At the Heart of it All
The girls (mostly Madeline, my five-year-old) came up with their very own Lenten plan, and it's been going well. We've talked about how the goal of Lent is to become more like Jesus. Then I asked her how she thought she might be able to do that. She shared her ideas, and I wrote them down. She then chose some colorful paper for the backdrop. She selected a floral motif because "it will soon be spring" and "there are purple flowers, and purple is for preparation."
She drew a crucifix and a heart, and I think that about says it all.
We hung her Lenten plan in a prominent place in the kitchen. Every time I see her rendering of Jesus on the cross and the crayon heart below it, I'm reminded to not complicate my Lent. This time of year isn't about some overly ambitious list of spiritual practices or sacrifices. There's a difference between fasting and just not eating (in my eating disorder days, Lent was a good cover up for me to diet - a divine weight loss program, if you will, before the looming swimsuit season). There's a difference between donating to a charity and giving beyond what hurts. My daughter's scribbled heart reminded me that a fruitful Lent cuts below the surface and finds the heart. I have to ask myself: Is my heart still hard in certain areas of my life, or is it thawing out with the spring with the giving and the penance of the season?
Nail your heart to the cross. Don't be afraid to make it tender by suffering. Don't be afraid of a dying to self or of giving all you have to Jesus. That's what these 40 days are really about - looking to Him and not your own circumstances or personal power to get you through the day. It's about giving up small pieces of you and your wants, and letting Him fill the holes so that you can become more like Him.
It's about embracing your crosses in life - whether they're the slivers of minor but constant struggles or heavy loads that feel like they're on the verge of crushing you - and carrying them with grace. It's also about recognizing the crosses others carry and not judging them for complaining or for stumbling. Instead, reach out to your fellow fallen brothers and sister. Offer to help lighten their load or at least make an effort to encourage them with something as simple as a warm smile or a "just because" note dropped in the mail.
It's about seeing the face of Jesus in everyone you meet.
It's about forgoing the Internet, the television, or some other time destroyer and being a better steward of the hours you've been blessed with. It's about squeezing in extra cuddles with the kids, preparing a special meal for your spouse, or calling a friend just to say hi (and then listening more than talking - so, so, so hard for me!). It's about filling up your faith reserves, so you'll always have provisions for when life gets rough and you start to question God, His will for you, His love for you, and His very existence.
It's about falling in love with God all over again (or for the first time). It's about reaching into your spiritual toolbox and finding the time, discipline and most importantly, the love to set aside an hour to pray a rosary or to hold a crucifix in your hand and to just say thank you. Thank you for giving me new life. Thank you for giving me hope. Thank you for showing me that the path to true happiness is loving others more than I love myself.
I have a long way to go and I've already tripped more than once, but I've begun. Sometimes that's all God asks of us is to put one foot in front of the other - or one hand folded into the other in prayer - and to begin.
She drew a crucifix and a heart, and I think that about says it all.
We hung her Lenten plan in a prominent place in the kitchen. Every time I see her rendering of Jesus on the cross and the crayon heart below it, I'm reminded to not complicate my Lent. This time of year isn't about some overly ambitious list of spiritual practices or sacrifices. There's a difference between fasting and just not eating (in my eating disorder days, Lent was a good cover up for me to diet - a divine weight loss program, if you will, before the looming swimsuit season). There's a difference between donating to a charity and giving beyond what hurts. My daughter's scribbled heart reminded me that a fruitful Lent cuts below the surface and finds the heart. I have to ask myself: Is my heart still hard in certain areas of my life, or is it thawing out with the spring with the giving and the penance of the season?
Nail your heart to the cross. Don't be afraid to make it tender by suffering. Don't be afraid of a dying to self or of giving all you have to Jesus. That's what these 40 days are really about - looking to Him and not your own circumstances or personal power to get you through the day. It's about giving up small pieces of you and your wants, and letting Him fill the holes so that you can become more like Him.
It's about embracing your crosses in life - whether they're the slivers of minor but constant struggles or heavy loads that feel like they're on the verge of crushing you - and carrying them with grace. It's also about recognizing the crosses others carry and not judging them for complaining or for stumbling. Instead, reach out to your fellow fallen brothers and sister. Offer to help lighten their load or at least make an effort to encourage them with something as simple as a warm smile or a "just because" note dropped in the mail.
It's about seeing the face of Jesus in everyone you meet.
It's about forgoing the Internet, the television, or some other time destroyer and being a better steward of the hours you've been blessed with. It's about squeezing in extra cuddles with the kids, preparing a special meal for your spouse, or calling a friend just to say hi (and then listening more than talking - so, so, so hard for me!). It's about filling up your faith reserves, so you'll always have provisions for when life gets rough and you start to question God, His will for you, His love for you, and His very existence.
It's about falling in love with God all over again (or for the first time). It's about reaching into your spiritual toolbox and finding the time, discipline and most importantly, the love to set aside an hour to pray a rosary or to hold a crucifix in your hand and to just say thank you. Thank you for giving me new life. Thank you for giving me hope. Thank you for showing me that the path to true happiness is loving others more than I love myself.
I have a long way to go and I've already tripped more than once, but I've begun. Sometimes that's all God asks of us is to put one foot in front of the other - or one hand folded into the other in prayer - and to begin.
Birthday Daybook
I've really enjoyed reading Daybooks from bloggers like Elizabeth Foss and Sarah Reinhard over the past few months, so I've decided to start occasionally sharing my own Daybook.
The Simple Woman's Daybook idea began with Peggy in 2008. I've decided to adopt some of its headings, make up some of my own as well as borrow some from folks like Sarah and Elizabeth.
Outside my window...
Sunshine, glorious, sunshine! It's finally starting to feel like spring in Georgia.
I'm listening to...
The groaning of the washer and the clanking of the dryer. They're good sounds; I'm way behind on laundry. The humming of a five-year-old as she makes patterns on her Geoboard and a two-year-old talking to her Geobands as if they were people.
I'm thinking...
I recently turned 31. I don't feel old. I didn't feel old when I turned 30 either.
I don't understand why some women dread their thirties. To tell the truth, I feel relieved to be through with my twenties. There was so much uncertainty in that decade. There was all this pressure to find out my life's vocation, to snag the perfect soul mate, and to ponder the meaning of life. Oh, the angst!
What makes matters worse is everyone tells 20-somethings that they’d better enjoy this time because these are the best years of their lives. I remember feeling a sense of dread and wondering if that was really true - that it all goes downhill from here.
It wasn't. Life has only been getting better. Or maybe I've been getting better at taking the good with the bad. Whereas my twenties were defined by searching, my thirties seem to be about settling. Not settling for less, but settling for where I'm at any given moment, settling into the rhythm of motherhood, settling into being married to the same wonderful man for nearly 10 years, settling into my own skin and feeling good in it (on most days), too.
Bring on the birthday candles!
I am wearing...
A button-down blouse with navy and white stripes, jeans, and brown ballet flats. It's a very classic look - a look my husband loves.
I am thankful for...
A perfect birthday. My mom (Gaba), Rae, Madeline, and Mary Elizabeth and I had a girls' day together. It was 70 degrees and sunny. We started the day off with Mass, and then I went to confession. Then my mom took us shopping and to lunch. (I felt a little guilty breaking my shopping fast, but my mom assured me that I had dispensation since this was gift from her and my dad to me.)
:-)
Dave came home from work with a balloon, a chocolate cake (yes, I indulged. It's tough having a birthday during Lent year after year), and delicious Indian food. The girls gave me their presents handpicked by them during a Saturday morning errand with Daddy, and they helped me blow out my candles. Madeline made me a card that included some "poetry" she'd written. I'm not sure who was happier with the celebration - me or my girls.
Oh, and for an affirmation junkie like myself it sure was nice to receive so many phone calls, emails and Facebook birthday wishes and not to mention, old-fashioned snail mail cards. Thank you, thank you to everyone for making my birthday a special one!
On the homeschooling front...
I've started planning for next year. We've had a few minor bumps this year mostly involving me doubting my ability to homeschool my kids (while staying sane), but we're starting to get in to the groove. There are some days when I still feel exasperated or insecure, but there are many more days when I think to myself, "I love this," and I realize what a gift it is to be my children's primary teacher.
Around the house...
Purging feels good. I've only got 13 of my 40 Bags for 40 days, so there's more work to be done.
In the kitchen...
Here's a look at my meal plans for the rest of the week:
Tuesday
Chicken noodle soup leftovers and whole wheat banana bread (I haven't gotten around to posting this one; I'll add it to my growing online recipe bank one of these days.)
Wednesday
Yogurt marinated chicken with roasted asparagus (sprinkle asaparagus with olive oil and Kosher salt and roast at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes)
Thursday
Turkey gumbo from this cookbook
Friday
Daddy On-Call Quiche (since Daddy won't be home for dinner) and crockpot applesauce
On wholeness...
Spiritually, I'm trying to spend at least five minutes listening to God. Confession was good, too. I always forget what a gift confession is until I find myself casting my cares, my sins, and and fears on God's broad shoulders. I never feel lighter than after a good confession.
Mentally, I'm striving to carve out time to write without sacrificing sleep. I'm also reading before bed every night as a way to unwind.
Physically, I've been aiming to walk outside on most days now that the weather has been better. The sunshine and movement are like Prozac for the soul.
I'm reading...
Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri and The Handbook for Catholic Moms by Lisa Hendey
My two-year-old is really in to Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present by Charlotte Zolotow (probably because of my recent birthday). Charlotte Zolotow is quickly becoming one of my all-time favorite children's authors. She uses imagery and lyrical language to tell stories that capture my children's attention and heart. (If you have daughters, you must read Big Sister and Little Sister. Madeline loves to take care of her baby sisters like the big sister in this book, and Rachel has recognized the times when her big sister might need some care from her, too. The book is a wonderful primer on empathy within the family.)
I'm creating...
Our spring menu. Bring on the asparagus! I love the nifty Locavore App that tells you what else is in season and available at your nearby farmers' markets.
I'm hoping and praying...
For a friend who is concerned about her little girl and the bruises that keep popping up on her skin.
For continued healing for my dear mama.
For my daughter's godmother who is preparing for the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony and will be marrying her beloved in April in New York City. (We'll be headed to the Big Apple, too, since I'm a bridesmaid, and Madeline will be filling the role of flower girl.)
To live the Liturgy...
I'm planning for the Feast of Saint Joseph. Any ideas for crafts targeted at little ones (ages 3-5)? I'll be teaching my co-op that day and always like to incorporate a hands-on activity. Comments are closed for Lent, but you can email me at kmwicker [at] gmail [dot] com.
My Lent so far...
The theme of my Lent this year seems to be disconnecting from all those things (think: Internet) that are distracting me from living a full and in-the-moment life of goodness and reconnecting with the only Source of Wisdom and Love there is and ever shall be.
I have a lot of thoughts on this, and I'm scribbling down notes and plan to write about it after Lent.
Until then, read this and this. So many of us are constantly weighing the pros and cons of the connected world we live in. It's a difficult balancing act to use technology enough that it keeps you in the loop and allows you to connect with people you never would have met otherwise and not allowing it to enslave you.
One of my favorite things...
Hearing Mary Elizabeth say, "Mama." You'd think hearing those words tumble from my baby's mouth would have lost some its magic since she's my third chatterbox. But when she recently started crying for me and reached her arms and said, "Mama," my eyes teared up and my heart soared.
Words to the wise...
~from Familia training materials
A few plans for the rest of the week...
My priority this week is to continue to catch up on sleep. I have to tackle a freelance deadline as well as wrap up another chapter of my book.
We'll be enjoying the beginnings of spring, too. Several nature walks are on this week's agenda.
A picture thought I'm sharing...
I really need to work on Mary Elizabeth's diet. :-)
Comments are closed for Lent.
The Simple Woman's Daybook idea began with Peggy in 2008. I've decided to adopt some of its headings, make up some of my own as well as borrow some from folks like Sarah and Elizabeth.
Outside my window...
Sunshine, glorious, sunshine! It's finally starting to feel like spring in Georgia.
I'm listening to...
The groaning of the washer and the clanking of the dryer. They're good sounds; I'm way behind on laundry. The humming of a five-year-old as she makes patterns on her Geoboard and a two-year-old talking to her Geobands as if they were people.
I'm thinking...
I recently turned 31. I don't feel old. I didn't feel old when I turned 30 either.
I don't understand why some women dread their thirties. To tell the truth, I feel relieved to be through with my twenties. There was so much uncertainty in that decade. There was all this pressure to find out my life's vocation, to snag the perfect soul mate, and to ponder the meaning of life. Oh, the angst!
What makes matters worse is everyone tells 20-somethings that they’d better enjoy this time because these are the best years of their lives. I remember feeling a sense of dread and wondering if that was really true - that it all goes downhill from here.
It wasn't. Life has only been getting better. Or maybe I've been getting better at taking the good with the bad. Whereas my twenties were defined by searching, my thirties seem to be about settling. Not settling for less, but settling for where I'm at any given moment, settling into the rhythm of motherhood, settling into being married to the same wonderful man for nearly 10 years, settling into my own skin and feeling good in it (on most days), too.
Bring on the birthday candles!
A button-down blouse with navy and white stripes, jeans, and brown ballet flats. It's a very classic look - a look my husband loves.
I am thankful for...
A perfect birthday. My mom (Gaba), Rae, Madeline, and Mary Elizabeth and I had a girls' day together. It was 70 degrees and sunny. We started the day off with Mass, and then I went to confession. Then my mom took us shopping and to lunch. (I felt a little guilty breaking my shopping fast, but my mom assured me that I had dispensation since this was gift from her and my dad to me.)
:-)
Dave came home from work with a balloon, a chocolate cake (yes, I indulged. It's tough having a birthday during Lent year after year), and delicious Indian food. The girls gave me their presents handpicked by them during a Saturday morning errand with Daddy, and they helped me blow out my candles. Madeline made me a card that included some "poetry" she'd written. I'm not sure who was happier with the celebration - me or my girls.
Oh, and for an affirmation junkie like myself it sure was nice to receive so many phone calls, emails and Facebook birthday wishes and not to mention, old-fashioned snail mail cards. Thank you, thank you to everyone for making my birthday a special one!
On the homeschooling front...
I've started planning for next year. We've had a few minor bumps this year mostly involving me doubting my ability to homeschool my kids (while staying sane), but we're starting to get in to the groove. There are some days when I still feel exasperated or insecure, but there are many more days when I think to myself, "I love this," and I realize what a gift it is to be my children's primary teacher.
Around the house...
Purging feels good. I've only got 13 of my 40 Bags for 40 days, so there's more work to be done.
Here's a look at my meal plans for the rest of the week:
Tuesday
Chicken noodle soup leftovers and whole wheat banana bread (I haven't gotten around to posting this one; I'll add it to my growing online recipe bank one of these days.)
Wednesday
Yogurt marinated chicken with roasted asparagus (sprinkle asaparagus with olive oil and Kosher salt and roast at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes)
Thursday
Turkey gumbo from this cookbook
Friday
Daddy On-Call Quiche (since Daddy won't be home for dinner) and crockpot applesauce
On wholeness...
Spiritually, I'm trying to spend at least five minutes listening to God. Confession was good, too. I always forget what a gift confession is until I find myself casting my cares, my sins, and and fears on God's broad shoulders. I never feel lighter than after a good confession.
Mentally, I'm striving to carve out time to write without sacrificing sleep. I'm also reading before bed every night as a way to unwind.
Physically, I've been aiming to walk outside on most days now that the weather has been better. The sunshine and movement are like Prozac for the soul.
Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri and The Handbook for Catholic Moms by Lisa Hendey
My two-year-old is really in to Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present by Charlotte Zolotow (probably because of my recent birthday). Charlotte Zolotow is quickly becoming one of my all-time favorite children's authors. She uses imagery and lyrical language to tell stories that capture my children's attention and heart. (If you have daughters, you must read Big Sister and Little Sister. Madeline loves to take care of her baby sisters like the big sister in this book, and Rachel has recognized the times when her big sister might need some care from her, too. The book is a wonderful primer on empathy within the family.)
Our spring menu. Bring on the asparagus! I love the nifty Locavore App that tells you what else is in season and available at your nearby farmers' markets.
For a friend who is concerned about her little girl and the bruises that keep popping up on her skin.
For continued healing for my dear mama.
For my daughter's godmother who is preparing for the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony and will be marrying her beloved in April in New York City. (We'll be headed to the Big Apple, too, since I'm a bridesmaid, and Madeline will be filling the role of flower girl.)
To live the Liturgy...
I'm planning for the Feast of Saint Joseph. Any ideas for crafts targeted at little ones (ages 3-5)? I'll be teaching my co-op that day and always like to incorporate a hands-on activity. Comments are closed for Lent, but you can email me at kmwicker [at] gmail [dot] com.
The theme of my Lent this year seems to be disconnecting from all those things (think: Internet) that are distracting me from living a full and in-the-moment life of goodness and reconnecting with the only Source of Wisdom and Love there is and ever shall be.
I have a lot of thoughts on this, and I'm scribbling down notes and plan to write about it after Lent.
Until then, read this and this. So many of us are constantly weighing the pros and cons of the connected world we live in. It's a difficult balancing act to use technology enough that it keeps you in the loop and allows you to connect with people you never would have met otherwise and not allowing it to enslave you.
Hearing Mary Elizabeth say, "Mama." You'd think hearing those words tumble from my baby's mouth would have lost some its magic since she's my third chatterbox. But when she recently started crying for me and reached her arms and said, "Mama," my eyes teared up and my heart soared.
"Every time you meet another human being you have an opportunity. It's a chance at holiness. For you will do one of two things. Either you will build him up, or you will tear him down. Either you will acknowledge that he is, or you will make him sorry that he is- sorry at least that he is there, in front of you. You will create, or you will destroy. And the things you dignify or deny are God's own property. They are made, each one of them, in His own image.
There are no useless, minor meetings. There are no dead-end jobs. There are no pointless lives. Swallow your sorrows, forget your grievances and all the hurt your poor life has sustained. Turn your face truly to the human before you and let him for one pure moment, shine. Think him important, and he will suspect that his is fashioned of God."
~from Familia training materials
My priority this week is to continue to catch up on sleep. I have to tackle a freelance deadline as well as wrap up another chapter of my book.
We'll be enjoying the beginnings of spring, too. Several nature walks are on this week's agenda.
I really need to work on Mary Elizabeth's diet. :-)
Comments are closed for Lent.
What You Really, Really Don't Want to Find in Your Baby's Mouth
This morning I discovered my beloved baby (the alleged food snob) plopped down next to our sliding glass doors, taking note of the sunny day, and munching on a beetle.
Choking hazard aside, I'm not sure if a crunchy insect would be considered the breakfast of champions.
Ewwwwww...
Raising Little Scribes
You can read my latest feature at Faith & Family LIVE: Encouraging Creative Writing: Four Ways to Inspire Your Kids.
Paradise Found
I have a confession to make. I started Lent not in a wild wilderness wrought with twisted roots and temptations lurking in every shadow, but in paradise. Thanks to the generosity of Gaba and Papa, I spent four days at the beach with my husband, my children, my parents, and my brothers.
Each day I woke to find children brimming with excitement. We smelled of coconut, and our skin was dusted with sand.
Beneath a blue sky, I watched my children splash in clear water and search the sands for shells.
I watched them build a sand castle - and memories - with their favorite architect, Gaba.
Their delight became my own as sea turtles drifted toward us, looking weightless and oneiric in their watery world.
I saw my girls and the paradise surrounding us - not only through the lens of the camera - but with my undistracted eyes, and the blue breadth of the ocean and the beauty of my children heightened my sense for the numinous. How can anyone doubt God's existence in the presence of nature and children? Children whose contentment comes from Him and hasn't been muddied up by life and the pressure to search your soul when you should be cultivating it instead. Children who remind you of the presence of your soul and the goodness of it, too. It's there. No need to gouge anything out. It's your gift from God. Now stop looking for it and just make it beautiful.
My throat caught when my five-year-old placed her white linen napkin on her lap and ordered her dinner selection with grace and aplomb (don't be too impressed: She asked for lemonade and plain pasta with butter and cheese). But, my, how old she suddenly seemed to me now that we were pulled from our everyday life and able to take on a slower pace. There was time to listen, to watch, to see, and to give thanks for these beautiful children of mine who are growing up so quickly.
There were the quiet nursing sessions on the beach. A cool breeze sweeping across me, my skin sticky against the baby's, her chubby fingers reaching for my ridiculously big sunglasses.
Paradise found. What a gift.
This winter has been hard - not just for me, but for many people I know. In the late summer, my midwife diagnosed me with postpartum depression (I've hesitated writing about this, but I've decided to put it out there and plan to write more on depression down the road in the hopes that it may help others). I'd skipped my six-week postpartum visit, but my husband urged me to take care of myself and talk to my midwife. So I did, but I didn't want to hear I was depressed or anxious. Although I'd suffered from situational sadness in the past and even anxiety, I'd never been faced with this kind of heaviness. There were many days where I felt as if I was dragging myself through thick mud. I was so tired and sad and angry sometimes, too.
Still, I didn't really want "help." I wanted to be able to fix it, or I wanted to believe my sadness was imagined, something I had complete control over. I learned it was and it wasn't. There were certainly steps I could take to soothe my frayed edges, but it was also okay to admit I was hurting and that I didn't have complete ownership of my pain - or the power to just snap my fingers, play the Pollyanna Glad Game, and make it go away.
After a few rough months, I began to feel much, much better (no inexplicable crying jags, no burning anger, and my appetite for food and living a full life had returned).
Then the rain and cold and darkness set in and the Haiti earthquake happened, and my healing seemed to deliquesce into a pool of my tears. My sense of powerlessness to just snap out of it was terrifying. I wanted to be happy. I should have been happy. I had stress in my life, but it was mostly good stress such as preparing for a move that would be good for our family. So why couldn't I just make happiness happen?
Even worse, I felt abandoned and started wondering why my faith felt so shaky at a time when I needed it to be strong and to hold me up. I felt like God had been the one on vacation, and I had been left with a heavy workload and not a moment's rest. I've started to consider whether it is the spiritual dryness that causes the despondency or the heavy heart that causes a rift in your relationship God and leads you to cry out, "God, where are you? I want you, need you and the belief in you and your love."
As the sun waned, my world fell into winter. And it was tempting to shut myself out, to shut God out, to shut the door on people who were Christ-bearers in my life, people who offered glimpses of God's goodness.
When Lent arrived, I was prepared for the wilderness. I'd been living in darkness, so what was a little more of it here and there?
But maybe what I needed was the sun.
During this idyll, I regained perspective. I realized I need the fresh air and must go outside every day even in the rain or sleet for at least a few minutes. I cannot contain myself or my children in our small townhouse. We need to stretch our limbs and be outdoors. Sunshine is good medicine - even when it's hiding behind a thick veil of clouds.
I also must make sleep a priority. (I know, I know. I've said this before. Maybe I shouldn't be giving anything up this Lent but instead taking on more sleep!). I cannot control how often my baby wakes or the nightmares that cause my fear-mongering toddler to seek solace in my arms in the middle of the night (my normally easy-going toddler is going through an anxious stage and is afraid of everything and needs more TLC from me than is typical). However, I can control what time I slip into bed.
During our vacation, the baby slept horribly, waking up nearly every hour (much worse than an average night); yet, I felt so much more rested, and it wasn't simply because I had plenty of helping hands around and was lounging on the beach and sipping sweet, mellifluous Riesling at dinner (though I'm sure that helped just a little bit). I went to bed early. I was in bed by 9 p.m. with a book and asleep by 10 p.m. I wasn't burning the midnight oil staring at a glaring computer screen or working on the latest domestic project to zap my energies. I realize that at home there is work to be done, but that work means nothing if my primary job - to be a loving wife and mom - falls by the wayside because I forgo sleep to do, do, do.
Likewise, our bedtime routines as of late (prior to finding ourselves in paradise) have been stressful. I am incredibly jealous in awe of moms whose children roll over and drift off to the Land of Nod after being tucked in and granted just one quick kiss on the forehead. I like to tell myself their kids are just stupid simpletons and haven't figured out that their bed doesn't have an invisible wall around it while my progeny are prodigies - or in the very least, tenacious, little buggers who know that Mom has a lot of power, but one thing she cannot do is force them to go to sleep.
After lots and lots of stories, cuddles, and prayers, it's always been my custom to rest with the girls for a few minutes before I make my escape. Only, recently, I hadn't really been resting. I'd been planning the entire time. I'd been wishing they would just go to sleep. I've always loved our nightly story time, but as soon as the last book is closed, I often have the urge to to sprint off and get stuff done.
At the beach, I had nowhere to go and nothing to do, and our bedtime woes were non-existent. There were no tears, no "I'm thirsty-ies," no "one more book please," no "Where's my elephant? Where's my doggie?", no "turn the night light on." You get the idea (or maybe you don't - lucky you). I realized some of my bedtime battles stemmed from me being in such a rush to get the kids to sleep. They sensed I was on edge, watching the clock tick time away. But at the beach I was content to relax beside them.
Kids know when we're not fully present and they don't like it one bit, so I'm going to work on being more relaxed at bedtime and to just enjoy being with my kids.
I've been doing well in the bedtime routine department, but sticking to a reasonable bedtime hour for me is a constant struggle. Within two days of returning from the trip I was back to my old habits. My husband found me up past midnight and gently reminded me that I should be sleeping, not working. "But I need some time for myself," I whined calmly said.
"You need to start thinking of sleep as time for yourself."
What wise counsel I find in my husband.
Now that I'm home and back in the grind, I recognize it wasn't just the sleep, the seamless bedtime routine, the dearth of to-do lists, or the fact that I was in paradise that lifted my spirits. It was the reminder that the darkness never lasts forever. Sometimes the darkness isn't even really there when we think it is. We're the ones hiding away. So I've resigned myself to let the sunshine in, to take a step outside and out of myself, to cling to the small seeds of faith within me, to indulge - yes, indulge - in quiet prayer time this Lent, and to find paradise even when it's not so obvious. And to always, always be grateful for when it is.
Comments closed for Lent.
Each day I woke to find children brimming with excitement. We smelled of coconut, and our skin was dusted with sand.
Beneath a blue sky, I watched my children splash in clear water and search the sands for shells.
I watched them build a sand castle - and memories - with their favorite architect, Gaba.
Their delight became my own as sea turtles drifted toward us, looking weightless and oneiric in their watery world.
I saw my girls and the paradise surrounding us - not only through the lens of the camera - but with my undistracted eyes, and the blue breadth of the ocean and the beauty of my children heightened my sense for the numinous. How can anyone doubt God's existence in the presence of nature and children? Children whose contentment comes from Him and hasn't been muddied up by life and the pressure to search your soul when you should be cultivating it instead. Children who remind you of the presence of your soul and the goodness of it, too. It's there. No need to gouge anything out. It's your gift from God. Now stop looking for it and just make it beautiful.
My throat caught when my five-year-old placed her white linen napkin on her lap and ordered her dinner selection with grace and aplomb (don't be too impressed: She asked for lemonade and plain pasta with butter and cheese). But, my, how old she suddenly seemed to me now that we were pulled from our everyday life and able to take on a slower pace. There was time to listen, to watch, to see, and to give thanks for these beautiful children of mine who are growing up so quickly.
There were the quiet nursing sessions on the beach. A cool breeze sweeping across me, my skin sticky against the baby's, her chubby fingers reaching for my ridiculously big sunglasses.
Paradise found. What a gift.
This winter has been hard - not just for me, but for many people I know. In the late summer, my midwife diagnosed me with postpartum depression (I've hesitated writing about this, but I've decided to put it out there and plan to write more on depression down the road in the hopes that it may help others). I'd skipped my six-week postpartum visit, but my husband urged me to take care of myself and talk to my midwife. So I did, but I didn't want to hear I was depressed or anxious. Although I'd suffered from situational sadness in the past and even anxiety, I'd never been faced with this kind of heaviness. There were many days where I felt as if I was dragging myself through thick mud. I was so tired and sad and angry sometimes, too.
Still, I didn't really want "help." I wanted to be able to fix it, or I wanted to believe my sadness was imagined, something I had complete control over. I learned it was and it wasn't. There were certainly steps I could take to soothe my frayed edges, but it was also okay to admit I was hurting and that I didn't have complete ownership of my pain - or the power to just snap my fingers, play the Pollyanna Glad Game, and make it go away.
After a few rough months, I began to feel much, much better (no inexplicable crying jags, no burning anger, and my appetite for food and living a full life had returned).
Then the rain and cold and darkness set in and the Haiti earthquake happened, and my healing seemed to deliquesce into a pool of my tears. My sense of powerlessness to just snap out of it was terrifying. I wanted to be happy. I should have been happy. I had stress in my life, but it was mostly good stress such as preparing for a move that would be good for our family. So why couldn't I just make happiness happen?
Even worse, I felt abandoned and started wondering why my faith felt so shaky at a time when I needed it to be strong and to hold me up. I felt like God had been the one on vacation, and I had been left with a heavy workload and not a moment's rest. I've started to consider whether it is the spiritual dryness that causes the despondency or the heavy heart that causes a rift in your relationship God and leads you to cry out, "God, where are you? I want you, need you and the belief in you and your love."
As the sun waned, my world fell into winter. And it was tempting to shut myself out, to shut God out, to shut the door on people who were Christ-bearers in my life, people who offered glimpses of God's goodness.
When Lent arrived, I was prepared for the wilderness. I'd been living in darkness, so what was a little more of it here and there?
But maybe what I needed was the sun.
During this idyll, I regained perspective. I realized I need the fresh air and must go outside every day even in the rain or sleet for at least a few minutes. I cannot contain myself or my children in our small townhouse. We need to stretch our limbs and be outdoors. Sunshine is good medicine - even when it's hiding behind a thick veil of clouds.
I also must make sleep a priority. (I know, I know. I've said this before. Maybe I shouldn't be giving anything up this Lent but instead taking on more sleep!). I cannot control how often my baby wakes or the nightmares that cause my fear-mongering toddler to seek solace in my arms in the middle of the night (my normally easy-going toddler is going through an anxious stage and is afraid of everything and needs more TLC from me than is typical). However, I can control what time I slip into bed.
During our vacation, the baby slept horribly, waking up nearly every hour (much worse than an average night); yet, I felt so much more rested, and it wasn't simply because I had plenty of helping hands around and was lounging on the beach and sipping sweet, mellifluous Riesling at dinner (though I'm sure that helped just a little bit). I went to bed early. I was in bed by 9 p.m. with a book and asleep by 10 p.m. I wasn't burning the midnight oil staring at a glaring computer screen or working on the latest domestic project to zap my energies. I realize that at home there is work to be done, but that work means nothing if my primary job - to be a loving wife and mom - falls by the wayside because I forgo sleep to do, do, do.
Likewise, our bedtime routines as of late (prior to finding ourselves in paradise) have been stressful. I am
After lots and lots of stories, cuddles, and prayers, it's always been my custom to rest with the girls for a few minutes before I make my escape. Only, recently, I hadn't really been resting. I'd been planning the entire time. I'd been wishing they would just go to sleep. I've always loved our nightly story time, but as soon as the last book is closed, I often have the urge to to sprint off and get stuff done.
At the beach, I had nowhere to go and nothing to do, and our bedtime woes were non-existent. There were no tears, no "I'm thirsty-ies," no "one more book please," no "Where's my elephant? Where's my doggie?", no "turn the night light on." You get the idea (or maybe you don't - lucky you). I realized some of my bedtime battles stemmed from me being in such a rush to get the kids to sleep. They sensed I was on edge, watching the clock tick time away. But at the beach I was content to relax beside them.
Kids know when we're not fully present and they don't like it one bit, so I'm going to work on being more relaxed at bedtime and to just enjoy being with my kids.
I've been doing well in the bedtime routine department, but sticking to a reasonable bedtime hour for me is a constant struggle. Within two days of returning from the trip I was back to my old habits. My husband found me up past midnight and gently reminded me that I should be sleeping, not working. "But I need some time for myself," I
"You need to start thinking of sleep as time for yourself."
What wise counsel I find in my husband.
Now that I'm home and back in the grind, I recognize it wasn't just the sleep, the seamless bedtime routine, the dearth of to-do lists, or the fact that I was in paradise that lifted my spirits. It was the reminder that the darkness never lasts forever. Sometimes the darkness isn't even really there when we think it is. We're the ones hiding away. So I've resigned myself to let the sunshine in, to take a step outside and out of myself, to cling to the small seeds of faith within me, to indulge - yes, indulge - in quiet prayer time this Lent, and to find paradise even when it's not so obvious. And to always, always be grateful for when it is.
Comments closed for Lent.
Hold the Beef: Going Meatless in Lent and Beyond
I'm back. Sort of. I'm still limiting my screen time, and I have much to say about my recent Internet fast (including how I learned the most from a moment of weakness). I hope to blog about my experience eventually. I actually had no contact with a computer or even email for three whole days and then continued to curtail my Internet time other than a daily email check for a little over a week. It was not easy, but it was rewarding. No pain, no gain, right? I also have much to share (including photos!) about a recent trip we enjoyed, thanks to the generosity of my parents.
I'll get to it all - eventually.
For now, I'm sharing my most recent feature at Faith & Family LIVE! that was published while I was MIA. Check out Hold the Beef: Going Meatless in Lent and Beyond, and share your favorite recipes for meatless meals.
I'll get to it all - eventually.
For now, I'm sharing my most recent feature at Faith & Family LIVE! that was published while I was MIA. Check out Hold the Beef: Going Meatless in Lent and Beyond, and share your favorite recipes for meatless meals.
Seeking Silence
Today is the last day I'll have comments open on my blog until after Easter. This also marks the final post before I begin an Internet fast that I have committed to for at least the next week. To clarify, I will be fasting from all websites and blogs and will only check my email once a day. Unfortunately, I cannot completely forgo email since it is the standard form of communication for some of my kids' activities; I'll also still be using the Internet for some homeschooling work. I haven't decided exactly how long I will remain unplugged. I don't want to have a plan. I want to see where the fast leads me.
Why am I doing this? Because I need to drown out some distractions in order to take my relationship with God to the next level. All relationships pass through phases. We begin as strangers. We become acquaintances. Some of the people that come into our lives evolve into close friends. With our spouse, we reach new intimacy.
But what of my relationship with God?
Lately, I'm afraid, he's felt more like a stranger than a close friend. Frequently in my spiritual journey, he's been like a casual acquaintance. I'm always polite to him when I run into him at Mass or in a rushed prayer, but I don't correspond with him with the kind of regularity or familiarity of a good, trustworthy friend. And why not? I'm supposed to reach the level of intimacy with God you see in "old, married couples" who don't need to fill the air with trivial chatter. They're comfortable just being together in the silence, knees grazing, hands clasped together.
That is why I need to turn away from the constant buzz of blog comments and the limitless information on the Web. It's drowning out his voice, a voice that's subtle and doesn't try to rise above the clamor, a presence that isn't revealed but glimpsed with an open and willing heart. Silence exists so that I may speak to God and come to know him. I just want to talk to him, easily like an old friend. Then I want to become so comfortable with him that I can recognize he is with me and that he knows and loves me without either of us having to say a word.
Although I'm turning off the comments for my personal spiritual growth, maybe the stillness will benefit you as well. Colleen, a blogging friend, made an excellent point after this post. She writes, "I feel so free to read people's blogs that don't have comments, knowing they don't expect me to say anything."
I know what she means. I used to rarely comment on anyone's blog because it was just easier to have more of a "no comment" policy, but then I started feeling that this wasn't fair of me to wait for comments on my own blog but to never chime in on others'. So I started to leave a comment here and there, but it was tough to discern whose blog I should comment on since there are so many unique voices out there. Then I'd go on a comment rampage. I'd carve out a pocket of time and start shooting off comments in rapid fire. Those were often days when I'd start to feel on edge, or I'd say, "In just a minute," to a child whose voice may not have been as cerebral as the faceless stranger I was connecting with online but who needed me - all of me - at that moment. I can give my mind to anyone, but I owe my family and God my heart.
It's always tricky for me to find that balance. All or nothing seems easier, so for Lent, "nothing" it is - as far as comments go. I won't be commenting on others' blogs either. I'm certainly not suggesting open comments are a bad thing or a worthy scapegoat for all my maternal transgressions (obedience and discipline - or lack thereof - are at the heart of my struggles to find balance), and I imagine I'll be turning comments back on come Easter. (I do so love to hear from you, dear readers! You really do make this blog worth blogging for!). However, I have to agree that there is a certain freedom, as Colleen suggests, to stumbling across a blog that edifies without asking for anything in return.
I'll be back in a few.
"Be still, and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10)
Why am I doing this? Because I need to drown out some distractions in order to take my relationship with God to the next level. All relationships pass through phases. We begin as strangers. We become acquaintances. Some of the people that come into our lives evolve into close friends. With our spouse, we reach new intimacy.
But what of my relationship with God?
Lately, I'm afraid, he's felt more like a stranger than a close friend. Frequently in my spiritual journey, he's been like a casual acquaintance. I'm always polite to him when I run into him at Mass or in a rushed prayer, but I don't correspond with him with the kind of regularity or familiarity of a good, trustworthy friend. And why not? I'm supposed to reach the level of intimacy with God you see in "old, married couples" who don't need to fill the air with trivial chatter. They're comfortable just being together in the silence, knees grazing, hands clasped together.
That is why I need to turn away from the constant buzz of blog comments and the limitless information on the Web. It's drowning out his voice, a voice that's subtle and doesn't try to rise above the clamor, a presence that isn't revealed but glimpsed with an open and willing heart. Silence exists so that I may speak to God and come to know him. I just want to talk to him, easily like an old friend. Then I want to become so comfortable with him that I can recognize he is with me and that he knows and loves me without either of us having to say a word.
Although I'm turning off the comments for my personal spiritual growth, maybe the stillness will benefit you as well. Colleen, a blogging friend, made an excellent point after this post. She writes, "I feel so free to read people's blogs that don't have comments, knowing they don't expect me to say anything."
I know what she means. I used to rarely comment on anyone's blog because it was just easier to have more of a "no comment" policy, but then I started feeling that this wasn't fair of me to wait for comments on my own blog but to never chime in on others'. So I started to leave a comment here and there, but it was tough to discern whose blog I should comment on since there are so many unique voices out there. Then I'd go on a comment rampage. I'd carve out a pocket of time and start shooting off comments in rapid fire. Those were often days when I'd start to feel on edge, or I'd say, "In just a minute," to a child whose voice may not have been as cerebral as the faceless stranger I was connecting with online but who needed me - all of me - at that moment. I can give my mind to anyone, but I owe my family and God my heart.
It's always tricky for me to find that balance. All or nothing seems easier, so for Lent, "nothing" it is - as far as comments go. I won't be commenting on others' blogs either. I'm certainly not suggesting open comments are a bad thing or a worthy scapegoat for all my maternal transgressions (obedience and discipline - or lack thereof - are at the heart of my struggles to find balance), and I imagine I'll be turning comments back on come Easter. (I do so love to hear from you, dear readers! You really do make this blog worth blogging for!). However, I have to agree that there is a certain freedom, as Colleen suggests, to stumbling across a blog that edifies without asking for anything in return.
I'll be back in a few.
"Be still, and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10)
Carnival of Meatless Meals: Black Bean Chili
*This recipe is from my Meatless Mondays series from Lent 2009 and is part of the 2010 Meatless Meals Carnival hosted by Milehimama. Be sure to check out other tasty meals here.
It's time for another Meatless Monday.
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
6 cups chopped onions (about 1 1/2 pounds; I use less because of my onion-detesting daughter)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cup chopped red bell pepper (1 large bell pepper should do it)
6 garlic cloves, minced
1 7-ounce can of chipotle chiles in abodo sauce (my kids don't mind a slight kick, but you might want to adjust this recipe according to your family's tolerance for heat)
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
4 15-ounce cans of black beans
1 14 1/2-ounce can of vegetable broth
1 14 1/2-ounce can of chopped tomatoes, undrained
1/4 cup lime juice
Heat oil in a large skillet or a stockpot over medium heat. Add onions and salt. Cook for about 3 minutes; add red bell pepper and garlic.
Mince one of the chilies from can; repeat as needed to equal about 1 tablespoon of chilies. Add minced chilies, cumin, oregano, broth, and tomatoes. Reduce heat, and simmer for 30 minutes.
Stir in lime juice.
If you don't have a cilantro-hater on your hands (I do), then feel free to sprinkle about a half cup of chopped cilantro.
It's time for another Meatless Monday.
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
6 cups chopped onions (about 1 1/2 pounds; I use less because of my onion-detesting daughter)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cup chopped red bell pepper (1 large bell pepper should do it)
6 garlic cloves, minced
1 7-ounce can of chipotle chiles in abodo sauce (my kids don't mind a slight kick, but you might want to adjust this recipe according to your family's tolerance for heat)
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
4 15-ounce cans of black beans
1 14 1/2-ounce can of vegetable broth
1 14 1/2-ounce can of chopped tomatoes, undrained
1/4 cup lime juice
Heat oil in a large skillet or a stockpot over medium heat. Add onions and salt. Cook for about 3 minutes; add red bell pepper and garlic.
Mince one of the chilies from can; repeat as needed to equal about 1 tablespoon of chilies. Add minced chilies, cumin, oregano, broth, and tomatoes. Reduce heat, and simmer for 30 minutes.
Stir in lime juice.
If you don't have a cilantro-hater on your hands (I do), then feel free to sprinkle about a half cup of chopped cilantro.
You Call This a Diet?
When I hit the elliptical trainer, I like to read candy for the mind (as in junk). It's a guilty pleasure and perhaps one I need to give up this Lent and beyond, especially after reading this while flipping through a fashion magazine this weekend: "There's a backlash against diets that don't include food because they just aren't sustainable."
I'm not joking.
Isn't a diet that doesn't include food also known as starvation? And has starvation ever been sustainable?
I know so many women who blame their lack of willpower for not being able to lose those last five pounds or for not being able to maintain their slimmer silhouette after a diet.
I don't blame them at all. I blame diets - or at least the diet mentality that food or certain groups of food are bad, bad, bad.
It is not your weakness that has led you to fail at losing weight or squeezing into those coveted jeans. It is your repeated attempt to diet and to deprive yourself of nourishment. Eat when you're hungry. Stop when you're full. Easier said than done, I know, but give it a try. Listen to your body. Lent is about being mindful. Resolve to be mindful of everything that passes through your lips and remember this: Food is not the enemy. Food is also not your friend although it's so easy to vilify it or use it to soothe emotions frayed with stress or sadness. Don't feed your feelings. Don't complicate the eating process. Food is fuel. Eat wholesome foods. Sometimes eat what you crave, and don't feel guilty about it either. But, please, do eat. Because as someone who waged a war against her body and food for far too long, I have to agree with the fashion magazine on this one: Denying yourself of food just isn't sustainable.
I'm not joking.
Isn't a diet that doesn't include food also known as starvation? And has starvation ever been sustainable?
I know so many women who blame their lack of willpower for not being able to lose those last five pounds or for not being able to maintain their slimmer silhouette after a diet.
I don't blame them at all. I blame diets - or at least the diet mentality that food or certain groups of food are bad, bad, bad.
It is not your weakness that has led you to fail at losing weight or squeezing into those coveted jeans. It is your repeated attempt to diet and to deprive yourself of nourishment. Eat when you're hungry. Stop when you're full. Easier said than done, I know, but give it a try. Listen to your body. Lent is about being mindful. Resolve to be mindful of everything that passes through your lips and remember this: Food is not the enemy. Food is also not your friend although it's so easy to vilify it or use it to soothe emotions frayed with stress or sadness. Don't feed your feelings. Don't complicate the eating process. Food is fuel. Eat wholesome foods. Sometimes eat what you crave, and don't feel guilty about it either. But, please, do eat. Because as someone who waged a war against her body and food for far too long, I have to agree with the fashion magazine on this one: Denying yourself of food just isn't sustainable.
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