In homeschool today, we read about the hibernation of bears.
Maybe that is why my kids are absent-minded to a ludicrous degree these days--maybe they are in a wintry hibernation brain state. Broken glass ever day; CHRONIC but innocent disobedience or lack of follow-through; failure to get through any given math problem if it has more than one step; lots of blank stares. Maybe my homeschool is failing. Maybe they are going to be ruined for life--if they do not complete the grade they are in well, then that will have a domino effect through their whole lives. Maybe I should look into other schools. Maybe they should be punished more. Maybe I am a horrible mother. Or maybe they are horrible children.
All of this was put to rest when I read about the hibernating bears. "Thank goodness! An explanation!"
I suggested this, with great relief, to my kids.
Mary looked up and said, "But Mom, we're not bears."
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
hard to forgive
There are some problems that are hard to forgive. Holding grudges is very bad for a person's health, life expectancy and mood (not to mention that for Christians, it is not morally permitted). Yet some situations are seemingly impossible to forgive.
I was once in a situation where I thought I could not forgive, despite the compelling reasons to do so. Forgiveness seemed out of reach because the other person was not in any way--I was sure--going to change. If I forgave, the person would just commit the error again. Then I would have to forgive again. But knowing that I was going to be in such a cycle seemed to make my act of forgiveness disingenuous. I thought forgiveness was about changing the relationship and getting it back on track. But if that was impossible, then so, I thought, was forgiveness. I concluded that forgiveness was not an authentic option for me in this case.
What I came to realize, though, is that forgiveness of serious or ongoing errors is something that takes a long, long time. It is like an ongoing spiritual practice. Every time my hurt would get triggered or recreated, I would need to forgive again, as though for the first time. I needed to form a habit of forgiveness. I would say to myself and to God, "It's okay, I let it go. I do not hold it against him/her." I did this, over and over and over, every time as though at square one. It was like starting a movie at the beginning twelve hundred times. It feels like you are getting no where. But I just kept doing it.
I began to form the habit, and after a months and months, it became easier. I began to anticipate getting triggered, and then preparing my response of forgiveness. I realized that this torture that was a permanent fixture in my life was a divine gift, given to me to produce a wellspring of God's love in my soul. God's love is dynamic. It is more like a thriving and productive vine than it is like a marble. It is alive. I realized that the hard and ever so permanent situation in my life was there to grow this vine, and produce more and more fruit over time. In God's eyes, my hardship was His gift to me. It was a blessing. My life was going to be less comfortable, less "successful" by my worldly and instinctual standards. But it was about to become a hidden source of God's Spirit in the world.
All these years later, my opinion about forgiveness is that it is a lifestyle. Whether I am forgiving myself or another, whether I am forgiving in the hopes of reconciliation or in certain despair of there ever being reconciliation, forgiveness is still a gift. It is the way that God teaches me to become a little bit like Him. And. . .
. . . . strangely, the situation that I forgave over and over for a decade with no hopes of reconciliation has finally arrived at reconciliation. Miracles do happen.
I was once in a situation where I thought I could not forgive, despite the compelling reasons to do so. Forgiveness seemed out of reach because the other person was not in any way--I was sure--going to change. If I forgave, the person would just commit the error again. Then I would have to forgive again. But knowing that I was going to be in such a cycle seemed to make my act of forgiveness disingenuous. I thought forgiveness was about changing the relationship and getting it back on track. But if that was impossible, then so, I thought, was forgiveness. I concluded that forgiveness was not an authentic option for me in this case.
What I came to realize, though, is that forgiveness of serious or ongoing errors is something that takes a long, long time. It is like an ongoing spiritual practice. Every time my hurt would get triggered or recreated, I would need to forgive again, as though for the first time. I needed to form a habit of forgiveness. I would say to myself and to God, "It's okay, I let it go. I do not hold it against him/her." I did this, over and over and over, every time as though at square one. It was like starting a movie at the beginning twelve hundred times. It feels like you are getting no where. But I just kept doing it.
I began to form the habit, and after a months and months, it became easier. I began to anticipate getting triggered, and then preparing my response of forgiveness. I realized that this torture that was a permanent fixture in my life was a divine gift, given to me to produce a wellspring of God's love in my soul. God's love is dynamic. It is more like a thriving and productive vine than it is like a marble. It is alive. I realized that the hard and ever so permanent situation in my life was there to grow this vine, and produce more and more fruit over time. In God's eyes, my hardship was His gift to me. It was a blessing. My life was going to be less comfortable, less "successful" by my worldly and instinctual standards. But it was about to become a hidden source of God's Spirit in the world.
All these years later, my opinion about forgiveness is that it is a lifestyle. Whether I am forgiving myself or another, whether I am forgiving in the hopes of reconciliation or in certain despair of there ever being reconciliation, forgiveness is still a gift. It is the way that God teaches me to become a little bit like Him. And. . .
. . . . strangely, the situation that I forgave over and over for a decade with no hopes of reconciliation has finally arrived at reconciliation. Miracles do happen.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
autism? asbergers? sensory processing disorder?
Yesterday I was driving and Clare pipes up from the back seat: "Mom, when Adam and Eve were wearing those leaves, do you think they were itchy?"
A perfect sensory processing disorder question!
That said, her issues are SO SMALL compared to what they once were!
We have wondered about Clare having each of the above disorders at various times. We ruled out the first. Then we ruled out the second (both because she is so good at interacting with other children). We ruled out the last by taking tests and reading descriptions--she has mild overlap with some of the descriptions, but not enough to classify her.
She really fell apart when we moved to Dallas--she was 3. She did not smile for a year. She stomped, growled--her behavior was the worst anyone in our family had had. I wondered if the move contributed--it was a move, after having a new sister born when Clare was 18 months, effectively displacing Clare out of my lap. This was after a previous move, which was after being hurricane evacuees when Clare was only 6 weeks old. Really, she never seemed to recover from the evacuation, and these other changes kept retraumatizing her.
So when she would not smile--that was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. I decided that I was going to do anything and everything that I could do. So I asked her: "Clare, who do you belong to? Do you belong to Jacob?" With my prompting, she would shake her head, no. "Do you belong to Mary?" "Do you belong to. . . " we went through the whole list of people she knew. Then I'd say, "Do you belong to Mommy?" "YES!" she would answer, and she would start giggling. Then, all day, every day, for a year, I backed up my little game with my choices all day. I would ask her to be my buddy when we would all go to the grocery store. I would ask her to sit with me at dinner. I would say, "Who do you belong to?" She would say, "YOU!" and smile. More than anything, I was WITH her, I LOOKED at her, and was PRESENT for her.
It was an exhausting year. I accomplished ALMOST NOTHING all year long. I could not homeschool--Jake and Mary were at Faustina that year. I hosted the Montesorri school in our home for Clare, but did not make her go if she did not want to. I just held on to her, made eye contact with her all throughout the day, and kept reminding her that her world was secure, it was safe, and she had a place. She had a high, important, special place. And that made her smile.
I knew it was over a year later when she drew her first ever self-portrait, and the face was one huge smile, with bright eyes and big eyelashes. The brightness of the little stick figure was effervescent. We still have to "manage" the issues, but I think it will not be something that impedes her life in any way.
Now, it's hard to wipe the smile off her face! Look at that glow!!
I LOVE YOU, CLARE!!!!!
A perfect sensory processing disorder question!
That said, her issues are SO SMALL compared to what they once were!
We have wondered about Clare having each of the above disorders at various times. We ruled out the first. Then we ruled out the second (both because she is so good at interacting with other children). We ruled out the last by taking tests and reading descriptions--she has mild overlap with some of the descriptions, but not enough to classify her.
She really fell apart when we moved to Dallas--she was 3. She did not smile for a year. She stomped, growled--her behavior was the worst anyone in our family had had. I wondered if the move contributed--it was a move, after having a new sister born when Clare was 18 months, effectively displacing Clare out of my lap. This was after a previous move, which was after being hurricane evacuees when Clare was only 6 weeks old. Really, she never seemed to recover from the evacuation, and these other changes kept retraumatizing her.
So when she would not smile--that was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. I decided that I was going to do anything and everything that I could do. So I asked her: "Clare, who do you belong to? Do you belong to Jacob?" With my prompting, she would shake her head, no. "Do you belong to Mary?" "Do you belong to. . . " we went through the whole list of people she knew. Then I'd say, "Do you belong to Mommy?" "YES!" she would answer, and she would start giggling. Then, all day, every day, for a year, I backed up my little game with my choices all day. I would ask her to be my buddy when we would all go to the grocery store. I would ask her to sit with me at dinner. I would say, "Who do you belong to?" She would say, "YOU!" and smile. More than anything, I was WITH her, I LOOKED at her, and was PRESENT for her.
It was an exhausting year. I accomplished ALMOST NOTHING all year long. I could not homeschool--Jake and Mary were at Faustina that year. I hosted the Montesorri school in our home for Clare, but did not make her go if she did not want to. I just held on to her, made eye contact with her all throughout the day, and kept reminding her that her world was secure, it was safe, and she had a place. She had a high, important, special place. And that made her smile.
I knew it was over a year later when she drew her first ever self-portrait, and the face was one huge smile, with bright eyes and big eyelashes. The brightness of the little stick figure was effervescent. We still have to "manage" the issues, but I think it will not be something that impedes her life in any way.
Now, it's hard to wipe the smile off her face! Look at that glow!!
Friday, February 18, 2011
the poets
"Mary Cassatt" by KR and Kids
(2007)
Mary Cassatt,
She paints a lot
Of little girls in dresses.
A mother and child
A boy with a smile,
And ladies with wispy tresses.
(2007)
Mary Cassatt,
She paints a lot
Of little girls in dresses.
A mother and child
A boy with a smile,
And ladies with wispy tresses.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
save the world
"Give up your small ambitions; come and save the world!"
--St. Francis Xavier Cabrini
My favorite quote of late.
Padre Pio, in my opinion, was saving the world. In his poor, cold little monastery, he was saving the world with his prayers, his suffering, his tiny, earthy life. Have you seen this pictures of him after he died? Google them. He is incorrupt. His body is still totally intact, and he looks like he is sleeping. He truly found his power: his impoverished life, totally insignificant in the world's estimation, was making the world a better place.
All of us have poverty. All of us have earthy littleness. Overlooked, unimportant, too human. But it is our power.
Jacob is vomiting with the stomach flu. This is going to be weeks of sickness, because there are 7 of us, and only one of us has it so far.
God help me: let none of it go to waste! The world needs the prayers!
--St. Francis Xavier Cabrini
My favorite quote of late.
Padre Pio, in my opinion, was saving the world. In his poor, cold little monastery, he was saving the world with his prayers, his suffering, his tiny, earthy life. Have you seen this pictures of him after he died? Google them. He is incorrupt. His body is still totally intact, and he looks like he is sleeping. He truly found his power: his impoverished life, totally insignificant in the world's estimation, was making the world a better place.
All of us have poverty. All of us have earthy littleness. Overlooked, unimportant, too human. But it is our power.
Jacob is vomiting with the stomach flu. This is going to be weeks of sickness, because there are 7 of us, and only one of us has it so far.
God help me: let none of it go to waste! The world needs the prayers!
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
design
It appears that we have an interior designer in the making.
Leigh KellyAnne's bed has been resurfaced! She apparently knows something about texturing surfaces. I spent a lot of time this summer trying to texture one of our walls that needed repair and paint. But Leigh seems to be a natural!
Yesterday, I discovered her newly textured bed frame, textured with. . . .
boogers!! (how do you spell boogers? Bugers? Buggers? I think it is boogers.)
To enlarge, which in this case is well worth it, double click on the pic. To go back, press your back arrow.
Leigh KellyAnne's bed has been resurfaced! She apparently knows something about texturing surfaces. I spent a lot of time this summer trying to texture one of our walls that needed repair and paint. But Leigh seems to be a natural!
Yesterday, I discovered her newly textured bed frame, textured with. . . .
To enlarge, which in this case is well worth it, double click on the pic. To go back, press your back arrow.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
my pain is my power--2
Following up on the last post:
I am not into martyrdom. I know that this pain must and will be relieved eventually! I will work like crazy to resolve the cause of it, and do my part to alleviate it! But it is simply there for the time being. So instead of panicking, reacting, or going into self-pity or anger or rejection, I am doing what I can to say "Yes" until it is rightly removed, and let it do some holy work during this time!
In the past few years, I was helped a lot by trust and hope. They were like vessels that I could put my pain in. They carried it well and lightened the load.
My new addition to trust and hope is SELF-CONTROL. I love it. It keeps me from being reactive, snappy, sharp-tongued or harsh. It allows gentleness to flood my heart when I am frustrated.
These "virtues" are like a Pix. A Pix is the gold case that the host is carried in by Eucharistic ministers when they visit the sick.
I ask these virtues to carry my pain until it is God's timing for my problems to get resolved. They are temporary: a Pix is not a permanent vessel, but is intended for traveling time. So are these virtues. We are not made to suffer forever. I want to be joyful and happy and free. But in times of approaching that destination, it is a comfort and a help to have holy vessels in which to carry my pain, and help make the arrival more likely!
I am not into martyrdom. I know that this pain must and will be relieved eventually! I will work like crazy to resolve the cause of it, and do my part to alleviate it! But it is simply there for the time being. So instead of panicking, reacting, or going into self-pity or anger or rejection, I am doing what I can to say "Yes" until it is rightly removed, and let it do some holy work during this time!
In the past few years, I was helped a lot by trust and hope. They were like vessels that I could put my pain in. They carried it well and lightened the load.
My new addition to trust and hope is SELF-CONTROL. I love it. It keeps me from being reactive, snappy, sharp-tongued or harsh. It allows gentleness to flood my heart when I am frustrated.
These "virtues" are like a Pix. A Pix is the gold case that the host is carried in by Eucharistic ministers when they visit the sick.
I ask these virtues to carry my pain until it is God's timing for my problems to get resolved. They are temporary: a Pix is not a permanent vessel, but is intended for traveling time. So are these virtues. We are not made to suffer forever. I want to be joyful and happy and free. But in times of approaching that destination, it is a comfort and a help to have holy vessels in which to carry my pain, and help make the arrival more likely!
Monday, February 14, 2011
my pain is my power
I went to Mass with an ache in my heart. Oh, it hurt like a wretched stubbing of the toe. Ouch!
I told Ron just before Mass began, "I am asking God what to do with this ache. Maybe God will heal and remove it."
Ron said, "At the very least, I would offer it as a part of the Mass." That was helpful. My pain would now intersect with the service; all too often, I set aside my real life as I pay attention in church. But some wonderful occasions, there is a perfect intersection of my heart's unfiltered experience and the holy sacrifice in front of me. Today was going to be one of those days.
Offering my pain as part of the Mass: so that means to me. . . what? I mulled it over. The Mass is powerful insofar as it is a celebration of the crucifixion, which was the most powerful event in human history. The Mass is an invitation to bring all of us into that event and access the power of that event. So my first thought was, "Oh I see. My pain is going to become my power." Rather than take the pain away, God was going to fashion me according to the Cross.
Then we sang a song: "Eye has not see, ear has not heard, what God has ready for those who love him; Spirit of love, give us the mind of Jesus. Teach us the wisdom of God." That was it. It is a sublime, mystical favor when God brings us into the heart of who he is. Eye has not seen what God has ready for those who love him: it is a transcendent blessing when his loved ones are invited to see how God transforms the filth, brokenness and sadness of this world into divine goodness. Well, I thought, this is my chance! I am ready.
As the gifts of bread and wine were carried to the altar, I imagined them carrying my pain. Then I watched with great awe and gratitude as the bread and wine were made holy and were made anew. "This is my body, which has been given up for you." The apostles shock at these words must have been palatable: Passover bread is NOT a person's flesh! But Christ invited them into faith that something miraculous and divine was happening. Similarly, my pain is NOT something holy or divine! It STINKS! But I said "Yes" to God transforming my pain into the person of Christ.
Then I was hit by an idea as to what to pray for, my intention for how my pain could be used. If Christ's body was crucified for change in us, so too my pain (once joined with Christ's death) could be offered up for some change in the world. An idea hit me that has never crossed my mind before. It was a LOVELY thought, and wonderful idea that I have never had the courage nor insight to request in prayer until that moment. I spent some time, meditating on that image, praying in a peaceful manner over what I could envision.
At then end of the Mass, I could still feel the pain. But I could accept its residence in my heart. I knew that God's wish was for me to carry it for the time being, just as his wish was for Christ to carry the cross and accept Calvary. I was to carry my holy pain until the work it could accomplish is complete. My pain is my hope, my consolation and my power.
I told Ron just before Mass began, "I am asking God what to do with this ache. Maybe God will heal and remove it."
Ron said, "At the very least, I would offer it as a part of the Mass." That was helpful. My pain would now intersect with the service; all too often, I set aside my real life as I pay attention in church. But some wonderful occasions, there is a perfect intersection of my heart's unfiltered experience and the holy sacrifice in front of me. Today was going to be one of those days.
Offering my pain as part of the Mass: so that means to me. . . what? I mulled it over. The Mass is powerful insofar as it is a celebration of the crucifixion, which was the most powerful event in human history. The Mass is an invitation to bring all of us into that event and access the power of that event. So my first thought was, "Oh I see. My pain is going to become my power." Rather than take the pain away, God was going to fashion me according to the Cross.
Then we sang a song: "Eye has not see, ear has not heard, what God has ready for those who love him; Spirit of love, give us the mind of Jesus. Teach us the wisdom of God." That was it. It is a sublime, mystical favor when God brings us into the heart of who he is. Eye has not seen what God has ready for those who love him: it is a transcendent blessing when his loved ones are invited to see how God transforms the filth, brokenness and sadness of this world into divine goodness. Well, I thought, this is my chance! I am ready.
As the gifts of bread and wine were carried to the altar, I imagined them carrying my pain. Then I watched with great awe and gratitude as the bread and wine were made holy and were made anew. "This is my body, which has been given up for you." The apostles shock at these words must have been palatable: Passover bread is NOT a person's flesh! But Christ invited them into faith that something miraculous and divine was happening. Similarly, my pain is NOT something holy or divine! It STINKS! But I said "Yes" to God transforming my pain into the person of Christ.
Then I was hit by an idea as to what to pray for, my intention for how my pain could be used. If Christ's body was crucified for change in us, so too my pain (once joined with Christ's death) could be offered up for some change in the world. An idea hit me that has never crossed my mind before. It was a LOVELY thought, and wonderful idea that I have never had the courage nor insight to request in prayer until that moment. I spent some time, meditating on that image, praying in a peaceful manner over what I could envision.
At then end of the Mass, I could still feel the pain. But I could accept its residence in my heart. I knew that God's wish was for me to carry it for the time being, just as his wish was for Christ to carry the cross and accept Calvary. I was to carry my holy pain until the work it could accomplish is complete. My pain is my hope, my consolation and my power.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
a day with aunt swanee
We had a distinguished guest lecturer at our home school one day last week. AUNT SWANEE!
It began with some yoga:
Then an appetizer for Mom's party made on the kitchen floor, while memorizing the Gettysburg Address:
Ta Daaaa! Deviled eggs with a colorful twist! (sort of like inside out Easter eggs!)
Then, after Special Time with Leigh, a party with the sisters:
We love you Aunt Swanee!
P.S. Leigh has been sleeping with her new shoes on her feet and her umbrella next to her in bed (I don't know why I allow that). She LOVES them!!!
It began with some yoga:
Then an appetizer for Mom's party made on the kitchen floor, while memorizing the Gettysburg Address:
Ta Daaaa! Deviled eggs with a colorful twist! (sort of like inside out Easter eggs!)
Then, after Special Time with Leigh, a party with the sisters:
We love you Aunt Swanee!
P.S. Leigh has been sleeping with her new shoes on her feet and her umbrella next to her in bed (I don't know why I allow that). She LOVES them!!!
Friday, February 11, 2011
emotion deregulation
I have learned to detect my own emotion deregulation. I used to think that it was just "getting upset." I would cry, feel really angry or sorry for myself, sometimes feel unstable or almost dizzy, and sometimes I would just go lie in bed in pain. Eventually, the feelings would wear off; they would get replaced by other feelings. Then I was regulated and functioned "normally" again.
But now I recognize it: "Oh! I am emotionally deregulated!" I see it as a weakness, something to improve. But it is VERY, VERY hard to know how to improve it. When I am in it, it is almost impossible to pull myself out of. It is like a drug: almost intoxicating. it just has to wear off on its own, since will power will not put a dent in it.
In Oct., I deregulated. Someone made a comment that triggered it. I held it together until I was alone, and then I fell into my bed and wailed. I cried and cried and sobbed and sobbed. I was in so much pain, I thought it might kill me. I could not talk with or even see my children, and this tantrum of sorts needed to just play itself out. This happens once or twice a year, and while it is not common for me, it was still familiar, and I knew to just let it pass.
But after the one in Oct., I gave it some thought. "Why did I do that? What was I trying to accomplish by getting so upset?" After some deliberation, I had a revelation: it was a PROTEST! I was protesting, in private, what the person had said.
Ah, this word "protest" was the key that opened up a world of healing for me. Yes, it was a protest. But how weak a protest! It was silent! The person will never be changed for the better, be encouraged in growth, or spurred to heal through this private deregulation. It was the most violent and yet most ineffective mode of protest imaginable. I thought to myself, "Why not use WORDS? Kind, loving WORDS?" That seemed to me a more viable option with a greater chance of improving the situation!
So now, when I deregulate, it may take me hours or even a day or two. But I now catch myself, and say, "What am I protesting?" Once I can say it in words in my own mind, I can then think about alternative forms of protest, whether that might be words or prayers or actions. That sends me into a more constructive mode, a problem solving mode, and the emotion deregulation is rendered obsolete.
Thank goodness! :)
But now I recognize it: "Oh! I am emotionally deregulated!" I see it as a weakness, something to improve. But it is VERY, VERY hard to know how to improve it. When I am in it, it is almost impossible to pull myself out of. It is like a drug: almost intoxicating. it just has to wear off on its own, since will power will not put a dent in it.
In Oct., I deregulated. Someone made a comment that triggered it. I held it together until I was alone, and then I fell into my bed and wailed. I cried and cried and sobbed and sobbed. I was in so much pain, I thought it might kill me. I could not talk with or even see my children, and this tantrum of sorts needed to just play itself out. This happens once or twice a year, and while it is not common for me, it was still familiar, and I knew to just let it pass.
But after the one in Oct., I gave it some thought. "Why did I do that? What was I trying to accomplish by getting so upset?" After some deliberation, I had a revelation: it was a PROTEST! I was protesting, in private, what the person had said.
Ah, this word "protest" was the key that opened up a world of healing for me. Yes, it was a protest. But how weak a protest! It was silent! The person will never be changed for the better, be encouraged in growth, or spurred to heal through this private deregulation. It was the most violent and yet most ineffective mode of protest imaginable. I thought to myself, "Why not use WORDS? Kind, loving WORDS?" That seemed to me a more viable option with a greater chance of improving the situation!
So now, when I deregulate, it may take me hours or even a day or two. But I now catch myself, and say, "What am I protesting?" Once I can say it in words in my own mind, I can then think about alternative forms of protest, whether that might be words or prayers or actions. That sends me into a more constructive mode, a problem solving mode, and the emotion deregulation is rendered obsolete.
Thank goodness! :)
freedom
Watching the students, mothers, children, grandparents in Tahrir Square for 18 days has been an inspiration. Power not through violence, but through communication and unity of the nation. To my mind, this is one of the most important moments of history. It marks the turning of the tide away from force and from dictatorship and toward genuine democracy. It is also the most remarkable instance of effective pacifism I have witnessed. What I love is that the dignity of the human person--so hailed by our faith--is being defended and honored. Those mothers and teenagers protesting for these 2 and a half weeks have been more powerful than most people in history! Egypt is setting the trend for the upcoming decades.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
happy birthday, Mom!
A party with a pianist and LOTS of singing!
And shouting!
And dancing!
We love you, Mom! Happy Birthday!!
And shouting!
And dancing!
We love you, Mom! Happy Birthday!!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
happiness is. . .
. . . having a dad who will teach you how to make a cave out of snow that you can climb into. . . 
. . . and having enough snow on the ground to make a genuine snow man. . .
. . . and being a "pre-pre-teen"!
Friday, February 4, 2011
let it snow!
Mary and I have a long history of enjoying early mornings together. We watched many sunrises together when we lived in Virginia and I was up early with baby Leigh. This morning, we watched the sun come out over the SEVEN INCHES of snow ( a lot for Dallas)! After a moment of warmth and quiet, she was in the thick of it!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
power
I had dinner with a friend last week. She said that she finds being a housewife and a mother very empowering and she could tell I felt the same way. She asked me, "So what is that like for you? If I'm right about you, how does being a housewife make you powerful?"
My answer was about my dear saint friend, St. Alphonsus of Liguori, mentioned a couple of days ago.:) He wrote: "Praying 'Thanks be to God," one time in a moment of pain is worth ten thousand 'Thanks be to God's' in times of comfort."
That idea changed my whole world. I realized that I had lots and lots of power at my disposal. When someone in my life is suffering, I want to help them. I might have, and might still, pray a prayer, such as: "God, please help so and so; resolve her problem; comfort her!" That prayer is, I am sure, heard by God and responded to. But some prayers are just more powerful than others. The Scriptures are very clear about this: e.g., it takes fasting with prayer to move mountains; Christ on the cross praying; etc. These are powerful prayers that simply do not compare with the high school student who prays to get a good grade on a test. Some prayers are, indeed, more powerful than others.
Well, I realized that when I am having a difficulty, it can be the occasion for great and mighty prayers. About the time I learned about this quote, Mary was a toddler. She could not hold a glass without dropping it. Routinely, milk was spilled. Sometimes, it was accompanied by shattered glass all over the floor. This is not an international military crisis or civil breech of justice; but it is frustrating. I got the big idea, though, that a small discomfort such as that could be the occasion for great power. Instead of (a) anger or (b) self-pity or (c) grumbling, I could choose (d) "Thanks be to God" or "I love you Jesus!" This may sound easy, but IT IS NOT. That is why it is worth ten thousand similar prayers in opposite circumstances! It is very, very hard to re-route my brain from the normal tracks, and instead, choose joy, thanks, or love.
The real story is that I read Alphonsus' quote, and I got the stomach flu days later. It must have been designed from above: a perfect training ground. I threw up on the hour every hour for 2 days. That's a lot of throw up! All of this, with two toddlers and an infant! Every time I threw up, I would force myself to pray, "Thanks be to God! Thanks be to God!" through the entire, horrible, heaving experience. I became more creative as the episodes went on. I prayed praises, thanked God for his wonderful attributes, came up with all sorts of exclamations of joy. This going on with a baby climbing at my knees, trying to touch inside the toilet, etc. Nasty stuff.
I learned to give that gift to other people. In the Bible, Paul says that he would join his suffering to that of Christ so that it could benefit others. "I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church," (Col. 1:24). Paul rejoiced in his sufferings--what I was trying to do at the toilet--joining himself to Christ on the cross so that Paul's suffering could have value for others. Well, Alphonsus said that if you do that joyfully, if you praise and thank God in a moment of suffering, it has ten thousand times the value of praise in a time of comfort. So I decided that I would offer my thanks to God when I was throwing up and in other times of discomfort, and I would offer that with someone in mind. I would think of someone who is in need. I would give my thanks when in pain or in a hard or miserable circumstance, and ask or hope that whatever the value of that prayer, that it not be for me, but for the person I had in mind. So I learned to petition for others, to intercede for others, in this way. I have spent the years ever since doing that. One good thing is that, the worse the suffering, the more powerful the prayer. So there is very little that I fear now. No matter how bad, I can rejoice in all things (Phil. 4:4), be content in all things (Phil. 4:11), and pray without ceasing (1 Thes. 5:17). I am not always so great at it, and I forget, or it can take me a long time to remember to do it. But not a day goes by that it does not cross my mind to offer whatever I am going through for others. I have NO IDEA what God really does with that. I do not calculate, and I do not assume that I am doing that on my own. God has given the grace for this prayer, as He does for all prayers. But it is a way that I escape the clutches of self-pity, anger or frustration. It is a way that I give what I have to give to those whom I love. It is a way that God comes into the littleness of my everyday life, and I find His presence there all day long. I hope, too that it has some value, as Alphonsus said. But that is God's business and not mine.
My answer was about my dear saint friend, St. Alphonsus of Liguori, mentioned a couple of days ago.:) He wrote: "Praying 'Thanks be to God," one time in a moment of pain is worth ten thousand 'Thanks be to God's' in times of comfort."
That idea changed my whole world. I realized that I had lots and lots of power at my disposal. When someone in my life is suffering, I want to help them. I might have, and might still, pray a prayer, such as: "God, please help so and so; resolve her problem; comfort her!" That prayer is, I am sure, heard by God and responded to. But some prayers are just more powerful than others. The Scriptures are very clear about this: e.g., it takes fasting with prayer to move mountains; Christ on the cross praying; etc. These are powerful prayers that simply do not compare with the high school student who prays to get a good grade on a test. Some prayers are, indeed, more powerful than others.
Well, I realized that when I am having a difficulty, it can be the occasion for great and mighty prayers. About the time I learned about this quote, Mary was a toddler. She could not hold a glass without dropping it. Routinely, milk was spilled. Sometimes, it was accompanied by shattered glass all over the floor. This is not an international military crisis or civil breech of justice; but it is frustrating. I got the big idea, though, that a small discomfort such as that could be the occasion for great power. Instead of (a) anger or (b) self-pity or (c) grumbling, I could choose (d) "Thanks be to God" or "I love you Jesus!" This may sound easy, but IT IS NOT. That is why it is worth ten thousand similar prayers in opposite circumstances! It is very, very hard to re-route my brain from the normal tracks, and instead, choose joy, thanks, or love.
The real story is that I read Alphonsus' quote, and I got the stomach flu days later. It must have been designed from above: a perfect training ground. I threw up on the hour every hour for 2 days. That's a lot of throw up! All of this, with two toddlers and an infant! Every time I threw up, I would force myself to pray, "Thanks be to God! Thanks be to God!" through the entire, horrible, heaving experience. I became more creative as the episodes went on. I prayed praises, thanked God for his wonderful attributes, came up with all sorts of exclamations of joy. This going on with a baby climbing at my knees, trying to touch inside the toilet, etc. Nasty stuff.
I learned to give that gift to other people. In the Bible, Paul says that he would join his suffering to that of Christ so that it could benefit others. "I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church," (Col. 1:24). Paul rejoiced in his sufferings--what I was trying to do at the toilet--joining himself to Christ on the cross so that Paul's suffering could have value for others. Well, Alphonsus said that if you do that joyfully, if you praise and thank God in a moment of suffering, it has ten thousand times the value of praise in a time of comfort. So I decided that I would offer my thanks to God when I was throwing up and in other times of discomfort, and I would offer that with someone in mind. I would think of someone who is in need. I would give my thanks when in pain or in a hard or miserable circumstance, and ask or hope that whatever the value of that prayer, that it not be for me, but for the person I had in mind. So I learned to petition for others, to intercede for others, in this way. I have spent the years ever since doing that. One good thing is that, the worse the suffering, the more powerful the prayer. So there is very little that I fear now. No matter how bad, I can rejoice in all things (Phil. 4:4), be content in all things (Phil. 4:11), and pray without ceasing (1 Thes. 5:17). I am not always so great at it, and I forget, or it can take me a long time to remember to do it. But not a day goes by that it does not cross my mind to offer whatever I am going through for others. I have NO IDEA what God really does with that. I do not calculate, and I do not assume that I am doing that on my own. God has given the grace for this prayer, as He does for all prayers. But it is a way that I escape the clutches of self-pity, anger or frustration. It is a way that I give what I have to give to those whom I love. It is a way that God comes into the littleness of my everyday life, and I find His presence there all day long. I hope, too that it has some value, as Alphonsus said. But that is God's business and not mine.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
My bilingual daughter!
Clare announced: "Mom! Dad! I can count to three in Spanish! Uno, tres, NACHO!"
She was serious.
She was serious.
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