lotta lotta

Lotta strawberries

Lotta roses

Lotta spinach

Lotta harvesters!

     As it is harvest time for our winter and early spring garden this year, I am taken with how much I have worked, toiled, and labored over the past decades.  For the first time in my life, I have a strong sense that it is time to stop sowing, and start harvesting--and feasting.  It is time to reap what has been born, and then have a party and celebrate!  That means enjoying my time with my husband, first and foremost.  What a joy to have such a marriage.  We have never been so happy--like newlyweds but without the timidity and sense of risk.  Secondly, it means enjoying daily life with my children.  We have come to a new place of peace and levity.  Each of the five is in a remarkably good place.  That does not happen often.  It also means spending time with people like my mom and dad, sisters and brothers--relationships that have been blessed.  Lastly, it means NOT thinking, "I have thirty minutes of free time--shall I work on my manuscript?"  NO!  That is sowing!  That is laboring on another project.  It is time to stop laboring, and enjoy the harvest! 

     If someone tilled, hoed, sowed, watered, fed, weeded, mulched and harvested, and then did not feast, they would be crazy.  To bring all that hard-earned produce into the home, and then let it rot, while tilling a new plot--sheer idiocy!  I shall not do that.  I am harvesting, and our family is beginning our feast.  

     Praise God!  I understand saying a sincere prayer of thanks and blessing before a meal--it would not be, without the majesty and constant help of the Creator.  

     I've got a lotta thanks!

dream

     Such a magnificent dream--a week ago but still feels an hour old.
     A group of saints, priests and bishops were mingling with me here in TX.  We were laughing, toasting and having a ball, enjoying being together.
     One of them said, "Sure is better to be here in Irving than any place else!"
     Then Fr. P., our parish priest from Virginia said, "But the only problem is that in Irving, the average family size is 12!"  He and the other priests roared laughing at his humor, and I sort of chuckled.
     One of them said to me, "This, Kathryn, is the place for you.  A perfect place to throw down your roots."
    I woke up so peaceful.  It did not feel at all like one of those strange dreams that comes from the bowels of one's unconscious.  It felt like God speaking to me.  I have known that He brought Ron, the kids and I here as a divine favor.  Truly, so many answered prayers here.  But there are problems; it is an imperfect community.  And, I just feel awkward being new.
    Having done so much preliminary work of establishing ourselves here, it was such a blessing to feel God's nudge: "It's okay, get comfortable.  I WANT you here."

lows and highs

  The low point of the past 3 days: throwing my back out and being in constant, horrible pain that over the counter pain killers don't even touch.
   The high point of the past three days: being able to offer it up for people I love, and being grateful for the pain since, by God's mercy, the world is hopefully a better place.  It is so strange to think that those prayers would not have existed without the pain!  Pain is fleeting.  Answered prayers are eternal!

    New life mission statement: "You show me the path of life.  In your presence, the fullness of joy, O Lord."  (Ps. 16:11)   Joy, joy, joy.  Nothing can put a dent in my joy!

   Stay on the particular path God has for you, and He BLESSES you with JOY!!  I LOVE THAT!!!!!

Hanging out my car window. . .

. . . driving to Chama with a camera in my hand. . . 

. . . and three girls plus a sleeping baby in the back seat. . .

 . . . this is what I saw. . .

. . . until we drove to Abiquiu and the baby woke up. . .

 . . . and I passed back Gatorade and granola bars. . .

. . . and then we had to make emergency bathroom stops. . .

. . . and we almost had two accidents (one bathroom, one car). . .

. . . but then we made and it and I was glad we had done it!

Spending a Day in a John Denver Song

     We had ridden across the west Texan desert and into the desert of southern New Mexico.  There it is flat and arid, except for a small mountain range, poking up in the middle of nowhere.  It is a mountainous, alpine forest, reminiscent of Colorado.  The mountain range is like a drop of ink, splattered at the end of a written line.  The writer who draws the line (the Rocky Mountain range extending from Canada, through Colorado, and into New Mexico) lifts the pen, and a drop falls, disconnected from the rest.  So is the mountain range of Ruidoso: a splatter of the Rocky Mountains, disconnected from the rest of the range.
     We were overjoyed with our humble cabin in the evergreen glades.  We pitched our set up of checkers, Uno and coloring books.
     Then I fell in love with the little town, a cousin of Aspen or Vail: Ruidoso is a ski town just off of Alta Ski Area.  I found all sorts of little shops and restaurants.
     But then our hearts were truly captured by a lake, nestled in the middle of the mountains.  We got out of the car, cooing, oohing and ahhing.  We settled on the edge of the lake and relaxed for hours.  It felt like we were playing inside a John Denver song.

"Sunshine on my shoulders. . . "

 ". . . makes me feel happy. "

Learning how to. . .

   . . . skip stones!

     Being off the grid has never felt so good!

Outta Gas

     Hobbling to the car to leave for our vacation, Mary looked like all of us felt: drained and driving on fumes.
     So running out of gas in the middle of nowhere in East Texas was a perfect indication of where we all are!
     I was driving while Ron was working on his Augustine paper in the passenger seat.  We had a quarter of a tank of gas.  I thought: "I'll stop at the next town for gas."  There had been a little town every 20 miles or so the whole was thus far, hence my opinion seemed imminently reasonable to me.  Our Expedition was pulling a trailer with our camping gear and mountain bikes, which takes more gas.  Additionally, the car was fighting a strong wind the whole way.  So I knew that the quarter of a tank was not something to rely on for too much longer.
    Well, as the red needle approached the "Empty" marker half an hour later, I wondered where the next town was.  Just then, I saw a green sign which read: "Roswell 45 miles."  What!  45 miles??  I spoke to Ron about it.  At first he joked: Well, we have camping equipment, food--we won't die out here!  It might be a nice evening under the stars!"  I thought that was a nice place to begin our collective panic.  A few minutes later it started.
     "Well, it's daytime, and sunny, 77 degrees.  So wherever we break down, we'll call AAA."
     A few moments later: "What if we do not have cell coverage wherever we breakdown?"
     In fact, we did not have coverage where we were at that moment.  That is when our stomachs fell out.
     "Remember the movie 'Breakdown?"  And we reviewed the plot.  That was a stupid thing to do.
     We kept driving, as Ron cheerfully said: "Well, all we can do is keep going forward, until we can't go forward any more!  Who knows--maybe we'll make it!"  I love that Pollyanna streak of optimism in him.  It is such a nice compliment to the Indiana Jones/Surviver Man quality that's dominant.
     Well, we prayed a lot.  The family was reciting Hail Mary's as we puttered out of gas, on the edge of town.  We had cell coverage, and I was so happy that we could call AAA.  That was all I had really hoped for.
    Ron then threw a curve ball: "I'll bike to the nearest gas station and be back in a sec!"
     What?  How many people happen to have their own mountain bike with them when the run out of gas!?
I reminded him of the AAA option.  He looked at me with a queer look and I quickly assented to his proposition.  Helpless suburban girl should always yield to Man Versus Wild guy when possible.
     So, off he went:

And so, without calling for help, we got our own gas, then drove to a filling station to fill up for real.  We were a sight in line for bathrooms: messy faces, messy hair, weary faces.
     We were in Roswell, the home of the "biggest UFO coverup in history."  So we went to the UFO Museum and Research Center.

   We felt a little more normal in contrast to extra terrestrials!
     We finally got in the car and drove the last hour, arriving at a quaint cabin in a resort town that rivals the French alps.  A heavenly destination.  A hard-earned one, at that!

Mary's Toe

     Mary broke her toe!  She was rummaging through our mittens basket, packing for our Spring Break trip to New Mexico, when a trailer hitch fell onto her toe and crushed it.  I've never heard her cry so loudly.  It was an almost unbearable sound.  In seconds I was holding her.  Ron ran in and I asked his opinion, given the purple-bluish, swollen mass that used to be her toe.  He said: "My opinion is that I take her to the ER right away for x-rays."  Now THAT's a sound opinion.
     She wrote in her journal which she read aloud to us (and gave me permission to post here): "Today was a big adventure.  Why?  Because I broke the tip of my toe.  I have to wear a big wooden shoe.  This is the biggest adventure of my life and I am only nine."

In the Eve of Life

     Ron has been asked to write a chapter on Augustine's Christology for a major book soon to come out on Augustine.  It is a very hard topic, with no definitive piece on it.  Ron has thus been invited to write that definitive piece, and has been working around the clock for weeks on it. 

     I have some writing projects that I would like to be working on, too.  I would like to make a contribution that might make a difference in someone's life.  

     But for now, I am working on my magnum opus of the heart.  I am working on loving those around me well, with patience, kindness, and joy.  How will we be judged at the end of life?  "In the eve of life, we will be judged on love," wrote St. John of the Cross.  I will be judged not on what I write on paper, but on what is written on my heart and the hearts of those who are my vocation.  

A Small Act of Love

     Ron took the girls to Alvin (a huge act of love), and I got to have a day with Jake.  I was tired, and really wanted to just sleep.  But then, my next best idea was to go to the nursery to look at spring plants.  Jake is quite a gardener, and had previously picked out several things he wanted to plant from a gardening catalogue.  So we grabbed the catalogue to compare his selections against the plants in the nursery, and we were on our way.
    On the way, we bought him some soccer cleats.
    Once at the nursery, we went through the isles like bees in a clover patch.  This way, that way, grabbing up herbs, smelling the jasmine, checking out vegetables and deliberating over fruit trees.  We came home with a blueberry bush, swiss chard, strawberries, annuals and herbs.  The flats jostled as we drove down the highway.
     We stopped at Zoe's Kitchen for a delightful dinner.

  

     Then we went home, stopping to pick up snacks for tomorrow's soccer game on the way.  

     The most amazing thing happened next. 

     I had happened to do what I NEVER do: check what movies are playing.  I had seen a PG action movie for kids.  I thought I'd be bored, but I knew Jake would like it.  

     Well, when we were about done with our day, I did the totally unlikely--I offered to take him to see the movie.  I had really wanted some alone time, curled up in bed, reading.  I had already told Jake that is how I wanted to spend the evening, so perhaps he could read or something, and he was fine with that.  But against all odds, I offered to take him to this movie.  He was thrilled.  

    The moment it began, I knew I had not been in charge of that decision: it was a movie based on all Jake's favorite books: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Treasure Island, Gulliver's Travels.  He was immediately captivated, and I was in awe.  I felt like something far beyond me had ushered me like a dumb little lamb to that theater.  It was a perfect movie for him: fun, referring to the books constantly, positive themes, and actually enjoyable to watch.  It was like fitting a puzzle piece into a puzzle.  As we walked out of the theater he said, "As if a perfect day could get any better--and then it did!"  

     St. Therese said: "The smallest act of pure love is of more value to the church than all the other works put together."  I know that God put together our day, because it was an act of pure love for Jacob, an act far beyond what I could have designed.  I wanted him to have the best day possible, but I could never have topped it off like that on my own.  I witnessed God's love for my son.  It made me realize that Therese's quote is correct, and the reason is that God is that way.  God's signature is a simple act of pure love.  That is what He is best at.  When He does one, you know it, feel it, and nothing feels quite the same.  When we do such acts, we are participating in the divine life.  Nothing is better than that.  Nothing is worth more than that.  

    I love my son, and God loves my son.  How grateful I am to live in this life of love.  

happiness

     I am working on a document on happiness.  It is such a complex subject!  How do we become happy--truly happy?  What battles do we allow ourselves to lose, in order to win the war?
     One main point is not to confuse "happiness" with "greatness" if greatness means "great in some respect."
     Happiness, in my opinion, is a matter of becoming excellent per se, not excellent in some regard.  One can be an excellent on-screen actress and not be happy.  One can be an excellent president and not be happy.
     Sometimes, happiness requires that one NOT become great in some respect.  But it is not a compromise--it is a choice for something higher!
     I've got a long way to go to understand this topic!