Remembering the Neighborhood

On my top ten list of items I will never own but can't help coveting, is the set of models Mr. Rogers would occasionally use to segue into a visit to The Neighborhood of Make-believe. I had a paper version briefly, but, it's a long story.

We are leaving Spring Lake and St. Mary's. In the eighth grade Mea had a to do a school project about the most beautiful place in Spring Lake. She chose St. Mary's, and I have to agree. One of the most impressive features is a copy of the Pieta made from molds taken from the original marble. It sits right outside of church, a beautiful gift to the entire community.

I had a gift certificate to spend and I carried it around for a month or two trying to decide what to with it. I'm ready for my life to be more visually Catholic. I was shopping for a good-sized crucifix when I saw the Pieta, model-sized. After that there could be no other purpose for the gift certificate, and I was so excited to receive the statuette. It is so good to have something to inspire good memories.

I'm Sorry, Mom.

Two weeks ago my youngest son had to be hauled out of mass during the Eucharist by his Protestant sister.  As she made her way to the door, he shouted, " I'm sorry, Mom!" over and over. Most of us repent when we're about to face the music, and most of that doesn't stick.

Today, my son, without prompting, packed a bag of goodies to keep him happy and busy during Mass. When he forgot it, he was distraught, but decided he could try with just a squishy worm toy. He had a few hiccups, but mostly he did all right. I explained and reminded. He listened and made corrections.

I didn't expect him to have such a big change of heart and a willingness to work at doing it differently. What a great example he's setting for me.

And Just Like That...

A Taste of Redwall is over. I still have notes to write, a summary to create, and ideas for the next time to capture, but this event is over. I learned so much.

1. Walk straight through your fears. I put this project off because I was afraid it would be rejected. Morning after morning, I woke up sure it was failing. Phone call after phone call, I had to remember a no added up to nothing, but a yes changes everything. There were moments all along the way where quitting was a reasonable option. I'm so glad I persisted. It was worth every negative feeling.

2. Actively listen to others. I've always appreciated input, but in the past I was so afraid of being run over that I could be very hard-nosed about my vision. This time I had the best supervisors in Ann English and Mary Casselman. Their ideas were always helpful, and they truly appreciated what I was doing. It was easy to share with them. Karen Morgan was also instrumental in ramping up the fun factor. She was patiently persistent about activities I was unfamiliar with. She taught me a lot of new tricks.

3. Keep everybody in the loop. Sometimes I got so busy with drama in one aspect that I forgot that leaders in the other aspects needed to know what was going on in order to feel useful and appreciated. I don't think I'll make that mistake again.

4. Have fun! I did not meet my goals. In the past this meant an emotional storm that overshadowed everything. This time I decided to roll with it. The desserts were delicious and we had a good time. 

5. Remember, it's not your party. This was the first time I could let go of my successes and recognize that they came from God. They were not mine so I had no reason to boast. It's a nice change for me.

Cat Humans

A few years ago, Iris learned about catechumens in her religious education class at St. Mary's. Her imagination caught fire and we had cat-human pictures all over the house. Now, tonight, she is one, though not in the way she originally thought of it. Two of my babies will be baptized and enter the church tonight, though they'll step into the font to do it. Praise, God!

Rite of Election

Yesterday was a beautiful day as two of our girls signed The Book of the Elect and went to the cathedral to shake hands with the bishop in a beautiful ceremony. I'm still learning Catholic manners and traditions, so I'd failed to tell their sponsor she should be there. My friend Sara rushed to come with us on this special day. I felt so upheld all day long as person after person reached out with grace to help me overcome the stumble and to keep this sacred event positive for the girls. Thanks be to God!

Fat Tuesday

I'm thinking about giving up the Beatles for Lent. They were my first taste of cultural butter, and the purposes it serves. My life had been one recording of the Life Action Singers after another. Occasionally, Doug Oldham or someone like him would take some risks, but not very often. My sister, with her musical ear collected an impressive knowledge of popular music from elevators and grocery stores. I was more inclined to return home to the safety of the Gaithers. 

Susan came over and for the first time in my life I was left unsupervised in my own home. Susan's sanctity was never questioned, so I was surprised when she recommended we ransack the record collection for contraband. We found The Letterman and were quite pleased with them. They were nice, but musically little different from Life Action or the other groups. From then on, any chance to ransack the records was a naughty little pleasure. That probably would have been the end of things if we hadn't moved to a suburb of DC. 

The kids in my new world not only listened to current rock and roll, they had sex and experimented with drugs. I was so lost. I had my first diagnosis of depression, and Dad pulled out all the stops--he rented Help! Mother would have nothing to do with it. Her disapproval filled the house making it all the more exciting as Dad plugged it in. It was hilarious, and the music was so fresh to us. After that, whenever it was all too much we'd get Help!

I still love Help! I love the Beatles catalog. Giving them up for Lent might not seem like big deal to some, but maybe there's a circle coming my life. While I'm not interested in a return to Life Action, maybe it's time for dry toast because I can, because of Lent.

slow lane

When I was younger my mind leapt from project to project, belief to belief, book to book. These days I choose my projects with great care, making certain my slower brain can keep up and that the results will be worth the efforts. I still go in a round between ideas. I don't know how to focus on a single idea successfully for more than a few hours. Currently the neediest ideas are A Taste of Redwall, Crowhook classes, the new-to-me parts of the Bible, The Only Necessary Thing by Henri Nouwen, and my novel. 

The irony is I am much more certain about what I believe now. In the early days I was trying to force sense on ideas that simply didn't hold up upon deeper examination. I believed things I could not make sense of as an act of faith because emotionally and intellectually I'd never had the freedom to follow my conscience and my understanding. I have not found my new freedom any impediment to believing in and obeying Christ.

Tobit

I loved this story.  I'd never heard it before, and it is so sweet.  Protestant marriage workshops are crying out for Tobit.  It's from a different time than any other Bible stories I've read, and that gives it a distinctive character.  Short story shorter--two people are critically close to losing hope. God answers their prayers through the ministry of an angel, Raphael. How beautiful and charming. You must read it for yourself.

Lost Shakespeare Found

The only problem with great writer's of yore is that when you've read everything they've written, you've read everything they've written.  You can reread them, but it's just not the same.  I read my first novel by Flannery O'Connor in my early twenties, and I have doled out her meager catalog bit by bit.  A decade later ;), I have one collection of short stories left.

The Bible was the first adult book I read for myself.  I started at five with the story of Moses in the Bulrushes.  I went on to read all the usual Bible stories.  Preaching had me reading the New Testament, and boredom with preaching introduced me to all the weird and wacky bits no one ever reads.  The practice of a daily quiet time moved me to get my reading organized.  Starting my freshman year of college, I used three different incarnations of the One Year Bible over the course of more than a decade.  Rereading and rereading and rereading, even the wacky bits became overly familiar.

One of the best benefits of converting to Catholicism is that there are all these new books of the Bible to read.  It feels like it would if someone discovered a lost Shakespearean play, and we could all experience his wisdom and genius in a fresh way. These new-to-me books of the Bible promise to be the Holy Spirit's fine work and work in me.  Getting  around to reading them has taken longer than expected, but, at last, the time has come.  I have an amazing Catholic Bible I was given during my RCIA classes, but it's paperbound, four inches thick, and the other dimensions are pretty generous too.  It wouldn't survive the kind of hauling around my loved books receive, so I have invested in a New Catholic Answer Bible.  A rosary is embossed on the leather-like cover.  The Table of Contents refers to the helpful inserts, not the books of the Bible, and a picture of Pope Francis was included free of charge.  I'm starting with Tobit.  Let the renewal begin!

Hanging Up My Straight Jacket

There are things I've committed to doing in order to break free from the internal prison of fundamentalism.  

1.  I reserve my primary energy for my kids.

2.  I write both for my novel and for my personal blog.

3.  I take my friends wherever I find them.  I don't check ID, political affiliation, or theological preferences anymore.

4.  I make time and means for growing in my relationships, most importantly with my husband, but also on Shepherd's fish and in my local 3D life.

5.  I work on projects to make the world better, currently raising funds for St. Martin DePorres Orphanage in Tanzania.

6.  I read the Great Books for my own enrichment and to teach at the Homeschool Cooperative.

7.  Last but most important, I grow in my Catholic faith.

Intersection

I went to my first reconciliation service Sunday.  I've been to confession at the regularly offered time before, but this was my first group confession.  Not that we confessed as a group, there was half a mass and then we all lined up to get down to business.  Five priests who had joined with Father Dan were sprinkled around the church.  It was interesting that some priests had more fans than others.  I picked mine because I used to live in that priest's parish.  

I'm always surprised at how different Catholics approach these moments differently.  Some of us stood there making some small talk.  Some were nervous, constantly making little motions.  Some were bored.  I was trying to remember all my sins and making sure they were represented on my Mea Culpa App.  Some sins are easier to remember than others.

I liked the group experience.  The honesty of all that steaming shit I didn't know the details of, and the embarrassed relief as each person finished their penance, made me feel more completely part of things.  We were all in it together.  It was a good thing to know.

The Other St. Francis

Today is the memorial of St. Francis Xavier.  He was a missionary to Asia.  I like his fervent spirit and his care for those who had no opportunity for education in the faith.  You can learn more about him HERE at this link.  Below is a quote from his letters.

Many, many people hereabouts are not becoming Christians for one reason only: there is nobody to make them Christians. Again and again I have thought of going round the universities of Europe, especially Paris, and everywhere crying out like a madman, riveting the attention of those with more learning than charity: “What a tragedy: how many souls are being shut out of heaven and falling into hell, thanks to you!”

I wish they would work as hard at this as they do at their books, and so settle their account with God for their learning and the talents entrusted to them.

This thought would certainly stir most of them to meditate on spiritual realities, to listen actively to what God is saying to them. They would forget their own desires, their human affairs, and give themselves over entirely to God’s will and his choice. They would cry out with all their heart:Lord, I am here! What do you want me to do?Send me anywhere you like—even to India.

A Father's Counsel

When I'm worried or upset about something important I try to do something useful about it.  When St. Lazare's Retreat House was closing just as I'd just discovered how wonderful retreats are, I determined to write people that could do something about it.  I felt much better after sticking on the stamps and mailing my missives.  Bishop Hurley wrote me a lovely letter, and I was pleased to trust God.  I also wrote Pope Francis, expecting maybe a form letter if that.  Just recently a letter with a little pouch containing a white rosary and a picture of Pope Francis arrived.  I was truly touched, especially as I realized more prayer was very wise counsel indeed.  

A New Patience

Lord, you have renewed the face of the earth. Your Church throughout the world sings you a new song, announcing your wonders to all. Through a virgin, you have brought forth a new birth in our world; through your miracles, a new power; through your suffering, a new patience; in your resurrection, a new hope, and in your ascension, new majesty.

I found this prayer in the morning while reading of The Divine Office.  It is beautiful as a whole, but I was struck by the phrase "through your suffering, a new patience."  Paired with Grunewald's The Mocking of Christ, new vistas open on Syria, on my personal struggles, on the work of the church and how it is accomplished.  If you've never heard of The Divine Office, you should give it a look.  Here!

An Interior View

Explaining my conversion to Catholicism isn't easy.  Even trying to express it to the the home crowd, I can never get the right balance.  There is too much.

Protestant Fundamentalism/Evangelicalism is a bookish kind of life.  Dominated (rightly) by the Bible, it comes naturally to hand a book to a friend when you are trying to explain the things that matter to you and that are leading to greater spiritual growth in your life.  There are many terrific books about Catholicism that I could give to Protestant friends, but the responses would range from burning the book to politely allowing it to collect dust.  

I keep looking for books that open windows of understanding on my Catholic beliefs and practices with a simple, open-handed honesty that allows the reader to take it or leave it.  My sponsor Jane handed me the first book of this type at my Confirmation--Catholic and Christian. I have finally found a second.

My Life with the Saints tackles the very sticky wicket, the communion of the saints.  I remember discussing my prayer life with a Protestant friend who suddenly gasped and said, "You don't pray to Mary, do you?"  For the record, yes, I do.  For some of my friends that is inconceivable.  For them that means I worship the saints.  For the record, no, I don't.

Understanding how Catholics really think about the saints could be truly helpful in understanding this surprising and important part of Catholic life.  To James Martin, S.J., the saints are our models, intercessors, and friends.  He opens up the intertwining of his life with the lives of the saints, spreading all his inner thinking out for the world to see--including my Protestant friends.  The work of the saints is there to be seen in abundance, but I'm afraid evidence of idolatry is clearly lacking.

You can't convince the hard-hearted of anything, but for those who would truly like to understand their brothers and sisters a little better, this book could be helpful.

Too Gorge

We started Sunday with mass at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.  The art is so beautiful and uplifting.

We went to the National Gallery of Art, and really enjoyed a tour.  I also said hello to most of my favorites.

Kurt and I wrapped up the day watching "Anything Goes" at the Kennedy Center.  I had forgotten how shocking that time period can be, but it was a great cast and they put their heart and souls into it.

The more things change

This is my childhood home.  They put a new red steel roof on it and painted it salmon pink, but that doesn't matter.  The grade isn't as steep as I remembered it, but the stone retaining wall I spent a day watching Uncle Ed repair is still going strong.  My sandbox is gone as well as the fence, but the lilac was still there.  The road isn't quite as busy, though it still worried my husband.  It's beautiful.

We took some time to visit my church/school and my grandparent's house.  Best of all we ate at D'Atri's.  the food is equal to my memories and that is high praise.  Before I became a Catholic I was going to have my ashes scattered over the creek that flows under my old school.  It is still my favorite place in the world.

Only One Way To Go

I'm making progress on the whole forgiving people thing.  I was recently shopping memories for  short cut story about my childhood that would demonstrate its toughness and the way it taught me to stand up for myself.  I settled on a great story from fourth grade, until my inner voice spoke up.  "You can't tell that story, she's forgiven."  And it was true!  All the dramatic tension bitterness lends to something like that had leached away replaced with a face that I'm happy to get updates from on Facebook.  It's a new world for me, a new direction.

Proverbs 3:3

This is my favorite necklace.  I wear it almost every day. The front is decorated with Connemara Marble, the official marble of Ireland.  The back is decorated with a portrait of Mary.  I bought it from QVC on St. Patrick's Day a few years back.  From the first time I put it on I knew I was going to wear it out.  The combination of smooth marble and raised portrait make it the perfect thing to finger when I'm nervous or trying to concentrate.   The shield shape reminds me of my grandmother's dining chairs.  She used to lie on the floor under the table waiting for her heart to get back in the right rhythm.  She'd tell me stories to keep me still.  I don't favor my Irish grandfather.  I look like everyone else.  I felt left out of being Irish until my grandfather gave me an Irish teddybear, and declared me Irish.The green is almost the same as my husband's beautiful eyes.  At night when I take it off the clasp has almost always shifted to the front, and I pray for a long and happy marriage as I shift it back.  The portrait of Mary looks like it was originally scratched into the metal.  It has a humble simplicity that is so perfect for her.  It reminds that I am a Catholic, that I hold the Communion of Saints dear, and that it was at St. Mary's Church in Spring Lake where I first understood the Eucharist.

Coming Home

Last weekend I went on my first Catholic retreat at St. Lazare's.  I was at a low place with many things, and I needed help.  Father Vincent and Father Frank gave me that help through silence, through teaching, through the Eucharist.  The part I loved best was Confession. There's no rush on retreat, and there's help in working out your salvation, almost like an IEP (individualized education plan).  The long-forgotten pleasure of having a room to myself, especially with the lovely lake view, was remembered, as I relied on the consolation of privacy should I become overwhelmed.  My fellow retreants were so faithful to the silence, but we were still present to each other.  The food was good, but not rich like a fancy hotel.  Simple comforting meals, including two versions of roast beef, made a nice break, but didn't steal the show.  The grounds were lovely and well maintained.  

I felt as if I had come home.  I felt burdens eased and skills learned.  I felt God.  

They are shutting St. Lazare's at the end of July.  

I feel like a stolen child coming home just in time for her family to move.  I feel like people who visit Disney World on the last day it is open will feel.  I feel like a precious pearl is being ground to dust.

It takes time to make something as wonderful as St. Lazare's, and we are letting it slip away.  The waste makes me so sad. 

Pray for St. Lazare's, Father Vincent and Father Frank