Beatrice Brigade

This column has been making the rounds, but I wanted to blog it here so I can come back to it later. (Often my blog acts as a scrapbook for me where I can record bits and pieces I find on the web so I can find them again when I need them. I never really expected an audience and I write as much for myself as for anyone else.)
Excerpt:

Whenever I feel very bad, I make sure to speak to home school mothers. These women represent something new. They are not feminists, a phrase they most often reject with scorn. Most live in very traditional households where the husband is the head of the family. However, they are certainly not Donna Reed door mats waiting at home in pearls and high heels for their lord and master to arrive home. They are very strong and fiercely opinionated. They are incredibly well read, devouring more books a year, than most U.C. students read in four years. Book a talk with Plato scholar to hear about big ideas and they show up.

...Sometimes their brutal schedules may make them tired, but they are up for more in the morning. When I talk to them I quickly realize, they care more about idea than rhetoric. These women solve problems every day. They educated their children in highly creative ways, inventing curriculum, programs, and social events out of nothing but their talent. They are neither dowdy nor fashion conscience. Their dress is most often sensible, but feminine. They innovate, but within the bounds of tradition. What are they? God bless us, they are ladies, a group many thought had gone extinct around the time of the sinking of Titanic.

In one sense, their lives are a bloodless martyrdom. The media mostly forgets them except for the occasional condescending piece in the Times. They fit no stereotypes, being too numerous and too interesting, so they are ignored. They sacrifice for the well fare of their children.

In the past year and a half since I started researching homeschooling I've met some of the most wonderful women online who are all homeschooling moms. Kindred spirits, as Anne of Green Gables would say, they have inspired me with their examples, nourished me with their eloquent prose, entertained me with stories of family life, nurtured me with kind words of advice and support, rejoiced with me during my triumphs, comforted me and consoled me during my trials and shared with me a love of learning, of books and of family. I look forward to the day when I will join their ranks, what an honor and a privilege.

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Distant Neighbors

In Touchstone Magazine, Amanda Witt on Keeping Children Innocent When Lesbians Move In, a touching story about how a mother negotiates the delicate balance between charity towards her neighbors and the needs of her own family.

“ Of course you can be friends,” I said. “But you’ll have to agree to disagree about this. Tell her you can be friends, but she cannot keep trying to persuade you that her mother’s behavior is acceptable.” They nodded.

“She’s really upset,” my son said, tears welling up in his eyes. “She thinks that we won’t be allowed to play with her.” That, of all the mess, is what he understood most clearly: Someone’s feelings were getting hurt.

“You can play with her, but she has to agree to disagree. Now, would you like to make brownies and take them over as a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift?” All the children nodded.

I love the way this doesn't turn into a lecture. She teaches by example, and with a very light touch.

My husband, in his evening Bible studies with the children, has been focusing on people who decided to make an exception for themselves in obeying certain rules, either because they didn’t understand why God made such a rule, or simply because his law conflicted with their desires. He has not been pounding away at homosexuality in particular; we’d just as soon our kids forget it exists for now.

I wish more priests would pay attention to this tactic. People complain about the lack of homilies about homosexuality, birth control, abortion, pornography and all the other hot-button cultural issues. But a priest must discern how to speak pointedly on the issues and yet not strip the children in the congregation of their innocence. By speaking about the principles rather than the details I think priests could address the issues that need to be addressed. Also, I think most priests could benefit by talking more to parents and hearing about their concerns, finding out about what they need to hear about.

So some of [my son's] innocence has been preserved, though a good bit of it has gone for good. I grieve for that. And I grieve for the girl who brought this unwelcome knowledge into his life, for “what chance,” as a Christian friend of mine said, “does she have?” She’s not bright, nor is she pretty; she’s from a broken home, is living with lesbians, is discontented, and “specializing,” as she herself puts it, “in being bored.” She has a lot of strikes against her and, making matters worse, is willing to embrace the role of victim.

I do the only thing I know to do: I pray. I ask God to guide my children’s thoughts and attitudes. I ask him to guide the new girl’s life. He is strong enough to work a miracle there, though it may be a slow miracle, one I may never see.

I have, however, been allowed to see one small step. Recently a new family moved in down the street, and the girl with the lesbian mom suggested that my children go with her to meet them.

“You never know,” she said hopefully. “They might be Christians, too.”

This kind of brings me back to Linda Fay's post about how to raise heavenly-minded children. This girl has obviously learned to expect love from Christians. Can I say the same about everyone I encounter?

Update:
See additional thoughts on this article by radical catholic mom (I love the Blake poem she quotes) and literacy-chic

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Morning Offering

O my God, you love me,
you’re with me night and day.
I want to love you always in all I do and say.
I’ll try to please you, Father.
Bless me through the day.

Amen.


Father in heaven,
I give you today,
all that I think and do and say.
And I unite it with all that was done,
by Jesus Christ, your dear Son.

Amen.

I like these two prayers. They are short and rhyme, therefore easy to remember. It seems they would be very suitable to teach to young children to help them get into the habit of a morning offering.

Right now we're in the habit of saying night prayers with Isabella right before we put her to bed and blessings at meals (I try to remember when I nurse her to and do so about half the time.) but I'd also like to start a morning prayer with her as well at some point. I suppose it's never too early to start.

Found on the website of the Diocese of Cork and Ross. (They have some really good Night Prayers too.)

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Raising Heavenly-Minded Children

At Higher Up and Further In Linda Fay answers a reader's question: "How can we live with Heaven in mind while here on Earth, and how do we impart this eternal thinking to our children?”

So how do we impart the Spiritual? We cannot impart what we do not have. So we must begin with ourselves. If we cannot answer the following questions in the affirmative, then we must seek such revelation with all our heart. Do we believe Him when He states over and over again that He loves us with an everlasting love? Or is it mental assent? If we truly believe that we have a Perfect Lover who will never leave us and hurt us without a cause, then we will respond in kind. We will long to get to know Him deeply, to be near Him, to share every secret with Him and ask for his counsel. We will spend our days and nights thinking of Him. We will yearn to see His face. Our life will revolve around pleasing Him, because we have learned that He is the perfect, benevolent King. Our heart will skip a beat when He speaks our name. (And He DOES speak YOUR name.) We will no longer fear for our loved ones if we are taken before them, knowing that we did our best and now their Perfect Father, Who loves them so much more than we ever could, will finish the task. It’s not that we don’t love our children enough; it’s just that we love Him more. We begin to find that earth’s pleasures leave us unsatisfied and they begin to fade, while heaven’s light seems to glow behind a thinner shroud.

If we love Him this much, then we will not be able to stop ourselves from speaking of Him with great feeling to our children throughout the day. We will often recall the good gifts He has blessed us with, we will speak of the wonders He has wrought in creation and His many miracles through the ages. When we fail, we will thank Him for His mercy and forgiveness and then do the same for our little ones. We will continually compare Him with the kings of the earth and brag of His surpassing greatness. Our children will see us spontaneously worship with a full heart. We will often speak of heaven with yearning in our eyes, not because of that beautiful mansion we want, but because the King lives there and we will finally see His face and be near Him.

And then, one day…we catch a glimpse of Love’s mist in our own dear children’s eyes.

I hope she doesn't mind me copying out such a huge part of her answer, but it is so lovely. Of course, it is also a great challenge. It is one thing to see the course that we must run, another thing to rise every day and run it. I know I should run for the sake of the goal, for God. But I am weak and so I have to confess that there are many days when this thought, the thought of doing it for Isabella, will make it easier to stay the course. Because as much as I might fear to fail on my own behalf, I fear even more failing her.

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Prayer Request

Prayers for blogger Linda Fay of Higher Up and Further In:

I need to take a little break for a week or two because my family has been battling some nasty cases of pertussis and sadly, I am in the midst of losing a baby, although my body will not go into labor. I dare not get a D&C here in our small city as the conditions are too dangerous. I have some serious blood clotting and will probably have to travel several hours away to get things taken care of in a safer environment. It has been especially difficult for my older children since this is our second loss in a few years. We'd appreciate your prayers for us during this time.

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More veggies

Today I sauteed onions, mushrooms, apples and spinach with a little herbs de Provence. Another success. Isabella liked everything, but especially targeted the spinach, shoveling handfuls into her mouth with abandon and smearing it all over mouth, arms, shirt and bib and even onto an ear.

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Ender's Island

I have very fond memories of St. Edmund's retreat center on Ender's Island (near Mystic Connecticut). Back when Dom and I were first dating we went on a retreat there. It was a planning retreat for Proud to Be Catholic, the concert founded and organized by my now-brother-in law Peter Campbell.

Ender's Island is a beautiful, magical place and the retreat was a wonderful opportunity for some quiet reflective time. Dom and I took several long walks on the grounds, creating some very nice memories. Later, Dom gave me as a lovely wedding present a framed copy of one of my favorite T.S. Eliot poems, A Dedication to My Wife, illustrated with pictures of us on Ender's Island.

All of which is by way of a long introduction to this lovely little story about Ender's Island and Fr. Benedict Groeschel at Suicide of the West. Thanks to blogger Mark Gordon for the trip down memory lane.

Hat tip to Happy Catholic

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Think: Bride

Genevieve at Feminine Genius has a thoughtful reflection on Barbara Nicholosi's Jerusalem travelogue:

Jerusalem is an icon of the bride -- no doubt bereft without the groom and weeping over the disinterest of their own offspring. Jesus wept over her while there, He took a lash to her temple, and was rejected by her temple priests. She in turn stands as mother of many wayward children as well as the few who take the narrow road of truth. And those roads twist and turn like the alleys Barb followed, maddening and yet having once borne the God-man, sowing the seed for our very life.

Go read the whole thing here

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Isabella's veggies

I've noticed that Bella is more likely to eat veggies when they come from our plates. She doesn't much like the jarred baby diced veggies or even frozen veggies when I thaw them from the microwave. Maybe they're too bland, I thought.

So today I performed a bit of an experiment at lunch. I sauteed a bit of onion in some olive oil and then cooked the frozen veggies (peas, carrots, corn and green beans) with a little herbs de Provence. The experiment was a success. Bell loved it. She shoveled in those peas and carrots and even ate a few green beans. The corn didn't seem to please her much, but that's ok. Maybe tonight I'll try some spinach with onions.

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The Bronze Serpent

In Tuesday's mass readings we got the story of the Bronze Serpent from Numbers. Now this story has always bugged me. Even though St. Paul clarifies that we should see it with a Christological significance, and I see how that works, sorta, I still have a problem with the literal meaning of the story. What is the significance of the seraph serpents that bite the complaining Israelites? How did the Jews understand this story? What did it mean for them to look on the bronze serpent? How was that not an idol like the golden calf?

So Dom and I went online (ok,mostly Dom) and found some good resources for Bible study. This one, Textweek.com, has each week's lectionary readings with a treasure trove of scripture study links.

Entering "Numbers 21: 4-9 pulled up more resources than I knew what to do with. Links to various translations and commentaries (the links go not to the generic link, but to the specific passage I'm searching for) links to historical references, commentaries and comparative texts (including rabbinic commentaries), links to articles, sermons, Sunday school lessons, dramas, graphics and bulletin materials, I could go on and on.

I found that this sermon, Brazen Serpents, had what I was looking for. It begins with a study of Jewish commentators and the difficulties they've had with the text.

The ancient rabbis equated both the primordial serpent and Satan himself with a force known as the "yetzer ha-ra." This Hebrew expression is often translated as "the evil urge," but this translation is dangerously misleading. According to the Jewish understanding, the good Lord implanted into every human being this yetzer ha-ra, a drive that combines features of ambition, greed and sexual desire.

An extraordinary myth found in the Talmud relates how the Jewish sages, shortly after the Babylonian Captivity, were determined to put an end to this formidable threat. Encouraged by their recent success at eradicating the "urge" to worship idols (an urge that had been such a constant stumbling-block to earlier generations, but which no longer held any appreciable attraction to the Jews of their time), --these sages now felt (understandably) that they were "on a roll." So they decided to seize the opportunity to capture and destroy the "yetzer ha-ra" itself. And they were successful. They caught the beast and bound it in chains, eagerly awaiting the moment when they would remove it from the world for all time.

But soon strange reports started arriving: Nobody was showing up at work anymore. No one wanted to marry or raise families. The chickens were not laying eggs!

Now these sages came to the realisation that they had misunderstood the nature of this "evil urge." For the drives represented in that faculty are essential for the proper functioning of humanity as God planned us to live our lives. The urge is not "evil" in any absolute sense, but only when it is allowed to trespass beyond its legitimate domain. Sexuality is a wonderful gift when invested in a loving marriage and family, but can be perverted into a force for hatred and abuse. And ambition can be an admirable quality when it is channelled towards spiritual creativity and service of humanity, but is a fiery scourge when it is twisted into unrestricted covetousness. It was this failure to set limits to the "yetzer ha-ra" that was represented by the serpent in the Garden of Eden. This made the serpent a suitable instrument of divine punishment--but also of healing.

The conclusion from all this is that our role as humans is not to eliminate the "serpent," the yetzer ha-ra, but to keep it under control and direct it to a productive course. Jews believe that this is best done by following the values and way of life set down in the Torah. Christians try to achieve it through their faith in Jesus.

Following from the ideas that I have just sketched, allow me to propose my own way of understanding the symbolism of the brazen serpent.

The Mishnah, that eminent compendium of Jewish oral traditions, has explicitly rejected any simplistic magical interpretation of the story: "Does a serpent really hold the power over death or life?" it asks rhetorically. "Rather, as Israel lifted their eyes and gazed upward, they would submit their hearts to their Father in Heaven --and this would bring about their cure."

Perhaps, the meditation on the serpent image was intended to teach them something about their roles as a special, holy people. Living under the direct scrutiny of the Almighty does not require that they relinquish the normal, healthy human drives which he has given them. God, as a loving parent, wants nothing more than the happiness of his creatures. Let the serpent remind you of this basic truth, that holiness will be achieved through perfecting your humanity, not by denying it or seeking to transcend it.

But if I wanted to go further, dig deeper, find other interpretations, other commentaries, there's a whole page of references waiting for me. And maybe I'll go back and poke around some more... who knows what good stuff I'll find.


Oh and another good Bible study resources is The St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology.

Now I've just got to remember to consult them more often instead of stewing in my own ignorance.

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On Footwashing

Anther great article at Lumen Gentleman:"The Footwashing Ritual and the Sacrament of Holy Orders: A New Look at John 13"

This is by far the best article I've found on the subject of foot washing. Last year when the inevitable kerfuffle about washing women's feet on Holy Thursday arose, I went hunting for articles that would explicate the Biblical passage and unravel the connection between footwashing and the institution of the priesthood. And I found some good stuff, but even the best of what I found left me feeling like there was something I wasn't getting, some gap I couldn't see clearly but knew was there. With this article, I felt like the gaps were finally closed.

I especially liked the way the article traces the roots of the ritual to Old Testament passages. So often I find that when I'm confused about the Bible, turning to the Old Testament (or, rather finding a commentary that does so) is what helps to unlock the hard passages. And when I've been stuck in the Old Testament it's frequently finding a commentary that refers to Jewish rabbinical tradition and to Jewish culture that helps dispel the murk.

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Another Lenten Meditation

Every Christian one day reaches the point where he too must be ready to accompany the Master into destruction and oblivion: into that which the world considers folly, that which for his own understanding is incomprehensible, for his own feeling intolerable. Whatever it is to be: suffering, dishonor, the loss of loved ones or the shattering of a lifetime oeuvre, this is the decisive test of his Christianity. Will he shrink back from the ultimate depths, or will he be able to go all the way and thus win his share of the life of Christ? What is it we fear in Christianity if not precisely this demand? That is why we try to water it down to a less disturbing system of "ethics"... or what have you. But to be a Christian means to participate in the life of Christ -- all of it; only the whole brings peace. The Lord once said, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled, or be afraid" (John 14:27). Peace comes only from living this through to the end.

Romano Guardini, "The Footwashing" in The Lord

another great quote I lifted from Clayton at The Weight of Glory

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Growing a Human

This post at Testosterhome made me remember something I meant to write last week.

As Lent began I was so tired and I felt so lazy. I knew that a lot of it was the first trimester sleepies. I'm not being lazy, I told myself. It's the baby. (And the fact that Isabella was still not sleeping through the night.)

And then the miscarriage. And about a week later suddenly I found myself bounding down the basement steps to throw in a quick load of laundry before breakfast. Well, not literally bounding, that would be foolish and land me with a broken neck; but I was bounding on the inside. And I realized I had my energy back. Suddenly those steps didn't seem like an insurmountable obstacle, to work my way up to, maybe after a full breakfast and then a little rest.

I knew pregnancy was taking a lot out of me, but I didn't realize how much. After all, after Bella was born there wasn't this sudden surge of energy. I was recovering from surgery at first and then dealing with being a first time mom with a baby who never slept more than half an hour at a time.

Of course, now I don't have any excuses. If I don't get up off the couch to do the laundry, it really is laziness.

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Thanks for Prayers Answered

Jennifer F of et tu, jen? is expecting baby #3 and has been very stressed out over health and financial issues. But God is good and provides for all our needs if only we dare to ask.

Her amazing story of prayer granted:

I didn't know if it was silly to pray to ask God to send me a house in my specified neighborhood at a good price, but I did anyway. We currently share a house with my mother but are desperately out of room, and it's just not going to work anymore once the new baby gets here. So, as tight as money is, we need a house.

I realized that the best thing I could do to make my life easier when I have three kids under three years old is to live as close as possible to my mother. Though I really dislike the location of her house (in the middle of suburban sprawl, in an area that I consider the outer edges of the universe), I knew that the right thing to do was to look for a house in the less expensive neighborhood that adjoins hers. So I asked God: please, please, please direct me to a house that will work for our family and (most importantly) that we can afford. Our budget is so low that many of my friends actually weren't aware that our metropolitan area even has any houses that cheap.

Long story short, one weekend a few weeks ago we happened to drive by a house with a "For Sale By Owner" sign out front. We called the number from my cell phone and the guy showed us the house that day. He was just beaming as he walked us through the house because he said he had been praying about this and had asked God to send him a buyer that very day.

So the house is beautiful, the price is unbelievable, they're closing tomorrow. But Jen still needs a bunch of furniture.... To see how wonderfully God provides, go read the whole story. Bring a box of tissues.

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Reader Question: Lent and Easter Books

In the comments below Cecelia's Mommy asked:

Cecilia is 14 months and like you I have been looking for and collecting good books for her to read in the future. Sometimes, I confess, I even browse your Amazon.com wish lists for ideas. I have searched a few times for good Lent/Easter books to get her and 1) the selection seems to be a bit slim, 2) some of them seem to be a bit Protestantized (e.g. - I found one where a review said the Last Supper refers to the bread as "symbolic") and 3) even the Catholic ones seem to be watered down.

Frankly, I'm having a hard time thinking of any. However, I know what you mean about "watered down." When I was teaching 4th grade CCD I tried to read them the story of the Last Supper from a children's Bible that omitted the actual words of consecration. I improvised and told the children there was something missing... Happily they were all able to chant the words with me.

So far my collecting and wish listing have been opportunistic rather than methodical. When I see something that looks good or read a good review, I put it on the list.

The only book that comes immediately to mind, and that just because I was looking through it in the store the other day, is The Tale of Three Trees: A Traditional Folktale, it could be appropriate for Christmas or Easter... one of the trees becomes the manger, another the boat Jesus preaches from, the third becomes the cross.

My other thought was to check out the list in Catholic Mosaic, which is a program of year-round study of picture books to follow the liturgical year. I've not actually got the book yet or even looked at it, but I've seen it discussed on several Catholic sites and have been thinking about eventually adding it to my collection as a resource. I found the list online (I'll copy it on the next page). But even that seems slim and I'm not familiar with any of the books.

Maybe other readers of the blog will have suggestions.
More...

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"Who is Melchizedek and What Is His Priestly Order?"

This great article at LumenGentleman clears up some questions I had and even answered some I didn't have.

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What kind of poem are you?

I am the sonnet, never quickly thrilled; Not prone to overstated gushing praise Nor yet to seething rants and anger, filled With overstretched opinions to rephrase; But on the other hand, not fond of fools, And thus, not fond of people, on the whole; And holding to the sound and useful rules, Not those that seek unjustified control. I'm balanced, measured, sensible (at least, I think I am, and usually I'm right); And when more ostentatious types have ceased, I'm still around, and doing, still, alright. In short, I'm calm and rational and stable - Or, well, I am, as much as I am able. What Poetry Form Are You?

(If you were not a Sonnet you would be Blank Verse.)

I am, of course, none other than blank verse. I don't know where I'm going, yes, quite right; And when I get there (if I ever do) I might not recognise it. So? Your point? Why should I have a destination set? I'm relatively happy as I am, And wouldn't want to be forever aimed Towards some future path or special goal. It's not to do with laziness, as such. It's just that one the whole I'd rather not Be bothered - so I drift contentedly; An underrated way of life, I find. What Poetry Form Are You?

Yeah, that works. I think sometimes I'm more of a sonnet, sometimes I'm blank verse.

hat tip to Melissa Wiley

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"Saint Daniel the Stylite Academy"

This First Things column on homeschooling addresses some of the topics Dom and I have been discussing recently, especially the way education is not a series of discrete subjects, but integrated into all aspects of life.

When people think of school, typically they think of a day dominated by a roster of discrete subjects. In English, you do reading, writing, spelling, and grammar. In math, you do numbers. In history, you do what’s been done before.

In our homeschool, though we cover all these necessary subjects, the delineations between subjects are often far from clear. For example, this fall my math-tutor brother gave us a book entitled Famous Mathematicians, a series of little biographies beginning with Euclid and ending with Norbert Wiener in the twentieth century. The nine-year-old asked if he could read it, so twice a week, during our math time, instead of doing regular computational math, I let him read. When he finished the book, he chose one famous mathematician to profile and wrote a little report. As I was describing this exercise for our friends, I kept thinking that we had either done an awful lot of math and given English the short end of the stick, or else had done a lot of English and shafted math. But then I realized that in fact we had done it all. He had learned math concepts, he had learned history, he had practiced reading and writing and spelling and editing—all by reading one book and writing about it. . . .

At home we can do what’s nearly impossible in a school setting: We can weave learning into the fabric of our family life, so that the lines between “learning” and “everything else” have largely ceased to exist. The older children do a daily schedule of what I call sit-down work: math lessons, English and foreign-language exercises, and readings for history and science. The nine-year-old does roughly two hours of sit-down work a day, while the twelve-year-old spends three to four hours. But those hours hardly constitute the sum total of their education.

If you think about it, that's how infants learn. We don't sit Bella down for an hour of language acquisition followed by an hour of gross motor skills and an hour of fine motor skills. She simply tumbles through her day and with no apparent effort on our part, she learns and grows and passes from one stage to another. My hope is that for her learning will continue to be as natural a part of life, woven into the very fabric of existence, not something segregated away to "school hours".

But what I really liked about this piece was the image she begins and ends with of St Daniel the Stylite. I think I like her proposal of Daniel as a patron saint of homeschoolers. Just go read the article to find out why....

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More on John Holt: How Children Fail

I'm about a third of the way through; but have found much to comment on so far. I figured I'd go ahead and write a blog post.

I'm not finding this book quite as engaging as How Children Learn. I suppose I'm more interested in the process of education and exploring how young minds work than in the process of diagnosing why things go wrong. And that's what this book seems to be, observations of children who fail and, if it progresses the way I expect it to, some attempts at discerning what's going wrong.

One thing I'm not seeing, though, is how Holt became the poster child of the "feel good" self-esteem movement, as Bill Cork suggested he was. Or, rather, I can see how a misreading of his ideas might have been a step on that path, but it seems from this book like the schools were already in a crisis state and that his attempt to figure out why might have shifted the direction of the slide a bit but did not stem the tide.

One thing Holt clearly is not, though, is an advocate of fostering a false sense of self worth. I was particularly struck by this passage:

We agree that all children need to succeed; but do we mean the same thing? My own feeling is that success should not be quick or easy, and should not come all the time. Success implies overcoming an obstacle, including, perhaps, the thought in our minds that we might not succeed. It is turning, "I can't" into "I can and I did."

We ought also to learn, beginning early, that we don't always succeed.... Life holds many more defeats than victories for all of us. Shouldn't we get used to this early? We should learn, too, to aim higher than we think we can hit. "A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a Heaven for?" What we fail to do today, we, or someone, may do tomorrow. Or failure may pave the way for someone else's success.

Of course, we should protect a child, if we can, from a diet of unbroken failure. More to the point, perhaps, we should see that failure is honorable and constructive, rather than humiliating. . . .

It is tempting to think we can arrange the work of unsuccessful students so that they think they are succeeding most of the time. But how can we keep secret from a child what other children of his own age, in his own or other schools, are doing? What these kids need is the experience of doing something really well-- so well that they know themselves, without having to be told, that they have done it well.

It seems to me that this credo, that children need to have the experience of success and should be protected from a diet of unbroken failure, has been taken up by those whose understanding of success is different than Holt's, by those who do not understand the need for success to be real and not false platitudes that praise effort rather than achievement.

In fact, Holt seems to think that children are being praised too much:

If children worry so much about failure, might it not be because they rate success too highly and depend on it too much? May there not be altogether too much praise for good work in the lower grades? If, when Johnny does good work, we make him feel "good," may we not, without intending it, be making him feel "bad" when he does bad work?

Do children really need so much praise? When a child, after a long struggle, finally does the cube puzzle, does he need to be told that he has done well? Doesn't he know, without being told, that he has accomplished something? in fact, when we praise him, are we not perhaps horning in on his accomplishment, stealing a little of his glory, edging our way into the limelight, praising ourselves for having helped to turn out such a smart child?

If Holt thinks that children in his day are getting too much praise, I fail to see how he could be "the guy who gave us "feel good" education, in which children's self esteem is the most important value. " To see self-esteem as the most important thing, is to misread Holt entirely. He thinks children should have real successes and real failures, understand the value of failure and not be beaten down by it. This might bear a superficial resemblance to the classroom culture in which students are told that their feeble attempts are good work, but it is not the same thing at all.

In Holt's ideal world, the child's sense of self worth comes from real struggles and real successes. He doesn't need someone else boosting his self esteem because he isn't failing at everything he sets his hand to. But what we see too often today is children being praised for mediocre work or work that is downright bad. Their feeling of self-esteem comes not from an honest self-evaluation and pride in hard work and a task well-done but in shallow reassurances that they're ok even when they fail to work hard or to accomplish anything.

This passage from Holt made me think of Charlotte Mason:

We must set a limit to the tension that we put children under. If we don't, they will set their own limits by not paying attention, by fooling around, by saying unnecessarily, "I don't get it." We should let them know in advance that they will not have to be under tension for an entire period, and that, if need be, they have the means to bring it to a stop.

In fact, it seems that Charlotte Mason's method addresses many of the problems Holt identifies. CM says that lessons be kept very short, say 15 minutes for little ones, and that children should be required to focus for the duration of the lesson. She says that periods should be varied, a period of physical activity following a period of reading and narration, for example, so that the child is not under the same kind of tension for too long. Both educators suggest that we should have realistic expectations for how long a child can pay attention. We should not require of him more than he is able to give. To do so is to put him under unnecessary strain and to create, unnecessarily, an experience of failure rather than success.

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Book Review: An Invitation to the Classics

I was delighted to find the Deputy Headmistress' review of this wonderful book, a should-have reference for any homeschooler's library.

I had the privilege of taking a couple of classes with Dr. Louise Cowan, one of the book's editors, when I was an undergrad at UD. She was an amazing teacher, quite possibly the best I've ever had. I only wish I'd taken more of her classes. I'm still kicking myself for dropping her Russian novel class at mid-semester, even though I'd probably have failed it and something else as well if I'd tried to continue... I was just too overbooked that term.

Update: Coincidence? Linday Fay at Higher Up and Further In has also posted a review. Her grade: A = You MUST have this book in your library!

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Homeschooling and Parish Life

This post at Amy Welborn's is from a while back, but I must have missed it while I was in the midst of catching up on my blog reading after our long Texas vacation. Amy passes on a request from a priest who asks how parishes can better provide for the needs of homeschoolers, while balancing the needs of the parish school. There are some great responses in the comments section. I'm filing this away for future reference.

One of the comments suggested:

Probably the single best and most comprehensive thing that we have done to build up the community as a whole is to begin using the parish-wide Family Formation program out of the Church of St. Paul in Ham Lake, MN. This is a program that seems to fit everyone - it's fine as a "CCD" program for the public school families, it complements the religious education that our school kids get and involves those families more (not just a "school" thing), and the home school families love it too because it combines both home lessons and monthly parish gatherings. So, when we meet for Family Formation, we have a great cross-section of parents who might not have gotten to know each other otherwise. So far so good.

I spent two years teaching CCD classes and Dom spent two years as DRE at our parish before various circumstances made it too hard for us to continue. Problems in religious education is a frequent topic of conversation in our family. We both think the current model, patterned after school and divided by grade level into classes is simply not working. Our biggest complaint is that it puts the burden of faith formation on the parish, rather than the parents. And how can a mature faith possibly be formed in one hour a week? A family-based model makes the most sense and is much closer to the actual teaching of the church that the family (domestic church) is the basic unit of the church and that parents are the primary educators of their children.

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Shrine Dedicated to Children Who Died Unborn

The Church of the Holy Innocents in New York City has a beautiful shrine dedicated to children who died unborn that I hope to visit one day. You can click the link in the menu at the left of their page to take you to pictures of the shrine and of the Book of Life:

Often children who have died before birth have no grave or headstone, and sometimes not even a name. At The Church of The Holy Innocents, we invite you to name your child(ren) and to have the opportunity to have your baby's name inscribed in our "BOOK OF LIFE".

Here, a candle is always lit in their memory. All day long people stop to pray. On the first Monday of every month, our 12:15pm Mass is celebrated in honor of these children and for the comfort of their families.

We pray that you will find peace in knowing that your child(ren) will be remembered at the Shrine and honored by all who pray here.

I submitted the following to be entered into the Book:

Name: Francis Bettinelli

Francis/Frances miscarried on February 25 2007 at 11 weeks.

Some time during the night, I woke up and the cramping was getting worse. Expecting a miscarriage, I put my hand on my belly and asked the Lord to grant baptism to the child in my womb and, not knowing if I was carrying a girl or a boy, chose the name Francis/Frances.

May my baby be cradled in the loving arms of Mary, the mother of us all.

We hope to meet face to face in heaven one day.

God grant rest to all these innocent children who have died before birth and consolation to all parents who have experienced this loss.

Melanie and Domenico Bettinelli

Link thanks to Leticia at cause of our joy who posts a picture of her girls (one of whom is also an Isabella!) praying at the shrine where their three brothers are memorialized and a beautiful reflection on her own miscarriages.

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Karate Kid?

Screaming summons me into the living room.

"What's wrong?" I asked Dom, who'd been watching the baby, "Did she fall?"

No, evidently, he'd wondered what the black object was that she'd been moving around on the coffee table. Closer inspection revealed a large struggling housefly. He knocked it out of her hand and then swatted it with his fist. (He points to the large corpse in the trash can.) Either she was mad at losing her toy (or her snack?) or she was scared by the sudden motion.

Either she's a budding naturalist or the next karate kid.

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Learning to Crochet

While my sister was here, she started to teach me the basics of knitting and crocheting. I decided the knitting was a bit too difficult to pick up in a week, so we stuck with crocheting. I pulled apart the first piece I did. But here's a picture of my second piece so far. I'm pretty pleased with the consistency of my stitches.



I don't like crocheting as much as quilting, but I haven't had a chance to do any sewing since the quilt I finished for Bella a bit before she was born. At first I was simply too tired. But now that she's sleeping at night, I've found that quilting is just not very compatible with a crawling baby. There are too many potential hazards: the pedal and cords for the sewing machine, the rotary cutter, the cloth itself (she can reach things left on the edge of the dining room table now), and above all the ironing board. I tend to leave my quilting supplies out for weeks on end because it just takes too much time to pack them and unpack them for each session. That's just not possible now. And I can't see leaving her in the playpen for hours on end when she's used to roaming all over. No, quilting will have to wait for another season. Meanwhile, at least I can be a little crafty.

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More Photoblogging

I'm on a roll today.




Extreme closeup in mommy's lap.





I love her more with each new day. Though I'm still not sure how that is possible. Every day I look at her and marvel at the miracle of her life, at the miracle of love. Truly children are a blessing from the Lord. I am very blessed.

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"Still Life with Cheerios"

The flowers (and a mass card) were sent by the Dolans, our upstairs neighbors/landlords. A very nice Irish family who have looked out for me since I moved to Salem.

Yes, the kitchen table is almost always that messy; but the flowers sure brighten it up.

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Pineapple on a Snowy Day

I took this photo of the view from our kitchen window. I liked the contrast between the sunny pineapple and our neighbor's snowy backyard.

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Happy First Day of Spring!!!

I just saw my first robin of the year on the fence outside the dining room window. Unfortunately, he was the only sign of spring. The ground is still covered in snow from Friday's storm. I think I saw a snowdrop last week, but it's buried now. The trees are still bare.

Still, we know the wait is almost over.

Update: I guess the snow's melted quite a bit today. Here's a photo I just took of one of our snow drops. (Thanks to Dom for the photo editing. He always makes me look good!)

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Sermon for Lent

In the Old Testament we read that at the time of Noah, since the entire human race was corrupt and full of lawlessness, the floodgates of the sky were opened and for forty days heavy rain poured down on the earth; symbolically, the earth received the water for forty days. It is more a baptism that it received rather than a flood: a baptism that washed away the sinners' iniquity and saved Noah's justice. In the same way then the Lord today, as at that time, gives us this time of Lent so that during the same number of days, the floodgates may open and flood us with the flood waters of God's mercy. And once washed by the salutary waters of baptism, the sacrament will illuminate us; as in the past, the waters will take away the iniquity of our sins and confirm the justice of our virtues.

The situation of today is similar to the one at the time of Noah. The baptism is a flood for the sinner and a consecration for those who are faithful. In baptism the Lord saves justice and destroys injustice. We see this clearly through the example of the apostle Paul: before being purified by the spiritual precepts, he was a persecutor and blasphemer. Once washed by the heavenly rain of baptism, the blasphemer died as well as the persecutor and Saul too; only then did Paul, the apostle, the just one, come to life ...Anybody who lives Lent religiously and respects the Lord's commandments, will see sin die in him and grace live; he will die as a sinner and live as a just man, just as if one succeeded the other.

Saint Maxim of Turin (?-about 420), bishop

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Book Review: How Children Learn by John Holt

I didn't expect I would like How Children Learn. But it had been recommended by so many homeschoolers I like and admire, I decided to go ahead and give it a read anyway. I got a copy from bookmooch and figured at least I wasn't spending a bunch of money on it.

But I was pleasantly surprised. This was a book I couldn't put down.

From the beginning Holt's style is that of a story teller. He begins with a series of anecdotes about his interactions with various children. His observations and the conclusions he draws are a seamless whole. This never feels like a book of theory, he never pontificates, it never feels forced because the reader is shown, not told, the process of thinking, not the results of thought.

I especially loved this passage, which nicely sums up his methodology:

Such experiences suggest a reason why so much that seems to me trivial, misleading, or downright false, has been written about child psychology. The psychologists, on the whole, have not done enough of Professor Hawkins' "Messing About." They have not seen enough children in their native habitat-- homes, schools, playgrounds, streets, stores, anywhere. They haven't talked or played with enough of them, or helped them, or comforted them, or coerced them, or made them pleased, or rebellious, or angry. Unless he is very fortunate, a young psychologist is very likely to have his head stuffed full of theories of children before has had a chance to look at any. . . .

. . . My aim in writing this book is not primarily to persuade educators and psychologists to swap new doctrines for old, but to persuade them to look at children, patiently, repeatedly, respectfully, and to hold off making theories and judgments about them until they have in their minds what most of them do not now have-- a reasonably accurate model of what children are like.

Holt's theories about education are simple. Children are natural learners, naturally curious. The goal of education isn't so much lighting a spark as it is preventing the natural spark from being extinguished. (Of course, if it has been, then it must be reignited.)

The child is curious. He wants to make sense out of things, find out how things work, gain competence and control over himself and his environment, do what he can see other people doing. He is open, receptive, and perceptive. He does not shut himself off from the strange, confused, complicated world around him. He observes it closely and sharply, tries to take it all in. He is experimental. He does not merely observe the world around him, but tastes it, touches it, hefts it, bends it, breaks it. To find out how reality works, he works on it. He is bold. He is not afraid of making mistakes. And he is patient. He can tolerate an extraordinary amount of uncertainty, confusion, ignorance, and suspense. He does not have to have instant meaning in any new situation. He is willing and able to wait for meaning to come to him-- even if it comes very slowly, which it usually does.

School is not a place that gives much time, or opportunity, or reward, for this kind of thinking and learning.

It is clear from the stories he tells, the details he includes, that Holt loves children and has a certain childlike quality of wonder and play. He's the kind of guy who will invent a game out of an accidental head butt with a baby (reminds me of some of the games I've played with Bella). He's not afraid of describing his failures and mistakes. He sounds like the kind of guy I'd love to have come over for tea not only for the great conversation but also because he'd be sure to get down on the floor, perhaps even during the meal, to play with the baby.

What he has to say about education makes sense to me, first of all on the most basic level: he seems to have the same understanding of human nature as I do. he understands the way children see the world. Above all, he sees children as persons first; he looks at them with love and respect and with a desire for understanding.

I've never been very attracted to the idea of unschooling, but this passage does make a lot of sense to me:

My real reason, however, for believing that the learner, young or old, is the best judge of what he should learn next, is very different. I would be against trying to cram knowledge into the heads of children, even if we could agree on what knowledge to cram, and could be sure that it would not go out of date, even if we could be sure that, once crammed in, it would stay in. Even then, I would trust the child to direct his own learning. For it seems to me a fact that, in our struggle to make sense out of life, the things we most need to learn are the things we most want to learn. To put this another way, curiosity is hardly ever idle. What we want to know, we want to know for a reason. The reason is that there is a hole, a gap, an empty space in our understanding of things, our mental model of the world. We feel that gap like a hole in the tooth and want to fill it up. It makes us ask how? When? Why? While the gap is there we are in tension, in suspense. . . .

When we learn this way, for these reasons, we learn both rapidly and permanently. The person who really needs to know something, does not need to be told many times, drilled, tested. Once is enough. The new piece of knowledge fits into the gap ready for it, like a missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Once in place , it is held in, it can't fall out. We don't forget the things that make the world a more reasonable or interesting place for us, that make our mental model more complete and accurate.

I know I said there wasn't much theory or pontificating in the book and yet the excerpts I include sound rather like exactly that. I should point out that all the quotes here are from the final section of the last chapter. They are the summary that the entire book builds toward, not a statement of the premises it starts from.


Now I'm off to read How Children Fail. . . I hope I like it as much.

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She likes it!

Broccoli, that is. I gave Bella some leftover broccoli at lunch, thinking it would be automatically ejected, and was surprised that she ate one piece after another after another. That's my girl.

In the Scott household, broccoli is a holiday necessity. Always served with holiday sauce (that's hollandaise to the more culinary astute). I remember one Thanksgiving when my poor mom thought she'd do something different. You'd have thought she'd suggested we leave off the turkey! I doubt there are many households where all of the children fight to get to the last piece of broccoli. Looks like ours might be another in the making.

Also, Isabella has a new game.

This afternoon I looked up to see that she was holding onto the side of the coffee table and squatting, standing, squatting, standing.

I started to say, "Down, up! Down, up!" whenever she squatted. She started to laugh. And a game was born.

Later, after her nap, I said, "Down," and she squatted. She remembered. We've played it a couple of times today. Sometimes I initiate, by saying, Down..." and waiting for her to squat. Sometimes she initiates by squatting and watching to see if I'll say, "Down!"

Uproarious laughter every time.

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On Prayer

I really liked this passage from a larger meditation on prayer, Pray without ceasing: a daily plan of attack.

. . . mental prayer is the goal. Vocal prayer is the training ground, the springboard which is meant to take us deeper into the realm of contemplation and meditation. The Rosary is, in fact, the perfect example of this. It is one thing to simply burn through the 50 "Ave's" of a daily Rosary, in a purely vocal manner; it is another thing to enter mentally into the mysteries of the Rosary, and to pray them in a contemplative way. Ideally, the vocal part of the Rosary gets us into the "rhythm" of prayer; because the prayers are easily memorized and can be recited without too much mental effort, the mind is then free to conjure up the images associated with the mysteries.

The technique is difficult to explain, but the body and soul are capable of working simultaneously without collision; the mouth can be silently moving, forming the words of the prayers, while the mind is busy "seeing" the events of the mysteries, almost re-enacting them for the purposes of meditation. The fingers stay connected to the beads, and continue counting the prayers; a good Rosary will have smaller "Ave" beads, but larger beads for the Our Father and Gloria Patri, so that the mind is "awakened" from its meditation when the fingers sense that the Rosary decade has ended.

I think it's the clearest explanation I've seen of how the rhythm of the rosary is meant to become rote. The thing to keep in mind is that as your mind wanders from the words of the prayers, you must direct its wandering. The mysteries are supposed to do just that, provide substance for the mind to chew as it drifts.

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more prayers

an email forward from my sister-in-law:



Blessed be the name of Joseph Henceforth and for ever. Amen.
Happy Feast of ST.JOSEPH
ST.JOSEPH He was a just man; that means a holy man. He gave to God what belonged to Him and to the creatures what belonged to them. Being 'just' means to give every person their due. We must show them love because they all belong to God. God loves us and the others also. We believe that we are tabernacles of the living God. …All did not receive the same amount of talents but I must work with what I have received - with five, two or one. Saint Joseph got two talents - faithfulness and love - to serve Jesus. (Blessed Teresa of Calcutta)

Dear Eveline,

May the Peace and Joy of Jesus fill your heart during this holy season of Lent.

Thank you so very much for all your e-mail.
We are uniting with you in prayer of intercession for Melanie & Dom to Blessed Teresa. Mt 7:7; Mk 11:24; Lk 1:37!
Your petition has been placed on Mother Teresa’s tomb in Calcutta and every Friday the Missionaries of Charity Sisters
in the Motherhouse in Calcutta are offering a Mass at 4 PM for all those seeking Blessed Teresa of Calcutta’s intersession. In Jesus we place our trust.
May Jesus lay his healing hand upon her he and fill her with new hope.

We would be very happy to send you and her a relic and a Novena to Blessed Teresa of Calcutta if you would send us your and her mailing address.
Say often this prayer: Mary Mother of Jesus be Mother to her now and always.
May Our Lady and St Joseph keep you close to Jesus in the Eucharist and may she obtain for you all what you need most at this time.
God bless you and your family.
United in prayer
Sr. M. Elia M.C.

evidently my mother-in-law posted a petition on the Missionaries of Charity website.

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Reflection for the Fourth Sunday of Lent

from a homily by Fr. Philip:

Can you smell the wood of the cross? There are many more steps between here and now and the foot of the tree. The hot sand blows stinging hard and everything and everyone you’ve left behind calls to you out of friendship to come back. What’s ahead after all? Blood, bits of flesh, spit, gall, deception, cruelty, violence…your betrayal of a friend. You can turn back now. Do it. Just for a second. Look back to Ash Wednesday. What do you see? Hot promises? Eager intentions? A hunger for holiness? I’m going to do it this time!? Sure. And will you? Not likely. You’ll make it to the cross alright. But you won’t make it there any holier than when you left on Ash Wednesday. Do you think the purpose of Lent is to make you holy? Holier? The purpose of Lent is to show you your need for God. You will make it to the cross b/c God wants you at the cross. Holy or not. Your dieting and fasting and fussing about prayer and alms are at best distractions if they don’t serve to clear up God’s will for you: smell the wood, then see the wood, then taste it. Then feel it against your skin, your hands, your back and feet, feel it—burning, wet, raw, sharp. You are Christ. Lent is not your time to flee from weakness and temptation. Run to them! Lent is your time to pray like the Prodigal Son, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and you, I no longer deserve to be called your son…” And then wait for God the Father to forget your sins and drape you in His finest robes and slaughter the fattest calf to welcome you home again.

Sniff the air. The cross is coming closer. The cup is full. Will you drink from it? Or will you pour it into the desert sand?

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The Body of Christ

My sister received an email forward today from her former roommate, Jenny, who lives in my hometown of Austin, Texas. Jenny had received the email from her co-worker, Shenise, who had received it from her mother, Sherry:

Dear Lord,


My first thought is "hopefully, they found it early." This is what our pray is based on Lord, our hope in Jesus Christ! We thank you for knowing already what the outcome will be and we pray for strength to keep trusting you and looking to you for all that Melanie, Don and their little one will need.


Thank you Lord for everything!!

I don't know who Sherry is. My mom doesn't recognize the name. I don't know where she heard our story or how, but she's praying for me and my family and asking everyone she knows to pray for us as well.

My mom went to Jenny's wedding today and several people came up to her to ask how I'm doing and said they'd been praying for me.

My sister asked a classmate of hers, a sister of the Holy Family of Nazareth, to pray for us. She and her community have been doing so.

My sister-in-law asked the Carmelite nuns in neighboring Danvers to pray for me.

My husband's former boss has a friend in Calcutta who asked the Missionaries of Charity at the mother house to pray for us.

My dad asked his community of secular Carmelites to pray for us. And when he showed up at his spiritual direction class, he found that everyone in the Spiritual Direction Institute was praying for us because one of the Carmelites had passed on the prayer intention to one of the priests.

I've been told that many priests have said masses for me. Many people have offered up their masses, holy hours, rosaries, novenas and other prayers for me.

Dom said that today at the men's conference everyone came up to him and asked how I was and said they'd been praying for us.

My blog entry on my cancer diagnosis has been linked to by I don't even know how many other bloggers. It has received 1951 hits and counting. More than 60 people have left a comment. Similar stats, I am sure on Dom's blog. I've stumbled across requests for prayers for me on many sites.

I've received numerous emails directly as well.

Regardless of the outcome of the tests on April 13, I have experienced a profound miracle. I have been touched by God's grace in ways I cannot put into words. It is humbling. What's more I have had direct personal experience of the reality of the Body of Christ present here on earth in the community of my brothers and sisters in faith. That body has reached out to me and hugged me in a warm embrace, listened to my sobs and cried along with me, dried my tears, sighed with my relief.

St Teresa said:

Christ has no body now but yours
No hands, no feet on earth but yours
Yours are the eyes through which He looks
compassion on this world
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

I've read that before, and was moved by it. But now I've lived it. I will never respond to a prayer request in the same way again because now I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end. I understand the work of praying for others in a profoundly new way because I now know how such prayers really do work in the lives of those prayed for.

Many people have said how their lives have been touched by my words and by my witness. All my words, my ability to write, are merely a gift from God. Any strength I have, any faith I have is a gift from him. I am grateful that he is using me, using my words and my trials to accomplish his work in the world. I am glad that this blog has done some good, but I want the praise and the glory to go to God for any good that I have accomplished is through him and with his help and accomplishing his purpose.

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Picture This

Hungry baby contentedly standing at the coffee table, shoveling sweet potato puffs into her mouth with both fists.

Both fists engaged in holding food, baby is doing a remarkable job of standing on her own. Suddenly, distracted baby topples over, hitting her head against the couch.

Wailing baby picked up by concerned mother to be held and comforted. Tears streaming from her eyes, one orange star-shaped puff perfectly balanced on her tongue as she screams. Then, slowly, one full fist drifts towards the still howling mouth to shove in another puff.

Whereupon mother and aunt both begin howling with laughter, distracting baby who forgets to cry.

Snack time at the Bettinelli house.

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The Latest News

The next tests (hysteroscopy and d&c) are scheduled for April 13 at 7:30 am.

It seems like a very long time to wait, but the doctor sounds pretty confident that he won't find anything. The original diagnosis was simply so unlikely. He said it just didn't make sense.

It'll be just a day surgery and he said they won't even use general anesthesia so recovery shouldn't be too bad.

Thanks again for all the prayers. I continue to be overwhelmed by the blessings of so many prayers which make visible in my life the presence of the Body of Christ.

God bless all of you.

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Isabella Updates

Isabella is ten months tomorrow. I can't believe how quickly it's all flown.

She's starting to let go and stand up with no support for several seconds at a time. Usually when she just has to have both hands for a toy.

She's also taken two steps from the coffee table to the couch all on her own.

This week I made pumpkin muffins for her and she spit them out without even tasting the first few times I tried to feed them too her. At least we've enjoyed eating them. But she's taken a few bites now. Especially after I started letting her bite from the whole muffin rather than just having a piece broken off. This morning I gave her a muffin to hold by herself and she actually ate quite a bit of it. Of course, about half of it ended up crumbled all over the high chair and the floor. But it's still a small victory. For her as well as me. She gets to control how she eats and I get to sneak in some veggies.

Speaking of veggies, she really loved the veggies from our fast white bean stew, last Friday's Lenten dinner. She devoured lots of pieces of arugula, tomato, and bean. Unfortunately, we tend to like our greens (and our main dishes) spicy so often we can't feed her from our plates.

I made her a grilled cheese sandwich yesterday and she really liked that. And she's been enjoying fruit cocktail (I found some that's packed in juice not syrup) and avocado.

She's been sleeping through the night pretty reliably now. Though often waking at 5 when we'd much prefer 6:30 or 7. I am so not a morning person. She's doing two good naps a day that generally add up to about two hours. Though she's not consistent with which one is longer.

She's in love with her Auntie Tree and is really enjoying her visit. It will be hard for all of us when she has to go.

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"See the Other Side"

Kate B passes on a link to a gem of a short story from The New Yorker. Ravenna, Italy; mosaics; fathers; daughters; tourists; heaven; postcards! Need I say more?

I used to be a postcard addict, mailing them from all over. Now I hardly travel and the last time I sent one was on our honeymoon, I think. I used to write letters and received them in return. When I was in college the wall above my bed was plastered in postcards. But this story does more than simply capture the magic of postcards. It provides a glimpse of heaven.

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A poem

Melissa Wiley linked to this poem, "Letters from a Father". I almost stopped reading after the first rather grim stanza. But I'm glad I forged ahead. What a delightful poem!

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The Jesus I believe in

I love reading conversion stories, so I follow Julie D's link to the Historical Christian blog to read Aimee's story. I was really captured by Aimee's reflections on discovering who Jesus is, especially this passage:

As I read and studied scripture over time, one passage about Jesus gradually emerged into my consciousness, and one day I stopped and really read it, from the first chapter of Colossians:

He is the image of the invisible God.
In him all things were created, in heaven and on earth.
All things were created through him and for him.
He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

All things were created through him. In him all things hold together.

In my mind’s eye, I began to see a different image of Jesus than I had seen before, an image I have pondered since: not just standing before me personally, but standing above, beyond, and around all creation. In my mind’s eye the whole earth, and all creation, took shape within Jesus and emerged into visibility through him; and yet continued to remain fully within Him, being held together in Him. I saw Christ surrounding all creation with His whole person, His whole being, encompassing it, through His inner life and reality giving creation existence and cohesion within Himself. And another line of scripture sprang into my mind:

In him we live and move and have our being. (Acts 17:28)

I saw that all creation, even now, is being held together in and by Christ, within Himself, continuously. He is holding us, the earth, this desk I sit at and computer I write at, the yard outside my window, me and you and all creation, within Himself, and continuing us in being, constantly. Christ is not somewhere else, nor are we apart from Him. We are inside of Him, right now, living and moving and having our being inside of Him.

Previously, I had thought of God and creation as being like two things in two places. We read in Genesis 1 that “the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters,” and think of God above the waters, and the waters in a separate place, below God; we do not think of the waters as being within God, and God all around and encompassing the waters, the waters emerging and having being within God.

We are accustomed to space, to the separation between things in space, and so think of God the same way: the space between us and God. But space itself is held within God (perhaps this is why, as scientists have observed, space is curved); there is no direction we can go that is truly away from God; though we may not see Him, we are always facing Him.

One thing that strikes me about this reflection is how well it answers the new-agey god is everywhere, god is you and god is me mumbo-jumbo. The thing is Christianity has what they claim to have, what so sadly many people think Christianity is lacking and so go looking for elsewhere, only far, far better.

The other thing is how sad it is when I hear a Catholic turned protestant say that they never encountered Christ in the Church, they never received him into their heart in a personal way. What a tragedy! If only they knew, had known, had been taught.

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Lenten Meditation

By prayer, we refer to God all that happens in our life each day, whether good or ill. For there is no difference between a man of faith and a man without faith (or of little faith) with respect to the routine experiences all of us undergo every moment of our lives, day in and day out, for weeks and months and years at a time. Our lives externally are little different from the lives of those around us; what makes the difference, what must make the difference, is the faith that inspires all our decisions and choices and actions. Without faith, our lives are just so many empty and boring routines, hollow at the core.... With faith, however, even the most boring and routine action of every day has merit and significance for us -- and for the kingdom of God.

Fr. Walter Ciszek, S.J., He Leadeth Me

shamelessly lifted from Clayton at The Weight of Glory

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Thomas Howard on Brideshead Revisited

"Brideshead Revisited Revisited" is an excellent essay on one of my favorite books from one of my favorite critics.

excerpt:

Brideshead Revisited is the story of a religious conversion, whatever else it may be. Conversion is one of the topics that is most intractable, and most inhospitable to any attempt to come at it narratively. There is one sense in which the Catholic Faith itself may be said to be the heroine of the story. Certainly Charles is the protagonist. But the victor is the Faith that, in spite of—or, paradoxically, and far more profoundly because of—its shabby look when clothed with the flesh of Catholics themselves, triumphs, both in Charles, and also in each of the characters before they make their exits.

Waugh would have urged that this is the way it is. God shows up in the most inauspicious precincts: Israel—not one of the more impressive tribes of antiquity; Bethlehem—not one of the watering spots of the world; Calvary—scarcely an appropriate purlieu for the King of Heaven; the Church—not exactly a select group; and a flat, white, tasteless wafer—not a hopeful entry in the baked-goods sweepstakes. But the thing about all of these items is that God is to be found there.

Waugh has caught this in his novel and consequently offers the modern reader a work of moral imagination rare in modern fiction. The squalor, the bad taste, the stürm und drang, the ineptness, show up, not just in remote contrast to some austere vision of the Faith. They are the very modality in which that Faith is, as often as not, mediated to us.

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Something to chew on

from today's Office of Readings:

We felt within ourselves that we had received the sentence of death, so that we might not trust in ourselves but in God, who raises the dead; from so great a danger did her deliver us, and does deliver us; we hope in him, for he will deliver us again.



To know you, O God, is to reach holiness;
to acknowledge your power is the source of immortality.

This is eternal life:
to know you, the one true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.

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Attachment to Sin

Adoro Te Devote recounts a dream and interprets it. A good Lenten meditation. Caution: spiders!

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Reason for Cautious Optimism

My doctor called a little bit ago. Yeah, 8:30 on a Saturday night. He said the biopsy results were negative for cancer. And so, of course, he wants to run some more tests. Because there's still a chance the biopsy missed something. So he's going to schedule a hysteroscopy and d&c.

So a sigh a relief, but still the knot of tension. And more waiting. We're not out of the woods yet, but there might be light at the end of the tunnel. Or it might be a will o' the wisp. I am so glad glad he called tonight. I was thinking I wasn't sure how I was going to get through two more days of this agony, this waiting. I am so glad I have such a conscientious doctor; I could hear the relief in his voice and the concern.

I am still praying and I ask those of you who have been praying to continue to do so. To pray that the next tests will also be negative, to pray that we continue to be comforted during this next waiting period and to pray that we will continue to embrace whatever God wills for us.

I am grateful for the past few days' opportunity to draw closer to Christ's passion, to carry my cross and unite my suffering with his. This Lent has truly given me the opportunity to examine my life, to see my failings and to pick up my cross and follow Our Lord. As my dad reminded me tonight, the cross is truly the Tree of Life. But we only receive life from it if we embrace it when it appears in our path. Only if we carry it can the cross bear fruit in our lives. It is a great blessing to be able to walk even such a short way in his steps. And a great blessing as well to have so many of you, dear friends, keeping watch with me in prayer during this time of trial. I am certain that all of you who have prayed and are praying for me will receive many blessings as well. I also thank all of my readers who have shared their own sorrows with me, thank you for allowing me to walk along with you. And also those of you who have shared your joy with me, thank you for letting me share in your rejoicing.

I still do not know what God's plan is for me and for my family. We are still taking it one day at a time. Still walking blindly, in faith, clinging onto his hand, certain that he will not lead us into harm. It is hard to close my eyes and trust. I thought I was open to God's plan for me, but I discovered that it is one thing to be confident in times of prosperity, another to cling to him in times of adversity. I am weak and a sinner and I know that I am not strong enough to walk anywhere on my own. Only by his support can I take a single step.

And so tonight I am resolved not to worry about what tomorrow will bring. I will accept what today has brought, a small refreshment for what may still be a long road. I will continue to praise God and bless him, in times of sadness and times of joy and I invite you to do the same. And I will continue to pray for all those who are walking in dark places, for all those with cancer and other life-threatening illnesses, for all parents who have lost children, for all those suffering from infertility and for all those who are suffering alone with no one to comfort them. May God who is Love comfort all who are in darkness, may they receive the comfort that I have been so blessed to receive.

This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad.

Into your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit.

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A Dream

Last night I dreamed I was taking part in some kind of fund raiser. My mom was counting up the money in our jars. There were millions of dollars, a huge check from a priest. My sister could pay off all her college debts and afford to go to grad school. I'd be all set too.

I woke up and immediately realized I am rich not in dollars but in prayers. In the only currency that counts, I'm a millionaire. God is showering me with love and blessings are raining down on my from all directions. Every time I open a new email with a new comment, I start to cry. I am overwhelmed. I don't know how to begin thanking everyone. So I'm praying for all of you.

I've been spending some time following links. I've tried to visit every blog that a commenter has left a link to. It has been wonderful to get to know something about some of you.

Thanks again to everyone who is praying for us. You are in my prayers as well.

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Yay!

My sister is coming on Monday to spend her spring break with us!!!

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Translation and the poetry of St. John of the Cross

Good article in First Things on translations of some of St John's poems that have been published in that magazine.

Peace be to the poet saints Terese and Francis. I yield to nobody in my regard for Thomas Aquinas’ hymn Tantum Ergo. But I think you have to go back to King David to find devotional verse that rivals St. John’s in its purity and power. And Rhina Espaillat has lovingly crafted them in translations that are both true and beautiful.

The article also links to the full translations of nine poems. Good reading for Lent.

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Books and Values

Fellow blogger Literacy-chic is also re-reading some of the Little House books. Her thoughts on These Happy Golden Years grabbed my attention:

Predictably, the novel was thought provoking. After all of these years, I had forgotten few events, but some of the descriptions of the events stood out for me anew. After spending her first full week at home after a dismal experience boarding with the head of the school board and his wife during her first teaching job, Laura reflects on the contrast between her own home and the Brewsters':

But best of all were the mornings and the evenings at home. Laura realized that she had never appreciated them until now. There were no sullen silences, no smoldering quarrels, no ugly outbursts of anger.

It was with a shock that I realized that this was precisely the difference between the home my husband and I have made, and the one in which I grew up. These sentences may mean nothing to my children when they read them, or else they will sympathize with Laura without knowing exactly what she has experienced. To me, they summarized a contrast I have felt within my own life, and for which I am grateful. My mother has not yet escaped that past, and I fear that there is little I can do to help her. Similarly, in Little Town on the Prairie, the "ordinary" (stereotypically Irish, perhaps) quarreling of the Clancys, by whom Laura is employed as a seamstress, disturbs her because the behavior is so foreign to her: Laura was so upset that she could not eat, she wanted only to get away.

A meditation followed:

So much of children's literature these days is intended as self-help, of the pop-psychology variety, intended to make children recognize, and perhaps wallow in, the short-comings of the world around them. Rather than displaying personal strength and the ability to meet challenges, they portray children who "need help" in order that the "actual" child reader will know what it means to "need help." I welcome an assessment of this by someone with experience helping troubled children professionally; I venture to assert that having similar experiences in which to wallow would compound rather than alleviate one's own problems, and that stories that show magical solutions to real world problems are still more damaging. I did not need a story to tell me that my family was dysfunctional, and I did not need a story to validate that being dysfunctional was O.K.--it was not O.K., and acknowledging that may have given me the ability to change my own life accordingly. Though I never thought of the stories in this way, the Little House Books, by holding up an ideal, may have allowed me an escape from our family situation, and shown me what could be possible through mutual respect between husband and wife, parent and child.

I agree. Children need books that give them heroes and ideals, that help them set their sights upon the heights, that lead them closer to God. They do not need to wallow in pain and misery. Which is not to say that children's literature should be all happy-clappy sunshiny Pollyanna, refusing to acknowledge the darker things in life. But I don't think most children yearn to read about people who are "just like me with problems just like mine". They might be satisfied with that if it's all they have (maybe). But a parent or a teacher can and should do better for them. We should fill their minds with what is noble and beautiful and good, the best we have to offer.

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Today

I woke up at 5 am to the frantic screaming of a little girl. I got up and changed her diaper and tried to put her back to bed. When it became apparent that she was having none of it, I relented and brought her in to snuggle in with us. She nursed and we dozed and nursed until almost 8 when she sat up and started chattering. Is there any better way to start the day?

Then I got up and fed her breakfast, finished the pile of dishes in the sink from last night, made oatmeal and ate breakfast. Said my prayers while Isabella played on the living room floor. Nursed her and put her down for a morning nap. Read my email (including many wonderful comments from the blog), the daily mass readings and some blogs. When the baby woke up I gave her some lunch: turkey, cheese, grapes, banana puffs, bread crusts, water, applesauce, cereal.

We hurried out the door for noon mass. The readings were eerily appropriate in that way they often are, seeming to speak right at me. Especially since Dom was lector. The homily could have been written just for me as well. Father spoke about Joseph's trials and accepting our crosses and oh I can't remember what all now, but it was exactly what I needed to hear right then. Bella began laughing before mass started, beaming at the old lady across the aisle. She continued to punctuate the entire mass with frequent 'ha' laughs. I had to stick my finger in her mouth several times when she got too excited. I think she made half a dozen new friends.

After mass Fr. Murphy gave me the sacrament of anointing of the sick. Bella kept trying to grab his book. I felt peaceful. Father was very obviously charmed by our little girl.

Came home and put Bella down for a nap. Ran to the grocery store to get the stuff we were missing for dinner. On the way home I fielded a call from Stephanie, my best friend from UD. She'd just got my email, in a roundabout way from another friend who'd been forwarded it by a third friend. I got their addresses wrong and Stephie knew I must be in a pretty distracted state. She asked if I felt up to talking. I didn't, not really, but I did want to talk to her. I'm getting tired of telling the story. At least I didn't have to break the news to her. She'd had a bit of time for it to sink in.

Got home and Bella was still asleep. Dom brought in the groceries and then ran to the bank and post office. I finished my phone call just as Bella was waking up. Stephie got to hear part of the diaper change screaming, lucky her.

Then Bella played in the living room while I read a bit more of my email, a few more blogs. Then I gave her dinner while Dom cooked ours. White bean stew with crusty wheat rolls and shrimp with cocktail sauce. We put Bella to bed and sat down to eat our own dinner. Then Dom left to have a guys night out at the rectory with Fr. Murphy and a few other men from the parish, smoking pipes and drinking scotch. My husband, such a wild guy.

In a bit I'll say my prayers and go to bed. I'm tired. I've spent the whole day pushing back: I'm not going to think about it, not going to wallow, not going to be afraid. I've spent the whole day trying to pray, most successfully at mass and when I was nursing Bella, but every time the thoughts started to rage, I held on tighter to God's presence. I am awed by all the people who have responded, who are praying. I am moved that God has used our time of trial to show me so clearly the reality of the Body of Christ. Especially here on the internet.

A commenter on Dom's blog today cast scorn on the idea of blogging as a form of ministry. Well, I don't care what you want to call it, but I know God is using me, using this blog, for some purpose of his own. And for that and so many other things, I am very thankful. He has a plan for us and I trust in him.

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Thank You

To all who are praying for us. You are in our prayers as well.

To all who have left comments here and on my husbands blog.

To Elizabeth Foss.

To the ladies at the 4 Real Learning forums.

To Amy Welborn and Dale Price and all the other bloggers who have also asked for prayers for us.

Also to all the members of the secular Carmelites in my dad's community and other Carmelites. I know they are storming heaven with their prayers as well.

I am really very moved by all these outpourings of prayer and support and love. Truly God is showering us with blessings in our time of trial. We are truly surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. I wish I could give each and every one of you a hug and thank you personally.

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A Prayer

I found this prayer posted at et tu Jen.

Dear Lord, I do not ask to see the path. In darkness, in anguish and in fear, I will hang on tightly to your hand, and I will close my eyes, so that you know how much trust I place in you, Spouse of my soul.
~ Blessed Mary Elizabeth Hesselblad

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"A time to weep, and a time to laugh"

I keep waiting for the curtain to fall, for the storm to break, for the crush of grief, the uncontrollable sobs, the weight, the anguish, the pain. And yet I spend much more time laughing with Isabella than crying. My eyes are dry, my heart is light. I'd probably be sleeping well at night if it weren't for Bella's crying and Dom's snoring.

I don't think it's numbness. I'm a pretty reflective person. Very self-aware, sometimes agonizingly so. I don't think I'm in denial, repressing emotions, avoiding the truth. I could be wrong, but I don't think the bogeyman of devastation is waiting in the shadows to ambush me when I least expect it.


And I kind of feel like a traitor. So many people have reached out, extended their condolences, shared their stories and their grief. And I've stumbled across more stories, like Jill's story of losing her father to cancer right after her seventh miscarriage. I feel like I don't belong in that company of sorrowing women, me sailing along under sunny skies with me heart full of laughter. I don't know how to respond to the kind words and grim half smiles of sympathy, the squeezed shoulder and the condolences of friends.

I hope it doesn't sound like I'm trivializing other women's suffering or failing to empathize with those losses. I understand that their experiences are not mine, that their pain is deeper, their path much harder than mine. I've cried as I've read their stories. I understand their pain as much as anyone who hasn't felt it can, which is admittedly not much. I just don't understand why I'm not feeling the same things.

For other women miscarriage has been a cross, a burden. I have had my own crosses and I am certain I will not escape my share of suffering. But this is evidently not my season to grieve. This loss is not a heavy cross for me to bear. I don't know why. I don't understand. It's a mystery how God has eased my pain and lightened my load.

I know not everyone grieves the same way. And I know each loss is unique. One person may respond quite differently to two different losses. I know that if I had lost Bella, if that first pregnancy had ended in miscarriage, my reaction would be very different.

So in my bewilderment and confusion, I turn to prayer. I pray for all parents who have lost children, that they may be consoled and their load lightened. I pray for God's mercy and compassion for all those suffering pain and loss. And I pray that I might accept this season for what it is.

That's what I wrote two nights ago in a blog entry I never finished, never posted.

Now the other shoe has dropped, the storm has hit, like a tornado out of a blue sky. And I'm reeling. And suddenly I understand why God's grace has protected me (us really, because though I write in the first person, Dom is my companion in everything) from feeling that pain. He had other plans. Another, different, cross for me to bear.

My doctor called yesterday afternoon and asked me to come in for a biopsy. He originally wanted me to go in last night after dinner, but then had to cancel because he had two patients in active labor at the hospital.

So I went in this morning. And before he performed the procedure he explained why he wanted to do it. The tissue from the miscarriage they routinely send to the pathologist. Mine came back with bad results: I have uterine cancer. Early stages, it seems and in the mildest form.

But because my age and my recent pregnancies make such a diagnosis unlikely, he wanted to do a biopsy to confirm those findings. The results will be back on Monday. Until then we wait and pray.

If the results confirm that I do have cancer, the usual treatment is a hysterectomy.


Please pray for us.

Dom reminds me that "openness to life" means accepting God's will. Whether that be for many children or few or none. And I know that. But saying it and living it are, of course, two different things. When your heart yearns for children, you don't want to hear a no.

Dear God, please, please, please let this cup pass away from me. But at the same time: "I am the handmaiden of the Lord. Let it be done unto me according to your word." Give me the strength to carry whatever cross I must carry. And let me continue to thank you for all the blessings I have been given and praise your name.

"Oh that I had wings like a dove
to fly away and be at rest.
So I would escape far away
and take refuge in the desert.

I would hasten to find a shelter from the raging wind,
from the destructive storm, O Lord...

Entrust your cares to the Lord
and he will support you.
He will never allow
the just man to stumble....

O Lord, I will trust in you."

I was torn about whether to write anything more than my generic request for prayers. At least until Monday when we hear for certain. But then I sat down to write, saw the unposted blog entry and felt a need to finish it. I think writing helps me deal with the tempest raging inside. And I also am hoping that my posts are doing some good. That they are more than just venting my spleen.

Update:

Today's Procedure

Reason for Cautious Optimism



related entries:

Sad News

Counting My Blessings

Some Thoughts on Motherhood

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Prayer Request

We just found out some bad news and have urgent need of prayers. Please pray for me and for Dom and our family. I'll blog about it soon.

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9 Month Checkup

We took Bella in for her nine month checkup today. It went well and she's doing well. She's now 28 inches tall, didn't gain quite as much weight as I'd expected (she's only 19 lbs, 8 oz), but the doctor reminded us of her bout with the stomach bug and said that with her height and head measurements he's not concerned at all. She gave a great demonstration of her lung capacity while the doctor examined her.

No immunizations this time. But a finger stick for some blood work. That got her screaming loudly enough. Then we had to entertain her long enough for the pink band aid to do its work and staunch the bleeding. It had to be removed before we got into the car lest she suck it off and attempt to swallow it on the way home.

She fell asleep on the way home and took a nice hour and a half nap in the car seat, which I should have taken advantage of but didn't.

Now she's playing happily with her toys, chattering to herself. Her usual sunny Bellaness.

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Lent on God's Terms

Jennifer has a thought-provoking reflection on Lent and what happens when illness throws a wrench in your plans:

I spent a while dwelling on how this illness has completely inhibited my spiritual progress: my big vision of having an extra prayerful experience at Ash Wednesday Mass, to get up early to pray the Rosary, to go with good Catholic friends to a Knights of Columbus Friday fish fry -- all wonderful plans that did not come to pass. I've felt so rotten I've barely even been able to remember to say a few prayers here and there.

But as I listened to this internal dialogue something jumped out at me: it's all about me being in control, about my plans. And as I thought back over the past couple of years, I realized that, in general, I have always expected to grow closer to God on my terms. I want a sign that fits my requirements at the time and place of my choosing; I want my first Adoration experience to be powerful so that I'm easily motivated to go more often; I want this final Lent before I enter the Church to deepen my faith according to the schedule laid out on my calendar, starting with a stirring Ash Wednesday Mass and ending with a movie-quality Easter Vigil experience. And when things don't happen in the manner, time and place of my choosing, I promptly resign myself to frustration and despair.

I have never, I realized, been able to let go and trust in God.

Oh boy have I been there before. Wanting to be in control. Wanting to do it on my own terms. Making all these decisions about how things are going to be without stopping to ask God for his input. And giving up when things seemed too much. Last Lent I was pregnant, unable to fast and so tired all the time so that whenever I sat down to pray, I ended up sound asleep.

I sometimes feel like I've spent the last two years backsliding. In the year before I was married I went to mass every day. I had the best Lent ever full of daily mass, stations of the cross, hardcore fasting, spiritual reading. And then pregnant and a blob of laziness. And this Lent started off bad, pregnant and nursing and dealing with an infant who doesn't believe in sleep. And got worse. I'm still trying to decide now just what my Lenten sacrifices should be. While struggling with the desire to eat all the foods that I couldn't eat while pregnant.

Anyway, go read all of what Jen had to say. Because the only conclusion I come to from my reflections on my experiences is that I'm a mess. But she inspires me to stop, listen, and move forward instead of wallowing.

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Some Thoughts on Motherhood

I've been thinking about the Biblical Hannah, mother of Samuel, recently and about the vocation of motherhood.

Again and again, Hannah stood in the temple, imploring God for a child. And, finally, her prayer is answered. And then as soon as he's weaned, she takes her child back to the temple and gives him up to God.

How could she stand to do that? She had longed so greatly for a child. And there was probably little or no chance she would have another child. And yet that woman who had prayed so fervently gives up the thing she had prayed for. How? Why?

I think Hannah understood the vocation of motherhood.

Our children are not our own. They are not possessions, they are not playthings. They are not ours to do with as we please. They are God's and given to us for a time to love, but only for a time and with the sure knowledge that God has a plan for them, perhaps independent of his plan for us. Our job is to see that they know him and love him and to guide them as they grow so that they will one day be citizens of his kingdom and live with him forever.

Hannah knew her longing for motherhood was a longing inspired by God. He was calling her to his service. But she also knew that if he sent her a child, that child would still be his. He was not only calling Hannah, he was also calling her child, Samuel, to serve him. The child was a gift not only to Hannah, but to all of Israel.

God's gifts to us are never just for us. They are always to be shared. They are always for others. Just like Father Christmas' gifts to the children in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, they are not for the children's own benefit, primarily, they are for Narnia. For the children, the gifts are tools to help them grow in service to others, to become the kings and queens they are destined to be.

Hannah is a type of Mary. Mary also recognized that the child she bore was a gift not only to herself, but to the whole people of Israel. And not only to Israel, but to the world.

I am sure Hannah felt sad as she left her little Samuel at the temple and went home alone to a house where the laughter of a small child still echoed and the first steps and the first words and all the moments a mother treasures. Did she sit down and cry when she got home? Or did she wake up in the middle of the night with a wet pillow? The Bible never records such moments (just her hymn of praise, rather like Mary's Magnificat), but she was a mother. I think she probably did.

A mother must ask not only what is God's calling for herself, but also what is God's calling for her child. As she watches her little one grow and learn she must also contemplate who this child is, what is God's plan. A mother should never try to force a child to be something he is not called to be. She must let go of her own dreams and ambitions, of her plans and schemes. God is in charge, not her. And every mother must realize that the day will come when she must let go completely, when her little one will be on his own in the big wide world and God must take over.

How do you prepare to let go? I think it begins with the realization that you are not in control. You never were and never will be.

We live in an age where people have tried to seize control, especially when it comes to conceiving and bearing children. It must be on our own terms or not at all. Abortion: I'm not ready to have a child now, so I'll kill this one. With no recognition that each child is a unique, eternal soul. IVF: I want to be pregnant now on my own terms. Contraception: Maybe children later, but not now. Only when they are convenient.

Mary, of course, is the ultimate model for Christian motherhood. From the very moment of the Annunciation, when the angel told her:

Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever and of his kingdom there will be no end.

From that moment she began letting go: "Behold I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word."

She knew from the beginning that her son would be called away from her. She knew that God was in charge, that whatever dreams or plan she might have made, this child had been chosen. His primary identity, according to the angel's prophecy, will be not as Mary's son but as God's.

And when she took him to the temple to present him, just as Hannah took her son, she must have thought about that. And then the prophecy, her worst fears confirmed: "and you yourself a sword will pierce."

This is the essence of Christian motherhood, to follow Mary, knowing that her path leads to the foot of the cross. We are not promised an easy journey. We know that like Mary we are called to let go and to trust in God.

I've never taken motherhood for granted. When Dom and I got engaged I wondered: will we even be able to have children? Don't ask me why, but it was a concern. I longed for children, but knew that it was out of my hands. God would send what children he wanted us to have.

When I discovered that we had conceived Isabella, on our honeymoon no less, I was so full of joy. But then a new worry. That day, or maybe it was the next, I had a sharp pain that doubled me over. I couldn't even stand up. I later read that sometimes when the embryo implants it can be very painful. But at the time all I could think was: am I losing this child already?

I never took it for granted that I would be a mother and I never took it for granted that I would bear a healthy child to term. Every night we prayed for her health and for a safe delivery:

O almighty and everlasting God, through the Holy Spirit, you prepared the body and soul of the glorious virgin Mary to be a worthy dwelling place of your divine Son. Through the same Holy Spirit, you sanctified St. John the Baptist, while still in his mother's womb. Hear the prayers of your humble servant who implores you, through the intercession of St. Gerard, to protect me amid the dangers of childbearing and to watch over the child with which you blessed me. May this child be cleansed by the saving water of baptism and, after a Christian life on earth, may we, both mother and child, attain everlasting bliss in heaven.

Every day that passed I thanked God for another day of life. Every time we went to the doctor and I heard the heartbeat I rejoiced that she was still alive. And when finally I saw her, my beautiful, perfect Isabella, I cried. And thanked God for the gift of her life.

Who is Isabella? Before she was born, when she was still small, unknown, before we knew her name, before we even knew she was a girl, God knew her. He knew her name and he knew the sound of her voice and the color of her hair and the way she would smile and laugh and all the sounds she would make. He knows who she will be and what she will do. I can only wonder at each new discovery. As much as I love her --and, oh I love her so much-- still, that is only a fraction of the love God has for her.

I pray that I will be a good mother to her. That I will see her as she is and not as I want her to be. That I will love her as she deserves, teach her as she deserves. That I will be a good role model for her. That she will be a good Catholic girl and woman, live a good life, love God, and that one day we will meet each other in heaven.

And my baby Francis? I never felt you move. I don't even know if you are a boy or a girl. I will have to wait to know your smile and your laugh and all those things I treasure so much about your big sister, Isabella. And I pray that you are being held in loving arms, by a mother who loves you as much as I do, by a Father who loves you far more than I can. And I pray that we too will meet one day in heaven.

I am sad. I wish I could hold you.

But what mother would not want to spare her child every pain and sorrow that she can? And you will never know pain or suffering. Never know hunger or thirst, loneliness or fear. I've watched Bella crying and felt helpless because I didn't know why or I couldn't fix it right then. I've held her down while nurses poked needles into her legs. I've comforted her when she's fallen. I know there will be more pains, many griefs, many needles pricking my heart. And perhaps some swords as well.

I am sad, but not devastated, not traumatized. The trauma was in the hospital waiting room, but it was over quickly. I have cried but not sobbed. And I don't know why I'm reacting as I am. But I suspect it has much to do with all those people praying for us, so many consolations have been granted to me through those intercessions. And I think it is also because I know that this is merely one of the sorrows of motherhood, that I am the one who feels the pain, my child does not. And what mother wouldn't gladly shoulder any amount of pain to spare her child?

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised if this burden is light. I know I'm getting off easy. There will be harder ones, too.

Motherhood is not a job, not a role, not a pastime. It is a vocation. I have been called by God. He names us, knows us, calls us by name and when we answer, we become what he calls. Mothers are called by God to emulate him, to give life, to pour out ourselves, giving away with abandon, to love completely, selflessly, even when hurts, especially when it hurts. A mother loves. God is love. By being mothers, we draw near to God.


related posts:

Sad News

Counting My Blessings

A time to weep, and a time to laugh

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Music Hath Charms...

I like music. I just don't often think to turn it on. I like sitting in silence. And we don't have a stereo system. So if I want music I either have to battle with iTunes on my very slow computer, have to switch disks in the portable cd player (which means finding the cds first) or I have to deal with the radio and annoying commercials. And like I said, I don't mind silence.

So I guess Bella's been exposed to some music, just not classical maybe. At least not much and not lately.

Tonight as I was looking for a washcloth I found a cd of bath time music that came in one of those gift packs with washcloths and shampoos and baby lotion and such that we received, from one of my aunts, I think, for the baby shower last year. And we decided to throw it in while we got Bella ready for bath. When the first notes of Beethoven sounded, she was captivated. (Not so much with the hip hop version of five little monkeys.) Same for the bit from the third Brandenburg concerto. She actually rested her head against the side of the tub. Usually we have to wrestle her down, she wants to grab everything in sight, stand up, splash, squirm, squeal. And she never lets me wash her face. But she just sat calmly, clinging to the side of the tub until I scooped her up in the towel and took her off to bed.

(We skipped all the kiddie music and just played the classical stuff. The cd had a very odd arrangement with the sing-along stuff interspersed with classical pieces. It felt rather like being in a car with a driver who can't make up his mind which lane to be in. Or even which direction to drive.)


I thought she'd enjoy the music, but I didn't expect it to have such a dramatic effect.

I guess maybe we should try music every night. If it continues to soothe her, it will definitely make bath time much easier. And it might be time to try to work out a better way to play music during the day as well.

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Bella the Bread Snob

This past week Bella has been having a hard time at meals. She eats a few bites and then starts whining. She throws her food and her cup to the floor, she swats the spoon out of my hand or tries to grab it and flings the food all over the place. Even her favorite standby, bread, has been shredded and tossed without a single bite passing her lips.

Today Dom baked a fresh loaf of my favorite, honey whole wheat. At dinner, not expecting more than the usual bread flinging, I cut a small slice and handed a bit of it to Bella. And she ate it. And she ate the next bit and the next. It wasn't until a good way into the meal that she began the flinging.

Yes, not only can our discriminating little girl tell the difference between Daddy's homemade loaf and the bagels mom got from the grocery store, she can even tell the difference between bread made fresh today and bread that is a few days old. Only the best, freshest bread for our little girl. Yeesh, we've created a monster!

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