The Hidden Art of Hospitality

(for Joann)

I started teaching First Grade Sunday School today. (I'm supposed to call myself a "Religious Education Instructor, but old Protestant habits of the tongue die hard). God played a great joke on me. My favorite grade got "stolen" from me during our RE planning meeting. I was so sad and convinced that I would find teaching the "little kids" exhausting after spending 50 hours a week caring for my own small crew.

I trudged up the stairs to an new classroom with a heavy heart this morning. Instead, I walked into a delightful group of four smiling faces, two boys and two girls. I love my class! They are so sweet. They are so talkative. I found our discussion today to be joyful and creative.

My job today was to "introduce Jesus Christ" and teach the Sign of the Cross. Jesus is our "friend" was the theme. So I started in this generic attempt to say "who has a best friend?" "what are some things that we do with our friends?"

The kids told me "My best friend is mean." "I have three best friends, one is mean, one was mean but now is nice, one is always nice but I'm not allowed to play at their house anymore." "I don't have any friends."

At first, I sort of thought they misunderstood the questions.

Friends.

Going over to their house. Sharing toys, etc.

My hidden agenda was to say "just like we go to our friends house to play, Jesus wants us to come to his home in heaven forever!"

But the kids just stood there.

This playing at other peoples house, that wasn't something any of them did anymore.

I started to object--I remember going over to lots of friend's houses as a kid. But then I remembered. I HOMESCHOOL, and know lots of other sweet homeschooling families in my parish and its still like pulling teeth to get anyone to come over our house. It's once in a blue moon to get an invite to go over to THEIR house.

Hospitality is mostly a dying art.

Then it hit me that the Devil was pretty sneaky. Because if we're all "too busy" to have friends over to play. Or if all the Moms are too embarrassed to have people over because of the mess. Or if you have to set limits on "going over to X's house" because they have sinful MTV video's playing, or snacks with dangerous peanuts, or whatever else is going to harm your kid's spiritual, physical, or emotional health--

then when your Sunday School teacher says "Jesus is your friend and wants you to come visit his house in heaven" you give her blank looks. They don't have friends they can see. How are they supposed to understand a friendly Jesus they can't see?

Today at 11 AM, I just looked at four kids who all attend a small town elementary school and yet have no play dates to look forward too in the coming year--and said

"Oh no! Well you can all come over to my house!" (I meant it too!)

The smiles I got back were priceless.

I'm 37. I'm not in the least bit cool to a six year old. But Jesus wants me to extend friendship to 6 year olds and 86 year olds. My house is Mary's house, which means we're open for play dates and no one is a stranger in my parish family. It's a blessing to learn the art of hospitality late in life.

St John Chrysostum

 I have only contempt for the world’s threats, I find its blessings laughable. I have no fear of poverty, no desire for wealth. I am not afraid of death nor do I long to live, except for your good. I concentrate therefore on the present situation, and I urge you, my friends, to have confidence.

Wringing Out My Veil

I received scorn at Mass yesterday.

I woke up still in a turmoil about it. The first thing Jesus tells me, "You know, you can just tell the person you have a problem with his actions." That's so revolutionary to me. I don't have to be fake "nice" in Church, or embarrassed that I have a disagreement with someone holy. If I feel strongly about a wrong 24 hours later, I have the option of discussing the matter further in private.

Then during my prayer of the quiet (which felt anything BUT quiet this morning) I got this consoling image. I imagined how much spit Mary Magdalene must have received on her veil during the Crucifixion. That was so surprising to me. Previously, I'd always focused on the brave and noble actions of Mary Magdalene. She stuck it out! She hung by Our Blessed Mother during the goriest part of Jesus' death. She's a hero! (Moreover, she's my hero. I choose my Carmel name in her honor).

Yet obviously, Mary Magdalene didn't get cheers at the time for doing this brave deed. She was hanging out with a criminal. She got spit on. Cursed. Probably shoved around a bit.  When she went home crying from the Crucifixion, she could have wring out her veil with all the spittle she received.

The Mass is real. It's the Crucifixion--only in a timeless form.

If I want to go stand by Jesus on the Cross with my kids, we're going to get shoved around. We're going to be talked about. I'm going to get metaphorical spit thrown on my metaphorical Veil.

When I get home after Mass and  have to wring out my Veil, that's not a problem--Jesus hints to my heart--that's an honor.

St Mary Magdalene, pray for me.

Tess is Two

Thank you to everyone who prayed for my little girl when she was in the NICU.

How a "Shoeless" (or Discalced) Carmelite Goes Shoe Shopping

Amy asked me to update her on how the "life without my father's credit card" was going. A few years ago, I wrote a post about using my Dad's emergency credit card to go shoe shopping for my kids and then feeling guilty about it. (Amy, you'll have to send me the link sometime). She asked me on Facebook how it was going sans fast.

Well, we have even less discretionary income than back then, so the sort answer is my kids have less shoes. Hannah has two pairs of shoes, two year old brown leather shoes and dress shoes. Believe or not, these "dress" shoes were in the better shape. I'd been stressing about new shoes for Hannah and Tess for a few weeks, then I just gave up. One night before dinner, Hannah showed her Dad a neat trick--her toe could come out of her "good shoe". He decided that she needed new shoes, pronto.

So at 6 PM he sends me and my daughter out to buy shoes at our local Mall. Easy assignment, right? OH MY GOODNESS. My nine year old had suddenly morphed into an opinionated teenager in between shoe shopping trips. She pulled out shoe choices that were so ridiculous I laughed I pulled out cute American Eagle shoes from Payless and she said "those might have been cool back when you were a teenager....". It took two and half hours. We went through all the shoes at 4 stores. (I couldn't even get my kid to buy a cheap pair of flip flops so we could move the agony of shoe shoping online inside our own private living room).

Finally, we found a pair of moccassins at Bon Ton. Hannah said "I love these." I said "it's funny you picked those because the first Native American, Kateri Tekatwithe, is about to become a Saint this Fall. You can wore those shoes and think about her!"

So shoes. I'm a Discalsced Carmelite. I wear flip flops, and old black Tevas most days. These are my "rope sandals." My four girls are never going to have many pairs of shoes in their closet. since every pair directly comes out of the family's grocery money. In addition, I hate shopping in general and shoe shopping is the worse. But sometimes, after much pain and agony, a new Saint will unexpectedly bring a truce to the Mother/Daughter shoe wars. For that I'm profoundly grateful to be poor and extra beloved as a Child of God.

Finished Product

 

Last Year on the 10th Anniversary of 9/11

I was on the coach moaning with morning sickness because of this cute Baby. I missed all the Memorial Events and figured God was pleased with my hidden sacrifice.

Two Years Ago on 9/11

I was in the NICU of Children's National Hospital in Washington, D.C trying to get this sweet child to eat. I let her knaw on 4 donuts today in celebration of her repaired small intestine. Go Tess!

9/11 Prayer Party

I was totally expecting to have a quiet day of reflection at home when I read an article in the NY Times that made me flip my lid. The National Cathedral --our Nation's prayer center in Washington D.C. is have no special services today because to semi-quote the priest in charge "we're leading the way in helping America" get over it.

Okay he didn't say "get over it" he said something like
“The cathedral’s mission is to serve a spiritual role for the nation, and part of that role is to help the country heal and move past the tragedy,” said Richard M. Weinberg, a cathedral spokesman, echoing a statement from the Rev. Dr. Francis Wade, the cathedral’s interim dean. “I think it’s fair to say that 11 years later, we all felt that it was important still to commemorate it, but to do so in perhaps a less overt, a less somber way — to do so maturely and look forward.”'

Excuse me??? Americans can't have a public display of prayer and mourning in a church, on this day of all days, because it would be "immature" or "too somber?" I didn't know there was like a specific ten year time limit for praying for the Dead. In fact, I'm pretty sure that both my grandfathers' remembered Pearl Harbor and D Day until their last days on this earth.

That NY Times quote made me so mad, that I woke up all of my sleeping kids and dragged them to 8:30 AM Mass. We went to two Catholic Churches, and no one had 8:30 AM Mass on a Tuesday. (I forgot the downtown parish has a noon Mass today and my poor parish church has nada Daily Mass Services on Monday or Tuesday). So we lit candles in dark church buildings instead. Then we bought donuts and have a pig out fest at home.

I'm hoping to bring the gang back to Mass at noon to pray today--but you never can tell what God has in store for you. We could be in the ER by then.
(Update: We did get to the noon Mass. Thank you, God!)

Thank you God for the heroes who sacrificed their lives for us. Mommy Mary, pray for us to become a Nation of Faith.

 

9/11

Today is 9/11.

It's an odd day for me. My family was born out of that tragedy.

Eleven years ago, I was a new bride. My husband had just left my house in Ohio to go back to grad school in Rochester, New York. I went to work as normal on Tuesday. It was "in-take" day, so I had a long line of the poor waiting to tell me their troubles, waiting for me to take their case. I heard about the plane crashes in between appointments. We were too "low budget" to have a TV. The paralegal kept updating me on what she heard from the radio. Each update was more scary than that last one.

I remember going back into my office alone and having a panic attack when I heard that a plane had gone down in Pennsylvania. I thought the hijackers were attacking Pittsburgh. "If they were going for Pittsburgh," I thought, "they could be going anywhere. They could be going to Rochester. They could be going to Boston." I had family and friends everywhere. I suddenly felt so vulnerable.

I left work to go home for lunch. I watched TV alone. The images were overwhelming. I called work and told them I couldn't come back in that afternoon.

At some point, I went to church. I was a brand new member of RCIA, I'd only gone to 2 or 3 meetings. The Church of the Holy Redeemer  in Portsmouth, Ohio had their door unlocked. I walked in alone and tried to pray. I didn't know anything about the Blessed Sacrament, so I didn't know He was with me. I addressed my thoughts to "some God out there"--far above me. I remember laying down in a pew. I felt so weak and so depressed. Around me the church was beautiful. (Remember what a perfect sunny day it was back in 2001?) The sunlight was streaming in through the stain glass windows. The feeling in the church was of such perfect beauty and quiet and stillness.

The contrast actually hurt me. The church environment was such a contrast to the turmoil and fear I felt inside.

I left after a few moments.

I felt so sad that I didn't have anywhere to go.

I basically spent the rest of the day back home in my tiny rental house, watching the news. Remember the endless cycle when they didn't know anything? Then one morning, I don't remember how many hours after the 9/11 attack, there was an interview with Jeremy Glick's widow. She had a three month old baby. She talked about having the last conversation with her husband on the phone.

It hit me--this new thought that hit my body all at once--that the real tragedy would be if Jon died before we had a child together. I was supposed to have a child with this man I loved.

It's hard to even remember how mired my vocation was in sin, but I was totally blocked about having children. I was really, truly afraid that I'd be a horrible mother. I was a new bride and I loved marriage. But kids were this scary "not until I'm older than 30" part of the equation. Yet Jesus, gave that fruit of marriage back to me--and he gave it back to me as a result of the suffering of this widow.

On this 11 year anniversary, I am a wife and mother of six children. I have five sleeping in my house and one in heaven. This morning, I hugged my husband tightly. I said Morning Prayer with him. I washed a bowl for his oatmeal and reminded him about a Cub Scout Meeting.

I believe that Jesus rose from the dead. I believe because I rose from the dead, too.

Not Just In China

Yesterday, I was in the checkout line at Wal-Mart when a mother with two daughters started cooing over Baby Abigail.

"So you have three daughters?"

"Actually, I have four and one son. Two are off playing in the toy aisle."

She snorted. "What does you're husband think about that?"

"Oh he loves it!"

"My husband won't let us try for another baby because he's afraid it might not be a boy" she said.

For Adopted Moms

A huge thank you to all the Adoption Moms out there, especially to those close friends who share their lives on the blogs I read everyday.

I'm in this hard part of revisiting my vocation as a wife and mother. From my new buddy, Blessed Fulton Sheen (thanks for the introduction Bonnie E) I'm learning that I'm supposed to be a "missionary" to my spouse and he's supposed to be a missionary to me. It's such a foreign concept, I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around it.

Then I remembered Brianna's* beautiful "this is the real love behind" adoption post where she said "it's difficult to take a damaged human being into your house and know that some deep hurts are not going to be healed until heaven--but we stand with Christ to love this child anyway."

That is the true intimacy of marriage.

I'm that broken Ukrainian orphan that my husband took into his home. I literally was left in a crib for with 9 other babies with two caretakers for over 12 hours a day starting at six weeks old. (That was enlightened daycare in the 1970s). What did that do to my soul? How is Jesus going to heal that?

I don't know.

I do know that I come down with a sudden attack of hay fever last Tuesday and I started flipping out because I can't get up out of bed and take care of my family's needs for dinner. It's this deep question of "Who am I if I'm not constantly producing something of value for my family. Who am I if I have to take love in instead of constantly give love out?"

My husband has voluntarily married a broken shell of a girl who starts dissolving into tears over having HAYFEVER.

We haven't even gotten to the "throwing up from chemo" yet, and I'm already a mess. Clearly, the man has fertile soil for missionary work!

So when I start freaking out about this task that my husband is undertaking, its so reassuring to think about Carla, Dayna, Karey, Lauren, et al. These are women who have flown or driven hundreds of miles, and taken on scary medical conditions, and first loved children from grainy, unflattering photographs. I see from their blogs that this "missionary" arm of the domestic church is beautiful and wonderful and a critical part of our vocation.

So thank you.

And pray for me. My goal this Fall is to try to tenderly embrace myself during the scary Anxiety attacks that I like to pretend are not a part of the "real Abby."


*I can't even find Brianna's blog to link to this great post b/c that's what kind of week its been, but hopefully I will get that link active soon. Thanks for your patience.

A Song to Ease the Long Wait

I'm pre-engaged to Jesus.

It's embarrassing to talk about, because its so ridiculous. I'm like one of those silly, baby girls from Medieval Europe who a Queen (my Mother-in-law Mommy Mary) plucked out of her cradle and arranged to marry her son. The Court looks at the future Princess's sinful immaturity and sneers "she's the one who is going to marry our Dauphin?"

Yes, me. Gentle reader, even me.

Hope you are going to marry Him too.

So its strange to feel this as a happily married woman of 37, a women with 5 children --but the hardest part about the virtue of chastity is the ...WAITING.

I'm waiting for Him.

I'm looking past my earthly marriage, with all the joys and the warm kisses, and special dances in the living room with my tall husband Jon---

I'm filled with a desire that can only be filled by HIM.

My future spiritual marriage with Jesus.

I'm in this lonely, awkward in between time.

I'm not in the world anymore--or at least I'm trying hard to detach from it. I'm not chasing down fame and hoping to go back to the world of jobs and a career. I'm not waiting for more money, so I can rehab my dirty kitchen or build a new green house in the back yard. Yet I'm not "in union" enough with the Holy Spirit to feel totally fulfilled doing the humble "wife" work of cooking meatloaf for dinner and ironing my husband's work shirts.

I'm just in this "nothing" void of waiting for Him.

It's a hard, bittersweet place to be. I feel like it is taking us so, so long to come together. It almost feels sometimes hopeless or impossible. Yet sometimes, He consoles me. I heard this "wanted" song and it was so reassuring. It's Jesus singing to my soul--reminding me about how its going to be when we are married. I love the lyric "Anyone can tell you you're pretty. You get that all the time. But your beauty is deeper than the make-up and I want to show you what I see tonight!"

It's poetic lines like that--from pop songs, or St. John of the Cross poems, that remind me that even though the waiting is hard--marriage to HIM is well worth the wait.

Hunter Hayes - "Wanted" (Official Video)

Check out this "Day in the Life" of a Catholic Priest

http://www.catholicsun.org/2012/08/27/a-day-in-the-life-of-fr-john-muir/

(sorry, I can't figure out how to link to it better on blogger)

Go, take a few moments and check out this video. It will make you cry with joy. It will make you feel so much more affirmed in your own vocation. I truly started to cry when the priest said "I can see the fear in young men's eyes when they tell me they think they are being called to the priesthood--they think 'will I be happy?"

I feel the same way when I talk to all kinds of Moms who are questioning whether to be stay-at-home moms, or moms to 'more than one or two kids.' I'm inspired to first grow my own "fruit of joy" to be a better inspiration and second to beg a video producer --we need a "Day in the Life " vocation of marriage video. Everything thinks they know what "marriage" looks like--but few have really seen a true sacramental marriage in action.)

Also, if you want an inspiring look at the vocation of marriage check out this professional athlete's interview:

Here's a snippet from St. Louis Rams Quarterback Kellen Clemens:

"What do you enjoy most about family life?

I really enjoy being married. It’s exactly what I thought of the sacrament as being when I was younger. Sometimes you can look ahead in life and then the reality can be a lot different from what you expected, but with marriage, it is exactly as good as I thought it would be."

WOW! And he wears a brown scapular! 

from NC Register. h/t Mom and then some.

Why We Suffer

If you have a facebook page, please click on "Support Angela Faddis".

One of our sisters in the faith, is a young Mom of two in Phoenix, Arizona. Last year on Easter Sunday, she went to the ER for a minor complaint and ended up getting diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. She turned to her husband and her first response was "Jesus rose, and so we trust."

Angela is now on her deathbed at her home and there are hourly updates of her profound trust in God like this:

Today I received this incredible message which alone makes all of this worth it: "You have touched me so much that I went to Mass for the first time in years. I cried the whole time." 


Our Lady of Mount Carmel, pray for Angela.

Finally figured out how to truly honor my Tess

from my Facebook page:

Today, I really wanted to hug a friend in MN who just had a miscarriage. I wanted to pray by the bedside of a Catholic Mother who is dying in Phoenix. So instead I visited a stranger in the ICU in Martinsburg--in honor of my daughter Tess, who turned 2 today, who taught me how to feel comfortable in hospitals and who taught me that everybody is beautiful, especially when they are sick.

Tess is Two

My little NICU newborn turns two today!

I'm less a mess than last year, but still feel a little weird. We're doing a small family party today. Hope to post pictures soon.

Coming out of the fog

Baby Abigail--praise God--has finally started to kick her infant reflux. I was all proud of myself for figuring out the right dosage of her meds, when I remembered that her happier behavior didn't correspond to the last doctor visit, but her last Nun visit. Abigail Clare got blessed with a St. Clare relic and prayed over by the Poor Clares of Washington D.C. Thank you St Clare! Thank you Sisters!

I feel like I'm coming out of the fog of childbirth, and everything around me is a mess. My husband is neglected. My older children are clingy. My budget is upside down. My house is messy. My dog needs a haircut. My parish is infighting.

I just want to lay down and sleep for a thousand years.

Tomorrow, my Tess turns two.

She's beautiful.
Strong.
Alive.

I don't have much money, but I do have lots of love and time. I think the kids and I are going to give her "a special day"--doing all the things she wants to do more off but usually just shortchanged being one of the little ones in our family.

Prayer Request

One of my favorite bloggers lost her baby at ten weeks. Could you please say a prayer and give her some love on her blog. Thank you.

Another dear blogger lost her daughter, Gianna, and is having surgery today. Please pray for her family!