It's Good Friday

I love Good Friday. Even my nominally Catholic side of the family observed this day in a solemn way. We weren't allowed to turn on the television, or listen to music. Silence, albeit not strict silence, was encouraged. There was no fasting. That was a foreign concept, although we did abstain from meat. Nearly every Friday of Lent, we'd have bacalao (salted cod) over white rice. These practices were actually quite incredible now that I think of it, considering we weren't really observant. My parents were fairly anti-Catholic, or rather, anti-clergy. My Dad often lamented the treatment he had received at the hands of nuns back when he attended Catholic school in Cuba. My Mom toed the line, right along with him. We didn't attend mass. Well, occasionally on Easter, and sometimes even midnight mass (Misa de Gallo, i.e., "Rooster's Mass"). I did however, attend Catholic school myself, up until half-way through the fifth grade. There was some issue involving my teacher that I can't fully recall, and my Mom had had it. I was promptly transferred out and started to attend public school a block away. That kind of marked the end of any external religious formation for me, for a few years at least.

As a child, I had a keen awareness of God, although it did little to keep me away from trouble. It seemed like I was always in some kind of trouble between the ages of 5 and 10. I was the child that was kept after school nearly every day of the week, only the punishment often backfired because I really loved school then. And I loved having the chance to actually write on the chalkboard, my teachers' chosen punishment. Of course, I'd be writing things like, "I will not talk in class," or "I will not disrupt the class," at least one-hundred times, but as I did so, I'd pretend that I was actually writing out a lesson, and that for that moment, I was the teacher, and that made me feel grown up and important.

One instance of my getting into trouble stands out more than the others. When I was still attending Catholic school, my best friend Maria Elena and I used to steal away from the rest of the class to sneak into the church to light candles. We'd sneak off a lot, but this time we had an especially good reason. She wanted to light a candle for her little sister who was ill. Completely ignoring the candle donation sign, we went along lighting candles, thinking that if we lit ten or twenty, we'd certainly get better results than if we lit just two. I had no concept of time back then. Some may argue that I still don't. But we must have been "missing" for a lot longer than I realized. I can't even imagine my mother's terror at not finding me with the others in my class. Eventually, it was realized that Maria Elena was missing as well, and of course by then, the tension was doubled with two frantic mothers, instead of one. We were, of course, eventually found. My mother was simultaneously irate and relieved, although I only acknowledged the anger. But she couldn't stay mad for long. We were only about six or seven, and we were so resolute in our desire to pray for Maria Elena's little sister. My Mom was touched enough to let it go.

Some time later, my friend's little sister died. She called me on the phone shortly after it happened. I hadn't realized how unwell she had been. The whole idea of children dying came as a shock. That doesn't happen. That can't happen! But we lit candles and everything! It was an early harsh lesson in the reality that not all prayers are answered, at least not in the way we'd like, and no matter how noble the intention.

Fast forward many years, and I still have faith, despite by now being so accustomed to my prayers not being answered the way I'd prefer them to be. And yes, I do sometimes admit to despair. But I tend to direct a lot of the blame onto myself. If only I wasn't so distracted in prayer. If only I was more steady and deserving. If only I really felt the words I was saying.

And then came the Seven Sorrows Rosary.

The traditional rosary is the devotion we commit to praying daily, and I'm in no way belittling it. In fact, I love it. I love praying it. It brings me peace and comfort. Generally, however, I think it's good to mix things up, and keep things fresh by exploring other devotions. Despite having a Seven Sorrows Rosary and book handy for a few weeks, I had neglected to pray it until just this week, at the prompting of a friend. She had just shared how a long time prayer intention of hers was answered almost immediately after starting it. Now, I don't really have a current pressing intention. In fact, I'm awfully guarded with my intentions. I often feel that I'm only entitled to request help for things that are completely out of my control...issues having to do with the health and safety of family and friends. But everything else? I often feel those are completely up to me. I may ask for peace of mind, wisdom, encouragement, and strength in order to work towards the changes I seek, but I don't ever expect not to work hard for these things. I'm also seldom, if ever, specific. For instance, it wouldn't be like me to pray for a new job. Instead, I'd pray for more diligence. Huh, it just occurred to me in writing all of this, that perhaps I'm going about things the wrong way, although I know that God understands my petitions despite my inadequate attempts to communicate them. That's actually a very comforting thought for me.

Anyway, back to the Seven Sorrows Rosary. I prayed it for the first time this week, and it was extremely moving. While I knew and understood that Mary's suffering had to have been great, reading reflections on her seven sorrows was almost too much to bear. For the first time, I was able to really experience the events of Jesus' life from her perspective, and I found myself crying more than once. As a parent, I lie awake at night worrying about my kids' futures, but my worries are based on just anxiety and speculation. Mary, on the other hand, already knew what was to happen to her Son. It wasn't conjecture. It was prophesied. The very first sorrow is the Prophecy of Simeon given at the time of the presentation at the temple when Jesus was just an infant, when Mary is told that a sword will pierce her soul, too. The second sorrow is the Flight to Egypt. Imagine having to flee your home due to a threat against your infant son's life. Imagine the pain of seeing your child moved in what weren't the best conditions, knowing all the while that your child is God incarnate. And imagine the pain a mother would feel at learning of the murder of so many children at Herod's hands, knowing full well that it was her child he was after.

And the third sorrow, the Child Jesus Lost in the Temple, wasn't all that difficult to imagine, for obvious reasons. It was easy to transport myself back through time, back to my own mother's experience of having lost me for those agonizing few minutes, which I'm sure felt like hours to her. I can't even fathom the fear she would have felt if it was for a day or longer.

It wasn't my intention to list all of the sorrows here, but I may as well do so. Here they are, from the beginning:

1. The Prophecy of Simeon; Luke 2:25-35
 

2. The Flight into Egypt; Matthew 2:13-15

3. The Child Jesus Lost in the Temple; Luke 2: 41-50

4. Mary Meets Jesus Carrying the Cross; Luke 23: 27-29 *There is no specific biblical reference for this. This sorrow corresponds with the Fourth Station of the Cross, but we can refer to the private revelations of Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich in this case.

5. Mary at the Foot of the Cross; John 19: 25-30
 

6. Mary Receives the Body of Jesus; *No scriptural reference, but there are accounts from visionary saints such as St. Bridget of Sweden, and Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich. This sorrow also corresponds with the thirteenth Station of the Cross. 
 

7. Mary Witnesses the Burial of Jesus; Luke 23: 50-56.

Our Lady of Kibeho

I used the meditations and prayers that were printed in Immaculée Ilibagiza's book on Our Lady of Kibeho. I have since learned, that apparently, there is some variance in how to pray it. Ultimately, I don't think it should matter which instructions you follow, provided you start with the Sign of the Cross, an Act of Contrition, then three Hail Marys for the tears shed by Our Lady (some sites I saw recommend reserving these three Hail Marys for the end), and then start meditating on the mysteries in order, following each one by an Our Father, and seven Hail Marys. The rosary ends with a short prayer you repeat three times. I've seen at least two versions of this. One is from the Kibeho book, and it goes, "Mary who was conceived without sin and suffered for us, pray for us." Another end prayer I found online goes, "Virgin Most Sorrowful, pray for us." Again, this final prayer is repeated three times. End with the Sign of the Cross. According to the visionaries in Kibeho, Rwanda, Our Lady asked that this rosary be prayed on Tuesdays and Fridays. This devotion has a very clear penitential aspect, and it is particularly well-suited, I think, for a day like today.

Here's yet another version I found online that is particularly helpful, complete with meditations, and background information on the history of this devotion, as well as the promises associated with the faithful recitation of it.

Let me know if you get to pray this rosary. It has brought me such a sense of peace, and has allowed me such an amazing window into the sorrows of Our Lady. I would love to hear if it has done the same for anyone out there reading this.

A Thursday Reflection

So yesterday, my husband and I took the kids to a talk given by Immaculee Ilibagiza, a survivor of the Rwandan holocaust. You may catch a bit of her story in the following video:

Her talk was heart-wrenching, as you can imagine. But she was funny as well, which was such a welcome gift considering the heaviness of the topic. And by the end of it, I had felt that I had just gotten off of a roller coaster of emotion. Crying in parts, laughing in others. In short, I felt bipolar, and exhausted from all of the BIG feelings.

And I choked. I choked back tears, and only barely avoided the the ugly cry...in public no less. But then when it came to the book signing part, I choked again, but in a different way. While on line to see her, I played out what I would say, how I wished her signature to be personalized and addressed to our family, how impressed I was with her strength and clarity. Basically, ALL THE THINGS. I can be very articulate *in my head.* Then before I knew it, I was up. And my husband, my safety net for such situations, was busy off to the side, poised to take a picture, and I was left to remember all the things on my own. The kids were no help. I kind of forgot they existed for a few seconds. All I thought was, "What can I possibly say to someone who has experienced some of the most horrid stuff ever?" This is a woman whose family and friends were wiped out. The horror of that realization hit me hard as I stood there. I felt inarticulate and completely inadequate. I set the books on the table, smiled awkwardly, mumbled something about how I had been following her story for a while now, and thanked her for her talk. I don't even know if she was able to make out a word I said. All I wanted, was to leave and not inconvenience her any further. But she wasn't inconvenienced. As a matter of fact, she was super gracious. And of course she would be. This is also a woman who forgave her family's killers. How more gracious can any person be?

As I picked up my books and turned to go, I saw how she was greeted by the next person in line...with a handshake and a hug. There was a genuine ease to it. Why didn't I think to do that? Gosh, I sometimes feel so totally awkward in my own skin, and boy do I think too much (although you'd likely doubt I thought much at all just a few seconds earlier). And then I realized that I had forgotten to ask her to make out the dedication to my family, and I felt like I had let everyone down. Silly, I know, but this is how my mind works. I was kicking myself over it, too, for a little longer than I care to admit. This of course, led to a lot of teasing from my husband and the kids, which I had a bit of difficulty taking in stride. I felt justified in wallowing a while longer in my guilt. It's like a self-induced period of purgation I have to go through. And of course, the whole thing is silly. There I was worrying about choking just a few minutes after listening to a talk about one woman's harrowing ordeal in surviving the Rwandan Holocaust. What a completely ridiculous juxtaposition! And maybe that realization is what caused me to choke in the first place. What have I ever experienced that can compare to her experiences? The answer: Nothing at all. Yeah, I've got problems. First world problems. In other words, no problems at all.

The talk itself was rather varied. Of course, Immaculee spoke mainly about her ordeal, the loss of her family, and the anger she initially harbored over the violence unleashed on Tutsis by the majority Hutu tribe immediately following the death of the Hutu Rwandan president in a plane crash in 1994. But she also spoke of her faith in God, her dependence on prayer while in hiding, her ultimate acceptance of what happened, and even a bit about the process of getting published.

She spoke of Our Lady of Kibeho, a Marian apparition in the 1980's in Rwanda which she and many others feel prophesied the coming genocide. I hadn't even heard of Our Lady of Kibeho, whose apparitions the Vatican approved in 2001. After the talk, I read through a few of the messages the visionaries received and was taken aback at how precise and accurate these were, particularly in light of what happened afterwards. In Kibeho, Mary appeared as Our Lady of Sorrows, and encouraged the praying of the Chaplet/Rosary of the Seven Sorrows, a devotion that officially took root in the 13th century, even though there is evidence that the devotion played a part in general Catholic piety long before that time. While I had heard of this chaplet (thanks to my handy dandy book on chaplets), I have never prayed it before. I hope to do so this week. So many chaplets, so little time! I've been meaning to start the Chaplet of St. Michael as well, after reading all of the promises associated with that one (An escort of nine angels, one from each choir of angels, when approaching Holy Communion?!?!? How neat is that?!?!?). Thankfully, I was able to pick up a beautiful Seven Sorrows rosary yesterday, too...one made with Job's tears seed beads from Rwanda. How appropriate that they used Job's tears! Anyway, so now I have no excuse to get started.

And in tangentially related news, we are all so grateful to have a new Pope. I am loving everything I'm reading about Pope Francis already. It was actually nice to be at the talk yesterday just after the news came out of Rome. There was something neat about being in a room full of Catholics, all equally excited about having a new shepherd. It was just the right crowd to be among on a day like that. Most of my friends are Cultural Catholics, non-practicing Catholics, or non-Catholics. And some among my acquaintances, and yes, even some family, are fairly anti-Catholic. It's not like I'm used to sharing this sort of religion-related excitement publicly, at least outside of this blog, and an occasional Twitter update, or Facebook status. Often, I refrain from sharing because I feel that I would just be inviting a whole lot of negativity from others. And negativity is something I like to avoid, particularly when it's aimed at something about which I care so deeply. Usually it's just comments like, "When will the Church catch up with the times?" that make my head hurt. I sometimes feel that that's just too large a question to address. I know what I'd like to say, but I'd need an hour to say it. I'd start with something about how God exists outside of time, and how just because we change, that doesn't mean that God's Word changes. And then if challenged with, "But the Church isn't God's word," or,  "Jesus never said this or that," I'd say something like, "But He gave Peter the authority to 'bind and loose'...", and then of course, we'd fall into an argument over papal infallibility, and we'd never be done. Seriously, I feel that it would require too much time and effort to really capture my thoughts on this. Heaven knows just how inarticulate I can be when it comes to getting my points across. And considering that issues as basic as that already dig at my threshold, I am likely doing the right thing by keeping some of these things to myself. Otherwise, I'd monopolize everyone's time, and end up not making a whole lot of sense anyway. But doing that here wouldn't be practical, nor would it be fun...or therapeutic. And I need my therapy.

   

"Shaolin Family" Experiment Update, Take One

Sheesh! I've been MIA, and I'm sorry. Lots of stuff going on in my head and in my life. Nothing major, but definitely time consuming. Even my precious Korean dramas have taken a back seat. And if that doesn't tell you something, nothing will.

This whole "Shaolin family" experiment (in reference to a previous post in which I shared my lofty goals on how we were to address the needs of our bodies, minds, and spirits) has been tough, yet unbelievably rewarding. Finding time for everything is challenging, and we haven't stuck to it as closely as I would have liked. More often than not, it's the physical/body stuff that gets tossed to the wayside. We really need to work on that. That said, our prayer life is AWESOME. We went from a few prayers said at bedtime and before meals, to (recently) starting Morning and Evening prayer (Lauds and Vespers) using the Shorter Christian Prayer book, followed by a Morning Offering, Trinity Prayer, and Guardian Angel prayer. At noon we say the Angelus, at 3:00 p.m. the Divine Mercy Chaplet, and then we recite the rosary in the evening (as well as Vespers as mentioned before). That sounds like a lot, but it's really been such a great change for us. It has introduced a steady rhythm to our days, one that we had been lacking. And in addition to that, it has also given us all a sense of calm. The peaceful reflection, particularly in the morning, just feels right. We feel more capable of managing whatever the day brings with it. It's kind of hard to put it into words, but my soon-to-be 16 year old said, "Mom, this feels great," and I agree with her.

In addition to the above, my plans for personal spiritual enrichment have also included making adoration once per month, and finding time for more spiritual reading. We made it to adoration on the first Friday of the month, and I hope that this remains consistent. The spiritual reading however, hasn't actually happened yet (aside from the Divine Office that is). Again, I think it's more of a time management issue.

As mentioned above, my plans for how to address the physical/body bits of this whole undertaking are sorely lacking. I've determined that perhaps I was being too ambitious. Understatement alert! Rather than fit it ALL in, i.e., conditioning, tai chi, forms, weight training, etc., I'd do best to just choose one or two on which to focus each day. Being up early for Lauds really helps with the morning alertness factor, and makes me more likely to just "do it already." I also figured that I could give us some days "off" on kung fu class days. Okay, so technically, those really aren't off days at all since we'll be in class later anyway.

As for the mind bit of this lofty plan, things are moving along nicely. Another positive that has come out of this is that I'm realizing just how much time it takes us to do things. Some of those realizations have been positive, others haven't been exactly positive, but rather, enlightening. For instance, I've found that my son is lagging considerably behind his sisters when it comes to written work. He composes well, it's just the physical act of writing that is arduous for him. I can't decide if it's a perfectionist trait, or if he just finds it genuinely difficult. I always knew that this was an issue, but I didn't realize just how much of an issue, or how time consuming a problem it was until now. It doesn't appear to be dysgraphia either. He doesn't reverse his letters, and he's generally neat, with all of his letters being of consistent size. He's also a decent speller, with a broad vocabulary. I find that when he's composing something and writing it as he goes along, he is faster than when asked to recopy what he's written, as in the case of writing a final draft. We'll be taking him in to get his vision checked as well, in case it's a tracking problem, or just that he may need vision correction, and in the meantime, I'm checking online for ideas on how to address this issue (i.e., what I can do here, or where I should go for help with this). What's weird is that he doesn't seem to have a fine motor skill problem either. He's a tinkerer, and he puts models together with small pieces, and he's able to make the tiniest paper airplanes known to man. Seriously! He also handles his utensils properly, even chopsticks. Frankly, I'm confused by all of this. This week, we'll probably be focusing on handwriting, and I just may make it into a game or something as a motivator.

There's more to share, but I'll save it for another post and another day. ;-)

Easter Week

It’s the Friday of Easter week and all’s well. I had thought of just giving the kids off through Wednesday, until my Mom scolded me for being too unfair. Of course, the truth is that they get loads of time off anyway, even despite our tendency to work throughout the summer. But my Mom won out. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have an extended break after all, and I’m glad we did because it’s been great.

The kids are actually all passed out again. Yes, it’s the afternoon. It’s what happens when I’m lax about bedtimes, especially when we’re off from school. I did manage to peel them all out of bed by 7:00 a.m. this morning for confession though, and they did manage to stay up until after lunch, so I’m not feeling too guilty about it. They’ll have to go to sleep at a decent time tonight though, especially as we have a long Kung Fu day tomorrow, and an early start on Sunday with CCD followed by mass. By Sunday night, their circadian rhythm should be back to normal. I hope.

In any case, I was disappointed I didn’t get to post anything about our Holy Week and Easter. In short, it was nice. Holy Week is my favorite time of year. Our Italian parish loves its processions, and I love them, too. I had never been involved in any until we became parishioners there. Easter vigil was beautiful as well, and Easter Sunday was nice and low-key, which is just what we wanted. I spent the morning on cooking duty, designated potato-peeling duty to my husband, and delegated some of the tidying up to the kids. It’s so nice when everyone pitches in. Everything gets done in a fraction of the time.

I forgot to take pictures of the kids (seriously, what kind of mother am I?) and most of the meal, but I did somehow remember to shoot the ham. And what a horrible picture it is! I promise you all, it tasted a lot better than it looked. Note to self: Invest in a good camera. That, or better lighting. Both would be best.

Afterwards we transported the meal, a much smaller one than the over-ambitious-on-Patty-terms one I prepared last year to my Mom’s apartment. Less dishes, made transporting easier. I did have to make a mental note that I should really invest in some transport-friendly food containers before the next big holiday. Either that, or I should plan to arrive at my Mom’s place early in the morning and just cook everything there. The problem with doing that is that I’d have to put on a whole Vaudevillian song and dance routine to coax everyone out of the house on time, and of course, then I’d probably have a heckuva time trying to keep my mother from chipping in and helping prepare the meal. She’d definitely try to do too much. She’s been unwell, and the best way to ensure that she takes it easy, is for me to just make everything here.

Hoping all of you are having a wonderful Easter holiday! It ain’t over, ‘till it’s over!

Oh, and I’ll leave you all with the sung Divine Mercy Chaplet just in time for Divine Mercy Sunday. This is my favorite version.

Feeling Gushy

My son was feeling under the weather on Tuesday night, and then woke up with a cold yesterday morning. Now the girls seem to be following suit. No one seemed alert and focused enough to get much done for school, so I gave in and gave them some time off. Within minutes, they were all passed out, and now here I am, the only one up. Sleepy, but up, and sipping some Yerba mate. Sitting at the computer on a quiet afternoon, has inevitably led to some reflection.

I tend to be emotionally reserved in public, and I’m not the sort to go on about how awesome my kids are (at least not regularly), or how much I love them, but there’s just something about these quiet moments that get me all sentimental and gushy. I cannot claim to even fathom why God chose to bless us with such great kids, except that maybe He wanted to teach me a lesson. I never considered myself particularly maternal. I liked kids in general, and of course I loved my niece and nephews, but I was worried that wasn't enough to qualify myself as maternal. When I got pregnant with E, I immediately worried that my “lukewarmness” would make me poorly suited to parent. Could I even love my child enough? Seriously, these were the sorts of things I worried about. Shortly after E’s birth, I soon found that despite what I regarded as “lukewarmness,” I surely did manage to love her, albeit in almost a suffocating way. My love for her was all jumbled up with fear and paranoia should anything ever happen to her. It never occurred to me that that would happen. Never in my wildest dreams did I sit and reflect on how worry would consume my life, as it did just moments after her birth. I had always been a “live and let live” sort of person, feeling that people had a right to their own decisions, and I was comfortable with that. Yet there I was, having to make huge decisions for someone else, and without her consent. At times I felt crippled by doubt. Would she come to hate me for the choices I made on her behalf? After a while, we fell into a routine, and she gradually taught me to parent. And just when we had gotten into a groove, her sister came along. And she was and continues to be a whole new ball of wax. What was right for E, was seldom right for S. And so I continued to learn, taking a few missteps here and there. Then came F, my only son. Another learning curve.

It’s been a few years, and I still worry sometimes whether I’m a good enough Mom. But despite my misgivings, the lesson I have learned is this: I didn’t have to be a perfect parent to produce great kids. What a relief to know that good, no great, can come out of even what’s flawed! And permit me to gush here. I have GREAT kids. They’re kind, polite, thoughtful, curious, talented, empathetic, loving, funny, and always interesting. They greet me every morning with a warm smile and a hug, and nearly every night they gather around me to just “chat some more” before bed. Things could be not so rosy sometimes, but one hug from them makes all of the ugly stuff disappear. Yes, really. And no, of course they’re not immune to having bad days, but thankfully these are fleeting. I’m very grateful, and very blessed.

I may not say it often enough for all to hear, but I love you, E, S, and F! To the moon and back, and then some.

The Wannabe Shaolin Family

It’s not unlike me to get all carried away with making big plans. Often the instigating factor is a cool news article, a message board discussion, or a Youtube video. One time I saw something about making your own soap. That’s not a huge deal, right? But within minutes, it wasn’t just a bar of soap I was envisioning. I was envisioning my own line of soaps. Then there was the time I wanted to be a polyglot after watching videos of Tim Ferriss speaking about a half dozen languages. This is me we’re talking about here, so of course I zeroed in on the most difficult language ever. I watched one video lesson for Mandarin, and got so anxious over the enormity of learning such a difficult language, that I abandoned the idea. I’d still love to learn Mandarin, just not right now. We are already learning Greek, Latin, and Korean in our homeschool, but those don’t inspire nearly as much anxiety in me as Mandarin does. At least they’re all phonetic. And then there was that time when I joined Flylady’s housekeeping email list, only to burn out by day two. I haven’t entirely abandoned Flylady though. I just found her book much less anxiety inducing than all of those emails I was receiving.

Now lest it be assumed that I have absolutely no stick-to-it-tiveness, that’s not the case either. I do stick with things that matter…like the homeschooling, which I’ve been committed to for eleven years. For a lot of other things however, I think I’m part magpie, getting perpetually distracted by anything shiny. Whether this new plan we’re envisioning really matters enough to me, and to us as a family, or whether it is just another shiny thing to distract us, is still to be determined. That said, it’s something the kids say they want to do as well (read: it’s not just my idea), and I feel good about it. And that’s not exactly the feeling I had with all of the soapmaking- polyglot-Flylady stuff.

It all started as a discussion with the kids over working on improving ourselves, stemming from an earlier discussion we had had on Lent. We talked about leading a lifestyle that would focus on improving our bodies, our minds, and our spirits. The more we thought about it, the more our ideas started to resemble a simplified, hybrid form of Benedictine monasticism replete with Shaolin conditioning. It’s so funny that my kids are sometimes so much like me; it’s crazy. We all seem to be attracted to the idea of asceticism. We find the idea incredibly romantic. Now of course, I don’t mention asceticism here to suggest that that is our intention. That would be a way bigger plan than the one we had envisioned. In reality, our plan is simply to find our balance—a healthy balance. One that would help keep us focused on things that already matter to us. The key here is simplicity.

We figured that we already had the “mind” aspect covered, what with homeschooling already being such a large part of our days. Granted, there is always room for improvement. Autonomy on all things school related continues to be an issue. While I can trust my teen to work well independently most of the time, the younger two still need a bit of prodding along. My presence has an almost magical effect on their output. If I’m as far away as the next room, they’re less productive. The plan is to schedule well-organized time blocks, and set clear initiatives and goals to meet each day.

The “spiritual” aspect has had a bit of a spike in recent weeks, thanks to it being Lent. There has been more stuff going on at church, and more related discussions about relevant spiritual issues at home. But as with the “mind” stuff above, there is still ample room for improvement here as well. I’m thinking more time spent on meditation and reflection on the rosary, the stations of the cross, the Divine Mercy chaplet, etc. More silence would definitely be welcome as well. I figure that at the very least it would be an exercise in self-control, for all of us! Our plan here is to start the day simply, with a Morning Offering, and then move on from there.

The “body” aspect of this glorious plan of ours is quite possibly the part that needs the greatest overhaul. We’ve already been striving to eat healthy, cut our sugar intake, and avoid overly processed foods while out of the house. Our fitness levels, while better than they were once upon a time, are still lacking. On our Kung Fu nights, we do okay, but our days off are primarily spent on sedentary activities. The plan here is to incorporate more Kung Fu. We would want to include daily conditioning (my son is petitioning hard for iron body training), as well as stretching, stance drills, and forms. Tai chi and Qi Gong would work best in the morning, while the other higher intensity work would fit best in the early afternoon.

The kids and I brainstormed ways on how to fit it all in, and while we have a rudimentary idea as to how our schedule would look, it hasn’t been put into practice yet. It doesn’t look crazy or outlandish, or even all that difficult to follow (I think). I’m sure that many families do a lot of the same, with some subtle differences. I’m envisioning a Catholic family that sends their children to school, where they also partake in sports as an extra-curricular activity. Their children would already be getting a lot of what I describe above, so in that sense, this is not a novel idea at all.

I’m thinking that after a bit of tweaking, next week will be our first full week trying this out. We’ll either feel healthier and stronger in body, mind, and spirit, or we’ll burn out. I’m hoping for the former. If not, it’s back to the drawing board. This is not an idea I’d want to just abandon.

“Ethical Nudity,” or Good Old Catholic Therapy

So I had a couple of bad days having to deal with a difficult person. Surprise, surprise! Obviously, that’s what led to my last blog post. And yes, that was a facetious list on how NOT to deal with such people. I was attempting to cheer myself up by making light of the situation, and it helped, for a little while at least. Consider that my blog therapy. For anyone curious as to what I really did to deal with the situation, it was fairly simple, albeit somewhat misguided. I went into major avoidance mode, at least until things blew over. It wasn’t incredibly difficult at all. I observe a certain level of avoidance anyway with this particular person, so keeping my distance just comes naturally. The avoidance was and continues to be a good thing. Healthy even. What wasn’t healthy however, was feeling all angry and bristly inside. While I managed to bite my tongue and take the “high road” in this person’s presence, I went the other route in the privacy of my own home, in my head, and in my heart. I complained to my husband, I made snarky remarks (some were made on here for all to see), and I sighed deeply and loudly at the mere mention of said person’s name. I just wasn’t myself, and I was starting to feel rotten. I don’t like holding grudges. It’s completely counter to my nature, and it serves no purpose. And while I believed that I had already forgiven this person in my heart, I didn’t really have that sense of closure yet. And no amount of making light of it was going to end it either, despite the laughs.

It was immediately obvious that I’d benefit from going to confession. I like to refer to it as Catholic therapy. You walk in all broken, bearing the burden of your faults, and come out brand new. I love that. The line to confess was long, so I had plenty of time to go over my examination of conscience, and reflect on my sins. While I was on line, I became distracted by the sound of a woman's voice at the front of the church. I had seen her before at least a dozen times. She’s a fixture at our church. Her life has been hard, plagued by addiction and mental illness. People kept kindly urging her to keep her voice down, and she would try her hardest to remember, and then her voice would just gradually get louder again. Then she decided to walk over to our line (it was a large penance service, so there were four lines to choose from), and she zeroed in on me immediately, asking if she could cut in before me. I was about sixth in the queue, and of all of those present, she chose me to approach. I told her that of course she could cut in, and made room for her. In between showering me with praises, frequent hugs, “I love you’s”, and kisses for allowing her to cut in line, she proceeded to detail random little vignettes about the horrors of her life. Immediately, I felt guilty over, quite frankly, the insignificance of my own problems, and particularly for having allowed them to consume me the way they had. So what if I had a less than ideal encounter (or series of encounters) with someone. It was apparent that this woman’s every waking moment was a torment. Her "difficult person" is more than just one entity. I could see in her eyes that she was getting overwhelmed with sadness over the stories she was relating. And when she was most upset, she proceeded to tell me how she wasn’t worth Christ’s sacrifice or forgiveness. Those words just shot straight into my heart. Who could be more worthy? Here she was humbling herself, acknowledging the faults that had in one way or another contributed to her monumental problems, while others so easily turn and blame God for much less. She was taking the responsibility, even though from her story, it was apparent that there were other contributors. I found myself telling her, over and over again, that of course she was worthy of forgiveness. Me! The very person who had felt so rotten and unworthy just earlier. On a good day, it's easy to know we all matter and that we are worthy of forgiveness, but a bad day clouds everything. It was serendipitous to have had that encounter with her. It softened me. I had still been holding a bit of a grudge; I just hadn’t realized it before. There’s nothing more humbling than coming face to face with someone whose problems dwarf your owm. What a weird, roundabout way to feel grateful for the cards you’ve been dealt.

After her confession, she was beaming. Were all her problems fixed? Of course not, but I believe she was given the grace and the hope to endure a bit longer. I don't know how much longer. A lot of it depends on her. Addiction is huge, and awful, and insidious, so she has a very hard road ahead of her. She will need spiritual maintenance. We all do.

And then it was my turn to bear it all. My turn to say, "Hey, I've been a real jerk, and I'm really sorry for it." As I think about it now, it was probably one of my best confessions ever, thanks in large part to the humbling encounter I had with that woman. The priest was very kind and responsive, and he even chuckled a bit at something I said (a relief to me as I took it as a sign that he's heard much worse). He offered me the best advice, and helped me to put things in perspective. And then I was absolved, and the weight was lifted. I found myself, as I often do after confession, feeling deeply relieved and settled for the first time in weeks. There is no downgrading the effect bitter feelings have on a person, and nothing beats the peace of finally letting them go, and in this case, really knowing you’ve been forgiven for them. And so I was repaired, for a little while at least, until I find myself stumbling again.

This story reminded me of a talk we recently listened to by Archbishop Fulton Sheen on how the repression of sin affects our minds and bodies. And that made me think of the many people out there who don't take part in frequent confession. I'd be a mess, obviously. Allowing my anger to fester was a form of repression, because it meant I was hyper-focused on someone else's guilt whilst downplaying the role I was playing in not just letting it all go. The longer I held onto it, the more bitter I felt, and the snarkier I became. Others repress guilt by over-scheduling, keeping themselves busy to the point that they haven't a moment to spare to think of where they've gone wrong. Things just keep getting swept under the rug, with the hope that they'll disappear. But they don't. They just build up. And still others repress their sins by pointing fingers, placing the blame elsewhere.

Today it seems that no one really wants to discuss sin, as if it doesn’t even exist. It may seem unpopular, or medieval to many. Often it’s an issue of semantics. It’s okay to say you’ve got “issues” or "problems" but not okay to say you’re a sinner. Archbishop Sheen, in his talk (see below), suggests that sin is at the core of most of our unhappiness…that our unhappiness can be tied to our incapacity to bear responsibility for our thoughts, actions, or inactions, and that the build-up of guilt can manifest itself in a number of ways, physically and emotionally, at any time throughout the course of our lives. I believe he’s right. We allow our guilt and righteous anger to fester, and then unable to contain it, we act out by continuing to make poor choices. Guilt has sort of gotten a bad rap, and that's unfortunate. Guilt has a very humane purpose, particularly when acknowledged, addressed, and ultimately let go. It is the sign that someone has a working conscience. There’s nothing scarier than someone without a conscience. Pinocchio, as cute as he was, would have been the stuff of nightmares for me if Jiminy Cricket weren’t around to help keep him on the straight and narrow. (Okay, maybe I just think marionettes are creepy, but that’s beside the point). And I’m sure all of us, at one time or another, have questioned the perceived lack of conscience in others, particularly when it leads to horrible acts of violence. The recent news story of the young boy being set on fire on his way home from school is one such example. Thankfully for us, conscience can (and often does) kick in after the fact, and I hope that this is the case with the perpetrators of that particular crime. It’s sad enough to think of the victim in this story, without adding the brokenness of the perpetrators into the mix.

Now about that “Catholic guilt…”

There have been times in my life when upon learning that I’m a practicing Catholic, people have commented on the so-called issue of “Catholic guilt,” as if guilt is something unique to Catholicism. Obviously, it’s not. There’s even a Wiki article about it, and apparently it’s an idea still so current, that it even warranted an entry in Urban Dictionary. It’s my guilt that invariably leads me to returning my shopping cart to its designated area, especially on a rainy or blustery day when I’d much rather just shelter myself in the car. Identifying as Catholic has little to do with it. It does have to do with good old common courtesy and a smattering of guilt at the thought of some teenage employee catching a cold because he's spent an hour returning dozens of carts, including the one I had used.

I'm not addressing Catholic guilt in the form of scrupulosity here. That's a whole other ball of wax, deserving of its own post, better left for another time. Besides, if you're scrupulous, you don't need to be sold on the idea of confession. You're already going. Often.

Anyway, I’ve digressed enough for one day. I’ve added Archbishop Sheen’s talk below for those willing to give it a listen. It’s a good one, although I must say, I’ve never heard a bad or even mediocre talk of his. I doubt one even exists. And boy was he funny, too, and I do appreciate a bit of levity.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4


*Edited to change a word or two (or three).

Day Two of Lent and Not Up to Scratch? Add Something In!

Every year I have all of these great ideas on all of the changes I need to make in order to have a spiritually edifying Lenten experience. This in and of itself is not a problem. The problem is that I want to go whole hog, and end up overwhelming myself with self-prescribed regulations, much like I do on most years when coming up with a laundry list of New Year’s resolutions. It’s like setting myself up for failure, demanding not just one thing of myself, but several, as if I can go from being undisciplined to being an ascetic in forty days' time. And please note here that I’m not really talking about “giving stuff up for Lent.” In reality, that sort of stuff doesn’t work as well for me. Giving stuff up, like actual "stuff," is easy. I have incredible will power when it comes to this sort of thing, and after a while, avoiding specific things becomes less and less difficult and just becomes the new normal (like the time I gave up sugar in my tea, and then midway through Lent didn’t even mind as I couldn’t stand the thought of sweetened tea ever again). It’s the “adding stuff in” that I find most difficult, and therefore more worthy of my time, from a spiritual standpoint. And as to my criteria, the kind of stuff I’d be adding in, in my opinion, shouldn’t be dually purposed, because the ulterior purpose can eventually take precedent over the other spiritual one, until it becomes the greater of the two. For example, I can determine that I want to add in more exercise in acknowledgement that my body is a temple of God, and feel that I’ve addressed my spiritual criteria in settling with that change in behavior. Yet somewhere in my psyche, there will be the niggling feeling that an ulterior purpose (i.e. losing weight, feeling more attractive/giving in to vanity, etc.) would eventually become par with or even surpass the spiritual reasons I previously had in settling with the change in the first place. Honestly, the truth is that I should be exercising more anyway, and not use Lent as an excuse to do so. Of course, one can argue that there are many other benefits to exercising that are not those parenthetically noted, and as Catholics, we should strive to keep our bodies fit, healthy, and strong, but I struggle with those being my real reasons. Often I just want to look good in my jeans. Yeah, vanity. I guess it comes down to knowing yourself, and I have myself pretty much pegged.

And so I tend to struggle with determining what to do differently every year during Lent. I’m sure I can be rightly accused of over-thinking this, but what else is new? It would be out of character for me to not over-think. But what if you’re married to the idea of giving something up, rather than adding something in? If so, here are some pretty neat suggestions. The list is geared toward teens, but seeing as I still feel like a fourteen year old on most days, I still think several of them apply to even a thirty-something like me. Besides, I found several of the ideas unique. Never thought of giving up my pillow!

Ultimately, I’m still firmly in the “add stuff in” camp, because if there’s something that I really value, it’s my time. The more I add in, particularly the addition of time spent serving others (in this case, even my own family qualifies), the less time I have to enjoy other more selfish pursuits. In consideration of this, I’ll be adding stuff in as I go along, whatever those things may be and as situations arise, making sure that I remain consistent. And what better way of keeping track of every time I give up my time (you see, "adding in" can mean "giving up" as well, but it sounds more positive...to me anyway!) than to use St. Therese's sacrifice beads? Just move a bead over every time you sacrifice a bit of your time.

With that said, I have to add in some more school time with the kids, even if I’m technically still on my lunch break.

Wishing you all a very blessed Lenten season!

Too Great Not to Share

Aside from the joy and reaffirmation of belief that I receive with just about any conversion story, I also love me some nice reversion stories...particularly accounts that touch upon freeing oneself of life plaguing experiences like drug addiction and incarceration. Mark Wahlberg clearly has his priorities in order. I love to see people in the spotlight this committed to faith, family, and community. Well done, Mark!

Our Holy Week and Easter

Holy Week was beautiful, as it always is. My 14yo daughter mentioned how she wished that mass was always the way it is during Holy Week. What she meant of course, was that she wished that mass was always as reverent. I can't blame her. The music was lovely (of the goosebump variety), and I caught glimpses of cassocks being worn under the priests' vestments. Then there were the processions--one following Holy Thursday mass with the the Blessed Sacrament, and another after the Good Friday service, with a lovely statue of the Pietà. We belong to a nice, welcoming Italian parish, and before becoming parishioners there, we hadn't really taken part in many processions. Our church loves its processions, and we often get the opportunity to join in. What a lovely practice that is, particularly the candle-lit ones, with everyone either praying or singing a hymn. We're not super traditionalists or anything, but we are fairly traditional, and it just felt good to see that everyone, including the parishioners, had put so much time and attention to every detail--from what they were wearing, to their general behavior at mass. You could have heard a pin drop at the Good Friday service. It was solemn and beautiful. The entire week actually, was beautiful, and spiritually edifying. While I know that Jesus is still present in the Tabernacle even on weeks when less of a "fuss" is made, it still makes me sad to sometimes see the "business as usual" attitude that pervades churches everywhere, at other times of the year.

We attended Easter vigil mass on Saturday night, and it was lovely, too. A bit crazier than the preceding nights, as there were tons of people there for baptisms and confirmations. It's always so nice to see new people just entering the Church. Their enthusiasm reawakens my own. It was a very late night so I didn't make it home early enough to get a head start on cooking for Easter, but I had plenty of time to catch up on Easter morning. We went to visit my Mother and sister for Easter later in the day. My Mom made a delicious ham, a salad, and my son's favorite--rice pudding for dessert. I made roasted vegetables, scalloped potatoes au gratin, pineapple bread pudding (for those of us not eating a gluten-free diet), and mashed potatoes. Yes, I served mashed potatoes AND scalloped potatoes. Starch and more starch. I gave in to my 12yo daughter for whom mashed potatoes in a lifeline. Now I have tons of leftovers, and I couldn't be happier about that! We seldom have leftovers anymore, what with the kids eating us out of house and home. I can never count on leftovers for lunch the next day, so I made sure to make plenty this time. I'm looking forward to a day off from cooking! I try to find joy in the little things. :)

Anyway, here's a not-so-clear picture of the Easter spread. It was kind of muggy and overcast yesterday, and lack of light is not my friend when it comes to photo-taking.

Happy Easter, everyone! I'm technically still on time as Easter is not just one day, but rather, an entire season. :)