Why I love my husband.....

Because he has this look on his face when he reads the Bible to our kids!

Scripture Studies Going Slightly Better

Early morning time period, or did Orgami Yoda help? :-)

Orgami Yoda

 

Love

 

Baby Abigail

So tough, but so cute!

Tess at Two

The face I see everytime I tell her not to do something!

Dance Party

Saturday night dance party in the kitchen! Jon was making Nutella crepes. Yum!

Teaching Scripture

This is my brown scapular wearing husband trying to read Holy Scripture during dinner. I love the kids' expressions. Maria is ready to fall asleep. The other three aren't listening. Typical. I love that the Lord asks us merely to plant the seeds of His Word, He promises to take care of the rest!

How God Heals Me, Part III

It's taken me a fourth daughter to finally feel comfortable being "a girl."

Sin never makes sense--so this is weird to explain. Yet in my head there was a sharp division between being "a pretty girl" and being "a smart girl." I was totally on the side of being a "smart girl." I wore glasses. I didn't wear make-up. I didn't care about doing my hair. I wore a simple dress and simple, practical shoes everyday.

I was all about intelligence.
And personality.
And love.
And service.

The frilly stuff about being a girl didn't hold my interest for long.

When my three older daughters rejoiced in being a girl--with their pink tulle skirts, and ropes of fake pearl necklaces and glittering nail polish--I rolled my eyes and said they took after their paternal grandmother!

Then came "Miss Chilipepper", my colicky fourth daughter.

I started living in a life of straight grey--the grey of sleeplessness, the grey of "utility"--I started craving something...

So I went shopping for lipstick
I went shopping for perfume
I went shopping for pretty nightgowns
I went shopping for flowers
I went shopping for the right curly hair products

Somehow in the middle of all of this dreary colic episodes, I started finding my inner girl--and discovered that I LOVE HER!

Now I'm in the middle of exploration of all things feminine and they are delightful!
I'm planting bulbs in my garden.
I'm learning how to arrange flowers from an elderly artist in my parish.
I've got pink peony lipstick in my medicine cabinet and a new giraffe print dress to hide my post-partum tummy.

I HAVE SIGNED A PEACE AGREEMENT WITH MY CURLY, SPUNKY HAIR!

Yes!

It's a big change and I'm happy about it.

How God Helps Me, Part Two

In the middle of all of this colic stress, my only son's behavior problems have killed me. I straight out admitted defeat. My son appeared to met almost every criteria for "Oppositional Behavior Disorder" and I told my husband I was ready to get him into therapy.

I don't know what Jon said--but it was something like "just give it one more week to pray about it."

Then somehow this article came to my attention, "The Joys and Challenges of Raising A Gift Child."  This quote really helped me, "gifted kids are almost comparable to special needs children. While their IQs are high, they have behavioral aspects that need special attention and the right teachers with the right understanding to guide them."

The article had a link to NAGC, but what really helped me was the link to SENG (Supporting the Emotional Needs of the Gifted). I can't even tell what that meant to me to find that site. I not only had a checklist that described my son--I had a checklist that described MYSELF.

Suddenly, my anxiety, my perfectionism, my extreme environmental sensitivity--those weren't just negative personality traits I needed to rid myself of to become a Saint--they weren't part and parcel of an artistic soul and a prayerful heart.

So now this home-schooling journey that I'm on--its really, really healing.

I learned that if I give my son stimulating engineering projects during the day- he's a super sweet kid who gets into NO trouble with his younger Sisters.

I've learned that STEM Movement (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) for elementary school students really mean "throw a couple of addition dittos and a volcano explosion at an 8 year old kid. That there is reason that boys are sucked up into computer games--it scratches that technology itch. I've learned that outside of legos--there is next to nothing for young Civil Engineers. (This being the exception). I've learned that if I want to engage my son, I've got to learn how to be an engineering teacher--and if I'm learning it for him, I might as well share it with his cub scout pack, our parish's Catholic School and our local public schools. (There are more "Rocket Boys" out there who need encouragement).

On a deeper level, I'm figuring how to gently love myself and my husband, and my five children.

(It's weird to write about this because I was taught very firmly by my mother that I wasn't gifted. I was "talented". But now the experts are saying that is the same thing. Moreover, my difficulties with simple math problems and my spelling mistakes and my poor organizational skill are not a sign that I'm not gifted--it's rather a common problem for gift students.

I'd started researching gift education many years earlier--but I sort of dropped all of that when I discovered that my kids had such terrible trouble learning how to read. How can you be considered gift when you can't read, right? But it turns out that 20% of all gift kids do have trouble reading. It's the same problem my kids have--phonics work is so boring they don't have stamina to do it even for a few minutes a day. That is the same problem both Jon and I had--we love to read now, but we hated it in elementary school. So now I'm tweaking my unschooling method to be more direct in reading instruction because truly, their life will be so much easier once they start really learning how to read).

How God Helps Me, Part One

God handed me a really tough baby.

It's embarrassing to write that sentence because I'm a former NICU Mom. I had a kid that almost died on day six of her life.

Yet Infant Reflux (or Perpetual Colic as I've nicknamed it in my mind) is even harder for me than a NICU stay. My baby is in chronic, perpetual discomfort. I'm all alone with her for 12 hours a day. There are no doctors around or kind nurses to reassure me that she's fine and I'm doing a great job as her Mom. We've carefully ruled out any serious health problems--the new medicine is working most days--I'm just left with a sensitive, mostly crabby child who says "I hurt Mommy! I hurt!" over and over again for hours every day.

And I've got nothing.

I've got breastmilk. And hugs. And walks in the stroller. And tender smiles from her older sisters.
Sometimes that works to soothe her tears, but the second I stop--it doesn't.

When I get tired, I tuck her into her bassinet that I've moved into our dining room, turn on my bedroom air conditioner so I can't hear her cries, shut the door and go to sleep.

When I get up to check on her at 5 AM, she's up looking around, her voice horse from crying. Then I think "You've been crying non-stop for three hours. I'm the worse Mother in the world."

Which I know isn't true, intellectually.
But it "feels" true in that moment.

So I'm failing over and over again.
My prayers for my baby's healing or my better coping skills are going no where.

But here is the strange part--all around me--the unseen, major problems in my life ARE getting healed.

It's as if God says "Well Abigail, I'm not going to end this cross--but I will pick up a bunch of your other crosses in order to lighten your load."

So here are a few journal entries into the many "healings" in my life.

Rejoice Angela Faddis, Part 2

I can not be sad about Angela's death.

There are so many Carmelite friends on Facebook who write "Oh it's such a shame", "Oh it's so sad."

Her death was glorious. I can only hope that I will have that much grace and perseverance at my own death. As for her kids, she left them a far greater legacy than 50 more years of hugs and kisses and Alleluia's sung a Midnight Mass. She died with Christ! Whatever pain they have--and there will be lots, and lots and lots of pain, at the moment of their death, they have their Mom as an inspiration to die well, to die with Christ.

I don't think we reflect enough on the fact that we are all going to die someday.

Some times we parents have to bury a kid. That sucks.
Sometimes a kid will bury a parent at age 3, or 7, or 19, or 37. That sucks too.

Death is always too soon. It's always tragic. Death was not supposed to come into the Original Plan--so this idea that somehow it's more "okay" because it happens to Mothers aged 70 or 85 is a facility. Death always hurts, because Death is not a part of God's plan for our lives.

But Life. The Resurrection.

That is glorious. That is beyond understanding.

When she was diagnosed with terminal cancer at age 31 on Holy Saturday last year, Angela Faddis said "Jesus still rose, and so we trust."

That woman is going to be a recognized Saint someday.

Angela, pray for us. Help us to have your courageous hope!

(A beautiful summary of the high points of Angela's Facebook page are posted in "Angela Faddis, Thank You" from Accepting Abundance.

Rejoice, Angela Faddis Part 1

(this writing accompanied a beautiful picture of the husband and dying wife hold hands. I can't figure out how to get it posted yet)

“Till Death”

As if I could keep you longer, I placed this ring back on your finger today – it had fallen off a few times.

Oh that this ring could keep you here longer. It is a mark of our commitment, it is my promise to love you with my whole heart, and yet there is a love greater than mine that will take you soon. How could this mere piece of gold compare to the love of God which loves you completely, wholly, and perfectly?

It cannot, so I will hold your hand a little while longer, I will keep putting this ring back on your finger. But when the time comes and he asks you for your hand, you can go. Go to that perfect love which makes all things new. Go and be whole again. For now, till death do we part. -Chris Faddis 9/17/2012

"Our Lord Jesus Christ was a Public Relations Nightmare!"

"Our Lord Jesus Christ was a public relations nightmare. He didn't promise easy triumphs, earthly glory, or a comfortable life. He didn't promise lower taxes or better social programs or safety and security. If someone says to you, "I don't know why you're a Catholic: I could never do that; it just seems like so many burdens and suffering and restrictions and sacrifice, like you have to lose your very self"-you can't say they're wrong, because Jesus said the same thing!"

-Father Dan Gallaugher

Read his whole homily "Jesus has a Few Questions For You" here.

Prayer Request

Redskin's player, Adam Carrikar, is going under the knife for a severe football injury today. Please say a prayer for him and his wife Angie. They are a great Christian couple and Angie is pregnant with their third baby. Angie sent the kindest Facebook update after Adam got injured that basically said "your family is your Number One Fan Club and we love you injured or healthy."

Prayer of St. Mary Magdalene "Lord, the one you love is sick."

Update: Looks like Adam's surgery went well. Now Angie is worried about the possibility of a very premature birth. Please pray for her and the baby.

Morning Prayer

In the morning let me know your love
for I put my trust in you

Make me know the way I should walk
to you I lift up my soul

2. Corinthians 13:5

He comforts us in all our afflictions and thus enables us to comfort those who are in trouble, with the same consolation we have received from him.

3rd Letter of John Verse 11

Beloved, do not imitate what is evil but imitate what is good. Whoever does good is from God, whoever does evil has not seen God.

The Eucharist At Work

Today, I took my five kids to City Hall. Outside three women stood smoking on the sidewalk. There was something about how they jabbed their cigarettes into their faces for each inhale that suggested severe agitation. My heart went to them. "Those women really need prayer," I told God. I knew City Hall contained our Municipal Courtroom, so I imagined all kinds of hard challenges that might be going on from a utility cutoff to a relative with jail time.

When I got closer, I saw that one woman had a long burn on her arm. She had it covered with a homemade bandage made out of saran wrap, instead of one of those common dressings sold at Target. "Oh man, she is really poor!" I thought. "I really, really need to pray."

I smiled when I got closer and tried to establish eye contact. The woman turned away. Then I noticed something strange. I live in West Virginia, so anytime I see a group of Senior Citizens, someone is bound to come over and coo over my baby. (The elderly in my small town just adore babies.) Yet instead of a friendly greeting, all three of these women were slinking away like they were afraid or something. "Wow, what an unusually cold reception" I thought. Then I dismissed it. "Stop taking things personally. They must be really stressed out." I start to pray even harder.

Finally, when I get up close, a woman says "Come on Cheryl, our smoking break is over." All three women drop their still burning cigarettes on the sidewalk and walk into their place of employment---

the Porno Store.

I started laughing so hard, I doubled over while pushing Tessy's stroller.

My heart was bleeding on the ground for these three. I was praying so hard--imagining all sort of sympathetic and horrible scenarios that commonly afflict the poor, and not once did I imagine that I was urgently praying for employees of a Porno Shop.

But that's Jesus, right? Spiritually those three woman are in more danger than a poor family without the means to pay their rent. Those are the people He cares the most about, and so He wants me to care about them too.

(Yes, my town of Martinsburg, West Virginia has a Porn Shop called the Cherry Bomb right next door to our City Hall. I hadn't notice the ironic juxtaposition until today.  Pray for us, Mary Magdalene.)

Abortion Inside a Marriage

I wish we Catholics would talk and pray about this more--abortion inside a marriage.

I know when I became a Catholic, I pictured abortion mostly happening outside of marriage. Because I was someone engaged in pre-martial sex and using birth control--that's what I easily pictured other people doing. Once I came to know Truth, it seemed so easy to pray for others. Sex truly sucks outside of marriage. It's easy for me to have my spiritual and psychological arguments for chastity all lined up in a row.

This new poke about abortion being okay INSIDE a stable, long-term marriage. This is what hits me now when I'm with strangers in the grocery store, or at Swim Team Meets, or even some unspoken hostility with Senior Citizens at my Catholic Daughter Socials. I walk around with Baby Abigail strapped to me in her Bijorn and suddenly I'm privy to all sorts of personal disclosures about why women choose not to have another child.

For some reason, a mother's decision to abort her baby after a she already has two or three children always hits me deeper in my gut.

It is not easy to have kids. I have five. I fail down every day, multiple times a day.

I have friends on my constant prayer list who have children with Autism. I have friends with Down Syndrome kids. Some Catholic woman on my Facebook page have kids that are super, super disabled babies in the womb and will likely die moments after birth.

These crosses aren't just something that happen "out there" to other people. I know I personally face these risks, and even serious complications to my own health, with each and every pregnancy.

And yet to truly choose to murder your baby--not just this vague we're taking birth control to avoid having a baby--but to say to your OB, I'm going to have an abortion.

That's got to hurt worse.

Because you already have your kids.
You already have your man.

This isn't some stranger you have to worry about adopting from the Ukraine (when you have to discern carefully is this God's will, or my will)

God handed you a baby.
Made out of the same DNA combo that resulted in your older, fabulous children.

Where did we get this idea that marriage was so fragile and our teenage children were so needy that adding one more baby to the mix would make it all fall apart?

But then, I'm living the reality of it all falling apart. Newborn babies are hard. Colic babies are even harder. My husband and my kids have had tangibly "less Mom" for the past year as I nourished this new Baby Abigail inside my womb and at my breast. I've become a quote "worse" person. I've picked more stupid fights with my husband. I've dropped the home-school ball. I've let my kids watch too much TV and skip out of their chores because I didn't want to do battle after I finally got a sobbing newborn to sleep.

In the end, isn't my baby's life worth it?

My Abigail Clare is six months old. She's already changed the world. Her older sibling (by only 18 months) Tess had a horrible start with a month long stint in the NICU. Tess was so grumpy and bitter with strangers. If I ever thought someone needed years of intense attachment parenting to make up for a hard start in life--it would be my Tess.  She's gotten so much less of a pampered babyhood--but one beautiful younger sister. My Tess is a different girl. She's affectionate. She's loving. She's happier. Because she's got this tiny sister right behind her.

God broke every "parenting rule" by giving us two special needs kids next door to each other--and to a mother who is NOT the most emotionally stable girl on the block--yet it somehow His plan always works out better.

Isn't our God trustworthy and faithful in the extreme?

I feel this responsibility on my head as I go through the Wal-mart check out line. In the end, it's not about writing sweet comments in the NY Times comment box. It's about digging deep and finding joy in my vocation. There will be time to witness to other older women in  menopause, if I get there. For now, my job is to be a loving "echo" of our Lord Jesus Christ at age 37 with my imperfect, stupid, and silly heart.

Mother Mary, pray for us. Give all American women the trust you had at the moment of the Annunciation.

On Being "The Pot"

My favorite second cousin, "Annie", just joined facebook this summer. It's surreal to suddenly see daily pictures of her life after being out of contact with her for a couple of decades. As teenagers, we used to sit together at our yearly family reunions and talk, talk, talk.

We're so similar, that sometimes when I click on her Facebook page, I feel like I'm looking at pictures of a life I used to want to live--before Catholicism changed me. My cousin is an artist. She told me that she chose to have "no more than two kids"in order to save time for her art. Meanwhile, my Carmelite prayer journey got me to the exact opposite conclusion. I keep stuffing more and more children into the center of my heart, and delegate more and more of the "essential things that used to make up Abby" to the outer rim of my life and my thoughts.

A few weeks ago, I was at Daily Mass when the reading was about God as a potter at the potter's wheel. (Is that from Isaiah?) My priest was talking about being as flexible as clay in God's hands. An idea came to me "Annie's the potter. Abby's the pot!"

I love that!

I miss being an artist sometimes. Creativity is a lovely thing. Creating something bring us close to God the "Creator." Yet even more beautiful than my old dream of writing brilliant novels late into the night or sipping white wine at my husband's Art Gallery Openings, is this idea of letting my entire life become a beautiful piece of artwork in "the Master's hands."

St. John of the Cross for a Rainy Tuesday

Yet you inquire: Since he whom my soul loves is within me, why don't I find him or experience him? The reason is that he remains concealed and you do not also conceal yourself in order to find and experience him. If you want to find a hidden treasure you must enter the hiding place secretly, and once you have discovered it, you will also be hidden just as the treasure is hidden. Since, then, your beloved Bridegroom is the treasure hidden in a field for which the wise merchant sold all of his possessions (Mt 13:44), and that field is your soul, in order to find him you should forget all your possessions and all creatures and hide in the secret inner room of your spirit, and there, closing the door behind you (your will in all things), you should pray to your Father in secret (Mt 6:6). Remaining hidden with him, you wil experience him in hiding, that is, in a way transcending all language and feeling.