Hello everyone! Follow me to my new blog! Since Lent is over, it's time for a new point of view!
http://www.viewfromtheshoe.blogspot.com/ is the new blog. Come check it out!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
My Last Lenten Blog!
I'm at my keyboard, having spent this entire day in a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. This is it. My Last Lenten Blog. Tomorrow is the big day we have spent all this time preparing for. Did I live up to my promise? I hope so. I blogged every day, whether I felt like it or not. Inspired or uninspired, I put my hands to the keys and offered God free reign. I've written some gibberish, and he's spoken to people with the keys of my keyboard. I'm so glad to have been a part of this process. I've learned so much about being brave and listening to what GOD has to say, and filtering out what I want to say.
I have fulfilled my obligation, but it's been so much more than that. I feel like I have shared myself in a very personal way with anyone who cares to read in. I tell my kids all the time how important it is to be yourself, because God made only one of you. How sad it would be for the world to miss out on you because you are trying to be someone else. It would be equally sad if God put a story in your heart and you didn't share it. Or if he whispered messages to your heart that he wanted the world to hear, but he wanted YOU to write it for him, and you said "I'm not good enough." That's where I was when we started this journey together.
We started out covered with the ashes of sorrow. We remembered that we were made of dirt and we will return to dirt. Somewhere along the line, we realized who formed that dirt and how he made us in His own image and likeness. Then he breathed life into us, and made us real humans. He could have stopped there, like he did with the animals he made. But he loves us enough that he took on a body like ours, and a nature like ours, and lived like us so we could hear his words. Remember that the Creator speaks and it becomes so. So when he says he loves us, it can't be any other way. When he holds us close to himself and smiles upon us, it's real. The most real thing there is is Love. And God is that Love. It existed before the light and the dark. It existed before the Heavens and the Earth. It was and is and is to come. We were Created by Unending Forever Love. For no other reason than to share in that Love.
And they wonder why I cry at Mass. I cry at home, too. I ponder and weep. I imagine and cry. I see a picture in my head of Jesus in the garden. His lazy friends are sleeping, he's about to be separated from everyone that loves Him, and he's about to see what evil really looks like. He's preparing to take on my sin and yours so he can descend into Hell and battle Satan once and for all. Disappointment, betrayal, spitting, beating, mocking, it's just the pregame for Jesus. His most important work is yet to come. So they crucify him on Friday. The earth quakes, darkness descends, the spirits of the dead are roaming around Jerusalem. (look it up, it's in there!)
Meanwhile, his followers wait. Lost, confused, scattered, they wander and try to figure out what the heck just happened. They must have been dazed and confused, but anticipating. Waiting, but for what. He flat out told them several times He would rise again, but did He mean it literally, or like on the last day? Do you think they tried to go back to their old lives? Did Peter, James and John go fishing? I don't know. The ladies hung out by the tomb and cried. (Makes sense to me, that's where I'd be!) Where are you in this story right now? All this stuff happened, and where are you? Are you going back to your old life? Are you waiting to see what happens next? Are you anticipating the miracle that we celebrate tomorrow morning, when the Light of the Universe shines triumphant over sin and Death and Hell, and viral stomach flu, and every other crappy thing in the world?!!!
No one came through the Easter story unchanged. Judas was dead. Peter humiliated himself (Jesus forgave him, though.) Jesus was GLORIFIED! Most of the apostles became martyrs for the faith. How about you? How are you changed by these events?
It makes me want to Love better. It makes me want to do the job that God made me to do. I wasn't called to be a martyr (yet, that I know of), or a savior. I was called to love you. I was asked to share God's Love with you during Lent. In case I haven't made it perfectly clear, God Loves You...and so do I. Very much. Happy Easter.
Lent is over. I can't wait to see what happens next!
I have fulfilled my obligation, but it's been so much more than that. I feel like I have shared myself in a very personal way with anyone who cares to read in. I tell my kids all the time how important it is to be yourself, because God made only one of you. How sad it would be for the world to miss out on you because you are trying to be someone else. It would be equally sad if God put a story in your heart and you didn't share it. Or if he whispered messages to your heart that he wanted the world to hear, but he wanted YOU to write it for him, and you said "I'm not good enough." That's where I was when we started this journey together.
We started out covered with the ashes of sorrow. We remembered that we were made of dirt and we will return to dirt. Somewhere along the line, we realized who formed that dirt and how he made us in His own image and likeness. Then he breathed life into us, and made us real humans. He could have stopped there, like he did with the animals he made. But he loves us enough that he took on a body like ours, and a nature like ours, and lived like us so we could hear his words. Remember that the Creator speaks and it becomes so. So when he says he loves us, it can't be any other way. When he holds us close to himself and smiles upon us, it's real. The most real thing there is is Love. And God is that Love. It existed before the light and the dark. It existed before the Heavens and the Earth. It was and is and is to come. We were Created by Unending Forever Love. For no other reason than to share in that Love.
And they wonder why I cry at Mass. I cry at home, too. I ponder and weep. I imagine and cry. I see a picture in my head of Jesus in the garden. His lazy friends are sleeping, he's about to be separated from everyone that loves Him, and he's about to see what evil really looks like. He's preparing to take on my sin and yours so he can descend into Hell and battle Satan once and for all. Disappointment, betrayal, spitting, beating, mocking, it's just the pregame for Jesus. His most important work is yet to come. So they crucify him on Friday. The earth quakes, darkness descends, the spirits of the dead are roaming around Jerusalem. (look it up, it's in there!)
Meanwhile, his followers wait. Lost, confused, scattered, they wander and try to figure out what the heck just happened. They must have been dazed and confused, but anticipating. Waiting, but for what. He flat out told them several times He would rise again, but did He mean it literally, or like on the last day? Do you think they tried to go back to their old lives? Did Peter, James and John go fishing? I don't know. The ladies hung out by the tomb and cried. (Makes sense to me, that's where I'd be!) Where are you in this story right now? All this stuff happened, and where are you? Are you going back to your old life? Are you waiting to see what happens next? Are you anticipating the miracle that we celebrate tomorrow morning, when the Light of the Universe shines triumphant over sin and Death and Hell, and viral stomach flu, and every other crappy thing in the world?!!!
No one came through the Easter story unchanged. Judas was dead. Peter humiliated himself (Jesus forgave him, though.) Jesus was GLORIFIED! Most of the apostles became martyrs for the faith. How about you? How are you changed by these events?
It makes me want to Love better. It makes me want to do the job that God made me to do. I wasn't called to be a martyr (yet, that I know of), or a savior. I was called to love you. I was asked to share God's Love with you during Lent. In case I haven't made it perfectly clear, God Loves You...and so do I. Very much. Happy Easter.
Lent is over. I can't wait to see what happens next!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Good Friday
Happy Good Friday! I am still in the pajamas I wore to bed last night. I finally got off the couch about 2:30, just in time to watch my family leave for Church. I'm sick and whiny, and I hope God blesses this blog, because I REALLY feel like I have nothing but yuckiness to share. I have mostly slept all day, and missed out on the really good stuff like decorating eggs, and the Good Friday service that speaks so well to my heart.
The apostles slept, too. Jesus said, stay here and keep watch with me. He was anxious and worried, and probably a little freaked out at what was about to happen. His humanity was showing, and it's so completely human to want to be surrounded by your loved ones in times of trouble. The problem was, their leaving him was going to add to the sadness of that trouble. They couldn't even stay awake with him for one hour! Neither could I. I felt like a total failure. Not that Jesus needs me, I think he'd like me to be there, though. He just wanted his friends to have his back for a minute, while he pours out his humanity to his Heavenly Father. He was frightened and lonely, who can blame him?
He falls prostrate. Face down and full out on the ground. The priest does this also, in the Good Friday service. Just like Jesus. Last year, I watched the priest in Missouri do this at the chapel on the Army base. We spent Good Friday and the whole Easter Weekend there, watching Misty join the Church. The priest there had on BDU's and combat boots under his robes. It was the first time I thought of Jesus as a warrior or soldier. It was also the first time I realized how many times the soldiers are mentioned in the Crucifixion story. I was also very aware that each of the soldiers in this chapel had taken an oath to protect and defend me and my freedom...even to their own death...and some of these basic trainees would actually make that great sacrifice.
There is no greater Love than to lay down your life for a friend. But if you aren't called to that degree of sacrifice, you could start with a little compassion. Stay awake with a friend. Pray with them and for them. Listen to a friend. Be a friend. Forgive someone who hates you and heaps on punishments you don't deserve. That would be a very Christian thing to do. Try praying while laying prostrate, full out and face down on the floor. (Or in your bed, if you don't want to scare the people you live with.)
I'm going to thank God for helping me fast. Crackers and 7-up, no problem. I'm also going to ask him to remove from me whatever keeps me far from Him, whether it be viral, spiritual, bacterial, or just plain stubbornness. Thank you, Jesus for your sacrifice. I don't deserve your love, but I'm so glad you chose to love me anyway!
Blessings!
The apostles slept, too. Jesus said, stay here and keep watch with me. He was anxious and worried, and probably a little freaked out at what was about to happen. His humanity was showing, and it's so completely human to want to be surrounded by your loved ones in times of trouble. The problem was, their leaving him was going to add to the sadness of that trouble. They couldn't even stay awake with him for one hour! Neither could I. I felt like a total failure. Not that Jesus needs me, I think he'd like me to be there, though. He just wanted his friends to have his back for a minute, while he pours out his humanity to his Heavenly Father. He was frightened and lonely, who can blame him?
He falls prostrate. Face down and full out on the ground. The priest does this also, in the Good Friday service. Just like Jesus. Last year, I watched the priest in Missouri do this at the chapel on the Army base. We spent Good Friday and the whole Easter Weekend there, watching Misty join the Church. The priest there had on BDU's and combat boots under his robes. It was the first time I thought of Jesus as a warrior or soldier. It was also the first time I realized how many times the soldiers are mentioned in the Crucifixion story. I was also very aware that each of the soldiers in this chapel had taken an oath to protect and defend me and my freedom...even to their own death...and some of these basic trainees would actually make that great sacrifice.
There is no greater Love than to lay down your life for a friend. But if you aren't called to that degree of sacrifice, you could start with a little compassion. Stay awake with a friend. Pray with them and for them. Listen to a friend. Be a friend. Forgive someone who hates you and heaps on punishments you don't deserve. That would be a very Christian thing to do. Try praying while laying prostrate, full out and face down on the floor. (Or in your bed, if you don't want to scare the people you live with.)
I'm going to thank God for helping me fast. Crackers and 7-up, no problem. I'm also going to ask him to remove from me whatever keeps me far from Him, whether it be viral, spiritual, bacterial, or just plain stubbornness. Thank you, Jesus for your sacrifice. I don't deserve your love, but I'm so glad you chose to love me anyway!
Blessings!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Are you listening?
I think God's trying to tell me something about listening today. At least I think that's the message, I'm having a hard time paying attention. This happens to me a lot. It started today with Lydia getting ready for school. "Mom, I don't feel very good." I heard her say it, but I wasn't really listening. "Get ready anyway, and see how you feel after you eat." Standard Mom answer. I half-way hear my way through the morning. I'm not really with it today. Some of the kids leave for school, the other kids get ready to leave with me. On the way to school I get the call from Lydia. "Mom, I'm sick, can you come get me."
I pick her up and take her to the doctor. No Strep. Possibly allergies. Heading back home. I am in "get stuff done" mode, not exactly listening. Until I asked Lydia if she is alright staying home by herself. "I've done it before." She says, clearly not thrilled about it. Now I'm listening. "Mom, can you stay home with me?" My beloved, strong, independent 13 year old daughter needs me. Sorry, school. Mrs. Lee is right, Family First. My baby girl gets me today.
So all day long, while she laid on the couch, alternating between sleeping and feeling crappy, I worked at the computer. My head said "Stop, I'm getting achy." My eyes said, "give us a break!" but I wouldn't listen. I really should have taken up residence on the next couch. (We have a serious amount of couch space at our house.) BUT I WOULDN'T LISTEN! But, God is good and patient. He'll keep calling me to rest, and when He's done being polite, he'll stop me. He knows how to get my attention. He shouldn't have to go to extremes, but sometimes he does. I know I'll pay for it later.
The next phone call I get is from Sylvia. She's at school and she feels sick, and can I pick her up, even though it's the end of the day. Sure, babe. I'm here for you. When Harriett and I pick her up, she's laying on the bench, and I'm not listening to her say something like,"it's about time." So I sign her out and ask Jenny a question, and we pick up Simon, and I'm not listening to Sylvia, I'm thinking about RIF books. Mrs. Ed asks me a question, and I answer and we chat, and we go to leave and there it is. God yelled stop...in the form of Sylvia (or Mount Va-Sylvius as we now call her) projectile vomiting all over the hallway floor. She catches her breath and starts round 2 immediately. A bucket appears, and I start sweeping her into the bathroom. As we transition from bucket to toilet, she catches her breath long enough to yell, "I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK! I KNEW I WAS GOING TO THROW UP, BUT YOU DIDN'T LISTEN!"
I AM NOW LISTENING.
I can't be more sorry. We wash her hands up, together, and I apologize and hug her. Mrs. Ed gets us a garbage bag for the pukey clothes. She has managed to contaminate at least one piece of every one's clothing. There is a section of hallway 7 feet wide and 12 feet long now covered in the vomit-dust that they have at school. We need haz-mat suits. BUT.....I AM LISTENING. We rejoice in the fact that we had not yet gotten in the van...or on the school bus. Sylvia feels much better. Mrs. Ed mentions how impressed she is that one small child can hold that much stomach contents. Sylvia beams with pride.
I didn't make it to Mass tonight. I washed two daughters hair and combed and braided it. Just like I used to do, before I chose to be so busy. Back in the days when they couldn't do it themselves, and they needed me. I don't remember when I started thinking they didn't need me. Maybe I haven't been listening. As I mentioned, they have my attention. I am listening now.
I am not taking my semi-pukulated child to school tomorrow. I feel as rotten as she did earlier. Maybe I should have rested while I had the chance. We will be camping out on our couches, fasting for Good Friday.
I will be trying to listen to what is really important. I hope you will, too.
I pick her up and take her to the doctor. No Strep. Possibly allergies. Heading back home. I am in "get stuff done" mode, not exactly listening. Until I asked Lydia if she is alright staying home by herself. "I've done it before." She says, clearly not thrilled about it. Now I'm listening. "Mom, can you stay home with me?" My beloved, strong, independent 13 year old daughter needs me. Sorry, school. Mrs. Lee is right, Family First. My baby girl gets me today.
So all day long, while she laid on the couch, alternating between sleeping and feeling crappy, I worked at the computer. My head said "Stop, I'm getting achy." My eyes said, "give us a break!" but I wouldn't listen. I really should have taken up residence on the next couch. (We have a serious amount of couch space at our house.) BUT I WOULDN'T LISTEN! But, God is good and patient. He'll keep calling me to rest, and when He's done being polite, he'll stop me. He knows how to get my attention. He shouldn't have to go to extremes, but sometimes he does. I know I'll pay for it later.
The next phone call I get is from Sylvia. She's at school and she feels sick, and can I pick her up, even though it's the end of the day. Sure, babe. I'm here for you. When Harriett and I pick her up, she's laying on the bench, and I'm not listening to her say something like,"it's about time." So I sign her out and ask Jenny a question, and we pick up Simon, and I'm not listening to Sylvia, I'm thinking about RIF books. Mrs. Ed asks me a question, and I answer and we chat, and we go to leave and there it is. God yelled stop...in the form of Sylvia (or Mount Va-Sylvius as we now call her) projectile vomiting all over the hallway floor. She catches her breath and starts round 2 immediately. A bucket appears, and I start sweeping her into the bathroom. As we transition from bucket to toilet, she catches her breath long enough to yell, "I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK! I KNEW I WAS GOING TO THROW UP, BUT YOU DIDN'T LISTEN!"
I AM NOW LISTENING.
I can't be more sorry. We wash her hands up, together, and I apologize and hug her. Mrs. Ed gets us a garbage bag for the pukey clothes. She has managed to contaminate at least one piece of every one's clothing. There is a section of hallway 7 feet wide and 12 feet long now covered in the vomit-dust that they have at school. We need haz-mat suits. BUT.....I AM LISTENING. We rejoice in the fact that we had not yet gotten in the van...or on the school bus. Sylvia feels much better. Mrs. Ed mentions how impressed she is that one small child can hold that much stomach contents. Sylvia beams with pride.
I didn't make it to Mass tonight. I washed two daughters hair and combed and braided it. Just like I used to do, before I chose to be so busy. Back in the days when they couldn't do it themselves, and they needed me. I don't remember when I started thinking they didn't need me. Maybe I haven't been listening. As I mentioned, they have my attention. I am listening now.
I am not taking my semi-pukulated child to school tomorrow. I feel as rotten as she did earlier. Maybe I should have rested while I had the chance. We will be camping out on our couches, fasting for Good Friday.
I will be trying to listen to what is really important. I hope you will, too.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
What's in your basket?
I just got back from Walmart, where the Easter Season is in full bloom. There are chocolate rabbits as far as the eye can see. The assortment was stunning. There was a texting rabbit, a rapper rabbit, a caramel-filled one, a peanut butter-filled one, fluffy ones in a rainbow of colors, jumping ones, and even rabbits that poop out chocolate candies. Let's just say, if there was a rabbit you were looking for that wasn't there, it might not exist. Rabbits, check.
There were also eggs. Real ones and chocolate ones and marshmallow ones, and even Krabby Patty ones, which I do not understand AT ALL. There were eggs that had lip gloss in it, marketed for the "under five" age group. Who lets their toddler wear lip gloss? Probably the same ones who design and manufacture sleazy dresses for young teens. There! I said it! Just because my daughter no longer fits in little girl sizes does NOT mean that she wants every inch of her skin to show, and neither does her mother!!! I really don't think I'm a prude, I'd just like to buy my daughters nice Easter dresses that aren't embarrassing to wear in front of a priest! Anyway, my train has jumped the track.
Here's what God put on my heart tonight. We set out our Easter baskets on the night before Easter, hoping to have it filled with something sweet. What do we really hope to find in that basket? I saw a lot of possibilities at the Walmart. (Maybe even purchased a few.) But the truth is that no amount of Tootsie Rolls or Malted Milk Eggs will make us truly happy. It all seems as empty and as hollow as "Dude" the rapper bunny. Even the really big pre-packaged basket with the doll and the Skittles, is just a substitution of what the real gift was and is and will always be...Jesus.
We went to the Easter Egg Hunt put on by the Methodist Church here in town, and this little girl was hunting eggs with some friends. "I hope this is the year I find out what Easter is really all about." She said. I bit my tongue, not knowing what her family's personal beliefs were. Looking back, that was a bad choice. She's at the Easter Egg Hunt for the CHURCH! (That might make it okay to mention Jesus. It's not a school function.) I just wanted to cry knowing that this girl made it to the age of 7 without knowing how LOVED she is! Every cell of my being wanted to tell her about Jesus and how he loved us SO much that he died so we wouldn't have to suffer. I wanted to give her every bit of Jesus, and fill her with a desire to know more and more about this incredible person who came to love us and give us the message that God has not forgotten us, but chooses to live in us still.
That's what is bothering me. THAT is the gift I want to give my children Every Easter and EVERY Christmas. Nothing I can give or do or be is as good as that. I look at the gifts that I choose for them, and they are fine by worldly standards, but how do you wrap eternal salvation? Mary wrapped it in swaddling clothes and laid it in a manger. Then, thirty-some years later, Joseph of Arimathea wrapped it in clean linen and put him in a tomb hewn from rock. God the Father wrapped it in flesh. I just want them to KNOW that. I want them to know that when their hearts break with disappointment, they never break alone. I want them to know that when their friends turn on them, (and some of them will) they are still not alone. I need them to know that they are loved beyond what Luke and I can ever love them, and we love them an indescribable amount. I want them to know that the Creator of the Universe cares enough about them that he remembers how many hairs are on their head. I want to wrap up a burning Love of God and give it to them, and have it be their favorite.
Faith is a gift that only God can give. You can't buy it at Walmart. Faith, however, is exactly what I hope your basket is full of this Easter. I pray that it is overflowing with Faith, Hope and Love.
(and maybe a few black jelly beans.)
There were also eggs. Real ones and chocolate ones and marshmallow ones, and even Krabby Patty ones, which I do not understand AT ALL. There were eggs that had lip gloss in it, marketed for the "under five" age group. Who lets their toddler wear lip gloss? Probably the same ones who design and manufacture sleazy dresses for young teens. There! I said it! Just because my daughter no longer fits in little girl sizes does NOT mean that she wants every inch of her skin to show, and neither does her mother!!! I really don't think I'm a prude, I'd just like to buy my daughters nice Easter dresses that aren't embarrassing to wear in front of a priest! Anyway, my train has jumped the track.
Here's what God put on my heart tonight. We set out our Easter baskets on the night before Easter, hoping to have it filled with something sweet. What do we really hope to find in that basket? I saw a lot of possibilities at the Walmart. (Maybe even purchased a few.) But the truth is that no amount of Tootsie Rolls or Malted Milk Eggs will make us truly happy. It all seems as empty and as hollow as "Dude" the rapper bunny. Even the really big pre-packaged basket with the doll and the Skittles, is just a substitution of what the real gift was and is and will always be...Jesus.
We went to the Easter Egg Hunt put on by the Methodist Church here in town, and this little girl was hunting eggs with some friends. "I hope this is the year I find out what Easter is really all about." She said. I bit my tongue, not knowing what her family's personal beliefs were. Looking back, that was a bad choice. She's at the Easter Egg Hunt for the CHURCH! (That might make it okay to mention Jesus. It's not a school function.) I just wanted to cry knowing that this girl made it to the age of 7 without knowing how LOVED she is! Every cell of my being wanted to tell her about Jesus and how he loved us SO much that he died so we wouldn't have to suffer. I wanted to give her every bit of Jesus, and fill her with a desire to know more and more about this incredible person who came to love us and give us the message that God has not forgotten us, but chooses to live in us still.
That's what is bothering me. THAT is the gift I want to give my children Every Easter and EVERY Christmas. Nothing I can give or do or be is as good as that. I look at the gifts that I choose for them, and they are fine by worldly standards, but how do you wrap eternal salvation? Mary wrapped it in swaddling clothes and laid it in a manger. Then, thirty-some years later, Joseph of Arimathea wrapped it in clean linen and put him in a tomb hewn from rock. God the Father wrapped it in flesh. I just want them to KNOW that. I want them to know that when their hearts break with disappointment, they never break alone. I want them to know that when their friends turn on them, (and some of them will) they are still not alone. I need them to know that they are loved beyond what Luke and I can ever love them, and we love them an indescribable amount. I want them to know that the Creator of the Universe cares enough about them that he remembers how many hairs are on their head. I want to wrap up a burning Love of God and give it to them, and have it be their favorite.
Faith is a gift that only God can give. You can't buy it at Walmart. Faith, however, is exactly what I hope your basket is full of this Easter. I pray that it is overflowing with Faith, Hope and Love.
(and maybe a few black jelly beans.)
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Priest Fest 2011!
I know that's not really what it's called, but that is what it is in my heart, Priest Fest 2011! The rest of the Catholic world refers to it as the Chrism Mass. The Mass was tonight at the Cathedral in Kalamazoo, and it was awesome. The real purpose of the Chrism Mass is for the bishop to bless the oils that will be used to anoint the sick, the newly baptised, those receiving Confirmation, the ordination of priests, and the anointing of altars during this next year. They get new oils every year. All of the priests of the diocese attend and celebrate this Mass together, with our shepherd, the Bishop. They also renew their vows of Christ-like selfless service to their brothers and sisters. The people there promise to pray for and help the priests fulfill their vows. Fresh oil, fresh year, fresh new start for the priests. It feels like life springing anew!
For me, it's really like a Faith-Family reunion! As I mentioned, ALL the priests of the Diocese of Kalamazoo attend (except for the ones in Rome, or those unable to travel.) So as they process in and out of Mass, it's like a "Who's Who" of my religious upbringing and church life. See that guy, he heard my first confession! We had this guy for a few weeks while Father Jim was on sabbatical, but I can't remember his name. There's Father Bob. There's Father Jim! There's Young Father Adams, and Father Adams the Elder (I'm probably the only one that calls him that. "Old Father Adams" doesn't sound very nice.) Father Christian was sporting a freshly shaved head that made me almost miss him, but I couldn't mistake his smile. Father Richard was there, singing with those AMAZING pipes God gave him. There's the Father that wears the Gold robes at Nazareth (can't think of his name, either.) There's Father Anthony the Chaplain at the hospital.
Father Anthony. I wonder if he will ever know how much he brings God to people who are suffering. Even with the memory loss I had in the hospital, I remember Father Anthony telling me it was okay, and I needn't cry because I'll see Jesus when it is time and not before. I remember the look of surprise on his face when I showed him the passage from my devotional for the day of my cardiac arrest. "I have not yet shown you all there is to show you, but the one who has made the promises is good for his promises..." That man has a special place in my heart.
So does Monsignor Tom Martin. He married me to my husband, baptised all my kids, and gave most of them First Holy Communion, and helped lead them to Jesus. He has been my confessor, my counselor, and my dear friend. He also taught me that priests can work a Super Soaker just as well as any young kid! There weren't just priests there, either. Deacon Tom and Deacon Dave have both been a long-standing part of my Family of Faith. Some newer members of that family were there, Sister PT Cruiser and Sister Mila, and countless others that I have met along the way. We all celebrated together.
This Holiest of Holy weeks, we have so much to celebrate. Bishop Bradley mentioned "turning in our ashes for Diadems" and putting on a "mantle of gladness" in place of a listless spirit. That's just exactly what this celebration felt like. Lent is nearly over. It's time for the real deal! Ready or not, HERE HE COMES! It's time to celebrate the new life that we all received because the King of Glory triumphed over the grave for us. FOR US! He took our ashes and gave us LIFE and wants us to live it TRIUMPHANTLY! Brand Spanking NEW!
Well, I think we can all see what reunions do to me. Reconnecting with people you love and care for is so healing and energizing. Can you use a little healing and energizing in your life? Reconnect with your Maker. He's got his dust-buster ready and your diadems polished. He'll fix that listless spirit. He's probably got lots of lists for you, like a list of people who love you, a list of people you love, and a list of priests you've known and loved. Not so "listless" now, are you! Mantle of Gladness! Mantle of Gladness! Go celebrate Holy Week. Pray for your priest or deacon, or someone you haven't seen in a while in YOUR Faith Family! Blessings!
For me, it's really like a Faith-Family reunion! As I mentioned, ALL the priests of the Diocese of Kalamazoo attend (except for the ones in Rome, or those unable to travel.) So as they process in and out of Mass, it's like a "Who's Who" of my religious upbringing and church life. See that guy, he heard my first confession! We had this guy for a few weeks while Father Jim was on sabbatical, but I can't remember his name. There's Father Bob. There's Father Jim! There's Young Father Adams, and Father Adams the Elder (I'm probably the only one that calls him that. "Old Father Adams" doesn't sound very nice.) Father Christian was sporting a freshly shaved head that made me almost miss him, but I couldn't mistake his smile. Father Richard was there, singing with those AMAZING pipes God gave him. There's the Father that wears the Gold robes at Nazareth (can't think of his name, either.) There's Father Anthony the Chaplain at the hospital.
Father Anthony. I wonder if he will ever know how much he brings God to people who are suffering. Even with the memory loss I had in the hospital, I remember Father Anthony telling me it was okay, and I needn't cry because I'll see Jesus when it is time and not before. I remember the look of surprise on his face when I showed him the passage from my devotional for the day of my cardiac arrest. "I have not yet shown you all there is to show you, but the one who has made the promises is good for his promises..." That man has a special place in my heart.
So does Monsignor Tom Martin. He married me to my husband, baptised all my kids, and gave most of them First Holy Communion, and helped lead them to Jesus. He has been my confessor, my counselor, and my dear friend. He also taught me that priests can work a Super Soaker just as well as any young kid! There weren't just priests there, either. Deacon Tom and Deacon Dave have both been a long-standing part of my Family of Faith. Some newer members of that family were there, Sister PT Cruiser and Sister Mila, and countless others that I have met along the way. We all celebrated together.
This Holiest of Holy weeks, we have so much to celebrate. Bishop Bradley mentioned "turning in our ashes for Diadems" and putting on a "mantle of gladness" in place of a listless spirit. That's just exactly what this celebration felt like. Lent is nearly over. It's time for the real deal! Ready or not, HERE HE COMES! It's time to celebrate the new life that we all received because the King of Glory triumphed over the grave for us. FOR US! He took our ashes and gave us LIFE and wants us to live it TRIUMPHANTLY! Brand Spanking NEW!
Well, I think we can all see what reunions do to me. Reconnecting with people you love and care for is so healing and energizing. Can you use a little healing and energizing in your life? Reconnect with your Maker. He's got his dust-buster ready and your diadems polished. He'll fix that listless spirit. He's probably got lots of lists for you, like a list of people who love you, a list of people you love, and a list of priests you've known and loved. Not so "listless" now, are you! Mantle of Gladness! Mantle of Gladness! Go celebrate Holy Week. Pray for your priest or deacon, or someone you haven't seen in a while in YOUR Faith Family! Blessings!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Welcome Back...
Tonight I had the opportunity to catch up with some old friends. Actually, they were people I used to spend one night a week with, and I was very involved in their lives. I haven't seen them in YEARS! Arnold Horshack couldn't join us, but Epstein and Freddie "Boom Boom" Washington were there with Mr. Kotter and of course, my favorite teenage hottie, Vinnie Barbarino! The cast of "Welcome Back Kotter" received an award on TV Land, and it felt like a class reunion. Also in attendance were the cast of Family Ties, another family I laughed with and cried with (and grew up with!) So many memories! So many hours spent with these fictional people who helped form my thinking.
Two artists received an Icon Award for their 34 hit songs, 6 of which were #1's. These were not fictional people, it was Darryl Hall and John Oates. I know they aren't fictional because I met them. Live, in person, on my 16th birthday. It was amazing! I was so mad at my Mom that afternoon because she made me take a nap. A NAP!!! Are you out of your MIND! I'm 16 YEARS OLD!!!!! Ooh! I was steamed, and to make it even worse, I fell right asleep. Mom....Grrrr. Then, they wake me up and say I need to get ready to leave. Mind you, they haven't told me about the concert yet. So now I'm cranky, half-awake, have bed head, and I'm 16, and I'm still a little peeved at my Mom about the whole NAP situation, and my mind can't quite fathom what is happening.
"What concert?" I finally start to piece it all together. "Hall and Oates? THE Hall and Oates! AAHHHH!!!" This was the 1983 version of the coolest birthday gift EVER! Plus, Chris was driving, and Diane and Suzie were going, so it was going to be very VERY cool! After the concert, my dear sister and beloved friends utilized some of their best stalking tactics, and followed Hall & Oates to their hotel. I met John Oates quietly standing in the hallway signing autographs. He wished me a happy birthday. I was excited that I was taller than him, but I didn't mention it. He is a musical GIANT! Then here comes Darryl Hall running down the corridor with q-tips sticking out of his ears and his mouth like fangs. He's screaming and clearly having a great time. BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!!!!! (Love you, Mom!)
What a great memory! What a great day! I love it when something takes you back so completely like that. So much has changed. Darryl Hall looks rough. Epstein got fat. Michael J. Fox is fighting Parkinson's Disease. Diane Graham died in 1986. I was devastated. She was my sister's best friend, but she was like a bonus sister to me. Suzie was her big sister and Chris is mine, so we were the "little sisters". She made me feel free to be myself. She made it okay to be fun and swing in parks, and be a little wild and crazy! She also knew all the lyrics to the entire "Mr. Roboto" album, which at the time was very important. I don't remember when Family Ties or Welcome Back Kotter were cancelled. But I'll never forget what real loss felt like.
One cool thing about that reunion/award show was that even though the actors had gotten older, slower, grayer (except John Travolta, he's just beautiful!), you could still recognize the part of them you once knew. The glint in their eye, or that certain smile connects to something in your heart that they made you feel. The TV characters were fictional, but the people playing them were real. Even though they never knew me, they took this job to entertain me, or teach me, or make me feel a certain way. I am so grateful.
Tonight I asked my children which apostle was their favorite. (Seems totally off subject, right?) Even though they never knew me, they, too took on a mission to teach me, and make me feel a certain way, and to allow me to model my life after someone real, not fictional. Can you imagine THAT award show? Receiving the "I Won't Believe it Til I See It Award, Thomas....also called Didymus!" Yay...applause, scanning the tuxes in the audience. He comes up to receive his award from Peter, the presenter. I hope Diane will be there in a blue designer dress with lots of sequins.
Yeah! I can hardly wait for THAT reunion show......
Blessings!
Two artists received an Icon Award for their 34 hit songs, 6 of which were #1's. These were not fictional people, it was Darryl Hall and John Oates. I know they aren't fictional because I met them. Live, in person, on my 16th birthday. It was amazing! I was so mad at my Mom that afternoon because she made me take a nap. A NAP!!! Are you out of your MIND! I'm 16 YEARS OLD!!!!! Ooh! I was steamed, and to make it even worse, I fell right asleep. Mom....Grrrr. Then, they wake me up and say I need to get ready to leave. Mind you, they haven't told me about the concert yet. So now I'm cranky, half-awake, have bed head, and I'm 16, and I'm still a little peeved at my Mom about the whole NAP situation, and my mind can't quite fathom what is happening.
"What concert?" I finally start to piece it all together. "Hall and Oates? THE Hall and Oates! AAHHHH!!!" This was the 1983 version of the coolest birthday gift EVER! Plus, Chris was driving, and Diane and Suzie were going, so it was going to be very VERY cool! After the concert, my dear sister and beloved friends utilized some of their best stalking tactics, and followed Hall & Oates to their hotel. I met John Oates quietly standing in the hallway signing autographs. He wished me a happy birthday. I was excited that I was taller than him, but I didn't mention it. He is a musical GIANT! Then here comes Darryl Hall running down the corridor with q-tips sticking out of his ears and his mouth like fangs. He's screaming and clearly having a great time. BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!!!!! (Love you, Mom!)
What a great memory! What a great day! I love it when something takes you back so completely like that. So much has changed. Darryl Hall looks rough. Epstein got fat. Michael J. Fox is fighting Parkinson's Disease. Diane Graham died in 1986. I was devastated. She was my sister's best friend, but she was like a bonus sister to me. Suzie was her big sister and Chris is mine, so we were the "little sisters". She made me feel free to be myself. She made it okay to be fun and swing in parks, and be a little wild and crazy! She also knew all the lyrics to the entire "Mr. Roboto" album, which at the time was very important. I don't remember when Family Ties or Welcome Back Kotter were cancelled. But I'll never forget what real loss felt like.
One cool thing about that reunion/award show was that even though the actors had gotten older, slower, grayer (except John Travolta, he's just beautiful!), you could still recognize the part of them you once knew. The glint in their eye, or that certain smile connects to something in your heart that they made you feel. The TV characters were fictional, but the people playing them were real. Even though they never knew me, they took this job to entertain me, or teach me, or make me feel a certain way. I am so grateful.
Tonight I asked my children which apostle was their favorite. (Seems totally off subject, right?) Even though they never knew me, they, too took on a mission to teach me, and make me feel a certain way, and to allow me to model my life after someone real, not fictional. Can you imagine THAT award show? Receiving the "I Won't Believe it Til I See It Award, Thomas....also called Didymus!" Yay...applause, scanning the tuxes in the audience. He comes up to receive his award from Peter, the presenter. I hope Diane will be there in a blue designer dress with lots of sequins.
Yeah! I can hardly wait for THAT reunion show......
Blessings!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
My 40th Blog!
That's right. This is my 40th blog. We have been doing this for 40 days. I hope you have enjoyed this journey with me. I looked back over some of my old blogs the other day. God has given me quite an adventure. I've talked about Wyoming, an egg, song lyrics, and the pain of losing a child (twice). One of my fears about writing is that I would run out of things to say. I know you are laughing, if you know me. What would THAT be like, right? Some days I have no idea what I'm going to write, then God turns me in a certain direction, and we're off and running!
Today is that kind of day. I have a few thoughts, but it's hard to know what God wants you to do. I had my class today, and I thought God wanted us to talk about the Crucifixion, but the Matzoh bread was just so interesting, it got us talking for a while. We still talked about the crucifixion, but it had a very "Matzoh" flavor to it.
Today is Palm Sunday, and I only got poked in the eye once with a palm frond, so that was good. We could talk about Palm Sunday, and Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem. When he actually, for a minute, gets some well-deserved respect.
We can talk about music. My incredible husband sang the psalm at all three Masses this weekend. It moves my heart when he sings. I can tell you that he was singing when I fell in love with him. He sang at his mother's graveside with his brothers and sisters. Amazing Grace a capella in Swager family harmony softened my heart, and allowed it to consider the possibility of letting myself be loved again. It moved my heart to a place where I thought I could try to trust this guy with my broken, mangled, heart and my beloved little family (me and my sons.)
Then he sang to me on our first date. It was Karaoke night at the club that some friends and I frequented. He sang Frank Sinatra's "The Lady is a Tramp." My friends all wanted to take him home, but my heart already belonged to this dear, brave man. (I only had to THREATEN to scratch someones eyes out.) He's been with me through so much, and I've been with him through so much. His singing still sounds like angels to me. I know exactly how good I've got it, and I am truly blessed to be Luke's wife.
I don't know what's going to happen this week. It is Holy Week, and that's like the greatest roller coaster of emotion of all time! There are worship opportunities on Tuesday (at the cathedral), Thursday night, Friday afternoon, (which is a holy day of OPPORTUNITY, but NOT obligation!) the vigil Mass Saturday Night, and Easter Sunday morning! You can praise God all week long!!! Till your little heart bursts with LOVE for your maker!!! (Figuratively only, I hope.)
I only have 7 more blogging days, including Easter Sunday, which is NOT Lent, but why would I do all this pregame, and not blog on Easter? That would be dumb. Easter is the point of the whole thing! Why bother even having Christmas if you don't have Easter? Don't get me wrong, I love them both. Anyway, I digress.
I pray that this week will bless you. Keep the triumphant Jesus in your heart today at work. Keep singing the Hallelujah, even when things start to go south. Praise him anyway. He loves it, and it's good for you.
Blessings!
Today is that kind of day. I have a few thoughts, but it's hard to know what God wants you to do. I had my class today, and I thought God wanted us to talk about the Crucifixion, but the Matzoh bread was just so interesting, it got us talking for a while. We still talked about the crucifixion, but it had a very "Matzoh" flavor to it.
Today is Palm Sunday, and I only got poked in the eye once with a palm frond, so that was good. We could talk about Palm Sunday, and Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem. When he actually, for a minute, gets some well-deserved respect.
We can talk about music. My incredible husband sang the psalm at all three Masses this weekend. It moves my heart when he sings. I can tell you that he was singing when I fell in love with him. He sang at his mother's graveside with his brothers and sisters. Amazing Grace a capella in Swager family harmony softened my heart, and allowed it to consider the possibility of letting myself be loved again. It moved my heart to a place where I thought I could try to trust this guy with my broken, mangled, heart and my beloved little family (me and my sons.)
Then he sang to me on our first date. It was Karaoke night at the club that some friends and I frequented. He sang Frank Sinatra's "The Lady is a Tramp." My friends all wanted to take him home, but my heart already belonged to this dear, brave man. (I only had to THREATEN to scratch someones eyes out.) He's been with me through so much, and I've been with him through so much. His singing still sounds like angels to me. I know exactly how good I've got it, and I am truly blessed to be Luke's wife.
I don't know what's going to happen this week. It is Holy Week, and that's like the greatest roller coaster of emotion of all time! There are worship opportunities on Tuesday (at the cathedral), Thursday night, Friday afternoon, (which is a holy day of OPPORTUNITY, but NOT obligation!) the vigil Mass Saturday Night, and Easter Sunday morning! You can praise God all week long!!! Till your little heart bursts with LOVE for your maker!!! (Figuratively only, I hope.)
I only have 7 more blogging days, including Easter Sunday, which is NOT Lent, but why would I do all this pregame, and not blog on Easter? That would be dumb. Easter is the point of the whole thing! Why bother even having Christmas if you don't have Easter? Don't get me wrong, I love them both. Anyway, I digress.
I pray that this week will bless you. Keep the triumphant Jesus in your heart today at work. Keep singing the Hallelujah, even when things start to go south. Praise him anyway. He loves it, and it's good for you.
Blessings!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Jesus and Matzo
In preparation for my Religious Education class tomorrow, I've been reading a lot about the Passover. More specifically the Passover meal, or Seder Meal. It's got me in a really deep thought about how it wouldn't be unusual for Jesus to take the bread and ask the blessing over it and break it and share it, because that is a prescribed part of the Seder meal. It is blessed to thank our Maker for bringing bread from the Earth. That specific unleavened bread (Matzoh) is called the Bread of Freedom since it is the bread that was cooked quickly (no time for yeast) when it was time for Moses to move his crew out of there the SECOND Pharaoh said GO!
Jesus held up that bread, the Bread of Freedom, and said. "This is my body which is given up for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven." Wow. He's still our Bread of Freedom. One piece of the Matzo is hidden and eaten last as a sign of redemption. Our Bread of Freedom is not only a sign of Redemption, but Redemption made flesh.
I love LOVE learning more about the Jewish heritage that is part of our heritage as well. The more I learn the more I realize that I don't know. I have nothing but love and respect for all of God's people, and our Jewish brethren (and sister-en) were God's people before He offered His sonship to the rest of us. Remember that as you go through this next most Holy Christian Week.
Blessings!
Jesus held up that bread, the Bread of Freedom, and said. "This is my body which is given up for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven." Wow. He's still our Bread of Freedom. One piece of the Matzo is hidden and eaten last as a sign of redemption. Our Bread of Freedom is not only a sign of Redemption, but Redemption made flesh.
I love LOVE learning more about the Jewish heritage that is part of our heritage as well. The more I learn the more I realize that I don't know. I have nothing but love and respect for all of God's people, and our Jewish brethren (and sister-en) were God's people before He offered His sonship to the rest of us. Remember that as you go through this next most Holy Christian Week.
Blessings!
Friday, April 15, 2011
Heartbeat. It's a LOVE beat!
I went to the doctor yesterday, and started the process of tweaking my medications so that I can exercise safely. We adjusted some dosages, and I am expected to attempt some regular mild exercising daily to see how well it is tolerated. On the way home I realized what I have done. I just threw away my own crutches! I have given away my really good excuse for not being an active, healthy person. What am I doing? I mean really, who would blame me if I sat out the activities, I have HEART DISEASE! What if my defibrillator goes off, I'd better sit on my can and do NOTHING! What was I thinking pursuing this with the doctor? I could have sat out for the rest of my life without anyone knowing I was just plain lazy. But oh no! I needed to know if I COULD do these things, so here we go.
In three months I will do a "stress test", which means I get on a treadmill and run until I wear out or my heart rate gets funky (which usually happens first). This time, I'm going to run until my heart actually begins to go into Ventricular Tachycardia. (Or V-tach for you medical drama fans.) This is when your heart rate gets too fast for normal function. After that comes Ventricular Fibrillation (V-Fib) when the heart is worn out, and kind of confused from all that fast beating, and just kind of shakes because it can't pump that fast. For most people, that's when the paddles are out and someone is yelling "Clear". For me, I'm about to give a yelp like a dog that just hit the invisible fencing line, while 35 joules of electricity are released into my cardiac tissue from my little friend, the ICD. It's kind of like getting kicked and grabbing an electric fence at the same time.
So, enough about me, let's talk about your heart issues. The other heart rhythm problem I didn't tell you about is called Bradycardia. That's when your heart is pumping so slowly that the blood can't really get a good ride around the body. It sounds a little like this Boom ............................... Boom ....................... Boom...............Boom.................................Boom.............................Booooom................................. Strangely enough, that is also sometimes what our spiritual pulse is like. I'm doing just enough to get by. Boom. I show up, but don't really pay much attention. Boom. I say no to every opportunity that presents itself, because I'm tired. Boom. Leave me alone, I just don't have the time. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep! (That is the sound of a flat line.) That's when the heart is done and it just stops. It can happen in our spiritual life, as much as it happens in our cardiac tissue.
How about the spiritual version of tachycardia? I'm sure you've seen it. You may have even had an attack of it. You start off fine, helping out with a project. (Boom). Then another. (Boom). Then they need (boom) some help in the nursery (boom) so you just (boom) help out for a while (boom). Then (Boom) You are (boom) the coordinator (boom) and ladies group (boom) and home (boom). Don't (boom) forget about (Boom) teaching (boom). (Boom) (Boom) Youth (boom) ministry (boom) nuns (boom) boom boom boom boom. Here we are in V-fib. (Wiggle, wiggle) We think we're doing all these things, but there is no blood (spirit, love) moving through this body.(Wiggle wiggle) We flounder and we fail because we couldn't find the right rhythm. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Flat lined again. Now what?
Some people never recover and just remain spiritually dead. I wonder if Jesus has paddles and yells "Clear", because there have certainly been a lot of times when he "shocks" us back to spiritual life. When my nephew Matt nearly died at the age of 4 months, that was a huge shock. It awoke a lot of hearts. If we're really REALLY fortunate, someone who loves us comes along and does CPR. They help us Consider our Part of the Relationship (to the Creator). Once we remember who it is God invites us to be (and who he has NOT asked us to be) we can get into a right rhythm. Sometimes we have to go through a Spiritual version of Cardiac Rehab to work our hearts back to a healthy rhythm a little at a time. Some people are meant to beat faster. For them that's healthy. Some are a little slower, and that's just right for them. You have to find the beat that God designed for you.
Then you need to ask the Holy Spirit to be your personal pacemaker. Please, Holy Spirit, when I'm doing too much, help me recognize it and slow down safely, without crashing. Please Holy Spirit, if I'm not doing enough, help me to find the love I'm lacking. Help me to pick up my pace, and be the child of God that I was called to be. Help us to love you just right, and fill all of our hearts with the perfect rhythm of your love.
Blessings!
In three months I will do a "stress test", which means I get on a treadmill and run until I wear out or my heart rate gets funky (which usually happens first). This time, I'm going to run until my heart actually begins to go into Ventricular Tachycardia. (Or V-tach for you medical drama fans.) This is when your heart rate gets too fast for normal function. After that comes Ventricular Fibrillation (V-Fib) when the heart is worn out, and kind of confused from all that fast beating, and just kind of shakes because it can't pump that fast. For most people, that's when the paddles are out and someone is yelling "Clear". For me, I'm about to give a yelp like a dog that just hit the invisible fencing line, while 35 joules of electricity are released into my cardiac tissue from my little friend, the ICD. It's kind of like getting kicked and grabbing an electric fence at the same time.
So, enough about me, let's talk about your heart issues. The other heart rhythm problem I didn't tell you about is called Bradycardia. That's when your heart is pumping so slowly that the blood can't really get a good ride around the body. It sounds a little like this Boom ............................... Boom ....................... Boom...............Boom.................................Boom.............................Booooom................................. Strangely enough, that is also sometimes what our spiritual pulse is like. I'm doing just enough to get by. Boom. I show up, but don't really pay much attention. Boom. I say no to every opportunity that presents itself, because I'm tired. Boom. Leave me alone, I just don't have the time. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep! (That is the sound of a flat line.) That's when the heart is done and it just stops. It can happen in our spiritual life, as much as it happens in our cardiac tissue.
How about the spiritual version of tachycardia? I'm sure you've seen it. You may have even had an attack of it. You start off fine, helping out with a project. (Boom). Then another. (Boom). Then they need (boom) some help in the nursery (boom) so you just (boom) help out for a while (boom). Then (Boom) You are (boom) the coordinator (boom) and ladies group (boom) and home (boom). Don't (boom) forget about (Boom) teaching (boom). (Boom) (Boom) Youth (boom) ministry (boom) nuns (boom) boom boom boom boom. Here we are in V-fib. (Wiggle, wiggle) We think we're doing all these things, but there is no blood (spirit, love) moving through this body.(Wiggle wiggle) We flounder and we fail because we couldn't find the right rhythm. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Flat lined again. Now what?
Some people never recover and just remain spiritually dead. I wonder if Jesus has paddles and yells "Clear", because there have certainly been a lot of times when he "shocks" us back to spiritual life. When my nephew Matt nearly died at the age of 4 months, that was a huge shock. It awoke a lot of hearts. If we're really REALLY fortunate, someone who loves us comes along and does CPR. They help us Consider our Part of the Relationship (to the Creator). Once we remember who it is God invites us to be (and who he has NOT asked us to be) we can get into a right rhythm. Sometimes we have to go through a Spiritual version of Cardiac Rehab to work our hearts back to a healthy rhythm a little at a time. Some people are meant to beat faster. For them that's healthy. Some are a little slower, and that's just right for them. You have to find the beat that God designed for you.
Then you need to ask the Holy Spirit to be your personal pacemaker. Please, Holy Spirit, when I'm doing too much, help me recognize it and slow down safely, without crashing. Please Holy Spirit, if I'm not doing enough, help me to find the love I'm lacking. Help me to pick up my pace, and be the child of God that I was called to be. Help us to love you just right, and fill all of our hearts with the perfect rhythm of your love.
Blessings!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
It's Not ME!!!
I went to the doctor today, and I felt like people kept looking at me. They would kind of glance my way, then look back again, then look straight at me and smile. It was a little weird. I thought, "What are you looking at?" Then one guy in the parking lot stares at me and said, "Sure are beautiful today." I thought he just had bad grammar, and answered that it sure was, the sun was trying to shine. He said, "No, YOU are beautiful today." Wow. Didn't see that coming. "You sure are kind to say so." I answered. He had the nicest Grizzly Adams smile that a long-bearded man ever had.
Then I had to get groceries, and it was still happening. Creepy, really. Then I figured it out. It wasn't me, I had on a really sparkly shirt. People love this shirt. It's pink and has just enough sequins to be interesting, but not enough to be mistaken for Liza Minnelli or anything. It's one of my favorites. It's not paranoia if people really are staring at you.
But that's kind of what God put on my heart today, (so I'm blogging kind of early). It's not me. It's not about me, and it never has been. If it begins to be about me, then I quit. I took on this writing as a Lenten journey to try to be true to a promise. I promised to say out loud (via blog) whatever God whispered to the inner sanctum of my heart. I've tried really hard to stay true to that promise, and true to who he made me to be. There have been many times when I could have made a joke, or said something silly that came to mind, and it does not appear in the finished product, because my Editor (Creator of the Universe) made me question it.
He helps me find answers to a lot of things. His opponent asks me every day if I'm enjoying this process. He asks me if I'm pleased with my writing and if I like to write, and he just goes on and on and bugs the heck out of me until I say enough! He tempts me to make it all about me. Bad News, Devil, I'm not that interesting! I'm not that good of a writer, but God is. He writes the best stories, and he allows me to see some of them actually take place. I just love passing them along, especially if it can be a blessing to someone else. I hope it is, but again, It's not me. I can't bless anyone. Only God can.
So today I'm willing to openly acknowledge that I have a sparkly, sequin-covered shirt on. It's distracting the people of Meijers from their shopping. I hope this blog is a little like that sparkly shirt, and makes you smile at how the light plays with the sequins. I hope you find it beautiful and uplifting. I hope you see the True Author's message in it, and not just me.
Then I had to get groceries, and it was still happening. Creepy, really. Then I figured it out. It wasn't me, I had on a really sparkly shirt. People love this shirt. It's pink and has just enough sequins to be interesting, but not enough to be mistaken for Liza Minnelli or anything. It's one of my favorites. It's not paranoia if people really are staring at you.
But that's kind of what God put on my heart today, (so I'm blogging kind of early). It's not me. It's not about me, and it never has been. If it begins to be about me, then I quit. I took on this writing as a Lenten journey to try to be true to a promise. I promised to say out loud (via blog) whatever God whispered to the inner sanctum of my heart. I've tried really hard to stay true to that promise, and true to who he made me to be. There have been many times when I could have made a joke, or said something silly that came to mind, and it does not appear in the finished product, because my Editor (Creator of the Universe) made me question it.
He helps me find answers to a lot of things. His opponent asks me every day if I'm enjoying this process. He asks me if I'm pleased with my writing and if I like to write, and he just goes on and on and bugs the heck out of me until I say enough! He tempts me to make it all about me. Bad News, Devil, I'm not that interesting! I'm not that good of a writer, but God is. He writes the best stories, and he allows me to see some of them actually take place. I just love passing them along, especially if it can be a blessing to someone else. I hope it is, but again, It's not me. I can't bless anyone. Only God can.
So today I'm willing to openly acknowledge that I have a sparkly, sequin-covered shirt on. It's distracting the people of Meijers from their shopping. I hope this blog is a little like that sparkly shirt, and makes you smile at how the light plays with the sequins. I hope you find it beautiful and uplifting. I hope you see the True Author's message in it, and not just me.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Being Poor
Has it ever occurred to you that if no one was poor, you'd never have the chance to be charitable? No one wants to think they are at the bottom of the pecking order, but if no one is needy, we are all poor. Poor because we haven't had the opportunity to give with a loving heart. Poor because we haven't had the chance to show compassion. And tonight I learned a new perspective. We would be poor because we would be missing out on the presence of Christ.
The St. Vincent De Paul stated that the poor are our Masters. They are our teachers, and we can learn much from them. They are the folks that Jesus hung around with, and still does. I heard Author Jane Knuth speak tonight. Her book is Thrift Store Saints (get it, read it, thank me later.) She tells wonderful stories about her adventures working at the St. Vincent De Paul Society's Thrift Store, and I LOVED it! It's full of stories about meeting Jesus face to face...in the poor. She sees the Light in them! She has been given the gift of seeing the Jesus in them, and she has the courage to share that vision. God Bless Her (and them)! Without them, what would we learn?
Think of any Jesus story. What did the poor (or adulterous, or down-trodden) person teach you? The Woman at the Well? The good Samaritan? The blind people? (Who are not necessarily poor in this time of history, but in Jesus' time, were beggars.) When the lady pours the perfume on Jesus, Judas gets all cranky and starts talking about her wasting money. (He's worth it, Judas.) Jesus says the poor will always be with us. That's really not bad news. If the poor are still with us, we can still learn. One important thing we have to learn is "who is the poor one?"
Someone has a whole closet full of clothes they never wear. He/She has a few favorites they wear most of the time, so they donate a bunch of them to the Thrift Store so they can buy new ones without feeling guilty. (Although hopefully, you just do it out of the goodness of your heart.) A guy comes in and is given a hoody that's been worn once. It's his protection from the wind, and he wears it every day, (it's even his favorite team). Who is the rich man in this scenario? The one who has all he needs, or the one who needs all he has?
It's okay to be the poor one sometimes. It's okay to be the needy one. Jesus loved them a lot, and used their stories to teach us about love and acceptance and forgiveness. And thanks to Jane, He still does.
The St. Vincent De Paul stated that the poor are our Masters. They are our teachers, and we can learn much from them. They are the folks that Jesus hung around with, and still does. I heard Author Jane Knuth speak tonight. Her book is Thrift Store Saints (get it, read it, thank me later.) She tells wonderful stories about her adventures working at the St. Vincent De Paul Society's Thrift Store, and I LOVED it! It's full of stories about meeting Jesus face to face...in the poor. She sees the Light in them! She has been given the gift of seeing the Jesus in them, and she has the courage to share that vision. God Bless Her (and them)! Without them, what would we learn?
Think of any Jesus story. What did the poor (or adulterous, or down-trodden) person teach you? The Woman at the Well? The good Samaritan? The blind people? (Who are not necessarily poor in this time of history, but in Jesus' time, were beggars.) When the lady pours the perfume on Jesus, Judas gets all cranky and starts talking about her wasting money. (He's worth it, Judas.) Jesus says the poor will always be with us. That's really not bad news. If the poor are still with us, we can still learn. One important thing we have to learn is "who is the poor one?"
Someone has a whole closet full of clothes they never wear. He/She has a few favorites they wear most of the time, so they donate a bunch of them to the Thrift Store so they can buy new ones without feeling guilty. (Although hopefully, you just do it out of the goodness of your heart.) A guy comes in and is given a hoody that's been worn once. It's his protection from the wind, and he wears it every day, (it's even his favorite team). Who is the rich man in this scenario? The one who has all he needs, or the one who needs all he has?
It's okay to be the poor one sometimes. It's okay to be the needy one. Jesus loved them a lot, and used their stories to teach us about love and acceptance and forgiveness. And thanks to Jane, He still does.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
...In His Hands.
My friend has used his hands to serve and glorify God for a long, long time. Even before he called himself a Christian, he used his hands to do God's work. He delivered his own daughter in the dark, during a power outage. As an exterminator, he has used his hands to keep others safe from bees, rats, bedbugs, or whatever other kind of crawly thing you can imagine. He is a volunteer first responder, and has answered the call many times. He is a great neighbor, always willing to lend a hand with whatever project you are working on. His hands have comforted the hurt, (rubbed spice on some AWESOME barbecue,) consoled the grieving, and helped save MY life. The fingers on his "good" hand pushed the button on the AED that restarted my heart. I am thankful for those hands, and the kind-hearted gentleman who owns them.
It's kind of weird, though. I am amazed that God chose this friend to be His Hands. You see, My friend has one "normal" hand, and one deformed hand. It's never really slowed him down much, he was always determined to do what everyone else was doing. I love that about him, and his unwillingness to give up is a trait his wife and kids also share. So God gave Boo these hands, then asked him to use them to show God's love to the world. Amazing, really, but he does it over and over and over.
God does this same thing, over and over too. I have a blind friend who can see past the physical things of the world, and sees right into my heart. She is being the Eyes of God.
Another friend has a kidney problem. Not sure why, but they don't work. The odd thing is that the job kidneys do is to filter out toxins from your body. This friend has a gift for "filtering" out the doubt of any moral dilemma, until you are left with the cold pure truth. She is like the Kidneys of God!
I could go on and on, but I'm sure you can think of examples in your own life. Or even from Scriptures. If you look at the Bible stories from the world's perspective, they take on a whole different light. Those people thought Jesus was the son of an adulteress, not a virgin! The most powerful existence ever took the form of the most helpless, weak creature on the planet, an infant human. He inspired love, right from the start.
As far as getting gifts from the maker, the preschool rules apply. "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit!" We are all called to be parts of the body of Christ, but we can't all be the fancy parts. Someone has to be the gall bladder or spleen. Any volunteers for the "Transverse Colon of Christ"? I didn't think so. He gives us what we get. He asks us not to make it perfect, but to use what we have in perfect love. When God allows us sufferings, we have to remember that we may be going through this so the Glory of God can reveal itself. Maybe that will happen in a healing. Maybe not. Maybe it happens by God showing his love to others through the grace and courage you show in the face of this situation. I don't know. What I do know is that we aren't perfect. Not one of us. But God made us perfectly lovable.
So, Boo has given his hands in the service of the Lord. Now his "Good hand" is boycotting. It won't work properly, and it causes much pain. Please pray that God will show his Mercy. Thank you Boo, and all my friends for being the Body of Christ.
Blessings!
It's kind of weird, though. I am amazed that God chose this friend to be His Hands. You see, My friend has one "normal" hand, and one deformed hand. It's never really slowed him down much, he was always determined to do what everyone else was doing. I love that about him, and his unwillingness to give up is a trait his wife and kids also share. So God gave Boo these hands, then asked him to use them to show God's love to the world. Amazing, really, but he does it over and over and over.
God does this same thing, over and over too. I have a blind friend who can see past the physical things of the world, and sees right into my heart. She is being the Eyes of God.
Another friend has a kidney problem. Not sure why, but they don't work. The odd thing is that the job kidneys do is to filter out toxins from your body. This friend has a gift for "filtering" out the doubt of any moral dilemma, until you are left with the cold pure truth. She is like the Kidneys of God!
I could go on and on, but I'm sure you can think of examples in your own life. Or even from Scriptures. If you look at the Bible stories from the world's perspective, they take on a whole different light. Those people thought Jesus was the son of an adulteress, not a virgin! The most powerful existence ever took the form of the most helpless, weak creature on the planet, an infant human. He inspired love, right from the start.
As far as getting gifts from the maker, the preschool rules apply. "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit!" We are all called to be parts of the body of Christ, but we can't all be the fancy parts. Someone has to be the gall bladder or spleen. Any volunteers for the "Transverse Colon of Christ"? I didn't think so. He gives us what we get. He asks us not to make it perfect, but to use what we have in perfect love. When God allows us sufferings, we have to remember that we may be going through this so the Glory of God can reveal itself. Maybe that will happen in a healing. Maybe not. Maybe it happens by God showing his love to others through the grace and courage you show in the face of this situation. I don't know. What I do know is that we aren't perfect. Not one of us. But God made us perfectly lovable.
So, Boo has given his hands in the service of the Lord. Now his "Good hand" is boycotting. It won't work properly, and it causes much pain. Please pray that God will show his Mercy. Thank you Boo, and all my friends for being the Body of Christ.
Blessings!
Monday, April 11, 2011
The loss of a son.
I looked into his mother's eyes and, "I'm so sorry" is all I can get out before I start crying with her. Today she will bury her 19-year old son. "Sorry" is weak and lame. "Sorry" doesn't even begin to cut it. She tells me how she feels like she's floating. It's like she's not really there, but she IS there, and this is the only way she will make it through this day.
I hug the boy's father. He's one of the kindest men I've ever met. He's one of those Dad's that's always there. We've spent a lot of time together at band concerts and wrestling meets and football games. We've been in a lot of fun places together, and this is not one of them. His eyes see me, but they also see the image of his son, dying in his arms, as he did everything he could to help. I pray that image dims. As my heart pleads to God for this man's comfort, he reminds me that it wasn't that long ago I was in his son's place. I wasn't really thinking about me, so this takes me by surprise. He's right, and I am reminded of why I am still here. I can share the memory of my dying experience with these grieving parents. "You know, when it was my turn on the floor, it didn't hurt. I wasn't scared." I tell him. "It was warm and loving, and I wasn't afraid, I just felt so...LOVED."
He tells me that is the hope he is holding onto. It's the hope we all hold onto, that our children won't suffer. We never want to bury our sons or watch our daughters die. Sometimes we don't get to choose.
This boy's Mom has to be thinking, "What happened? He was just here and now he's gone! No no no no no! He's supposed to go to KVCC! He's supposed to be a police man! He's supposed to grow up and have a family! This isn't right!" I am sure she's thinking this is not how the story is supposed to go!
This happened to another mother. She watched her son being tortured. The people lied about him and got the local authorities all riled up, and they beat that son bloody. Then they mocked him, robed him in purple, and made him carry his own cross to his death. His whole life, his Mom, Mary, had "saved up all of these things in her heart". Remember the Angel? He said this son of mine would be son of the Most High! What about the shepherds and the Magi!!! Stop beating Him! He is supposed to rule over the house of Jacob forever! Leave him alone! What was it Elizabeth told me? "Most blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb..." What? They are KILLING the fruit of my womb! I do not feel blessed... I feel as though a sword has pierced my own heart! I feel LOST! How can this be? This is not the plan! Stop pounding those NAILS! You don't know who he really IS! Son, I LOVE you! DO SOMETHING!!! And He gives her his beloved disciple to be her son. Then he dies.
Now what.
For Mary, her son rose in Glory in three days time. I pray that these two sons are now together. I pray that Mary will have a word with her son on behalf of this family, to comfort and console them. I ask God to watch over all the Mothers and Fathers who will bury their sons. Pray with me that God will show mercy to this family, and help them and all who care for them find peace.
I hug the boy's father. He's one of the kindest men I've ever met. He's one of those Dad's that's always there. We've spent a lot of time together at band concerts and wrestling meets and football games. We've been in a lot of fun places together, and this is not one of them. His eyes see me, but they also see the image of his son, dying in his arms, as he did everything he could to help. I pray that image dims. As my heart pleads to God for this man's comfort, he reminds me that it wasn't that long ago I was in his son's place. I wasn't really thinking about me, so this takes me by surprise. He's right, and I am reminded of why I am still here. I can share the memory of my dying experience with these grieving parents. "You know, when it was my turn on the floor, it didn't hurt. I wasn't scared." I tell him. "It was warm and loving, and I wasn't afraid, I just felt so...LOVED."
He tells me that is the hope he is holding onto. It's the hope we all hold onto, that our children won't suffer. We never want to bury our sons or watch our daughters die. Sometimes we don't get to choose.
This boy's Mom has to be thinking, "What happened? He was just here and now he's gone! No no no no no! He's supposed to go to KVCC! He's supposed to be a police man! He's supposed to grow up and have a family! This isn't right!" I am sure she's thinking this is not how the story is supposed to go!
This happened to another mother. She watched her son being tortured. The people lied about him and got the local authorities all riled up, and they beat that son bloody. Then they mocked him, robed him in purple, and made him carry his own cross to his death. His whole life, his Mom, Mary, had "saved up all of these things in her heart". Remember the Angel? He said this son of mine would be son of the Most High! What about the shepherds and the Magi!!! Stop beating Him! He is supposed to rule over the house of Jacob forever! Leave him alone! What was it Elizabeth told me? "Most blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb..." What? They are KILLING the fruit of my womb! I do not feel blessed... I feel as though a sword has pierced my own heart! I feel LOST! How can this be? This is not the plan! Stop pounding those NAILS! You don't know who he really IS! Son, I LOVE you! DO SOMETHING!!! And He gives her his beloved disciple to be her son. Then he dies.
Now what.
For Mary, her son rose in Glory in three days time. I pray that these two sons are now together. I pray that Mary will have a word with her son on behalf of this family, to comfort and console them. I ask God to watch over all the Mothers and Fathers who will bury their sons. Pray with me that God will show mercy to this family, and help them and all who care for them find peace.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The Answer is Blowing in The Wind!
Luke and I went for a walk today, and it was beautiful outside!!!! Sylvia rode along on her bike, and a good time was had by all. When we got around the block, Sylvia couldn't get her bike to go. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "The wind keeps blowing me back!" Without even thinking, I answered her. "You have to push harder and be stronger than the wind." Hmmm.
This sent my mind reeling, and I instantly knew that advice was for me. It's been another one of those days when my heart won't beat right, and it makes me uncomfortable and anxious. I look outside and I just want to run and play, but the "wind" of fear keeps pushing me back. This fear is rational. I've felt my defibrillator go off before, and it really sets me off for a while, but what else am I going to do? If I really want to live my life fully, I have to learn to be stronger than the wind, right? Maybe.
I tried to hide from this wind, and avoid the things I really want to do. I almost went stir crazy sitting in the house with all that WARMTH outside! So I made a better choice. I went outside and sat. I watched the kids play, enjoying their laughter and the fun of the games they were playing. I wasn't really pushing against the wind, just letting it rush over me and past me. I sat in the presence of the warm breeze, and saw that it was not my nemesis after all. There was nothing to fear here. It's just a bunch of kids in shorts throwing tennis balls at each other. I love these kids, and their energy is contagious. Soon I was ready for the next step.
Literally, I stepped off the porch. (I mentioned already, Luke and I went for a walk, right?) I pushed back against my fears. I WILL walk around the block. I WILL walk against this wind, and I will push and push and become STRONGER than this wind! Sylvia's Daddy gave her a push to help her get up enough speed to fight the wind's resistance. He also gives me LOTS of pushes to overcome my own resistance. I love him for it, even though I don't tell him enough. Too often, I'm like the little kid version of myself, "I can do it myself!"
I walked around the block, then I walked up and bought a gallon of milk. It seems so uneventful, but inside of me, a great battle was being waged. Today I was stronger than the "wind". What wind do you battle? Will you hide from it? Will you make peace with it? Will you be stronger than the wind that keeps blowing you back to where you've already been?
I wish you a happy bike ride.
This sent my mind reeling, and I instantly knew that advice was for me. It's been another one of those days when my heart won't beat right, and it makes me uncomfortable and anxious. I look outside and I just want to run and play, but the "wind" of fear keeps pushing me back. This fear is rational. I've felt my defibrillator go off before, and it really sets me off for a while, but what else am I going to do? If I really want to live my life fully, I have to learn to be stronger than the wind, right? Maybe.
I tried to hide from this wind, and avoid the things I really want to do. I almost went stir crazy sitting in the house with all that WARMTH outside! So I made a better choice. I went outside and sat. I watched the kids play, enjoying their laughter and the fun of the games they were playing. I wasn't really pushing against the wind, just letting it rush over me and past me. I sat in the presence of the warm breeze, and saw that it was not my nemesis after all. There was nothing to fear here. It's just a bunch of kids in shorts throwing tennis balls at each other. I love these kids, and their energy is contagious. Soon I was ready for the next step.
Literally, I stepped off the porch. (I mentioned already, Luke and I went for a walk, right?) I pushed back against my fears. I WILL walk around the block. I WILL walk against this wind, and I will push and push and become STRONGER than this wind! Sylvia's Daddy gave her a push to help her get up enough speed to fight the wind's resistance. He also gives me LOTS of pushes to overcome my own resistance. I love him for it, even though I don't tell him enough. Too often, I'm like the little kid version of myself, "I can do it myself!"
I walked around the block, then I walked up and bought a gallon of milk. It seems so uneventful, but inside of me, a great battle was being waged. Today I was stronger than the "wind". What wind do you battle? Will you hide from it? Will you make peace with it? Will you be stronger than the wind that keeps blowing you back to where you've already been?
I wish you a happy bike ride.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Wonder Women
In 1975, the pilot episode of the TV show "Wonder Woman" aired with Lynda Carter receiving her golden lasso and red white and blue outfit from her Amazon Queen Mother, played by Chloris Leachman. She came from Paradise Island, named that by her mother because there were no men on it. (Chloris Leachman is hilarious, even when she's serious!) This island is full of beautiful, athletic women who never age and are much more highly evolved, and only love peace and honesty, yet still prance around scantily clad. Thirty-six years later, this episode aired in my living room, and was met with rave reviews! My kids even picked up on the fact that everyone was staring at her because she was walking around town in patriotic underwear and didn't seem the least bit self-conscious, but the sailors flocked around her. They also noticed that in 1975, Nazi = bad, and still does. Smart kids.
The amazingly stunning, nearly perfect Lynda Carter is strong, smart, kind, and everything that little Amy Thompson wanted to be. Except I also wanted to be a nun, and nuns don't wear patriotic underwear in public, that I am aware of. They are still superheroes in my book, however. In fact, I think they are some of the real Wonder Women.
In 1976, Wonder Woman flew an invisible airplane. Decades before that, one of the Sisters of St. Joseph flew a single engine plane all over Alaska to bring Communion to the Catholic residents there. She lived much of her adult life in service to the people there, flying at a time when women weren't allowed to do such things.
The Amazon Queen gave Wonder Woman a golden lasso that forces the person trapped in it to tell the truth. Our Maker gave one of my Sister-Friends an opportunity to see the truth as clear as day. She volunteered for jail ministry in Peru in an area where you are jailed for stealing bread to keep your family from starving. A prisoner there scrimped and saved and scraped up enough materials to get a needed operation. As he sat with her, waiting for an available surgeon, the ambulance brought in a young man who was dying from his wounds from an accident. That prisoner gave up his bandages and scalpels to this other man, so that he would have a chance to live. The truth is that love lives in a prison in Peru. It can't be shackled. No prison bars can stop compassion.
Some of the social issues of the 70's are lost on my kids. They don't understand why people seem shocked that a woman is...well...strong. It's never occurred to them that she should be any different than any other guy on the show. I'm glad they don't get it. I hope they never get it. They also don't understand civil rights, because it seems like a no-brainer that everyone is equal in God's eyes, and should be in ours, too. Why would the color of your skin or gender make it okay for people to mistreat you? I like their world better than ours. Maybe that's what Jesus was talking about when he said we should come to him as little children. I don't think he meant before your 18th birthday, I think he meant innocent and accepting, trusting and loving.
There were even Wonder Women in the Bible. In the Old Testament you had Ruth and Esther. Esther's is an awesome story. She had GUTS and gave old Haman what for! In the New Testament, Mary is a good one. Ooh, did Jesus love her! He even remembered his good old Mom at the foot of the Cross. "Hey John, here's your Mom. Mom, John can be your son for me. Love each other." (Rough Swager translation.) And isn't it interesting that all through the New Testament, Paul refers to a church by the woman's house where they meet! God loves women!
If you have a really good look at the Creation story, it says that God made man in his own image. Male and female he made them. In his own image. Male AND female. So God is also feminine. And my womanliness is in the image and likeness of God. No WONDER God loves WOMEN! We were made by our maker (who is the perfection of manliness and the perfection of womanliness) to be Wonder Women! We were made to be strong and highly evolved. We were made to love peace and honesty. We were made to care for the needs of others, and put ourselves last. Not because we lack value, but because that kind of love makes us priceless.
She finally puts on some normal clothes, which is good. She poses as a dowdy military woman with her hair in a tight bun. Some of the best Wonder Women wear modest clothing. The important thing is that she's always around when we need her.
Blessings!
The amazingly stunning, nearly perfect Lynda Carter is strong, smart, kind, and everything that little Amy Thompson wanted to be. Except I also wanted to be a nun, and nuns don't wear patriotic underwear in public, that I am aware of. They are still superheroes in my book, however. In fact, I think they are some of the real Wonder Women.
In 1976, Wonder Woman flew an invisible airplane. Decades before that, one of the Sisters of St. Joseph flew a single engine plane all over Alaska to bring Communion to the Catholic residents there. She lived much of her adult life in service to the people there, flying at a time when women weren't allowed to do such things.
The Amazon Queen gave Wonder Woman a golden lasso that forces the person trapped in it to tell the truth. Our Maker gave one of my Sister-Friends an opportunity to see the truth as clear as day. She volunteered for jail ministry in Peru in an area where you are jailed for stealing bread to keep your family from starving. A prisoner there scrimped and saved and scraped up enough materials to get a needed operation. As he sat with her, waiting for an available surgeon, the ambulance brought in a young man who was dying from his wounds from an accident. That prisoner gave up his bandages and scalpels to this other man, so that he would have a chance to live. The truth is that love lives in a prison in Peru. It can't be shackled. No prison bars can stop compassion.
Some of the social issues of the 70's are lost on my kids. They don't understand why people seem shocked that a woman is...well...strong. It's never occurred to them that she should be any different than any other guy on the show. I'm glad they don't get it. I hope they never get it. They also don't understand civil rights, because it seems like a no-brainer that everyone is equal in God's eyes, and should be in ours, too. Why would the color of your skin or gender make it okay for people to mistreat you? I like their world better than ours. Maybe that's what Jesus was talking about when he said we should come to him as little children. I don't think he meant before your 18th birthday, I think he meant innocent and accepting, trusting and loving.
There were even Wonder Women in the Bible. In the Old Testament you had Ruth and Esther. Esther's is an awesome story. She had GUTS and gave old Haman what for! In the New Testament, Mary is a good one. Ooh, did Jesus love her! He even remembered his good old Mom at the foot of the Cross. "Hey John, here's your Mom. Mom, John can be your son for me. Love each other." (Rough Swager translation.) And isn't it interesting that all through the New Testament, Paul refers to a church by the woman's house where they meet! God loves women!
If you have a really good look at the Creation story, it says that God made man in his own image. Male and female he made them. In his own image. Male AND female. So God is also feminine. And my womanliness is in the image and likeness of God. No WONDER God loves WOMEN! We were made by our maker (who is the perfection of manliness and the perfection of womanliness) to be Wonder Women! We were made to be strong and highly evolved. We were made to love peace and honesty. We were made to care for the needs of others, and put ourselves last. Not because we lack value, but because that kind of love makes us priceless.
She finally puts on some normal clothes, which is good. She poses as a dowdy military woman with her hair in a tight bun. Some of the best Wonder Women wear modest clothing. The important thing is that she's always around when we need her.
Blessings!
Friday, April 8, 2011
Reflections
Just for a minute, reflect with me on the goodness of our Creator. He created popcorn shrimp, which at this moment, I am thankful for. He made every creature on the planet, and instilled certain ones with the ability to become friends with the people. He made our pets, and gave them the ability to show us affection when no human could understand the depths of our need. Thank you God, for the times you sent a dog or cat to show me your love.
He created the rocks and trees and sunsets, painted with every color that could ever be imagined. He gave us the ability to see those colors and put meaning to them. The blackness of the perfect jelly bean, or the soft smooth reddish-yellow of a ripe peach, he made all the colors for us. He made them to show how much he loves us. Does his love burn red hot? Is it as cool and refreshing as a blue spring sky after the gray of winter? He took the vast darkness and filled it with light and color and love. Only because He loves you, and wants you to look and see it... Do you see His love?! Thank you, God for the colors.
My Creator formed me. Male and female He created us. The Bible says we are wonderfully made. Before we were knitted together in our mother's wombs, we were loved and known by God. And he made us anyway. He made you beautiful. To believe anything else is to believe a lie. It has taken me 44 years and countless hours of prayer (and therapy) to be able to say this, but I am made in the image and likeness of God, and I am beautiful. Thank you, God. Just thank you.
"God knew it wasn't good for the man to be alone...." Or this woman. So he put people in my path to love me, and for me to love. We love the best way we know how. It's easy to get frustrated when people can't (or won't) love you in a way you need them to. Maybe they can't yet. Maybe they don't know how. Maybe they are giving you their best, but it still isn't enough for you. Maybe it's time to look and see how God loves you. No one can love you more than to hang on a cross and die for you. Except maybe to come back from the dead and ascend to Heaven to prepare a place for you in Paradise. That's how your Maker loves you! Do you love him back the same way? NO! We can only love him the best we know how. We love him by saying thank you with every breath, every movement, every smile, every kind word. We love him back by reflecting his love to everyone we meet. Like you do for me. Thank you God, for all the sparkly reflections of your love you put in my path today. Help me to keep looking for them every day! (And finding them!)
He created the rocks and trees and sunsets, painted with every color that could ever be imagined. He gave us the ability to see those colors and put meaning to them. The blackness of the perfect jelly bean, or the soft smooth reddish-yellow of a ripe peach, he made all the colors for us. He made them to show how much he loves us. Does his love burn red hot? Is it as cool and refreshing as a blue spring sky after the gray of winter? He took the vast darkness and filled it with light and color and love. Only because He loves you, and wants you to look and see it... Do you see His love?! Thank you, God for the colors.
My Creator formed me. Male and female He created us. The Bible says we are wonderfully made. Before we were knitted together in our mother's wombs, we were loved and known by God. And he made us anyway. He made you beautiful. To believe anything else is to believe a lie. It has taken me 44 years and countless hours of prayer (and therapy) to be able to say this, but I am made in the image and likeness of God, and I am beautiful. Thank you, God. Just thank you.
"God knew it wasn't good for the man to be alone...." Or this woman. So he put people in my path to love me, and for me to love. We love the best way we know how. It's easy to get frustrated when people can't (or won't) love you in a way you need them to. Maybe they can't yet. Maybe they don't know how. Maybe they are giving you their best, but it still isn't enough for you. Maybe it's time to look and see how God loves you. No one can love you more than to hang on a cross and die for you. Except maybe to come back from the dead and ascend to Heaven to prepare a place for you in Paradise. That's how your Maker loves you! Do you love him back the same way? NO! We can only love him the best we know how. We love him by saying thank you with every breath, every movement, every smile, every kind word. We love him back by reflecting his love to everyone we meet. Like you do for me. Thank you God, for all the sparkly reflections of your love you put in my path today. Help me to keep looking for them every day! (And finding them!)
Thursday, April 7, 2011
What's in your bag?
I took my kids to Ann Arbor today. We enjoyed the Hands-on Museum, then we went over to the Scrap Box to let our creativity run wild! The Scrap Box is this little warehouse-like store that sells cast-offs. All of their items are donated left-overs, but it's not a thrift store. The items they have range from the cardboard tubes that carpet comes on to used CD's to the foamie punch-out parts that would otherwise be thrown away as a part of automotive manufacturing. I use lots of these items at work with my special needs kids. They have pallets of foamie pieces in a huge variety of shapes. Some have adhesive backing, some don't. You can get huge rolls of white paper (miles of white paper, actually) for $4 or $5 per roll, and movie posters for $1 each. They have stickies and labels and beads and fabric scraps, and everything you can fit in a grocery sack is $6. We came home with $24 of creative GENIUS!!!!
All around the store, there are project ideas starring some of these craft-orphans. Dragons made of cardboard paper snarl with their repurposed plastic teeth, sparking the creativity of my brood of inventors! Next thing I know, Isaac is collecting the right shaped pieces to make Simon a suit of armor, so they can sword-fight safely. Harriett was collecting shiny silver bags (trash bag size) to make robot suits for her and her brother. Sylvia found a whole set of "Bendaroos" in a box, and quickly snatched them up. She also found some cute flower beads to make necklaces. (I am certain her sale flyer will be out soon.) Lydia and Harriett teamed up and found some cool cardboard sticks that make wonderful wand handles, and put yellow foamies on the ends so they wouldn't hurt if you got hit with them. Hmmm. Why would you hit someone with a....nevermind.
These cast-offs still had a lot of good uses, we just had to look at them a little more creatively. They weren't trash, really. They may not have been used the same as the other parts cut of the same cloth, but they had hundreds of possibilities! Maybe that's the point. Even when we feel like we've missed out on our lofty purpose, we're still not useless. When we fail at something we thought we were supposed to do, we just have to look at ourselves a little more creatively. What ELSE could you do? What is a DIFFERENT way you could use those skills? Sometimes that means taking ourselves less seriously, and having a little more fun. Sometimes you need that adhesive foam dot to teach a kid how to count, and sometimes it just needs to ride on Harriett's nose. Could go either way.
It is possible that when you are born, it's like God giving you a bag from the Scrap Box as your life. He wants to see what you will make of it. There are seemingly endless possibilities. Once in a while, you can start over, or take it apart and rebuild it. It's up to you. Some days, I peer into my own bag overwhelmed, and unsure where to start. Today I just enjoyed watching my children make wonderful creations from the bags they were given.
Blessings!
All around the store, there are project ideas starring some of these craft-orphans. Dragons made of cardboard paper snarl with their repurposed plastic teeth, sparking the creativity of my brood of inventors! Next thing I know, Isaac is collecting the right shaped pieces to make Simon a suit of armor, so they can sword-fight safely. Harriett was collecting shiny silver bags (trash bag size) to make robot suits for her and her brother. Sylvia found a whole set of "Bendaroos" in a box, and quickly snatched them up. She also found some cute flower beads to make necklaces. (I am certain her sale flyer will be out soon.) Lydia and Harriett teamed up and found some cool cardboard sticks that make wonderful wand handles, and put yellow foamies on the ends so they wouldn't hurt if you got hit with them. Hmmm. Why would you hit someone with a....nevermind.
These cast-offs still had a lot of good uses, we just had to look at them a little more creatively. They weren't trash, really. They may not have been used the same as the other parts cut of the same cloth, but they had hundreds of possibilities! Maybe that's the point. Even when we feel like we've missed out on our lofty purpose, we're still not useless. When we fail at something we thought we were supposed to do, we just have to look at ourselves a little more creatively. What ELSE could you do? What is a DIFFERENT way you could use those skills? Sometimes that means taking ourselves less seriously, and having a little more fun. Sometimes you need that adhesive foam dot to teach a kid how to count, and sometimes it just needs to ride on Harriett's nose. Could go either way.
It is possible that when you are born, it's like God giving you a bag from the Scrap Box as your life. He wants to see what you will make of it. There are seemingly endless possibilities. Once in a while, you can start over, or take it apart and rebuild it. It's up to you. Some days, I peer into my own bag overwhelmed, and unsure where to start. Today I just enjoyed watching my children make wonderful creations from the bags they were given.
Blessings!
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
The Earth Weeps
The sun tried to peek out for a few minutes today, but the clouds overtook it. It felt a bit like the Earth was in mourning. Indeed, she lost a dear friend yesterday. Peter died, and a sad dismal rain brought a cold wind that felt like sorrow. Our Earth just couldn't bear the loss of her dear friend that loved her so much. Perhaps she was the only one he knew how to love completely. He didn't expect anything from her except a few fish, some mountains to climb, and some wildlife to admire, and she didn't fail him ever. She would be there for him, no matter how loud he shouted, or how angry he got. He will be cremated, and his ashes will become a part of his beloved Earth, and the two shall become one.
I only knew the guy for a few days, but long enough to know that his healthiest relationship was probably the one with the planet. Not all of us are meant to be brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles. Not every person enjoys the company of others. I think that's why the Earth Weeps. I think she weeps for all those who have pushed others away until they have no one left to weep for them.
There was a story in the newsletter from Ministry with Community about one of their members dying in the McDonald's restroom. This bothered me to the core. Did his heart stop, just like mine? Was anyone willing to help him? Or were they afraid to touch him because he was dirty or smelly. Did someone love him? Please tell me he didn't die alone. Was someone looking for him, or did he just lay there for hours. Alone. Unloved. No one to pray for him. I have no idea what this man looked like, but I see an image of him every week in Mass. There is a part when we ask God's Mercy on those who have gone on before us, and my heart sees the images of those with no one to pray for them. I picture the ones who freeze to death outside in the cold. Can you picture what they looked like making their First Holy Communion? Were they the apple of Mom and Dad's eye? What happened? How did they get there? How did they get so lost?
I'm usually sobbing by this point in the Mass. It's okay. Everyone knows I'm a cryer. (It only freaks out the visitors.) I look down the pew at my kids. They are usually paying attention. Simon is usually keeping everyone else in check. Sylvia prefers to sit in the next pew so she can take off her shoes without me frowning and shaking my head no. I look at my beautiful children and pray that God will keep them dear and close to me. I pray that they never feel unloved and unvalued. I pray that they ALWAYS know I am praying for them, and that our love for each other (and God) keeps us connected. No matter how far apart we are. I pray that the Earth will never need to weep for them, as they will be surrounded by beloved sisters and brothers to cry with them and for them...and rejoice with them! I pray that they will turn to home when they feel hopeless and sad and lonely. I pray that no matter how upset we get at each other, we never let our words kill the love we have for one another. I pray they will find their way back if they get lost. I pray that they will live their lives in a way that will make their departure form this Earth a Heavenly celebration.
Today, the Earth wept. Do you know someone she wept for, besides Peter? Please pray for them. And pray for those lost who have pushed aside the love they once knew. Help them remember what it's like to be loved. Just pray. God will do the rest.
Blessings!
I only knew the guy for a few days, but long enough to know that his healthiest relationship was probably the one with the planet. Not all of us are meant to be brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles. Not every person enjoys the company of others. I think that's why the Earth Weeps. I think she weeps for all those who have pushed others away until they have no one left to weep for them.
There was a story in the newsletter from Ministry with Community about one of their members dying in the McDonald's restroom. This bothered me to the core. Did his heart stop, just like mine? Was anyone willing to help him? Or were they afraid to touch him because he was dirty or smelly. Did someone love him? Please tell me he didn't die alone. Was someone looking for him, or did he just lay there for hours. Alone. Unloved. No one to pray for him. I have no idea what this man looked like, but I see an image of him every week in Mass. There is a part when we ask God's Mercy on those who have gone on before us, and my heart sees the images of those with no one to pray for them. I picture the ones who freeze to death outside in the cold. Can you picture what they looked like making their First Holy Communion? Were they the apple of Mom and Dad's eye? What happened? How did they get there? How did they get so lost?
I'm usually sobbing by this point in the Mass. It's okay. Everyone knows I'm a cryer. (It only freaks out the visitors.) I look down the pew at my kids. They are usually paying attention. Simon is usually keeping everyone else in check. Sylvia prefers to sit in the next pew so she can take off her shoes without me frowning and shaking my head no. I look at my beautiful children and pray that God will keep them dear and close to me. I pray that they never feel unloved and unvalued. I pray that they ALWAYS know I am praying for them, and that our love for each other (and God) keeps us connected. No matter how far apart we are. I pray that the Earth will never need to weep for them, as they will be surrounded by beloved sisters and brothers to cry with them and for them...and rejoice with them! I pray that they will turn to home when they feel hopeless and sad and lonely. I pray that no matter how upset we get at each other, we never let our words kill the love we have for one another. I pray they will find their way back if they get lost. I pray that they will live their lives in a way that will make their departure form this Earth a Heavenly celebration.
Today, the Earth wept. Do you know someone she wept for, besides Peter? Please pray for them. And pray for those lost who have pushed aside the love they once knew. Help them remember what it's like to be loved. Just pray. God will do the rest.
Blessings!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Still Afraid of the Ball?
It's baseball season, and the sun was shining, and God was smiling down! Luke took the kids up to the school to play baseball/softball. I put the slash because he actually brings a bucket of each, baseballs and softballs. The girls hit the softballs and the boys hit the baseballs, and he is all-time pitcher. This may surprise you, but as of last year's Mother's Day, I own my own mitt. It's purple!
Softball has never been my sport. Well, the way it's supposed to be played isn't my sport. I enjoyed my version of it when I was a kid, because I was always in the outfield where I could pick a million dandelions and sing whole songs to myself, and even dance like Julie Andrews on a hilltop before the coach noticed I wasn't paying attention. Then she'd yell at me, but she never removed the cigarette, so I never really knew what she was saying. That, and the fact that my hills were alive out there, and I didn't really care what she was saying, and I had the attention span of a fruitfly may have added to my lack of love for the game.
I liked to hit, but I was always afraid of the ball. When it was my turn to bat, I'd get all flinchy and dodge out of the way when the ball came. Even playing in the backyard with Dad (and every kid in the neighborhood) I seemed to take more than my share of being hit with the ball. I'd get up to bat, see something shiny, and bap! Right in the head. Tears, a bag of ice, now I'm a spectator. I'd get back out there in my beloved outfield. "The Hills are Alive..." Bap! I'm out again.
One of my kids is a little afraid of the ball right now. It won't last. We're going through that time when everything has a whole list of potential outcomes. When you are creative enough to imagine amazing and wonderful things, you can also imagine horrible and terrifying things. It is the down-side of creativity. I have to admit, I'm right there with him. Today I wasn't afraid to stand in front of the ball and swing the bat, then I RAN!! I ran to first base, then I got afraid again. (These days I'm more flinchy about running!) I hit several times, and got used to running to first. I even ran to get the ball when it was my turn in the field. It's funny, because I kept hearing music, and Sylvia was over on third singing 70's songs!
It started getting late, so I walked home with my son and we talked about our fears. We decided that we weren't going to let the fear of getting hurt get in the way of our fun times. We decided we weren't going to let fear stop us from doing things we really want to do. We thought maybe we could both look around a minute when we start to get scared, and take a look at the situation. I didn't get shocked today. I did get to play with my kids and husband, and enjoy the fresh air, and RUN! Nothing to fear, here! He did get hit with the ball today, but it only hurt for a few minutes. Then he chose to play some more anyway. Brave choice!
I guess that's the point. Every once in a while I get stuck in my fears again. It's a lot easier to hide and pretend that you are just fine without working towards your hopes and dreams. It's WAY less stressful to just stick to your same old stuff, never trying to make things better. Life is an amazing adventure! If you cover your eyes, you miss the whole ride. I'm not willing to miss any more today. Or tomorrow. Maybe I'm greedy, but I want the whole experience! I want to bat, and RUN!, and sing in the outfield! I won't let fear keep me from being me. I hope you won't either.
Softball has never been my sport. Well, the way it's supposed to be played isn't my sport. I enjoyed my version of it when I was a kid, because I was always in the outfield where I could pick a million dandelions and sing whole songs to myself, and even dance like Julie Andrews on a hilltop before the coach noticed I wasn't paying attention. Then she'd yell at me, but she never removed the cigarette, so I never really knew what she was saying. That, and the fact that my hills were alive out there, and I didn't really care what she was saying, and I had the attention span of a fruitfly may have added to my lack of love for the game.
I liked to hit, but I was always afraid of the ball. When it was my turn to bat, I'd get all flinchy and dodge out of the way when the ball came. Even playing in the backyard with Dad (and every kid in the neighborhood) I seemed to take more than my share of being hit with the ball. I'd get up to bat, see something shiny, and bap! Right in the head. Tears, a bag of ice, now I'm a spectator. I'd get back out there in my beloved outfield. "The Hills are Alive..." Bap! I'm out again.
One of my kids is a little afraid of the ball right now. It won't last. We're going through that time when everything has a whole list of potential outcomes. When you are creative enough to imagine amazing and wonderful things, you can also imagine horrible and terrifying things. It is the down-side of creativity. I have to admit, I'm right there with him. Today I wasn't afraid to stand in front of the ball and swing the bat, then I RAN!! I ran to first base, then I got afraid again. (These days I'm more flinchy about running!) I hit several times, and got used to running to first. I even ran to get the ball when it was my turn in the field. It's funny, because I kept hearing music, and Sylvia was over on third singing 70's songs!
It started getting late, so I walked home with my son and we talked about our fears. We decided that we weren't going to let the fear of getting hurt get in the way of our fun times. We decided we weren't going to let fear stop us from doing things we really want to do. We thought maybe we could both look around a minute when we start to get scared, and take a look at the situation. I didn't get shocked today. I did get to play with my kids and husband, and enjoy the fresh air, and RUN! Nothing to fear, here! He did get hit with the ball today, but it only hurt for a few minutes. Then he chose to play some more anyway. Brave choice!
I guess that's the point. Every once in a while I get stuck in my fears again. It's a lot easier to hide and pretend that you are just fine without working towards your hopes and dreams. It's WAY less stressful to just stick to your same old stuff, never trying to make things better. Life is an amazing adventure! If you cover your eyes, you miss the whole ride. I'm not willing to miss any more today. Or tomorrow. Maybe I'm greedy, but I want the whole experience! I want to bat, and RUN!, and sing in the outfield! I won't let fear keep me from being me. I hope you won't either.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Mother of the Year--NOT!
Wow! What a first day of Spring Break! I had high hopes, but it was WAY more fun for the kids to get on my last nerve than to go find some adventures elsewhere. It seemed like an eternity cleaning up and rearranging the furniture in the TV room. This caused 2 kids major tears, a storm off, and hurt feelings all the way around, except me. I was ordering a new bathtub. Ours has a crack in it. This is my real life. I am NOT a nominee for Mother of the Year today.
We finally got the extremely short chore list finished and decided to head to the Kingman Museum. We haven't been there in a few years, and it's a cool place. The membership also gets you in the Ann Arbor Kids Museum, and Toledo's Imagination Station, both of which are totally awesome for day trips. Mom took a wrong turn. (Lost another vote.) It took us forever (and excessive amounts of whining) to get there. The kids are fighting, someone keeps asking if we're there yet, the radio is getting louder and softer, now too loud, now too quiet, someone is kicking someone else's seat, and there it is! Kingman Museum shining like a great castle at the top of the hill. I'm SAVED!!! Fun times, right? Nope. It's closed today. That's the kind of information a company might want to post on their website. Grrr.
I was forced to do what every great mother must do at some point. I kicked the kids out of the car and drove off as fast as I could! Bwahahahaha!! Okay, I really did kick them out, but the museum is located in the middle of Leila Arboretum, which is a giant glacial park with trees and hills and grass, etc. I met them at the top of the hill, just like I said I would. Then I made them run back down to burn off some energy. (They actually volunteered for that part, and rolled a good portion of the way.) It was an adventure, but not what we had planned. Sometimes those are the best kind. They loved the fresh air and I enjoyed the quiet.
I don't know if I mentioned that we will soon be adding to our happy family. We went to the dog orphanage to see if there were any potential candidates. None of them stole my heart. Maybe I'm not ready to let go of Pepper yet. It was really hard when she died. I had her from the time she was just a pup, and she died in my van on the way to the vet. I remember Sylvia bawling her little eyes out, saying, "It's just not FAIR, I didn't even get to say GOODBYE!"
On that day I realized how blessed my family was to have Colleen at the salon and willing to help. How much more would she cry over not getting to say goodbye to her Mother? Would they ever forgive me for leaving them? How broken would my children be to lose their Mom at that point in their lives? It was Spencer's senior year. Sylvia hadn't started Kindergarten yet, and they were all so young. Thank you God for keeping me here! These days when they find every possible way to irritate each other and drive me nuts, even these days, are better than being without each other. I may not win the coveted "Mother of the Year" Award, but I'm here. I'm trying. I'm far from perfect, but I love them every second of this and every other day.
I wouldn't trade this day for anything. I also won't buy ice cream for any child who screams at me in the van and suggests I need soap in my mouth! Mother of the Year? Probably not. So Harriett and I decided I could win "Mother of the Minute". She actually timed how long I was nice. She keeps my blood pressure from going too low, God bless her! Maybe tomorrow I can work my way up to Mother of the Day.
Blessings!
We finally got the extremely short chore list finished and decided to head to the Kingman Museum. We haven't been there in a few years, and it's a cool place. The membership also gets you in the Ann Arbor Kids Museum, and Toledo's Imagination Station, both of which are totally awesome for day trips. Mom took a wrong turn. (Lost another vote.) It took us forever (and excessive amounts of whining) to get there. The kids are fighting, someone keeps asking if we're there yet, the radio is getting louder and softer, now too loud, now too quiet, someone is kicking someone else's seat, and there it is! Kingman Museum shining like a great castle at the top of the hill. I'm SAVED!!! Fun times, right? Nope. It's closed today. That's the kind of information a company might want to post on their website. Grrr.
I was forced to do what every great mother must do at some point. I kicked the kids out of the car and drove off as fast as I could! Bwahahahaha!! Okay, I really did kick them out, but the museum is located in the middle of Leila Arboretum, which is a giant glacial park with trees and hills and grass, etc. I met them at the top of the hill, just like I said I would. Then I made them run back down to burn off some energy. (They actually volunteered for that part, and rolled a good portion of the way.) It was an adventure, but not what we had planned. Sometimes those are the best kind. They loved the fresh air and I enjoyed the quiet.
I don't know if I mentioned that we will soon be adding to our happy family. We went to the dog orphanage to see if there were any potential candidates. None of them stole my heart. Maybe I'm not ready to let go of Pepper yet. It was really hard when she died. I had her from the time she was just a pup, and she died in my van on the way to the vet. I remember Sylvia bawling her little eyes out, saying, "It's just not FAIR, I didn't even get to say GOODBYE!"
On that day I realized how blessed my family was to have Colleen at the salon and willing to help. How much more would she cry over not getting to say goodbye to her Mother? Would they ever forgive me for leaving them? How broken would my children be to lose their Mom at that point in their lives? It was Spencer's senior year. Sylvia hadn't started Kindergarten yet, and they were all so young. Thank you God for keeping me here! These days when they find every possible way to irritate each other and drive me nuts, even these days, are better than being without each other. I may not win the coveted "Mother of the Year" Award, but I'm here. I'm trying. I'm far from perfect, but I love them every second of this and every other day.
I wouldn't trade this day for anything. I also won't buy ice cream for any child who screams at me in the van and suggests I need soap in my mouth! Mother of the Year? Probably not. So Harriett and I decided I could win "Mother of the Minute". She actually timed how long I was nice. She keeps my blood pressure from going too low, God bless her! Maybe tomorrow I can work my way up to Mother of the Day.
Blessings!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The Most Amazing Body
One day the Creator took some dirt and formed a human body out of it. It was dirt. Body-shaped dirt, but dirt none the less. When he blew the Spirit of Love into it, it became alive. The flesh had life and was able to live and breathe and become a "being". Not a "been", not a "gonna be", but a human "being". We are that being. What are you "being" today?
When my kids asked me how babies were made, I told them. "God takes a little piece of Dad and a little piece of Mom and mixes it all together in Mom's belly and bam...there you are." We are all just body-shaped dirt, until the Spirit of love enters, then it's a whole new life. Jesus could have been told the same. "God the Father took a piece of Holiness (Dad) and mixed it with a piece of flesh (Mom) and came up with a whole new kind of body!" That is the most Amazing Body. The Body of Christ that we are all invited to join. I really felt like a part of that body today.
Just for a while after we receive Communion, we are one with the ENTIRE body of Christ. All Believers. All Time. Past. Present. Future. All generations past to all generations to come are all together in those few moments. Every Mass ever celebrated, anywhere, all comes back to the one time and place. It makes me wonder. When Jesus had the last supper, and he broke the bread and said, "Take this and eat it, this is my body which will be given up for you." Was he seeing ME? Was he talking to ME? Did he see the past, present and future converge all at once, feeling the presence of every believer ever to follow? Was he looking at every one of us, even then? If he did, I hope it gave him the confidence and courage to continue his mission. We were (and are) all counting on him.
Sometimes after Communion, I feel so connected to all those who have gone on before me. Today it was a special blessing. Not just to connect with those who have died, but to connect with the same people I love now, only at a younger and more innocent time of their lives. I was picturing my beloveds taking their First Communions. I saw the joy and love and passion for Christ in the eyes of those who have now grown colder. I felt the bittersweet tears of those of us returning to God, knowing we don't deserve a fatted calf and a robe. We'd really rather just slip in quietly and slop the hogs, thanks.
And as always, I am amazed to find how God knows EXACTLY what you need to hear from the pulpit. He gives those around you the right words to say. He lets you be needy when you need to, and needed when you need that. He lets you be the strong one and weak one in turns to keep us humble, yet hopeful. Amid all our myriad of questions, the answer is always the same. "Because I love you." Why can't I get this right? "Because I love you." Why are these kids being so awful to each other? "Because I love you." Why is this life so hard some days? "Because I love you." Why? Why do you love me so much when I'm just a body-shaped dirt pile...full of love? "Because I love you...and you are MINE."
We don't get to pick how He shows us his love, but rest assured, that's exactly what He's doing. He let that blind guy be blind his whole life, just so Jesus could heal him. Why? "Because I love you." His story made it into the Bible! Have you ever read the chapter about the people who just kind of floated along on happiness and bliss and nothing ever really challenged them or made them stronger? That's because there ISN'T one!
Know God loves you. He does. He asked me to mention it. Now go have a great day.
When my kids asked me how babies were made, I told them. "God takes a little piece of Dad and a little piece of Mom and mixes it all together in Mom's belly and bam...there you are." We are all just body-shaped dirt, until the Spirit of love enters, then it's a whole new life. Jesus could have been told the same. "God the Father took a piece of Holiness (Dad) and mixed it with a piece of flesh (Mom) and came up with a whole new kind of body!" That is the most Amazing Body. The Body of Christ that we are all invited to join. I really felt like a part of that body today.
Just for a while after we receive Communion, we are one with the ENTIRE body of Christ. All Believers. All Time. Past. Present. Future. All generations past to all generations to come are all together in those few moments. Every Mass ever celebrated, anywhere, all comes back to the one time and place. It makes me wonder. When Jesus had the last supper, and he broke the bread and said, "Take this and eat it, this is my body which will be given up for you." Was he seeing ME? Was he talking to ME? Did he see the past, present and future converge all at once, feeling the presence of every believer ever to follow? Was he looking at every one of us, even then? If he did, I hope it gave him the confidence and courage to continue his mission. We were (and are) all counting on him.
Sometimes after Communion, I feel so connected to all those who have gone on before me. Today it was a special blessing. Not just to connect with those who have died, but to connect with the same people I love now, only at a younger and more innocent time of their lives. I was picturing my beloveds taking their First Communions. I saw the joy and love and passion for Christ in the eyes of those who have now grown colder. I felt the bittersweet tears of those of us returning to God, knowing we don't deserve a fatted calf and a robe. We'd really rather just slip in quietly and slop the hogs, thanks.
And as always, I am amazed to find how God knows EXACTLY what you need to hear from the pulpit. He gives those around you the right words to say. He lets you be needy when you need to, and needed when you need that. He lets you be the strong one and weak one in turns to keep us humble, yet hopeful. Amid all our myriad of questions, the answer is always the same. "Because I love you." Why can't I get this right? "Because I love you." Why are these kids being so awful to each other? "Because I love you." Why is this life so hard some days? "Because I love you." Why? Why do you love me so much when I'm just a body-shaped dirt pile...full of love? "Because I love you...and you are MINE."
We don't get to pick how He shows us his love, but rest assured, that's exactly what He's doing. He let that blind guy be blind his whole life, just so Jesus could heal him. Why? "Because I love you." His story made it into the Bible! Have you ever read the chapter about the people who just kind of floated along on happiness and bliss and nothing ever really challenged them or made them stronger? That's because there ISN'T one!
Know God loves you. He does. He asked me to mention it. Now go have a great day.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Bathtub Blessings
I do my best thinking in the bathtub. I have always been a soaker that could lay in the water for hours, letting my mind wander. I remember even doing this as a child. I clearly recall being surrounded by bubbles and being sad to the point of tears that my 2nd grade teacher was retiring. I loudly sang "You are my Sunshine" in her honor. There was also the horrible news that my idol, Karen Carpenter, had died as a result of her eating disorder. I was so distraught that I had to reheat the water twice! (I might have been a weird kid.)
Even now, I do my best pondering in the tub. My dear friend Eileen lent me a book called "My Minivan is my Monastery". One of these days I'll give it back to her. There was a lovely devotional thing that the author did with a stone mortar and pestle bowl. I have adapted it to match my own life...I use an old whipped cream bowl (very fancy).
So here's what I do. While the water is still in my bathtub, I float the bowl in front of me. I add my "portion" to the bowl one handful at a time, thanking God for each scoop. "Thank you God, for the blessings of my kids"...a scoop for Jordan and his family, a scoop for Spence, a scoop for Isaac, for Lydia, for Harriett, for Simon, and one for Sylvia. "Thank you God for the gift of my marriage"...a scoop for Luke. Then I start adding the challenges that I will accept from Him this day (since we don't really have the option of saying NO, I'll accept what He sends me.) "Thank you God for my health problems"...a scoop for my heart...a scoop for my thyroid...a scoop for my emotional health. "Thank you God for my fears and the courage to overcome them"...a scoop for each thing preying on my mind that day. "God please bless my friends and those most in need of your mercy"...a scoop for the homeless...a scoop for the unvalued...a scoop for you.
Now I know this sounds like a lot of scoops. Pretty soon, "My cup (or plastic whipped cream tub) runneth over. It's easy to see how blessed you are when you fill your own cup with blessings. So this next part is one of the healthiest things I do for myself every time. (This part came straight from God, not the book.) As I am filling my dish with the portion God has given me, I let the water slowly drain away. When I see the water has all left the tub, and my dish with my portion in it is left alone, I thank God for all that is NOT my portion. "Thank you, God for all that I don't have on my plate. Thank you for allowing me to let go of that which is not mine to worry about or control." I just watch it go down the drain. Then I use my portion to rinse out the tub, and I ask my Maker to use my portion to make the world a brighter place.
I think I just figured out why I have such a hard time getting anywhere on time. Feel free to try this when you need a physical reminder of how blessed you are. If you don't have time for this whole process, (or don't keep your cool whip bowls near your bathtub) you could just ask God for this short blessing. "Lord, just like in the waters of my baptism, please cleanse me of my sin and all that keeps me far from you." You could even do that in the shower!
Spend a minute today to be thankful for the goodness and challenges in your life. I know it sounds odd to thank God for the crappy stuff, but that's the fertilizer that helps us grow. I'll pray for you, if you'll pray for me.
Blessings!
Even now, I do my best pondering in the tub. My dear friend Eileen lent me a book called "My Minivan is my Monastery". One of these days I'll give it back to her. There was a lovely devotional thing that the author did with a stone mortar and pestle bowl. I have adapted it to match my own life...I use an old whipped cream bowl (very fancy).
So here's what I do. While the water is still in my bathtub, I float the bowl in front of me. I add my "portion" to the bowl one handful at a time, thanking God for each scoop. "Thank you God, for the blessings of my kids"...a scoop for Jordan and his family, a scoop for Spence, a scoop for Isaac, for Lydia, for Harriett, for Simon, and one for Sylvia. "Thank you God for the gift of my marriage"...a scoop for Luke. Then I start adding the challenges that I will accept from Him this day (since we don't really have the option of saying NO, I'll accept what He sends me.) "Thank you God for my health problems"...a scoop for my heart...a scoop for my thyroid...a scoop for my emotional health. "Thank you God for my fears and the courage to overcome them"...a scoop for each thing preying on my mind that day. "God please bless my friends and those most in need of your mercy"...a scoop for the homeless...a scoop for the unvalued...a scoop for you.
Now I know this sounds like a lot of scoops. Pretty soon, "My cup (or plastic whipped cream tub) runneth over. It's easy to see how blessed you are when you fill your own cup with blessings. So this next part is one of the healthiest things I do for myself every time. (This part came straight from God, not the book.) As I am filling my dish with the portion God has given me, I let the water slowly drain away. When I see the water has all left the tub, and my dish with my portion in it is left alone, I thank God for all that is NOT my portion. "Thank you, God for all that I don't have on my plate. Thank you for allowing me to let go of that which is not mine to worry about or control." I just watch it go down the drain. Then I use my portion to rinse out the tub, and I ask my Maker to use my portion to make the world a brighter place.
I think I just figured out why I have such a hard time getting anywhere on time. Feel free to try this when you need a physical reminder of how blessed you are. If you don't have time for this whole process, (or don't keep your cool whip bowls near your bathtub) you could just ask God for this short blessing. "Lord, just like in the waters of my baptism, please cleanse me of my sin and all that keeps me far from you." You could even do that in the shower!
Spend a minute today to be thankful for the goodness and challenges in your life. I know it sounds odd to thank God for the crappy stuff, but that's the fertilizer that helps us grow. I'll pray for you, if you'll pray for me.
Blessings!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Open your eyes!!!
I remember when I was in labor for Sylvia. I was getting an epidural (my first, with my last child) and I was terrified of damage happening to my spine. I was more afraid of that than I was the pain of childbirth. So it was time, I'm in the fetal position, and the anesthetist says,"on the next contraction hold REALLY still." Yeah, right. I had a contraction, and he put the needle in my spine. It felt like a bee sting, as promised. I got so scared, that I squeezed my eyes shut super tight. For a split second I thought,"OH DEAR GOD... I'M BLIND!!!!"
I realized my mistake, and started laughing at myself right out loud. I tried to explain to those around me what was so funny, but they just didn't fully appreciate it. I think you have to experience ACTUALLY BELIEVING that you are blind to see the gravity in that situation.
I didn't fully understandd the message of that event until today. I can't tell you how many times I have had my eyes squeezed shut so hard that I fear I'm blind. I found myself in the middle of an unhappy marriage, in the fetal position thinking, "OH DEAR GOD, I'M BLIND! I can't see what is right. I can't see what to do next." The truth is that I'm too afraid to look at the scary thing I need to do. I'm afraid to change, so I don't want to look and see that I can't stay here like this. I don't want to see how our dysfunction is hurting my kids, and it has to stop. But then, with the help of a good counselor, I got the courage to unsquinch my eyes a little, and I could see light and shadows. I could make out the light of my boys, and the shadows of our unhappiness. Then I got brave enough to just peek a little, and I saw the ugly truth. Next thing I know, there I was with my eyes wide open making the hard choices that lead to a happier life for all of us.
When it was time for Jordan to graduate and go off to the Army, I was there again. Rolled up in a ball thinking, "OH DEAR GOD, I'M BLIND! My baby is grown and leaving and I can't bear to watch! All of the choices I've made for the last 19 years revolved around the safety and care of this child (and ALL of my children). I'm afraid to be something other than Jordan's Mom. I don't know how to be without him." God bless the counselors. I unsquinched my eyes just a little. Just enough to catch a glimpse of him in his cap and gown. Then I peeked just enough to watch him raise his hand and pledge to protect the freedoms of our country. Soon I stood with my eyes wide open (wet and teary, but open) and watched him graduate from boot camp. He's all married and family-fied now. His wife is a blessing, and I don't worry about him nearly as much as I used to. I can see him clearly now, making the music he loves. He gets to move all over the country and meet interesting people. He's even a good Dad. I was just too afraid to look.
I find it interesting that when I get too scared to look, I THINK I'm blind, but it's a self-imposed blindness. I have the ability to see the whole time, it's just too much to look at. Sometimes I don't want to see, if seeing means making a difficult change. Maybe that's the kind of blindness that Jesus came to heal.
I've only really been blind once. After my cardiac arrest, I couldn't see for a while. (Could have been hours, could have been overnight. I'm not sure.) I tried to open my eyes REALLY wide, but I really couldn't see. I couldn't see while I was unconscious, either. Or maybe I could and can't remember it. Maybe as I was laying there, being God's beloved child, I was crying out, "OH DEAR GOD, I'M BLIND! I don't know how to die, and I don't know how to survive! I'm afraid to stay with you and I'm afraid to leave you." I don't remember thinking that at that time, but I certainly struggled with it afterward, while I was "recovering". But with a lot of prayer, I unsquinched my eyes a little. I could see the light of God's love, and the shadows of a life I left on the salon floor. I peeked out enough to read the words of Saint Augustine, telling me that God hasn't shown me all there is to see yet, but that the One who made the promises will keep his promises. He promised to heal the blind. I pray he heals our blindness.
How are you blind? What is it you choose not to see? What is it you can't see, because it tears you up inside and breaks your heart? Give it back to God. Pray for his healing, take a deep breath and unsquinch just a little. Start out looking for the light and shadows. When you are ready, peek. Maybe you aren't really blind, but just scared. He'll hold your hand. Before you know it, you'll be living with your eyes wide open, seeing past the scary part and into the blessing part. My eyes are open wide today. I'm soaking up all the blessings I can get. I know I'll get to that scary place again, but I'm trusting He'll heal my blindness again and again and again.
Blessings!
I realized my mistake, and started laughing at myself right out loud. I tried to explain to those around me what was so funny, but they just didn't fully appreciate it. I think you have to experience ACTUALLY BELIEVING that you are blind to see the gravity in that situation.
I didn't fully understandd the message of that event until today. I can't tell you how many times I have had my eyes squeezed shut so hard that I fear I'm blind. I found myself in the middle of an unhappy marriage, in the fetal position thinking, "OH DEAR GOD, I'M BLIND! I can't see what is right. I can't see what to do next." The truth is that I'm too afraid to look at the scary thing I need to do. I'm afraid to change, so I don't want to look and see that I can't stay here like this. I don't want to see how our dysfunction is hurting my kids, and it has to stop. But then, with the help of a good counselor, I got the courage to unsquinch my eyes a little, and I could see light and shadows. I could make out the light of my boys, and the shadows of our unhappiness. Then I got brave enough to just peek a little, and I saw the ugly truth. Next thing I know, there I was with my eyes wide open making the hard choices that lead to a happier life for all of us.
When it was time for Jordan to graduate and go off to the Army, I was there again. Rolled up in a ball thinking, "OH DEAR GOD, I'M BLIND! My baby is grown and leaving and I can't bear to watch! All of the choices I've made for the last 19 years revolved around the safety and care of this child (and ALL of my children). I'm afraid to be something other than Jordan's Mom. I don't know how to be without him." God bless the counselors. I unsquinched my eyes just a little. Just enough to catch a glimpse of him in his cap and gown. Then I peeked just enough to watch him raise his hand and pledge to protect the freedoms of our country. Soon I stood with my eyes wide open (wet and teary, but open) and watched him graduate from boot camp. He's all married and family-fied now. His wife is a blessing, and I don't worry about him nearly as much as I used to. I can see him clearly now, making the music he loves. He gets to move all over the country and meet interesting people. He's even a good Dad. I was just too afraid to look.
I find it interesting that when I get too scared to look, I THINK I'm blind, but it's a self-imposed blindness. I have the ability to see the whole time, it's just too much to look at. Sometimes I don't want to see, if seeing means making a difficult change. Maybe that's the kind of blindness that Jesus came to heal.
I've only really been blind once. After my cardiac arrest, I couldn't see for a while. (Could have been hours, could have been overnight. I'm not sure.) I tried to open my eyes REALLY wide, but I really couldn't see. I couldn't see while I was unconscious, either. Or maybe I could and can't remember it. Maybe as I was laying there, being God's beloved child, I was crying out, "OH DEAR GOD, I'M BLIND! I don't know how to die, and I don't know how to survive! I'm afraid to stay with you and I'm afraid to leave you." I don't remember thinking that at that time, but I certainly struggled with it afterward, while I was "recovering". But with a lot of prayer, I unsquinched my eyes a little. I could see the light of God's love, and the shadows of a life I left on the salon floor. I peeked out enough to read the words of Saint Augustine, telling me that God hasn't shown me all there is to see yet, but that the One who made the promises will keep his promises. He promised to heal the blind. I pray he heals our blindness.
How are you blind? What is it you choose not to see? What is it you can't see, because it tears you up inside and breaks your heart? Give it back to God. Pray for his healing, take a deep breath and unsquinch just a little. Start out looking for the light and shadows. When you are ready, peek. Maybe you aren't really blind, but just scared. He'll hold your hand. Before you know it, you'll be living with your eyes wide open, seeing past the scary part and into the blessing part. My eyes are open wide today. I'm soaking up all the blessings I can get. I know I'll get to that scary place again, but I'm trusting He'll heal my blindness again and again and again.
Blessings!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
What a Fun Day!
What an incredible gift today has been! It was FUN DAY at school! There was an assembly with a clown, a movie, and carnival games. It was a badly needed last hurrah before Spring Break. Thank you Corrie and Lauren for making this event happen, and being a blessing to the kids (and adults) in our school.
I have had a few rough days at school. Today was the kind of day that reminds me why I work there. I had two kids get sick, and I was there to comfort them. One was even kind enough to vomit in the trash can. Wasn't that thoughtful of her? I got to watch the little guy who has struggled to keep his rage intact all week dance "the Chicken Dance" with wild abandon, shouting, "This is my favorite song! I love this dance!!" I loved it too. For a few minutes he was just like every other kid. It was bliss.
I got to watch one of our attention-seekers get to be the star of the show when his mentor came to the Carnival and watched him play the games. He was so sweet. He made me think of a tomcat strutting around, begging to be petted, rubbing his head against your leg and purring, "Look at me! Who loves the kitty?"
After school, I took the kids out to dinner at Applebee's. (Luke had choir practice.) I lost out on the Mother of the Year Award, as I caught myself yelling, "Harriett, SHUT UP!...and fasten your seat belt." I love her so much and she got the genetic trait of being unwilling to stop arguing a point until...well, ever. I have many family members with this trait. Many of whom I birthed. Under threat of going home to have Peanut Butter & Jelly (which Isaac actually applauded) we turned our behavior around, and had a lovely dinner. My children were angels. They ordered their food and talked with each other politely while waiting for it to come. Once Sylvia stopped timing the waiter, everything was great! The food was delicious, and we totally enjoyed sharing bites with each other. Lydia gave Simon her extra garlic-smashed potatoes (almost as good as Aunt Chris makes.) They were so well-behaved, I ordered this huge cookie/sundae dessert thing, and we all shared it. How fun!
There was a moment when we walked into the restaurant that was kind of strange. At a table there were three ladies and four (or five) little babies in their car seats. They were so cute and little! I looked at my kids standing there with me for a long minute. Isaac towers over me. Lydia is taller than me, and Harriett is almost my same height. Simon and Sylvia aren't "little" any more. It was bittersweet. Where did my babies go? It wasn't very long ago that I had my very first son. Then a minute later Spencer was born. Then came the rest...single file (God and I had a deal about that.) They were only babies for a second, and now they seem so grown. Sometimes I miss those moments of holding that sweet new person and smelling their fresh baby breath.
I think the older my kids get the more I feel connected to Mary. It says in the Bible that she "saved up all these things in her heart." I get that. She LOVED that baby Jesus! She held him close to her heart, and helped him grow up. I'm sure at some point she saw him becoming a grown man and feared the day he would leave her to join his Father's Family Business. Dreaded it, but was excited to see him reach his potential. Maybe that's why she gave him a shove at the Wedding at Cana. (I understand he waited until he was in his 30's to start his ministry.) "Do whatever he tells you." is what she told the servants there.
Do whatever he tells you. She was all about Jesus. I love my kids, and I get so excited when I see them "do whatever He tells them." Like praying together out loud at Applebee's. They initiated it. Not one of them hesitated. It's just what they do. Their father taught them that.
What's he telling you to do? Have a fun day? Love your children? Honor who they are right now, and remember they are still that little baby on the inside? Maybe he's telling you to give them a little shove to reach their full potential, even knowing it's going to hurt a little. I don't know. I just know I had a great day with my school kids, and my home kids.
Blessings!
I have had a few rough days at school. Today was the kind of day that reminds me why I work there. I had two kids get sick, and I was there to comfort them. One was even kind enough to vomit in the trash can. Wasn't that thoughtful of her? I got to watch the little guy who has struggled to keep his rage intact all week dance "the Chicken Dance" with wild abandon, shouting, "This is my favorite song! I love this dance!!" I loved it too. For a few minutes he was just like every other kid. It was bliss.
I got to watch one of our attention-seekers get to be the star of the show when his mentor came to the Carnival and watched him play the games. He was so sweet. He made me think of a tomcat strutting around, begging to be petted, rubbing his head against your leg and purring, "Look at me! Who loves the kitty?"
After school, I took the kids out to dinner at Applebee's. (Luke had choir practice.) I lost out on the Mother of the Year Award, as I caught myself yelling, "Harriett, SHUT UP!...and fasten your seat belt." I love her so much and she got the genetic trait of being unwilling to stop arguing a point until...well, ever. I have many family members with this trait. Many of whom I birthed. Under threat of going home to have Peanut Butter & Jelly (which Isaac actually applauded) we turned our behavior around, and had a lovely dinner. My children were angels. They ordered their food and talked with each other politely while waiting for it to come. Once Sylvia stopped timing the waiter, everything was great! The food was delicious, and we totally enjoyed sharing bites with each other. Lydia gave Simon her extra garlic-smashed potatoes (almost as good as Aunt Chris makes.) They were so well-behaved, I ordered this huge cookie/sundae dessert thing, and we all shared it. How fun!
There was a moment when we walked into the restaurant that was kind of strange. At a table there were three ladies and four (or five) little babies in their car seats. They were so cute and little! I looked at my kids standing there with me for a long minute. Isaac towers over me. Lydia is taller than me, and Harriett is almost my same height. Simon and Sylvia aren't "little" any more. It was bittersweet. Where did my babies go? It wasn't very long ago that I had my very first son. Then a minute later Spencer was born. Then came the rest...single file (God and I had a deal about that.) They were only babies for a second, and now they seem so grown. Sometimes I miss those moments of holding that sweet new person and smelling their fresh baby breath.
I think the older my kids get the more I feel connected to Mary. It says in the Bible that she "saved up all these things in her heart." I get that. She LOVED that baby Jesus! She held him close to her heart, and helped him grow up. I'm sure at some point she saw him becoming a grown man and feared the day he would leave her to join his Father's Family Business. Dreaded it, but was excited to see him reach his potential. Maybe that's why she gave him a shove at the Wedding at Cana. (I understand he waited until he was in his 30's to start his ministry.) "Do whatever he tells you." is what she told the servants there.
Do whatever he tells you. She was all about Jesus. I love my kids, and I get so excited when I see them "do whatever He tells them." Like praying together out loud at Applebee's. They initiated it. Not one of them hesitated. It's just what they do. Their father taught them that.
What's he telling you to do? Have a fun day? Love your children? Honor who they are right now, and remember they are still that little baby on the inside? Maybe he's telling you to give them a little shove to reach their full potential, even knowing it's going to hurt a little. I don't know. I just know I had a great day with my school kids, and my home kids.
Blessings!
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