A Humble Offering

Last month (yes, it's June already!) we weren't able to attend a May Crowning for Mary. Last year's event left quite an impression on the girls, and they were terribly disappointed to not pay a visit to Our Blessed Mother and crown her with flowers. So we decided to have our own ceremony. We ventured outdoors, and the girls picked wildflowers, weeds really. Then we came home, and Madeline spent half an hour arranging clusters of white clover and dandelions around Mary

I can't be sure, but I don't think the Mystical Rose minded shining in the midst of the scraggly dandelions one bit. Like most good mothers, she recognized the love behind the gift. I would be wise to discern it, too, behind all those small gifts my children offer me every day. From the handpicked flowers to the crayon scribbles, pieces of my children's hearts are found in these humble offerings.

Thanks, Moms!

It's foggy and rainy. The girls enjoyed their Saturday morning movie privilege while my husband studied for his upcoming boards, and I wrote some and pondered mentor moms. I thought about how blessed I am to have my own mom as a mentor. My mother-in-law, too, has been a gift in my mothering life.

Then there are some of my childhood friends. We have grown up together, and now we're growing into the kinds of moms we feel called to become.

There are my church friends and the moms in my homeschool co-op who inspire me nearly every day to keep in better touch with my faith and with God. They answer my homeschooling questions and give me pep talks when I feel like I'm the only one swimming against a strong current.

There's my 88-year-old nana who imparts bits and pieces of wisdom every time she speaks.

There are the mom friends I met during the different phases of my husband's medical training (med school wife friends, friends I met during his transitional year, resident wife friends). Although I haven't known some of these friends for long, the Internet makes it so much easier to keep in touch with people you meet during quick pit stops in life.

Speaking of which, there's my online community - all of you who inspire and encourage me daily with your comments, your own blogs, your prayers, and with the grace-filled lives you lead.

Then there's the Mother of All Mothers. What a gift that I have Mary to turn to when I'm in need of a good dose of maternal empathy or when I just need to quiet my heart. Last night I prayed a rosary while I nursed Mary Elizabeth in the darkness of night. As I was nourishing my baby, I thought of the times when I've been pierced by hunger or fear and a real life mom mentor hasn't been on call to comfort me; yet, Mary was waiting, waiting to help me see that she was there, longing to remind me that when I cry out in my emptiness, she will not forsake me.

I'm tired of the rain and the fact that the call for a wintry mix in Georgia thwarted our plans to go house hunting (we're taking a rain check, and we hope we'll be headed out tomorrow). Yet, I'm thankful I had the moment to consider all the moms who have supported me in my mothering journey. Thank you. You are in my prayers.

The Queen of Maternal Empathy

Whatever sorrows life brings, there is someone who can empathize with you. Through her Seven Sorrows (Catholics celebrate this feast today), Our Blessed Mother reveals herself as a model of faith whom you can always confide in, the one who can stand with you at the foot of whatever cross you’re bearing and say, “I’ve been there.”

The Prophecy of Simeon

As Mary and Joseph offer their Son to the service of the God, their hearts are filled with joy. But in an instant Mary’s happiness is lost in sadness as Simeon foretells the pain for herself, her Son, and his followers.

The Presentation reveals motherhood’s inextricable double helix of love and heartache. Mary knows she and her son are going to suffer. And so will we. But as our Mother of Sorrows understands, sometimes God asks us to look beyond our immediate pain and to accept suffering for a greater purpose.

The Flight into Egypt

What are you running away from? An addiction? A sinful past? Mary and Joseph have good reason to run: To spare their Son the wrath of King Herod.

Certainly, Mary was frightened as her ears were filled with the mournful cries of the Innocents of Bethlehem. And yet, through her anguish Mary has the Christ-Child in her arms. When we feel abandoned or fearful of what lies ahead, we, too, must keep Jesus close and put our trust in him.

The Loss of Jesus in the Temple

We lose many things in life – jobs, friends, loved ones, and hope. Mary doesn’t understand Jesus’ answer when she asks, “Why have you done this to us?” Nonetheless, she accepts it. We should do the same.

We also must remember there’s one thing we can never lose. Even when we feel Christ has vanished from our lives, he’s there in the Eucharist, here in our hearts. All we have to do is look for him.

The Meeting of Jesus and Mary on the Way of the Cross

Mothers hate to see their kids suffer and want to protect them with a fierceness only a mother can understand. Yet, there's only so much we can do. They're going to have to endure insults, scourges, and humiliation. They'll have crosses to carry. Sometimes we might be able to lighten their load, to share the pains of their thorns, to put Band-Aids on their hurts. Other times all we can do is to take a step back, to helplessly watch as Mary did, and to pray that through their suffering they will come to know Jesus with a deeper and more intimate love.

The Crucifixion

Mary watched her son die on the cross and in doing so, she took maternal empathy to new heights. But her thoughts went out to all those who suffer, not just mothers who have lost a child. She also showed us what it means to forgive. Her son endured great agony and died on the cross to save us all. Yet, there are so many who don't appreciate his sacrifice. We continue to crucify him with our sins. It would so easy for Mary to hate all of us who betray Christ with our actions. Instead, Mary and Jesus choose to forgive and to love us all despite our weaknesses. May we learn to do the same.

Jesus is taken down from the Cross

Joseph of Arimathaea took the body of Jesus down from the cross, and His Mother received Him into her arms. With the lifeless, bruised body of her son in her arms, all Mary has left is faith in God’s eternal promise. When all seems lost, when in our arms we hold our deep sorrow, we must turn our eyes to the Most Blessed of Believers and trust that we do not suffer in vain.

Jesus is laid in the Tomb

Our Lady faced insurmountable agony; yet, she never lost hope. And for good reason. On the third day, he rose again. Like Mary, we have to bury our pain, believe in the mystery of the cross, and wait with hopeful hearts for the fruits of our suffering to be revealed.

*This article was originally published in Canticle.

New Column: Beautiful Girls

You can read my new column at Inside Catholic: Beautiful Girls.

And won't you please help deflect some of the negative energy this one has spawned? I just can't win (perhaps I should stop trying). In response to my article, Desiderius (surely a pseudonym) made some good points all the while seeming to miss the meaning behind my words.

She (he?) writes, "I’m really sick of seeing Catholic 'mother martyrs' go online and brag about how noble and unworldly they are for letting the hair on their legs go grey. I’m sure their husbands are enchanted—as enchanted as wives must be at big beer guts and apathy about career advancement, savings, or stewardship."

And then, "telling married women that it is more Christian to neglect their looks implies a contempt for their husbands."

In fact, I agree with her (in part), and I never said anywhere in my column that I want my children to neglect their looks. Perhaps she took the line about beauty being too exhausting to maintain the wrong way. I'm not suggesting we should surrender to sloth or some feminist hoopla that "I don't care what men think. I am lovely just the way I am even with my unkempt hair and smelly pits." On the contrary, I work hard to take care of myself - to exercise and to eat properly and to dress attractively. (And even slice off moles in the process of shaving my legs for goodness' sake - talk about love for your spouse!)

I can remember my mom always sprucing up before my dad returned from work (she still does though she admits to frequently wearing Cubs tees; baseball is her obsession). I do no different (sans the Cubs t-shirt). Even if a day has been particularly harried and I haven't had as much time to devote to grooming as I desire (code for not having showered) I like to give my eyes (my favorite feature) a quick swipe of the mascara because this small gesture goes a long way in helping me to feel bright-eyed and lovely both for my husband and myself. Personally, I have to be more careful about not being too vain and getting too wrapped up in "lookism." In fact, my husband often gets frustrated with me because he sees me as desirable and that should be enough.

The point I was attempting to make over at Inside Catholic is that I want to encourage my girls to reclaim the beauty of creation - not conform to some unrealistic standard of beauty that's dictated by the media. God created us to be fertile and womanly, not stick-thin, expression-less, Botox-y, fabricated beauties. Likewise, I want my children to recognize that the health and beauty of their souls is more worthy of their attention and energy than fretting over their physical appearance, which has no eternal value.

Also, I want to make it clear that eating disorders have little to do with beauty or even wanting to look a certain way. They may start out as a means of slimming down, but they become an external and measurable scale of self-worth that offer a means of coping with fears and insecurities. Mine was primarily about being in control. I want to teach my girls to fill up on the Lord rather than turning to weight or improving their looks as a way to fill a void in their lives. I want to help them recognize Truth and beauty and these, I believe, can be found in Our Blessed Mother. Hence, my reasoning for writing the article.

So what do you think? Go mosey on over there and chime in with your own thoughts of how we can achieve real beauty. It's an important discussion.

*As a footnote: Forgive me, dear readers, for ranting about a topic quite similar to my most recent Faith & Family LIVE! feature on banishing postpartum body blues. As a mom to three girls, I frequently find myself thinking about body image and beauty and finding a balance between caring for ourselves and not becoming obssessive about our looks. My thoughts, not surprisingly, often pop up in my columns and on this blog. I didn't realize, however, that these two bits of writing would be published so close together. Hey, at least I'm not babbling again about my primary obsession (sleep or lack thereof).

Mary Moments Carnival

Okay, so I'm breaking my blogging fast to post this, but Mary's worth it.

Dear Mary

*This post was originally published in March 2008.

Dear Mary,

How did you do it? How did you stand at the foot of the cross and watch your son suffer? I wince when my children receive shots at the doctor's office. I remember watching Madeline stand outside a circle of children playing and look at her peers longingly. I ached for her to be included. Once, recently, I thought I'd lost her. She was hiding behind a clothing rack in a store and my mom and I were calling for her over and over. "Madeline! Madeline!" I was on the verge of becoming hysterical when I saw a pair of pants shift. There she was playing an innocent game of Hide-and-Seek. Even after she was in my arms, I couldn't stop shaking. What would I do if I lost one of my children? How would I bear it? How did you bear it?

Like most parents, I hate to see my kids suffer physically or emotionally. I'm their Mama Bear and I want to protect them with a fierceness only other moms can understand. Yet, there's only so much I can do. They're going to have to endure insults, scourges, and humiliation. They'll have crosses to carry. Sometimes I might be able to lighten their load, to kiss their tears away, to ease their suffering, to share the pains of their thorns, to put bandaids on their hurts. Other times all I'll be able to do is to take a step back, to helplessly watch, and to pray that through their suffering they will come to know your son with a deeper and more intimate love.

Mary, help me to be there for my children. Help me to defend them, to unconditionally love them, to pray for them, and to accept their suffering as a part of God's plan. But also help me to love those who hurt them, to forgive those who cause them pain. Dying on the cross, your son thirsted for souls. He went to all this trouble and endured great suffering. Yet, there are so many, myself included at times, who don't appreciate his sacrifice. We continue to crucify him with our own sins - no matter how small. It would be a lot easier to hate those who hurt him, to hate all of us who betray Christ with our actions (or our lack of action - say, being too tired to pray to him). Instead, you and your son choose to forgive and forgive and forgive and to love us all despite our weaknesses. Allow me to do the same.

Mary, thank you for being a model of motherhood and of faith. Thank you for drawing me closer to Christ's side as I pray, serve my family and others, and try to lead a Christian life. Help me to remember the redemptive value of sacrifice and that it is through my own and my children's suffering that we come to know your son.

I love you and long to be more like you.

Your Daughter

Mary Moments Needs You

From the blogging superstar Sarah:

"My gift to Mary is this month's Mary Moments, which will be hosted right here on Monday, May 25 (Memorial Day).

We'll be doing this Mary Moments a little differently, with a Mr. Linky so you can share your blog posts. You'll also be welcome to share in the comments too if you don't have a blog.

I'm hoping this will be an easier way for more people to be a part of Mary Moments, where we share our Mary-inspired thoughts, reflections, tips, and everything else. We'll focus on parenthood this time around, which doesn't mean you have to be a parent to participate. :) We all have an experience with parenthood, with someone who inspired us and helped us forward.

Spread the word and dig through your archives, if you don't have time to write something new (or if you haven't already written something in May)."

Be sure to visit Just Another Day of Catholic Pondering on Memorial Day to share your post.

Hail, Holy Queen!

Today, in honor of month of Mary, our homeschooling co-op had a processional across the church grounds to crown each of the five statues of our Holy Mother. Each child also had one flower to give to Mary, and we sang songs like Immaculate Mary and Sing of Mary as we adorned the statues with the crowns of flowers. At each statue, we prayed a decade of the Rosary after different children shared the following Marian stories:

St. Dominic and the Rosary

St. Catherine Laboure and the Miraculous Medal

St. Juan Diego and Our Lady of Guadalupe

St. Bernadette and Our Lady of Lourdes

Our Lady of Fatima

We ended our Marian procession with the Litany of Saints. It was such a lovely way to honor our Blessed Mother. I thought I'd share some photos from the event.

Our Lady's myriad crowns, handcrafted by one of our very talented moms



The children bring flowers to Mary



Here's Rae offering her blossom to Mary. Forgive the bad framing by the photographer (me). I didn't realize I didn't get all of Mary in the shot.



The first Mary



The second Mary



The third Mary



The fourth Mary



The fifth Mary



A closeup of one of Mary's flowers



Madeline at the procession

Mary Elizabeth's Birth Story

I've had some people ask about Mary Elizabeth's birth day, so I thought I'd share some labor day details.

I started having contractions on Saturday (April 4th) evening. They were mild but regular. They faded away for a few hours, but I woke up around 2 AM on Palm Sunday morning with more contractions that were a bit more intense.

That Sunday the contractions continued off and on, but I didn't really get serious until the afternoon. We decided to meet my parents near the hospital so they could pick up the girls. Dave and I didn't want to be stuck in the hospital, so we headed outdoors to enjoy the lovely spring day and I walked around, stopping to breathe through contractions. When I'd have a particularly intense contraction, I'd immediately think about how it was Palm Sunday. In fact, as I recently shared, this pregnancy and birth has made my Lent and Easter season so much more meaningful.

When I started to get really serious, we decided it was time to call my midwife. I was admitted to the hospital at 1:45 PM (she arrived shortly thereafter) and discovered I was 7 cm. I knew very little about the hospital since we'd learned only the day before that we'd be delivering there.

The nurses immediately wanted to hook me up to monitoring, something I don't like. I don't know how women endure labor when they're strapped to a bed.

Confined to the bed and monitor, my contractions immediately slowed down but when they came, they were much more difficult to get through. As soon as my midwife arrived, she took off the monitoring belts and told me I could walk around (she's a Godsend!). She proceeded to show Dave how putting pressure on my hips would ease some of the pain I was experiencing from back labor (I had back labor pain with my first as well).

Before long I was 8 to 9 cm with a bulging bag. At this point, my midwife suggested breaking my bag of waters. While I'm a stickler for not having any medically unnecessary interventions during labor and birth, I did decide to consent to this after talking to my husband and midwife - both of whom I greatly trust.

My water broke and the contractions were immediately more intense. Amazingly, I had Mary Elizabeth less than 10 minutes later. Just before her birth, I doubled over with my most painful contraction and my midwife (who is Catholic) gently squeezed my hand and whispered, "Offer it up." She then told me to push if I felt the urge to do so. I did push. I was still standing at this point. She suggested we pray a "Hail Mary" but before we could begin, I gasped, "She's here."

Our own Mary was actually already crowning. One more intense contraction and a big push later, and they were telling me to pull her onto my chest. I reached down and touched my baby for the first time, pulling her onto my chest. That's when the tears came. I couldn't stop crying. It was such a beautiful blur. I didn't even have time to prepare myself for the pushing stage. The nurses told me I'd pushed for about one minute before she literally popped out.

The hospital staff was wonderful and allowed me to snuggle skin to skin with Mary Elizabeth for quite some time before they performed her newborn assessment. She latched on easily and nursed for about 15 minutes almost immediately after being born. Meanwhile, I continued to cry while my husband stood by our side, watching over his girls.

I have so much to be thankful for - a beautiful birth experience; a supportive and amazing husband turned third-time dad; a skillful, faith-filled, and compassionate midwife who regards her work as a sacred vocation given to her by God himself; a healthy baby who's a nursing champ; two proud big sisters; the gift of motherhood; and an unforgettable Palm Sunday, Lenten journey, and an Easter where "new life" took on a whole new meaning as I held our newest addition in my arms.

Mary, I am so happy to be a mother to another child. Thank you for granting me a happy and safe delivery and being there with me in my own Bethlehem. I know that you are here with me now as I mother my little girls just as you nurtured our God and creator. Mary, I joyfully praise you and thank you for my bounty of blessings! Amen.

My Little Guardian

I've been wearing Mary's Miraculous Medal as we prepare for the birth of our third child. Yesterday Madeline noticed my necklace was twisted and used her tiny fingers to bring the chain back around so that the medal would no longer fall at the back of my neck.

While Madeline gently repositioned the medal, she said, "Here, Mommy. Let me fix your necklace so that Mary will be watching over the baby and not your neck."

Her words made me chuckle of course, but her sensitivity also tugged at my heart. As a mom, I'm supposed to be the one protecting my children. Yet, sometimes it seems our roles reverse, and they're the ones looking out for me.

Living a Life Worthy of my Calling

I'm still gestating. I'm also cutting back on computer time to soak up on life with my girls. So here's a rerun. (I'll probably be sharing a fair amount of recycled posts in the coming weeks as we adjust to our family of five.) I wrote a version of this post shortly before I was put on bed rest with our second child. I was struggling with patience and God helped me nurture this virtue by first reminding me to turn to Mary as a source of strength in my mothering journey. Then, like this pregnancy, he gave me a few weeks where I had to not only be still, but I had to pray for a patient baby, Mom, and heart. Likewise, it seemed a fitting repeat post since we recently celebrated the Feast of the Annunciation.

"I, then, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love..." (Ephesians 4:1-2)

Being a loving, Christian wife and mom is my calling, but I’m not sure I always live in a “manner worthy of the call…with humility and gentleness, [and] patience." But I do try and lately I’ve had to try a whole lot harder, especially with the whole patience thing. I’m nearly 33 weeks pregnant and the exhaustion that comes with sleepless nights due to constant trips to the bathroom and a wakeful 2-year-old is eating away at me and my patience. Instead of a fertile mama ready to ripen and give birth at any moment I feel more like a ticking bomb always on the verge of exploding. Whereas I once prided myself on being a patient mom who relied on firm but gentle discipline, in the past week I’ve “lost it” more times than I’d like to admit.

Then there’s the constant worry that consumes me: If I am this short-fused and tired now, how will I possibly make it once I have two needy night owls on my hands? And then the worry snowballs and I start to think that perhaps I'm not really cut out for this whole mothering gig. I want more kids and to be open to life, but pregnancy is tough for me (more emotionally than physically – I still worry far too much about my changing form and the number on the scale), and this flattening lethargy leaves me feeling hopeless sometimes.

Oh, and then there’s the guilt. The guilt that I'm questioning this God-given vocation at all. The guilt that I'm complaining about sleep deprivation when there are parents who have children dying of leukemia or parents who don’t have enough resources to feed their children. The guilt that I haven’t gotten down on my hands and knees and scrubbed our bathroom floors in weeks. The guilt that I’m sometimes too tired to make myself a healthful breakfast when my little lark pops out of bed, so I grab a granola bar that surely doesn’t satiate my growing baby. The guilt that I’m not being attentive enough to my husband. The guilt that I’m not updating this blog nearly as much as I’d planned on doing. The guilt that my prayer life has become only a footnote in this tome of my life where sleep is my only passion, obsession.

On Friday Madeline and I went to morning Mass and then crowned Mary with a small group of moms and kids from our homeschooling group. I stared at the peaceful statue of Mary, her head adorned with bright, pink blossoms and thought of her trials as a mom. Now I’m sure Jesus was the perfect sleeper – the kind of child who asked to go to bed and fell quickly asleep after quietly saying his prayers. Still, Mary surely bore other challenges as a mother. She understands the anxieties that beset me. She is familiar with the doubts I have of my calling to be a mom. She even knows the bodily and emotional suffering I have to "offer up" as an expectant mom. Yet, she never seemed to grumble or bemoan her maternal sacrifices or duties.

How did she do it? How did she endure suffering far greater burdens than chronic sleep deprivation? How did she stand at the foot of the cross and watch her only son, her beloved, die?

From the moment she said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord” and said yes to God’s profound call for her, she overcame all her fears and doubts by a loving and complete trust in God and an acceptance of his will for her.

I, too, must do the same.

I must trust that God will give me the graces to be the kind of mom I’m called to be and when I do stumble, He is there to help lift me up. As I prayed a decade of the rosary with fellow moms and all of our children, I also reminded myself that God gave me Mary, our Holy Mother, as a gift. She's always someone I can turn to as an example of maternal love, someone who can help me to live out this worthy calling with humility, gentleness and grace.

So today I turn to her. I ask God's own mother to be with me now as I face my fears, as I strive to live a life a that is full of grace and to live in a way that is worthy of this sublime calling to be a mother and a wife.

Small Successes 9

1.The baby is still staying put even after experiencing some more intense contractions last night.

2. While I was floating on my side in a warm bath per my midwife's recommendation last evening, I felt tears prickling behind my eyes. At first I tried to hold them back. Then I started praying to the Queen of Mothers who knew what it was like to be afraid but still chose to trust. I let the tears fall. I released them again this morning. I realized I was trying to hold many of my emotions in and act as if I was superhuman, that nothing would get me down. But in my tears, I left my hero cape behind, admitted I was afraid, and asked Mary to be a mother to me right now.

3. I'm using bed rest to catch up on some spiritual reading. I just started Grace Cafe: Serving Up Recipes for Faithful Mothering by Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle, and it's been just what I need as I find myself once again abiding in the eve of new motherhood.

Here's an excerpt from the book that applies to the small and big successes as well as the sufferings moms face throughout their mothering lives:

"The passing of time reminds us to be patient with our 'little' duties and our difficult ones, aware that 'this too shall pass' when we face the everyday challenges that beset us. We can be confident knowing that after we have fulfilled this piece of our mothering, we will soon be on to another phase--another season. Each moment is important. For our children's sake, let's try not to wish them away."

I'm so looking forward to the newborn season - when pregnancy is behind me, this precarious waiting is over ("This too shall pass!"), and my baby is in my arms. Yet, for the sake of my growing little one, I do not want to rush this necessary layover but to embrace it as another part of my mothering journey.

Share (and celebrate) your own and other moms' small successes at Faith & Family Live!

Carnival Updates

Catholic Carnival 203: Waiting in Joyful Hope is over at Catholic Fire. The Carnival has a lovely Advent theme and is worth checking out.

The next edition of Mary Moments is also available and is a wonderful compilation of posts honoring the Virgin Guadalupe, courtesy of all-star blogger Sarah.

Mary Moments Carnival: Call for Submissions

From uber blogger and fellow Catholic mom Sarah:

"In December, we will honor Our Lady of Guadalupe with our Mary Moments carnival. We welcome your feast day celebration ideas, traditions, recipes, or reflections. Do you have a special devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe? Have you felt a special bond with this image of Mary? Can you take a few moments to share it with us as we assemble a bouquet for Our Mother on this special feast day?

Submissions are due by December 12, using the online form or by emailing me at peerybingle [at] gmail [dot] com. If you don't have a blog, you can still participate! I'll post your entry as a guest post here. Mary Moments: Honoring Our Lady of Guadalupe will be live on December 15."

Let It Be

In college, I went through a crazy Beatles phase (I even briefly sang in a very amateur band that played Beatles covers), so I know Paul McCartney is referring to his mom and not the Virgin Mary in the song "Let It Be." Still, whenever I hear the song I find myself picturing Mother Mary coming to me and speaking words of wisdom I need to hear.

When I heard "Let It Be" playing on the radio the other day, for some reason I immediately thought of when Mary lost Jesus in the temple. When she finally finds him, the frantic mother rushes over to her son.

"Why have you done this to us?" she and Joseph ask.

Jesus replies, "Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?"

In other words, Jesus is saying, "Why are you worried about me? Don't you know what I'm all about?"

Like other times in Mary's life, she doesn't completely understand what's going on, but she accepts it and puts her trust in God.

It seems when Mary finds herself in times of trouble, she lets God's will be.

I could learn to do the same.

I can be a worrier. There's a part of me that thinks the more I worry, the more protection I'll have against future angst, even though experience tells me otherwise: that worrying is wasteful and does nothing to improve outcomes. And how can I be truly faithful when I have all these worries - everything from fretting about the future of our nation to money or health concerns - weighing down on my heart?

One of the best ways I've learned to deal with my worrisome tendencies is to try to "schedule" time for worry. This might be during prayer time or when I happen to be in the car alone. I give myself permission to worry about everything from my pregnancy (is the baby healthy?) to the fear that the slightly swollen lymph node behind my left ear is the first sign of lymphoma. I can be as dramatic as I want (obviously) and indulge in as much foreboding as I like, but when the time's up, I have to silence the chorus of worries in my head and enjoy the rest of the day.

When I'm tempted to worry outside of my scheduled fret fest or whenever I don't understand what has happened in my life or in the world, I make an effort to turn to Our Blessed Mother. For Mother Mary is the model of faith, hope, love, and of trusting God. She knows that there will be answer - maybe not now, maybe not 20 years from now - but God is not deaf to our questions, our petitions. Sometimes, while we wait, all we can do is to let it be.


"Let It Be"

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, .....

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be...

Achieving Real Beauty

Over at In God's Image, I recently wrote about my reluctance with having my daughters grow up to be beautiful women. I explained why:

“I've seen too many unhappy, beautiful girls to think it's something we should want (just think of so many of the Hollywood starlets who seem to have it all and end up in drug rehab programs or in an endless game of marriage roulette or with eating disorders). It's too exhausting to maintain beauty. Once you have it (or society says you do), you cling to it, thinking it's all you've got. Once you hit a size 0, you think that's what you have to stay to be anything (ironic isn't it that a size 0 used to be my favorite size because it made me feel like I was important when that number means an absence of anything). "

Then, later in the week, I was perusing an old prayer journal where I’d scribbled down “Canticle of Mary” and beside it the words “achieving real beauty.” This intrigued me. I read the Canticle of Mary or Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55), and the first and perhaps most famous lines jumped out at me: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”

I’ve always thought of Mary as beautiful. But it’s not because she wears flashy clothes, has lustrous hair and flawless skin, or a perfect body. It’s because her soul – her entire being – proclaims the greatness of the Lord. She is what every woman should strive to be: pious, humble, gentle but strong, feminine and blessed.

Once my preschooler was gazing up at a statue of Our Lady when she said, “Mommy, isn’t she pretty?”

“Yes,” I said. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world.

So I stand corrected. I do want my girls to be beautiful. As beautiful and lovely and worthy of roses as Mary.

Mary Moments Carnival: The Birthday Edition

Don't miss the latest Mary Moments Carnival where Sarah compiled a wonderful pile of presents...er....posts...in honor of Our Blessed Mother's birthday (celebrated on September 8th).

Tea with Mary

We’ve started a new ritual around our house. After quiet time we gather around the kitchen table, pull out Madeline’s silver-plated tea set from GG (Great Grandmother Jean) and fill its teapot with tea. (Although tea is sometimes optional – it's still hot down here in Georgia, so cold milk or water with a hint of lemon is often our beverage of choice). Our tea time doesn’t happen every day, but eventually I’d like it to be as much a part of our daily routine as teethbrushing. Something we always do.

During tea time, we sometimes act goofy. Sometimes we dip freshly-baked scones into our tea (make the scones with chocolate chips and you're in trouble). We always pray and use this time to talk about Mary. Yesterday we lit a candle in honor of Our Lady and another candle for Daddy, who was off taking an important test.

We also read from a lovely book a former homeschooling aunt of mine passed along to me called Leading Little Ones to Mary. The book offers a Marian program with the sole purpose of filling children with a genuine love and devotion to Mary. Although the book is designed for first graders and older (according to its intro), I’ve found it’s appropriate for preschoolers. Madeline loves imagining she is a “little Mary” going about her day with a mission of loving and serving others.

Now I know some of my Protestant sisters and brothers don’t understand the Catholic devotion to Mary. While I don't want to get into a theological discussion about the Marian doctrines, I will just mention this to briefly explain why I pray to Mary. In college, I belonged to an interdenominational Bible study and when the topic of Mary came up, I was asked in the charity of Christ why I sometimes prayed to her and not always to God. Likewise, I’ve heard non-Catholics cite 1 Timothy 2:5 as “proof” that we should not be praying to anyone but God. “For there is one God. There is also one mediator between God and the human race, Christ Jesus, himself human, who gave himself for ransom for all.” Yet, if you read further, you’ll see that Paul commands all Christians to be mediators and intercessors for all men. I’ve certainly had Christian brothers and sisters ask me for their prayers. So, then why shouldn’t I ask Mary for her prayers? Why is it impossible for me to believe that Mary can pray to her own son on our behalf?

For me, praying to Mary has always come natural and now even more so that I’m a mom. When I’m tired or frustrated or consumed by anxiety for my children’s welfare, I know there’s a mom – besides my own mom whom I often lean on for maternal empathy and advice – who’s been there.

Because of my own devotion to Mary, I want my children to know her, too. I want them to love her as I do. I want my girls to look to our Blessed Mother as the model of womanhood. I want them to pray the Rosary when they are grateful, sad, uncertain, joyous, sitting with their mommy sipping tea, and one day alone in their college dorms or when they, too, become parents.

This whole post is the result of a prompt I received from a friend inviting me to participate in the next Mary Moments Carnival. She asked, “What do you give a mother who has everything? What will your gift to Mary be this year?”

Here's my short answer: My gift to Our Lady is teatime with my girls. More importantly, it’s giving Our Blessed Mother more children to look after. My gift to Mary is my children.

Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Dear Mary,

Today Catholics celebrate your birth, but more importantly we celebrate you as a model of steadfast faith. Lately, I've been in a spiritual slump. God seems distant, aloof. Yet, I'm having trouble doing anything to bridge this gap between Him and me. So on your birthday, I give you the gift of my humble prayers and I ask you to give me the gift of faith. Make me believe in God's graces and be open to them.

Help me to not only believe and trust in Him, but help me to be a handmaid of the Lord. My fiats to God may be small in scope and impact compared to yours - in your saying yes to God you not only cooperated with His will for you and all of mankind, but you played a role in our salvation. However, I, too, have a chance to invite God to work in my life and to see how His plans will unfold for me. But the first step is to simply say yes to all that He asks of me. Be with me now and always and open my heart to God's calling.

Love,
One of your daughters

Broken and Blessed

It’s been said that creation is God’s first missionary. From personal experience, I know my own heart experiences a new conversion each time I give birth. As soon as I hold my baby in my arms for the first time, I find myself staring at this tiny bundle of perfection and I have a whole new appreciation for the phrase "child of God." This baby is not my own. I could not do this alone. She’s part of God’s creation – a tiny masterpiece with his love written on her heart.

My babies have all been perfectly formed (thanks be to God!), but how would I feel if one of my children did not turn out “perfect” as humans define the word? What if she had a disfigurement or a congenital anomaly? Would I still be as aware of God’s mighty work, or would I question him?

I hope I’d be like my friend, fellow mom and writer Cathy Adamkiewicz who recognizes that sometimes ten perfect fingers and toes means squat when it comes God’s creation and a child’s ability to bring others to Christ.

In Cathy’s poignant book Broken and Blessed, a memoir of sorts, she tells the story of her “beautiful child, perfectly planned by God, and the work she was to accomplish." Her baby Celeste was born with a heart defect and only lived four short months before returning to her Father's care.

Broken and Blessed is about many things: grief, trusting God, knowing when it’s time to let go, the meaning of suffering, a mother’s undying love for her child, but one of the most beautiful themes that stood out to me was how this tiny baby truly was a missionary. She preached with her life and taught others about human diginity and the meaning of suffering.

"A person is a person no matter how small." These are the famous words of Dr. Seuss's Horton, who could be called a pro-life elephant since he recognizes life even when we can’t see it.

Similarly, a person is also a person no matter how sick or how much they suffer. “Our value is not in our doing, but in our being,” writes Cathy.

Although Cathy deals with many compassionate healthcare providers throughout her and Celeste's ordeal, there is one doctor who seemed to be blind to the dignity that is inherent in every single human being – no matter how weak or small, no matter if the only thing they “do” is silently suffer surrounded by a maze of medical tubes. The medical community often talks about quality of life, but Cathy points out that all life has quality. We are all important. Celeste’s life was heartbreakingly brief, but it was still meaningful. And important. Very important, in fact. For this little baby was responsible for at least one conversion. A woman who had been away from the church for 11 years returned home after watching Celeste’s brave dad faithfully return his daughter to God.

"[Celeste's] suffering was worth it if even one soul comes to Christ because of her," Cathy writes.

Would I have that much faith and hope wrapped up into my suffering? I hope so. Honestly, as a mom I can’t imagine enduring what Cathy went through, but there’s another mom who can: Our Blessed Mother. Throughout the book, you can see that Cathy’s devotion to Mary is a source of strength.

Just as Mary stood helplessly by and watched her only son endure horrific agonies, Cathy could not do anything to save her baby. She couldn't even hold her baby much. She ached to nurse her baby girl, to dress her in frilly dresses, and to just rock her – all these mommy moments we often take for granted. Yet, although she certainly questioned, "Why?" and uttered many prayers on behalf of her hurting baby, Cathy, like Mary, recognized that God had called Celeste from the moment of conception to do his work.

Cathy writes, “Each of us here is a reflection of God, a unique person with a mission from Him, a vessel of His grace.”

Mary accepted God’s will for her and her son. Cathy did the same, even when she did not understand, even when she was angry (and she admits that she most certainly did feel angry at times).

She’s able to take her pain and her daughter’s and not leave it broken like the jagged pieces of shattered glass, but together and whole – a reflection of unwavering faith and hope in the redemptive power of suffering. She's able to say, "Jesus, I trust in you," during the most trying moment of her life - a sign of true faith.

At one point, Cathy imagines a conversation between Christ and her daughter. She writes,

“Like me, you will be a sign of contradiction. You will be innocent and pure, but you will live a life of pain. It will be hard for some to understand, but the eyes of many will be opened by my grace, and I will use you to bring many souls to my heart. When you return to me, we will never again be separated. I choose you, Celeste. Are you ready to go?”

Celeste Marie means “heavenly Mary." What a fitting name, for this tiny baby who says, "Yes."

Cathy, thank you for your tremendous faith. Thank you for being a model of faith to all moms who have had to helplessly watch a child die. Thank you for sharing the story of one of the world’s tiniest missionaries and the mom who loved her child and her God enough to trust them both and to let them do their important work.