Frightened by the sights, sounds and emotions of their salvation being accomplished, they fled in fear…

Perhaps you feel you never really imparted the “way” at all; that your own faith has been such an ongoing work that you believe you’ve missed your only opportunity to give this gift only recently opened or perhaps simply re-examined. Would it avail you to remember that God rewards the laborer, not so much for the time worked as for the intention behind the effort?

It can seem such daunting work, this Catholic parenting “thing,” and I’ve walked every single one of the paths described above. I am mother of nine children with more than 30 years in the field; I’ve paced the floor with the wee ones, overawed by the beauty of new life and the sweet burden of nurturing it. I’ve been through the exhaustion of those early days when children come much faster than the income to feed and provide for them all. I’ve lamented the distant teenager, walking the delicate balance between strength and compassion, failing at times to provide either. I’ve wept in sorrow for the adult child whom, though home educated, catechized and confirmed, still struggles with issues of faith. And I’ve begged God’s forgiveness for the first decade of my parenting years…years of pseudo-faith; years when being a “good person” seemed enough to identify myself as a Christian mother.

There have been so many starts and stops along the way, as I embrace my role as a Catholic parent. I’ve learned the best judges of hypocrisy are one’s children – they know, as no others, whether mom truly lives and believes what she teaches. I’ve had to humbly submit to the scrutiny of a growing band of Inquisitors, living with the daily realization that it is whom and not what is in the home that truly makes it a domestic Church.

As a Catholic parent, I’ve learned I simply must impart more than just a “view from the pew” version of my faith. When I live my faith out loud, in my everyday choices, and embrace a view of life that is not only faithful, but faith-filled, I demonstrate so much more than my words will ever convey. Faith becomes real and virtue is magnified, because the hard choices are the ones in opposition to those that often seem the least demanding.

The hardest choice that I’ve ever made as a parent is to embrace the imperfections of my children and myself; to live with the realization that from all eternity God had chosen me to mother these particular children. I have to continually acknowledge my weakness so that He can be strong. I made a solemn vow, long ago, admitting my imperfection and inadequacies, but I promised that if He would just continue to point out the flaws within my children and me, I would faithfully work on those areas. I asked Him to remove my parental blind spot and to expose the spiritual, moral and physical dangers that I might overlook. I vowed that I would never shrink from my duties to address those areas, despite my fear, sorrow or embarrassment. He has always answered that prayer, and though I’ve not always been as faithful as I’d like to be, I’ve truly tried to hold up my end of the deal, persevering in the midst of sin and suffering, sure that each challenge and crisis has already been envisioned by He, who knows my strengths and weaknesses. He continues to prove Himself as faithful, as the perfect parent ever watchful over His child, always mindful of the end and the means.

It’s so easy to allow oneself to become weighed down with the awesome task of guarding the body and soul of one’s children. There is so much anxiety, when I contemplate the transitory and passing, I often miss the glorious moments and memories in the here and now. As I contemplate my 30 year journey as a Catholic parent, I don’t find myself wishing I had washed more dishes or folded more laundry; I lament the times I didn’t stop in the midst of the mundane to observe and participate in the wonder and beauty of life unfolding around me. I regret that brief period when I so narrowly defined my role that I nearly became a spectator, lost in the myriad activities and ideas that seem to reinforce what the world perceives to be “good enough” parenting.

“Good enough” parenting never really is. Catholic parenting, on the other hand, always strives to be. We may fall short a thousand times, but with the grace of Faith and the gift of the Sacraments, the remedy to all our failings is as close as one’s parish Church and as simple as the prayers uttered in faith and trust.

Blessings,

A merry band of carolers…

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Who can outgive God?  Who among us can give gifts better than He, who gave the gift of salvation to us all, through the “fiat” of a humble Virgin, the cries of a wee babe, and the anguished suffering of a Son, well loved and sacrificed that we might live?

This Christmas, in the midst of fear and pain, our Lord gave…and gave…and gave…using the hands and hearts of friends and family, weaving a mantle of love that surrounded us so securely, so gently and lovingly, that we wondered at His generosity.  All things were attended to…the care of our children…the food on our table and in our cabinets and freezer…prayers and Masses…financial assistance and gifts…sweet, precious and personal gifts to each and everyone of us…but none so precious as the hearts of those who gave.

Yet, in the midst of this flood of Christian charity and friendship, the ultimate gift and sign of His blessing and benediction came in the simplest form:

Song.

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carolers2A merry band of carolers, on a snowy eve at sunset, came to us.  They sang of”Silent Night” and “Adeste Fidelis.”

carolers3Of “little towns” and mangers…of hope.

carolers4Of joy…

carolers5…and love.

carolers6We stood, tearfully, joyfully, bathed in the gift of song, awed and humbled at these tidings of great joy…

momdadcarolersHe will never be outdone in generosity…but it is His simplest and most beautiful gifts that are often overlooked.  It is the beauty of seeming ordinariness, exquisite in its simplicity, as the hands and hearts of His people come together to sing His praises…

You changed my sorrow into dancing,
You took away my clothes of sadness
and clothed me in happiness.
I will sing to You and not be silent.
Lord, my God, I will praise you forever.
Psalm 30:11-12

Blessings,

The cross before the Crib…

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There’s a thin red line that tells a tale of a heart broken, now mended…of the God-given skill of a surgeon’s hands…of a long wait of nearly overwhelming proportion…of a second chance at life and health and family and friends grateful.

manger-crossThis Advent, we praise God for this cross…the cross that came before the Crib…the cross that gave Roger a heart that beats love of God and family…a cross that revealed the goodness and mercy of our Father as He attends to every suffering, every need.

Christmas came early to our home.  The gift of life, ever precious and ever new, is a gift we unwrapped eagerly…gratefully and joyfully…thankful to the Giver who is even greater than the gift.

Blessings,

Hearts and roses…

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A few days ago, hubby and I took a little drive down the path to the woods.  One of the outdoor cats was missing and we were sure we’d find him hiding out in the beautiful park-like setting of our little private slice of paradise…

We walked…winding our way past downed limbs, hubby searching and calling for Tibby; I, pausing to snap photos of bare-branched trees, sunset and mushrooms…reaching out to find his strong hand, leaning upon him for assistance and enjoying the peace and intimacy of a winter’s eve walk…

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Contrast that lovely evening, with this:  Me, holding his hand, pierced and laden with plastic tubes, listening to the beep and hum of hospital equipment and the ominous words and tests that made up the balance of the Feast of the Immaculate Conception that ended with a diagnosis:  mild heart attack.

How can I begin to convey the heartrending moment when, as I was preparing a treat after Saturday morning’s Mass for a party we would attend that evening, my husband grabbed my arm and said, in deadly earnest:  “Please stop what your doing and take me to the hospital.  Now.”

There was no question, no quick “googling” of symptoms, no consultation.  The look on his face was such that I dropped an entire bag of pecans and the rolling pin into the utensil drawer, grabbed my coat, and mumbled a hurried/worried “I’ll be back in a little bit…” to my confused children.

No thoughts, just action.  Roger, mostly silent, sat in the passenger seat, a place he’s only sat but rarely in 31 years of marriage.  I sped, and was admonished to slow down more than once, towards the hospital, anxious and needy…praying an endless string of “Hail Marys” and “dear God help hims” all the way.  I could see his discomfort and tried to hide my own fears, asking all the while, “are you okay? What are you feeling now?”

We entered the hospital and in less than a minute I uttered those words that no wife ever wants nor should ever have to say:   “I think my husband is having a heart attack…”

And so he was.  But he had been so wise…listening to his body, gauging every nuance of the odd feelings he had felt at home following Mass and brunch.  He had been prompted by the admonition of another dear friend whose own wife had begged us to never, ever wait should either of us experience any of the symptoms her sweet husband underwent only two short months ago, having suffered for days before finally experiencing a nearly fatal massive heart attack.  Roger remembered Gary…and knew he had to seek help immediately.  Upon entering the hospital, his arm, jaw and chest pain intensified.  His original blood work and EKGs were relatively normal…it was only after arriving that the real crisis began.  Five separate “events,” each lasting just a few minutes, and increasing in intensity, set in motion a flurry of activity from medical staff.  Ultrasounds and chest xrays and admittance to the Cardiac Care Unit.  Medicated, he settled down and awaited a visit from our priest.  It seemed he’d dodged a full blown heart attack…

Father came…entertained and blessed, leaving a wake of peace as he exited the hospital with our oldest son.  We both settled down for the night…I, on the hard bench beside his bed…he, medicated and hooked up to a portable EKG.  Twenty minutes later, like breakers crashing upon the beach, the first “wave” arrived.  One agonizing, painful, crushing attack after another, until the tidal wave struck…a full-blown heart attack.  I watched him, our eyes locked…his, filled with agony and fear, mine frightened too…I couldn’t help him, only pray, pray, pray.  A team of nurses worked feverishly to get the IV drip to administer a rapid dose of nitro to stop the attack…it seemed it would never end.  As horrific as this experience was, the blessing of being in the hospital, surrounded by the best cardiac team imaginable, was and still is “as good as it gets…”

And then the bad news:  following his heart catheterization, we learned that Roger has extensive blockage and will require a quadruple bypass surgery on Thursday, the Feast of St. Lucy.  We beg your prayers and know that “God is in His Heaven and all is right with the world.”  He has so beautifully ordered every aspect of this crisis…the support that we’ve received from friends, family…all of Roger’s KMI coworkers is astounding.

Roger’s hospital room remains a place of joyful visits and a few private, tearful moments as we contemplate the work ahead.  To quote my precious husband:  “They’re going to crack open my chest…and take out my heart…”

And fix it.  Fix what is broken and make it whole, as God means for it to be.

There was a brief moment after hearing the news, that I begged God for mercy…for comfort…for some sense that this is right, that we’re where we need to be…that it will all be okay.

Tearfully looking out the window, I heard a small noise and saw a very tiny, lovely Vietnamese woman enter the room.  She smiled and said:  “I cleaned your room…you like?”

“Oh yes,”  I said, wiping a tear, “you did a lovely job.”

“I clean the windows for you?”  she smiled, approaching with a rag, and looked at my husband, sleeping off the sedation from his latest procedure.

“No…thank you…these fingerprints are from the children…I don’t mind seeing them…”  the words trailed as I thought about telling the children what was about to transpire.

She looked at Roger again…”He be alright.  You see.  He be out of here soon!”  She smiled the loveliest and truest smile…

Sadly and gravely I replied, “He’s having open heart surgery on Thursday…”

She left the room…and quickly returned, holding a long-stemmed wooden rose, that filled the room with perfume.  “This for you…not him.  He be alright…you look at this rose.  You be alright.  This for you…”

A rose.  Had it dropped from the sky, I couldn’t have possibly been less shocked, surprised and delighted by the confirmation.  She quickly twisted its stem into the shape of a heart…a heart that looks a lot like a human heart…and placed it on the table.

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She came back yesterday, with a hug and another rose…this time, placing one in the hands of my daughters, as well.  Yesterday evening I placed that second rose in the hands of my dear friend, Sandra…who has so lovingly and beautifully cared for my children (and her five!) for the past few days…she, too, is a gift straight from Heaven…

Hearts and roses two weeks before Christmas…another unexpected gift from the Lord, He who knows exactly what we need at every moment…

If you can spare a prayer tomorrow, we would be so very grateful…it’s going to be a long day…and a long road to recovery.  May God bless and reward you for your kindness.

“A sound heart is life to the body…”  Proverbs 14:30

The eve of the feast…

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The turkey has been happily brining away all day, floating in the midst of allspice, peppercorns and ginger…waiting to be stuffed and slow roasted…all.  night.  long.

I truly enjoy this part of Thanksgiving.  The menu is made, the pantry and fridge stocked and the assembly begins the eve of the feast…bits and pieces that come together to make the memories that make a celebration…memories that replay every year, not much changed, but full of significance and the constancy that makes family tradition…

It’s waking to the scent of slow roasted turkey and stuffing (snitching a savory forkful, just to make sure it’s “okay”)…nibbling the little bits of fallen crust from the pumpkin and chocolate chess pies (waste not, want not)…laying the table for dinner amidst the soft glint of stainless and candlelight…

It’s the hustle-bustle of the dinner bell and the solemn hush of true thanksgiving, given in prayer to the Author of Life who gives the feast and pours His grace upon all assembled…

It’s the slow-lingering over gravy and casseroles…too much pie and plenty of coffee…conversation and laughter as we think and speak our blessings…

It’s the snoozy-drowsiness of the well-filled and satisfied…

It’s the remembering that many aren’t so well-filled…that the simplest pleasures, graces and blessings should never, ever be taken for granted…

It’s the memory of the importance of the family table…the many times we break bread together, give thanks and make those memories…one bite at a time…

Happy eve of the feast, dear friends…may you revel in the midst of family and friends…peace, joy and blessings to all!

Prayers? Thanks…

Certainly, there is nothing too small to present before the Throne of God…and while these two events are troubling, we praise Him for His goodness when it could be so much worse…

Last night, my son Michael was playing outside and suffered a fall…landing face-first upon a piece of rusted tin roof that had blown off one of the storage buildings.  He suffered a severe laceration on his nose and only narrowly avoided plastic surgery, but has six stitches and a tetanus shot just for good measure.  A large abrasion across his left cheek shows just how very lucky he is…the cut could have split the entire left side of his face, rather than just his nose…a happy occurrence to say the least.  We’re praying for healing and limited scarring…the doctor on call assured him he will make a very handsome priest, despite any scarring…sweet of him to acknowledge Michael in that way, as my good young man shared this very intense and personal call.

On a sadder note, our sweet kitty, Ozzie, is quite ill…we are on our way to an emergency visit with the vet.  And here is a caveat:  do not purchase Giant Eagle’s Paws Premium Indoor Cat Food (dry).  We fed three little abandoned kittens that we are fostering, as well as our two indoor cats and one outdoor cat.  Five of the six became horribly ill, but none so ill as Ozzie.  We will be paying a visit to Giant Eagle, writing their corporate office and are taking a sample to the vet’s office for testing.  We are praying he survives this and beg the intercession of St. Francis, and you, our dear friends…

Heavenly Father, please help us in our time of need. You have made us stewards of [Ozzie]. If it is Your will, please restore him/her to health and strength. I pray, too, for other animals in need. May they be treated with the care and respect deserving of all Your creation. Blessed are You, Lord God, and holy is Your name for ever and ever. Amen.  

UPDATE:  Wow…that’s about all I can say…WOW!  Ozzie’s visit to the vet revealed incredibly elevated white cells and a need for IV fluids and a slew of medications…he was truly, critically ill…things happening that I just won’t describe here…the vet could give us no real guarantees.  There was an actual moment of crisis last night…I held him in my arms and truly begged God for his healing and restoration of health.  Within an hour, he bounded from my arms and was racing about the room, finally curling up on my husband’s lap to sleep.  This morning he is completely well…eating, drinking and playing.  Thank you for your prayers!

My big guy Michael looks quite well, too…the swelling is diminishing and the sutures look neat and clean…I feel he’ll have little scarring, just a very scary memory…God be praised!

What a great way to approach Thanksgiving…

Blessings,

What life looks like right now…

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Hi there…remember me?  I used to blog here…but then life crept in along the edges and everywhere in between and my writing fell by the wayside.  I found myself posting little snippets, here and there on Facebook, but just couldn’t manage to do much more than that.  I’ve since severed my ties with that particular form of social media…perhaps permanently…we’ll see.  I’ve received so many precious and supportive emails asking me to return to this space and I realize I truly, truly miss my little journal of sorts.  I’ve missed visiting my other blogging friends, and even the way I ordered my day to allow for writing and reading.  I’m working on finding order and perspective…keeping that delicate balance between what I’d like to do and what must be done…bathing the whole thing in prayer and a real desire to live joyfully in the now…

So here’s what life looks like right now.  Chickens and kittens.  Children and chores.  Fun, family and focus on home. Working out our salvation in fear and trembling…

and joy.

God bless you, dear friends.  I hope to see you here a lot more in the future!

Blessings,

We are pro-life…

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Just seventeen…

Cheerleader, gymnast and aspiring writer. Contestant in an upcoming national teen beauty pageant. Honor student, blue ribbon artist and art director for the school yearbook. Scholarship applicant to a prestigious women’s college. Nursing home volunteer and much-loved only daughter…

Pregnant.

As she looked in the full-length mirror, she tried to imagine how this would all play out. Her parents would be furious, disappointed…would they even want her anymore? Her friends, incredulous…her reputation had been above reproach, now she was the ultimate hypocrite. How could she even do this? She looked at her thin, small frame and tried to imagine how she would be able to conceal a pregnancy, or at least wondered how long she could.

And so she did. For four months she said nothing to no one. Her boyfriend had begun to suspect, and questioned her continually, swearing that he would stand by her…that he truly loved her and would love their child. She just couldn’t process the information…his love wasn’t enough to penetrate the dark fog that had begun to gather around her.

She contemplated abortion. She knew other girls who had done it. Was it really all that bad? Just a quick trip to the local clinic and good as new. Yet, somehow, in the depths of her heart she knew there would never be a “good as new” with such a decision. She knew there was a tiny life growing within her and she must protect it. So she waited as long as she possibly could before she told.

The reactions were as expected. Her boyfriend was supportive and insisted that they marry as soon as possible. Her parents were devastated and prophesied the end of all her hopes and dreams. Her friends laughed and said “right…good joke…you, pregnant? I don’t believe it…” Her tearful insistence soon demonstrated just how serious the situation was. In her small high school, teachers with hurtful/helpful suggestions visited her daily. She was mortified. Her head was filled with a chorus of “abort it!” “give it up!” “keep it!” She knew this nameless “it” was her child, yet she felt like such a child herself…

Her mother, who had always been so very proud of her good girl, was in total crisis. She left home for a week to visit her own mother, looking for solace during the emotional storm that was raging within the household. When she returned, she asked her daughter if she wanted an abortion. The poor, beleaguered child said, “no…I can’t…please don’t make me.” Her mother, weeping as though her heart would break said “I just don’t know what to do…but I won’t make you if you don’t want it. Years ago, I was forced into a decision like this, told that it was medically necessary to terminate my pregnancy. You were twelve…you never knew and I’ve never gotten over it. We’ll figure this out…” This sad teenager looked into her mother’s sorrowful eyes, heartbroken at having never known the burden and loss that she had carried for so many years for the child that had been taken  and mourned ever since. Now there was another child, unborn and waiting…its fate resting in the hands of this mother and her child.

The poor, worried mother of this pregnant teenager looked in the phonebook for help. Planned Parenthood seemed the most obvious choice…the ad said they offer pregnancy counseling and this poor family needed help. So, on a cold, windy-rainy April day, mother and daughter went to Planned Parenthood for advice. Oh, the irony of such a name for such an organization! There was never any talk of parenthood, planned or otherwise. This frightened girl and her mother were barraged with effective and compassionate insistence that the pregnancy be terminated; there was no other choice that could possibly be considered. How would this young woman with such a promising future ever manage a child? How could her frail body even accommodate a full-term pregnancy? These fear tactics were powerfully persuasive and for a brief moment both mother and daughter wavered. The mother said “I thought this was Planned Parenthood…that you helped girls who were going to be parents. Don’t you have any literature or at least the name of an obstetrician that my daughter could see? We aren’t looking for an abortion.” How hard it must have been for her to say those words! Yet she did, and the embarrassed “counselor” rifled through the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a couple pamphlets on fetal development. The young girl rifled through the first one, and quickly turned to the incredibly detailed photograph of a fetus, four months gestation, just the age of the little one that was growing inside her. She was shocked as she looked at two hands…ten fingers and ten toes…large eyes and delicate features…she looked back at the woman sitting at the desk, who was now looking in the phonebook for an obstetrician’s phone number and realized, with horror, that this woman had only ever considered the death and never the life of her child. She looked at the little one in the photo and placed her hand on her swollen abdomen…she had been feeling the slightest little fluttering for several days now, wondering what they were, but that picture seemed to confirm that her baby was moving inside her and not only was this child alive, it was…

…a life. A life separate and yet dependent upon her, even now in all her fear and uncertainty. There was only one direction from here…

With the love, encouragement and support of two families, this young girl…this young couple…succeeded in spite of every obstacle. A beautiful little girl with bright red hair and enormous blue eyes was born to them, and became the light of their lives, a joy they had never planned but praised God for. This young couple learned how to be husband and wife, mother and father, and welcomed another eight planned and unplanned miracles into their lives, never ceasing to marvel at the beauty of each new life. Grandchildren followed, a gift from that first little one saved from the horrors of abortion, and now mother to four precious little girls of her own.

And then another test. One cold November day, a frightened twenty-two year old called home and with sorrow and many tears, told her mother she was pregnant. Her boyfriend, who had become involved with another woman, had told her to abort the child, and for a brief moment, this young mother thought perhaps she should. Oh, the heartbreak! But the “choice” was really no choice at all…it was life, presenting itself under the most difficult and challenging circumstances and yet waiting to be affirmed. This sweet girl, with the help of her mother, father and extended family chose that LIFE. The pregnancy became complicated and both mother and child were in danger, yet after an emergency delivery and an extended stay in the NICU, a sweet little boy was welcomed into the family. He lights up his mother’s life and every room as soon as he enters…

This is my story.

I was that frightened seventeen year old girl who knew so very little of life, yet in choosing it for my unborn child, was given so much more than I ever dreamed. Nine children. Five grandchildren. An adoring husband of thirty one years and the most amazing and supportive parents on both sides. I could never have predicted the life of love and grace that came from that difficult choice, but I’ve since learned that God presents the best gifts under the most trying circumstances. We’ve tried hard to show appropriate thanks for all He’s given us and have never wavered in our understanding that God Himself is the ultimate giver and advocate for life.

“Pro-life.” It’s more than just a slogan on a banner or bumper sticker. It is what we do and how we choose to live. It is the way we vote, the way we worship and the way we think. There will always be difficulties to overcome, but it is in the overcoming that we show the depth of our love and trust in the goodness of God and in the beauty of living.

Blessings,

***This is a post I’ve promised my Father in Heaven for many years…it took awhile to find the words but the time seemed so right and I humbly thank the lovely women in my family for allowing me to share their part in this story.  It has been posted exactly 31 years and 2 days after the birth of my first child…to the minute…published at 12:18 a.m., the time of her birth.   Thank you for reading…***

The waiting game…

Thank you, my friends, for your prayers and patience with this very unfaithful blogger…

As previously revealed, our Rylee has been experiencing some very troubling symptoms for the past few months, but it seems we have a diagnosis, at last, though what happens next is still unclear.

A couple of weeks ago, Rylee had an MRI to determine the possible cause of her extreme spinal curve. This MRI gave us a detailed picture of the cervical, thoracic and lumbar spine. We waited anxiously, fearful that the orthopedic surgeons feeling that she had a spinal tumor or cyst would be confirmed. The good news: no tumors, no cysts. The bad news: the cervical portion of the MRI revealed that the lower portion of the cerebellum was pressing upon the spinal column, thus causing the troubling curve and most likely the other neurological symptoms that she’s been experiencing.  This condition is called Chiari Malformation, and in rare instances causes very painful and sometimes debilitating problems.  There is no cure, only treatment and long-term management.

The following day, Rylee had an appointment with a very inexperienced and unprofessional neurologist, who had very little information and not a whole lot of compassion for this little girl’s ongoing suffering. In her opinion, six months wasn’t so very long, though I reminded her that six months in the life of a nine-year old represents a significant percentage of the time she’s been on this earth. Needless to say, we will be looking for another neurologist with actual experience with this condition.   Nonetheless, we are so thankful for the wonderful information that we are receiving through support groups and other medical professionals, as we sift through a mountain of information.

Rylee has another appointment with her pediatric orthopedist on December 12th, the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  She will most likely be fitted for a brace at that time, and we are praying that we will be on the path to address the neurological aspects of her condition and will have a more comprehensive treatment plan.  At present, she is receiving very little relief from her constant pain, despite medication, though she is as cheerful and good-natured as can be.  We had the great blessing of ten days of distraction with the grandparents, Caitlin, Harry and Ben; as well as her beloved Uncle Fell and Aunt Amy.  A lovely week of family and fun that lifted everyone’s spirits and reminds us just how precious family time is and the necessity of joyful playtime with the ones we love best.  As soon as our last guests left, Rylee’s complaints increased, and she told me that it was so much easier to bear the pain when she was having fun.  God bless my sweet girl…

Thank you for your continued prayers.  There’s a big part of me that just wants to crawl in a hole and not have to fight and scrap for the right doctor and the right treatment…it seems that it should just be available…alas, that is simply not the case.  I’m so thankful for the brief interlude with family, that let us put this aside for a little while, but it’s back to business now.   Our good God never places a burden upon us that is more than we can carry, and I’m so thankful for the faith that sustains this family at all times.  God bless you, my friends…never, ever take the health and wellness of your children for granted!

Blessings,

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