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Alcove

Prayers Please

alec vanderboom

Tomorrow my husband Jon and I have our formal interview to see if we get the green light to make our temporary (three year) promises to be Carmelites.

St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross, please pray for us!

Leaving Academia

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I don't know why my beef with the American Librarian Association has me so rattled. Yet I'm up at 3 AM thinking about it.

I'm the daughter of a college professor. I grew up in academia. To date, I'm still far more comfortable in a classroom or a library, than I am in my own kitchen or praying in a quiet church pew. Academia is my natural habitat.

In the back of my mind there was this assumption that certain rules applied--however, imperfectly executed my individual historians. We don't use foul language. We don't make sweeping generalizations about that past that are unsupported by facts. We don't "pander" to public opinion.

To discover that the American Librarian Association thinks that this book is an excellent example of scholarship for juvenile readers,---it's sort of like discovering that the emperor has no clothes.

Jesus said "whoever follows me must loose all possessions." I guess following Him means stripping myself of self-identification with intellectualism or academia. I've got to be willing to put Him ahead of everything else. I need to be willing to be seen in public as the poor, pregnant slob of a girl who is a prissy about children reading foul language and poorly constructed historical arguments against our Faith.

Mary, I'm totally yours!

Admonishing Sinners

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Ahh, such a talent I have---NOT!

Today, I told my small city librarian today that I didn't think an American History book where the first chapter is subtitled "Notorious Whores" and the author's insulting thesis is that "the early roots of American Democracy are identical to the Taliban" should be shelved in our children's section.

Her response: "Well, not every book is going to be right for every family!"

"When you feel like you don't belong somewhere, it doesn't mean that you're not supposed to be there"

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I watched the "cool parents" of my kid's soccer team fall apart this morning. The Mom of the super star of our Under 8 soccer team died of leukemia on Thursday. Before Friday, I'm not sure that anyone on the team knew who she was, or that she was sick. The lone father in attendance during our Fall soccer games seemed like just another product of a divorced family. (Man, does it suck to judge!)

Most of the parents were horribly uncomfortable with sudden appearance of death on our kids soccer team. We got an email saying that if we told our kids about Logan's Mom's death, then it was important for the kids not to mention it at practice. Someone made our team armbands that were orange, not black.I asked Alex about it before the game and found out the coaches had passed out orange armbands for the team to wear without any instructions that orange is a symbol for leukemia patients, or why this was suddenly important for our team. Then the coaches had an uncomfortable meeting with the parents post-game where we decided to collect money to send flowers to the house.

Because I'm a foolish Carmelite, I took my whole family to the viewing today. The funeral home was a 2 hour drive from our house. All during the trip I worried about what I would say to the widower, or how my six year old son (a man not famous for his spirituality or his tact) would react to the viewing.

Why do I worry?

We got to the viewing and knelt uncomfortably down as a family to say a Hail Mary and an Our Father. My husband looked up and noticed that their was a crucifix above the coffin. "She was a Catholic!" he whispered to me.

After our prayers, we found Logan to give our condolences. My husband introduced Alex as a member of his soccer team.

Logan, said "I remember you!" with his face lit up with a huge smile for Alex. Then he asked a surprising follow-up, "Do you want some candy?"

A relative had sent a funeral wreath filled with tiny whopper candies all pinned out on an ivy wreath--a totally unique floral arrangement.



Logan went up to the wreath and pulled off a bag of candy for Alex. Then he got candy for Hannah and Maria.

These four kids hung out in total normalacy inches from his mother's open coffin. They munched on candy. They joked. They make those little twitches and jumps that only little kids can make. It was such a moment of grace, of connection, and of hope. I couldn't believe that my kids were the ones who could gracefully walk into a funeral parlor and offer friendship to a six year old kid who had just lost his Mother.

(Wow! When Jesus says "I will comfort the sorrowful," He really keeps his word!)

Later, Jon got to talk to the husband. He found out that the Mom had made a strong friendship with a priest during the last stage of her illness. The funeral was held so far from their home town because they wanted to have the funeral services within the parish boundaries of this priest. My Jon said "you made the right decision."

I found out today, that my life has no accidents. I thought we were the odd fish on the soccer team. Honestly, I really wanted us to drop out. I felt uncomfortable with the other parents, tired from pregnancy, and my kid is the one watching cloud formations while everyone else is running after the ball.

Yet this was all a part of God's plan all along.

I also found out that there are no strangers inside of a funeral home. We don't need a long history or deep connection to be instruments of God's grace. We just need to be willing to be his servants to someone in need.

Please pray for the soul of Tara Semak and for her husband Pete and her wonderful sons Dustin and Logan.

Mother Mary, pray for Tara. Blessed John Paul the II, please comfort a fellow soccer lover and motherless child named Logan.

Mentally Rewriting the Corporal Acts of Mercy

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Since I'm clearly not holy enough to merit having angels to do my housework like the beautiful St. Zita (or rich enough to hire a cleaning lady!) I've been working on my terrible mental attitude regarding "the daily grind" of Motherhood.

My husband came up with the idea of tying specific tasks to the Corporal Acts of Mercy. It has really helped!

Previously when I thought about "sheltering the homeless",



I got a mental picture of volunteering for "Habitat for Humanity." As the mother of four young kids (and another one the in belly) I'm unlikely to get a Saturday free to use a staple gun to help the homeless for approximately THE NEXT SEVENTEEN years, I'd get depressed. I'd think "I'm not really doing anything." But when my patient husband explained that every time I cleaned up clutter from the living room, I was creating a home for my own family and thus "sheltering the homeless", my heart expanded.

So here is my mental revision of the Seven Acts of Corporal Mercy, adjusted for a pregnant SAHM of very young children.

To feed the hungry;---- cooking AND grocery shopping AND cleaning out the yucky junk in the fridge

To give drink to the thirsty;--give milk to the toddler AND paying the water bill online

To clothe the naked--doing all tasks associated with the laundry

To shelter the Homeless--cleaning up the living room, paying the mortgage, etc.

To visit the sick--buying cough drops and making routine ped. appointments

(Still working on visiting the imprisoned and burying the dead.)

When I have a task, if I take a few seconds and put it in the appropriate work of mercy slot, I find I have a much better attitude. I'm finding it easier to combine a life of prayer AND work, or "work as I pray."

Better than A Dozen Roses

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Last Wednesday sucked! I don't know what makes some days worse than others as a Stay-at-Home Mother, but last Wednesday was a for me low point. I feel into cussing. Yes, I'm the Carmelite who cusses. Better yet, the Home-schooling Carmelite mother who cusses. With chagrin I realized that I've protected my children from the horrors of public school only so that they could learn directly from their dear Mother's lips the wonderful phrases of "I'm so pissed off at you!" and "this is f***ing hard!"

Great!

Just so no one is shocked at my poor behavior come Judgement Day.

By the grace of God, I get myself collected enough to decide that cheap pizzas and a cheap DVD at Target could create an impromptu "Movie Night" in order to hold things together until my husband comes home at 7 PM. I mean, this took all of my brain power. This was an equally heroic task to writing my senior thesis.

When my husband came home the pizzas were baked. The kids were happily watched "Cats and Dogs." We took the teething baby for a long walk around the neighborhood and talked in peace. I cried when I chatted about my day. We came to the conclusion that life is just hard for me right now. This pregnancy is still in a hard, early stage. Home-schooling under new state regulations is unsettling. It stinks to have no friends in a new town and to suddenly lose my husband to a commuter train for an extra 5 hours a day. In the end, I decided that I basically need to just gut through the next few weeks and trust that things will get better soon.

After our walk, I crawled into bed at 8:10 PM, exhausted.

Some time later my husband crawled into bed next to me and whispered "I called in sick tomorrow."

"What?" I said, instantly awake.

You have to understand, my husband never, ever misses work. Jon has stepped over my puking body racked with the stomach flu to get to work on time. The man even conscientiously made plans to return to work on his cellphone from a Children's Hospital NICU room as soon as we discovered that Baby Tessy's emergency heart surgery was delayed for 12 hours.

"I told them I wasn't coming into work on Thursday," Jon said. "You seem like you need me more at home tomorrow."

It was a gift better than a dozen roses.

Jon stayed home from work on Thursday. I got to go to Mass. I got to go to Confession. I had a normal day at home-schooling with my husband backing me up every time I ran into discipline trouble. We're apart for 14 hours a day during the workweek, but I don't feel like I'm doing this job alone anymore.

I love being married!

On Teaching Class

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I'm teaching 3rd/4th Grade Religious Education at my new parish church. It's such a gift. Our year long goal is to learn how to be "friends of Jesus" by following the Beatitudes and the Ten Commandments. Today's lesson was on "hearing Jesus through Sacred Scripture."

So what does the little Carmelite do? I taught 8 kids how to do Lectio Divinia! In the middle of reading some verses on friendship with Christ from the Gospel of John I start thinking "this is going is such a failure." Most of the boys couldn't sit still. Our classroom doesn't have walls (of course!) so it's super noisy.

I was shocked to discover, however, that my kids adored it. Two boys actually said they "they never felt anything like that in their life" and "something good came into my heart."

So these totally ordinary 8 and 9 year old kids ASKED to do Lectio Divino at every one of our future Sunday School sessions. Then they voted to designate Saturday as the first day as a class that they would try to read Sacred Scripture at their own homes. These guys were so eager, I had to track down two Bibles to give to kids that didn't have them at home. I mean, who knew an eight year old kid would ASK to take a Bible home?

It's so humbling to teach, because He does all the work. One of my fellow teachers is very concerned about all of the kids "who aren't here every Sunday." But I was telling my husband today "I'm totally amazed at the kids who ARE here. He's got them marked. He's got each of them lined up for some special plan."

What an honor to have a special time to pour love into these little souls.

(I'm extra blessed because Hannah is in my class. Jon stops by often with Baby Tess. Meanwhile, Alex and Maria are both really enjoying their respective religion classes.)

On Being Little

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So after I read this heart-breaking piece about the one-child policy in China, I was FIRED up for today's OB visit, Baby! I reviewed all these different scenarios in my mind. If they gave me any grief about declining testing for down syndrome--I was walking out the door! If they gave me any flack about "having too many c-sections" or being an "elderly" mother, I was going to give them an ear-full.

I even figured out how to tell my doctor point blank to stop doing abortions on sick babies in utero. Because I hung out in the NICU ward of Children's Hospital, darn it--and each one of those critically ill babies were PRETTY DARN CUTE!







Guess what happened?

NOTHING!

My darling husband wanted to be there for the sonogram. So he walks into my OB appointment with four kids ages 8 to 1. He carries the Tess inside her car seat carrier. My family stops traffic! Our shiny light stops the anti-life people in their tracks. The pro-life staff start jumping up and down. Everyone is so stunned to see a father genuinely excited to welcome a brand-new fifth child into his life.

After Jon appears, I start to receive the gold-star treatment. My doctor gives us an up-graded sonogram. We get souvenir photos for the baby book. Even the mean nurse who yelled about me about lawn chemicals during our pre-appointment interview happily gives me a special trick to get through my flu shot without any pain.

After our happy visit, I go to the Lab to get my blood work started. Jon takes most of kids back to the car. I keep my eight year old Hannah for moral support.

The Lab Tech is very cheerful and starts talking to Hannah. She starts to coo over my newest pregnancy. I cynically think "Wow, people are so nice when they think I only have two kids. Wish that could happen all of the time!"

Then it comes--that awkward moment in the conversation. Do I lie about what number pregnancy this is to keep up the good will, or do I tell the truth? I take a deep breath and tell tell the truth. "Actually I have other kids who are with their Dad. This baby is number five for us!"

Without a word, the Lab tech flashes me her palm.

I look at it with confusion. "What's that for?" I ask. "Do I need to show you my insurance card again or something?"

"I was trying to give you a high five!" she said. "I LOVE large families!"

I clapped her hand but my wide eyes kept looking at my oldest daughter. This was NOT the usual response we receive in wealthy suburban Maryland. Hannah and I were both stunned into silence.

Soon I come to discover that my blood is being drawn by a fellow Catholic survivor of the Rwandan genocide. She was from an original family of 10 who lost 4 siblings in that horrible tragedy. She is also a friend of Immaculee Ilibagiza, the author of "Left to Tell!"



What are the chances? I got see pictures of Immaculee on my lab tech's i-phone. So we're all chatting about the Virgin Mary and "the Lady of Kibeho" (which Betty Beguiles will remember sending me a copy of three years ago!) I was so happy. It was nuts!

Later, as I recounted this story to Jon, I had to laugh. "I was all ready to make a huge show-down for the pro-life cause today. But what did Mommy Mary have in mind? She wanted my husband and I to be joyful. She wanted us to silently shine our light. Then she wanted to give me a personal high five for having number five."

I truly get all the smallest job assignments possible from Our Mother! Yet I so love being so little!

My Penance Today Is Offered Up For Them

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Off to my first OB visit to sneak a peak at the youngest Benjamin today. I've got normal HMO insurance, so this is major penance. I'd whine more about getting OB care for my sixth pregnancy smack in the middle of the culture of death, but I've got these images of suffering pregnant Chinese women (with their "illegal" second children) fresh in my head.

Jesus and Mary, pray for us!

Prayer Request

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One of my little "Sacred Heart of Jesus" babies (in this case a toddler) is getting open heart surgery in one hour. Can you pray for Tommy today and his family?

Updates on facebook report that Tommy's surgery was successful and he's now breathing on his on. Please keep praying for a speedy recovery for this little tike! Thank you!

Purity of Heart

alec vanderboom

Thank you. Thank you.

So surprise, surprise. Carmel meetings are not always a bed of roses. Or rather, there are heavenly roses sent down from our buddy St. Therese of Lisieux along with some sharp, juicy thorns from our other buddy St. John of the Cross that are aimed RIGHT at the most sensitive part of the back of my knee.

As I YELP in shock and pain, Mr. John of the Cross gives me a huge thumbs up sign. "Just making sure you're staying awake Miss Abigail" he shouts with a smile. "Wouldn't want you to get too comfortable. Carmel is not a spa treatment! This is hard work for Jesus, baby!"



(This was not my Carmel experience for the month of September!)

To wit I reply with complaints and tears "I work SO HARD for Mr. J.C. all month! Don't I deserve a little break? Isn't there one place where I can come and not get surprise jabs in the heart when I least expect them?"

So far the answer seems to be an emphatic "NO!"

I'm slowly becoming more and more okay with that.

Maybe, instead of a place of rest and relaxation--an easy well of spiritual renewal, Carmel meetings are a place of hard work for me right now. A place to give love. A place to donate smiles. A place to deposit more peace, and hope, and joy--than I withdrawl from right now.

Maybe Carmel is supposed to be more about serving Our Mother, and less about having a comfy place to crash among all my Marian siblings.

You duped me Lord, and I let myself be duped! But lead me on! I know you always have my best interest at heart.

St. Teresa of Avila, pray for me.

Struggling!

alec vanderboom

Thank you for all of your kind prayers. I'm actually starting to see the light at the end tunnel in regards to my morning sickness. (Of course, I'm so neurotic that my first thought at not feeling nauseous 24/7 was not "Thank you Jesus!" but "Does this mean I'm having a miscarriage?" See how much He loves me? He gives me frequent morning sickness so I do not lose sleep about possibly losing another baby). Now that I'm at the 12 week mark, I have SOME morning sickness still but I no longer have that emotional fog of depression that seems to accompany a constantly upset tummy.

Great!

Now, it's time to move onto my struggles with seasonal allergies. (Why did I volunteer to sign up my son for soccer if that means sitting outside for long periods of time in the Fall when pregnancy denies me use of Claritin? Oh yes, it's because I completely forgot that I now live in the country with actual mountains full of fall foliage.)

and.....

total doubts about making my temporary promise to my lay Carmelite order in November.

I had a stressful, intense weekend--which ended with one of the most awful, stressful Carmelite meetings ever on Sunday. I went to my husband in tears at 4 PM and said "I think I totally lost the ability to communicate." He said that I was extra sensitive because of my pregnancy and just noticing things that I wouldn't normally see--but that it was still totally cool to go home early.

Later, that Sunday night, while we walked our sick, non-sleepy baby in a stroller outside our house, my husband was so patient with me. My husband calmly explained to me "We've been going to Carmel meetings now for two years and ten months. If it was truly "completely impossible" and a "total waste of time" like you feel, I think we would have figured that out before now! Instead, it's slightly coincidental that all of these doubts are suddenly hitting you eight weeks before we make our temporary promise."

I admitted to him that the timing was slightly suspect. Still I was confident that the thoughts and feelings that I was experiencing were the truth.

Then I went inside and read an email that was sent at 9:30 PM on Friday night. My extreme agitation during Sunday's Carmelite meeting caused me to ask my husband to take me and the kids home at 4 PM in the afternoon. This previously unread email was asking Jon and I to come to our profession "pre-interview" between 5 PM and 6 PM.

I CAUSED US BOTH TO MISS OUR INTERVIEW!

Thankfully we can make it up on October 16th.

However, I now have to stay calm for the next four weeks while my whole psyche is screaming "this whole thing is impossible" and "I do not need this extra grief and agitation in my life."

Will Abigail make it up Mount Carmel? Or will Johnny be climbing this Holy Mountain alone? I don't know. Tune in and find out.

Choosing "Life" Over A Perfect Life

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A Reaction to this quote in the NY Times.

"Jenny’s decision to reduce twins to a single fetus was never really in doubt. The idea of managing two infants at this point in her life terrified her. She and her husband already had grade-school-age children, and she took pride in being a good mother. She felt that twins would soak up everything she had to give, leaving nothing for her older children. Even the twins would be robbed, because, at best, she could give each one only half of her attention and, she feared, only half of her love. Jenny desperately wanted another child, but not at the risk of becoming a second-rate parent. “This is bad, but it’s not anywhere as bad as neglecting your child or not giving everything you can to the children you have,” she told me, referring to the reduction."

(ht: the Anchoress: Repugnant Non-Parenting)

My father-in-law was an identical twin, born in 1933 at the height of the Great Depression. At the time of his birth, his mother had two older children ages 3 and 5. (She would eventually go on to have six children). His family was poor. His father was addicted to prescription medication.

At some point, his mother became overwhelmed by the needs of her young children. When her husband was called into service during WWII, she gave away one of the six year old twins to his paternal grandparents.

This abandonment left a huge scar on my Father-in-law. Even though his grandparents lived close by, he never came home again! When his father came home from the War, his mother invited her son back home. However, her little boy refused to come home. He said he was "used to" his grandparent's home now. For some reason, she never forced her nine(or ten) year old to move back in. (She later expressed regret to my Mother-in-law. She said it was a mistake to ever send him away.)

As an adult, my Father-in-law still spoke about "the exile" as though he were sent to a different country, rather than 100 yards across a gravel country road. There was a lasting distance between him and his birth family. At age 20, he got a job for the State Police and moved hundreds of miles away his family. Even though he talked often on the telephone to his twin brother, he rarely returned home to visit his brother or his mother.

The boy grew into a man. He had an important job in the community, locking away criminals. He married and had three children. The intimacy scar affect his family life. He found it hard to talk to his children, especially to his only son. He didn't attend his children's sports events or talk much about their friends.

Work was hard and took a lot out of him. He worked hard 12 hour shifts some days/some nights. He had a soft spot for the poor and gave money to the desperately poor he came into contact with through his police work. He hated seeing kids abused or neglected.

And my Father-in-law was mad at God. Very mad at God.

At age 73, he caught a rare form of blood cancer that for some reason was ubiquitous in his small town. A victim of an environmental toxicant, perhaps? He was dead within 12 weeks of his diagnosis.

Yet something amazing happened to my Father-in-law during those last 12 weeks. His twin brother, the favored one--the one that got to stay with Mom while he was sent far from home--prayed for him. His son prayed for him. The twin brother called his little known nephew, my husband. These men prayed together on the phone for my Father-in-law's conversion.

My Carmelite husband called a priest, and asked him to gave his Father the Sacrament of Confession and the Sacrament of the Sick. His Father's heart was opened.

The last three weeks of my Father-in-law's life was beautiful. It was a living example of the men in the vineyard who were called "late in the day." The priest brought the Eucharist four or five times. Three Nuns came to visit the sick man in his house. He died in the full grace of the Roman Catholic Church. He died a holy death and gave a sign of seeing the Virgin Mary.

*****

I was horrified when I read Jenny's reason for aborting a twin "so that she wouldn't be a second rate Mother." It seems so horribly close to the same reasons that I've been beating myself up for having morning sickness with a fifth child and spending weeks "abandoning" my own older children. Who knows how much this sick culture of death has infected all of us American women. What is a "good mother?" Why are we so afraid of failing or children?

My husband's grandmother was in Jenny's shoes. She lived Jenny's worse nightmares. For some reason, Grandma Ruth felt like she couldn't "handle" twins. Her decision to give my Father-in-law to his grandparents had a lasting effect on his psyche. I came into my Father-in-law's life when he was more than 60. He still talked of that hurt with fresh tears in his eyes.

And yet....

My Father-in-law was alive. He went on to become the father of my dear husband. The Father of a Carmelite. The possible Grandfather of a Nun.

What would my life be like if Grandma Ruth had the option of "twin reduction" abortion?

How much love would the World have missed out on?

 
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My father-in-law with me and two of his grandchildren in October 2007.

We're coming up on the 2nd anniversary of my Father-in-law's death. Blessed Virgin, pray for the soul of Bob Benjamin. Pray for all of our beloved dead.

Real Saints are Hidden

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I've been staying away from reading Father Corapi posts. (I've simply prayed for him instead). Yet this post was a really insightful read.

This quote just knocked me out. This is something my husband has been trying to tell me for a long, long time.

From a blog by Father Dwight Longenecker:

“Where shall we find a holy person? Where shall we find a saint? It is difficult because the real saint is hidden and humble and holy. Instead of looking for the hidden holy ones we fall for the celebrity ‘saint.’ We want the big dramatic conversion story. We want the dynamic, uncompromising speaker. We like the one who speaks out on sin and rails against the devil…

“…Stop and consider that the real saints are hidden. They follow the little way. If you were to tell them they were saints they would laugh and tell you to keep searching. If you even had the sense and discernment to see the saint next to you–the ordinary person who perseveres–the little person who serves others–the plain Jane who takes life easily and simply loves people–then you would learn again what true holiness really is. If we only had eyes to see the simplicity of the saints, the extraordinary ordinariness of holiness, the practical good humor and humility of the truly grace filled ones…

“It is the little way that leads to salvation. Not the way of pride and pleasure and power. Not the way of wealth and the world. Not the way of ego and ambition.

“Only the way of the cross. When are we going to learn this?”


Wow! This is Carmelite spirituality in a nutshell. Yet again, God is teaching me some really great lessons from my morning sickness and forcing me to take life super easy for a while.

Blessed Mother pray for Father Corapi, Father Pavone, and all of our dear priests.

Wow, Totally Amazing Comments

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I should go underwater more often. Your support and prayers and advice are totally amazing!

My friend in real life Maria B., wrote in from her tropical vacation to help me!:

"I feel the same way during pregnancy. Depressed, joyless, overwhelmed with feelings of failure on every level. Deep guilt for not joyfully embracing my cross and my seeming total inability to offer up physical suffering.

During my last pregnancy, I went to Fr. Jaffe for some spiritual direction on the while situation. He helped me come to embrace a spiritual attitude I had used in other tough situations, but I mistakening thought was "weak." Stop carrying the cross. Give it to Jesus. In fact, He actually has already carried it for us. He just wants us to embrace Him, walk along with Him. He does all the heavy lifting.

It was very freeing for me to be able to just tell God, "I can NOT handle this. I'm dumping it all on YOU!" The amazing thing is....that is what He wants.

I think this approach is right there with St. Therese's wisdom on spiritual poverty. Once we just embrace the reality of our absolute spiritual poverty and hand the whole mess of to God, the the guilt and heaviness lifts and the freedom of being a child of God can begin to seep in.

I have to constantly keep doing this over and over. And it doesn't really change any externals or make life much easier in a phyical sense. But there is the internal change you talk about. Freedom from the illusion that I can do this (because I can't, only God can) and a deep sense of hope that God is carrying me through life, like a Father carrying a sleeping child."


Melanie from the Wine-Dark Sea posted this AMAZING letter on Faith during pregnancy written by our buddy St. Francis De Sales. He hit the nail on the head. Go read it right now! That should be required reading for all pregnant Christian ladies out there!

Then my friend Patrick sent this link to a super cool St. Francis of Assisi post on "pure joy." This is a must read also!

Finally, Carla, who has never met me in person, also had this important insight

"Abigail was trained as a lawyer (me too) - we were graded and measured by our accomplishments...and we often bring this expectation to motherhood AND prayer..."

I feel like there is this major "purging" that is going on right before my temporary Carmelite vows. (Pray for me! God willing, I will make my 3 year vows to be a lay Carmelite in November 2011). It's really humiliating because I'm NOT in a good prayer schedule right now. I don't know how the entrance interview is going to go next month. (The guys doing the interviews are a little intense and I'm trying to picture my responses. "Well, I'd LIKE to have more prayer in my life but I'm currently flummoxed on how to do that with five kids! I'm sure God has some sort of plan, though. He sent me a Carmelite vocation at the same time I have all these angels to care for, after all!")

Still I think this lack of perfection is really, really positive for me. I need to figure out in the deepest part of my mind that just because I 'check off all the boxes' doesn't mean that I'm a good Carmelite (or a good Mom!) And the counter statement is also true. Just because my 30 minutes of prayer turned into a mere 5 seconds, or just because the kids are eating cereal for dinner and I'm buying extra underwear at Target because the laundry pile is so back-up--that does NOT mean that I'm automatically out of God's will. In fact, not being a perfect "Clair Huxtable" Mom might mean that I'm right where God wants me to be!

Blowing Prayer Bubbles Up From Under Water

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This is me.

Underwater.

Blowing prayer bubbles up to God.

Saying "Help!" and "SOS" and "You've got to get me out of the mess, right?"

I'm in week eleven of pregnancy. Which means it feels like I'm on week nine of perpetual flu sickness. Fatigue. Nausea. Dragging my weak body along after four older kids.

I told my husband yesterday that "I've invented a new game. I drag my sorry body into different positions around the house for variety's sake. This morning, I laid down on the rug in my son's room for an hour. I talked to him about his new Lego creations with my cheek pressed against the floor. Then I went to the girl's room watched Mimi cut up chunks of our newspaper with safety scissors."

I'm reading about St. Elizabeth of the Trinty writing about suffering being a "purging fire that brings us closer to God." I'm not there yet.

Then I had this intense experience in the parent waiting room during my kid's gymnastics practice, where I'm asking God "when am I going to experience real joy?" Because I looked around at the other home-schooling Mothers (Hannah has a special home-school P.E. class) and they all look terrible! Depressed. Anxious. Sickly. Either overweight or overthin. And none of them appears to be pregnant or have young kids in the house. (Because I'm the only idiot who shows up pregnant with three kids to entertain while my oldest plays in a gym class meant for 6-18 year olds. Most Moms appear to have wisely waited until their YOUNGEST was six to enroll in an optional P.E. class).

In my green in the gills, awful state, I match the exterior stress of these Mothers completely. I prayed "Please God, I don't want to still look like this when my youngest is six!"

It really shook me up, because I think so much of my sadness, my "lack of joy" comes from simply not sleeping well because I have so many young children in my house. There is always someone who is teething, or someone who has nightmares. But what if all my lack of joy isn't physical? What if its because I'm not yet centered truly on Christ? If so, my kids are going to get older, but I'm still going to be their same sad, tired Mom.

In sharp contrast, the only guy in the room was a work-at-home I.T. father. He looked jolly. He looked together. He spoke cheerfully. One of his jolly, cheerful comments was "Yes, we only have two children. I was afraid to have more!"

At the exact moment that he said this statement, Tess and Mimi were both crying at the same time. I held the hands of two girls while trying not up chuck myself onto the shiny clean floor. Those words hit my ear and I thought "You were right to be afraid. This stuff is kinda hard."

I took my sobbing girls outside. Alex immediately saw a black, mud spattered jeep in the parking lot. "Look Mom, a jeep!" he said excitedly.

"Yeah, your Dad used to have a red one of those. See the doors are even off. Your Dad used to drive me around town with the doors off back when we were dating. Go check it out!" Alex went over for a closer inspection. Dad's old jeep that got traded in for a family car when I became pregnant with Hannah is a source of endless fascination for my only son.

Twenty minutes later, I watched happy I.T. guy load his two children, one girl and one boy, into the back of his mud spattered, doorless black Jeep. He looked happy. His kids neatly folded up into the back seat his Jeep--which was really a symbol of his family neatly folding up into the back of his formerly single life.

As I watched them drive off, I prayed hard. "God I know this is an illusion. I know that the whole idea that you should limit your babies to a number that your life can easily handle is a complete lie. BUT YOU HAVE GOT TO HELP ME MAKE IT. You have got to help me find real peace and joy as a Mother of five. You've got to help me make it, on this Christian path.

Remembering 9/11

alec vanderboom


This is Jeremy Glick, a fallen hero from Flight 93. I listened to his widow tell the story of his life and their marriage in an interview on September 11, 2001. I was twenty-six years old and a newlywed who had been married for less than three months. Watching that TV interview was the exact moment that I discovered that I really, really wanted to become a mother.

Blessed Mother, pray for the soul of Jeremy Glick. Pray for his dear family. Blessed Mother, have mercy on the enemies of the United States. St. Micheal, Keep our soldiers, fire-fighters and police safe from harm.