The Ordinary

Today is the first day of ordinary time.  And I had a bit of a revelation about that.  As I packed up the Christmas decorations, feeling a twinge of sadness at the holiday being over, I realized that we are made for the ordinary.  Holidays and feast days are extraordinary - days the Chruch sets aside to give us strenth, to revive and renew us.  We walk toward the extraordinary - Heaven - every day, and hope to spend eternity there one day.  But here on earth, we are meant to be in the ordinary.

But it's not a sad yearning.  We don't pack our grace away like Christmas decorations in boxes, never to be opened until the next year.  These graces are meant to be carried with us, so that the ordinary is decorated all year long with the grace of the extraordinary.  As with the mass, we are not meant to leave our faith in the church when we leave on Sunday, but to carry it with us into the world where we live - to change hearts, minds and lives, always beginning with our own.

Just as with Sunday mass, we know that we do not walk blindly without direction or purpose.  Our daily journey always points pack to the extraordinary - to the Heavenly banquet we know will one day be ours for all eternity.  Don't mourn the passing of the Christmas season.  Carry it with you as you being to walk once again in ordinary time.  Allow the mystery of Christ born as man to renew your heart every day, and carry that with you as you journey in your everyday life - your gaze always set on the extraordinary life that awaits, that we are so blessed to taste, if only in small glimpses here on earth.

May the grace of the Christmas season sustain us all, and renew each step we take on our earthly journey towards Heaven!

Our Angel Gabriel

A few weeks ago, Jeff and I discovered that I was having a miscarriage. We barely would have known because I was so early along, except that I have been through miscarriage once before. I had taken pregnancy tests as recently as two weeks before the miscarriage occured, which came out negative. However when I suspected that I was miscarrying, I took another test which came out positive. One more little angel for us.

I had suspected I was pregnant a few weeks before Advent began. I had put on a few pounds, my midsection was starting to shift, and my pants were getting tighter. My youngest son whom I was still breastfeeding started getting fussy and refusing his feedings - usually the biggest sign that I am pregnant, because my milk changes and the baby doesn't like it anymore. I took a few tests, which, as I mentioned, came out negative. I became obsessed with checking, watching my weight like crazy and taking pregnancy tests every few days. I felt like I just HAD to know what was going on! As Advent approached however, the Lord began to convict me that I needed to trust in Him. And so, the week before Advent began, I resolved to neither weigh myself nor take a pregnancy test until the fourth week of Advent. In preparation for the feast of the Nativity, I would truly enter into Mary's expectant waiting by mirroring it, as best I could, in my own life. I did so fully expecting to have joyful news to announce to family and friends, just in time for Christmas.

Not long into the second week of Advent, I began to bleed. I assumed it was my period, and I was completely dumbfounded and confused at how I possibly could have misinterpreted things so badly. Up until that point I was certain I was pregnant, and I felt a sense of loss that there would be no baby, at least not yet. It wasn't until the second day of my bleeding that the full picture of what was going on became evident. It began to be less like a period, and more like what happens in the days following the birth of a child. It also was very similar to what had happened when I miscarried for the first time in 2005. Jeff and I both agreed that I should take a pregnancy test, in the event that we were losing a child, because we wanted to know if a life had been created. And indeed, it had.

I felt very clearly initially that the Lord didn't want me to give up hope, and so I didn't. As the days went on however, it became more evident. When we entered Advent with the hope that we were expecting, we had talked about naming the baby Gabriel, in honor of the season of waiting, and Gabriel's message of hope to Mary. Now as we simultaneously rejoiced over another precious child created, and were saddened by his loss, it seemed to be the most fitting. And so it came to be that our seventh child Gabriel was conceived, and now lives in Heaven with his brother John Paul, where we know we can joyfully expect to be reunited one day.

When you miscarry so early, it's hard to really decipher how you feel about things. Of course you feel a sense of loss - but I'm sure it's not the same as it is for women who are further along. And I think the real message for me is that same sense I had from the very beginning signs of miscarriage - that God wants me to hope. I am not sharing this for anyone to be sad for us, but simply because whenever a child is conceived, it is something to be celebrated. I want people to know that we are not a family of seven, but of nine, and that these two children exist and are just as precious to us as the ones we are blessed to hold here on earth.

As parents, the best we can ever hope for is to lead our spouse and our children to Heaven. Every day I hope and pray that I won't mess it up for them - that my own sins and failings which I see reflected in them won't keep them away from God. For two of my children, I know the battle has been won. We all count on their prayer, and feel their love. Each night as we say the rosary, we all ask our patron Saints (whom each of us are named after) to pray for us, and as the kids each announce their own Saint, Jeff asks the intercession of Blessed John Paul II and St. Gabriel on behalf of the children we know join us whenever we pray as a family.

Through his short life, our little Gabriel has succeeded in drawing us ever closer to God. Through the season of Advent he united our hearts with our Blessed Mother and Saint Joseph, and helped to point us in expectant hope to our Lord Jesus. As we draw closer to the feast of our Saviour's birth, I hear the same words spoken by his namesake, the great Archangel: "Be not afraid! For behold, I bring you good news of great joy." And I really do feel that God is doing great things in our lives, and it's only going to get better.

Praise God for the gift of marriage, and the way that it allows us to share in a love so perfect, as Scott Hahn says, "in nine months it needs to be given a name!" We hope and pray this will not be our last little one, but of course, nobody can know that. What I do know is that we are eternally grateful for the five little souls we share a house with every day, and the two that have taken up their dwelling in Heaven. And if God chooses to honor us with another little one, it would be our supreme joy to say, "Yes!" once more!

Anxious Waiting

I don't have too much trouble with anxiety, but every now and then it sets in, for no apparent reason. Such was the case this morning. I can't explain it, but I just had this worried feeling gripping me.

I'm trying to make this advent season about preparing my heart for the birth of Jesus, and part of that has been to listen to Advent music, and save the real Christmassy stuff for Christmas. As I was buzzing about in my worry, listening to my Advent playlist, the song, "Magnificat" by Steve Bell (which is a cover of the John Michael Talbot song of the same name) came on. The Magnificat is the prayer that Mary prayed after the angel Gabriel appeared to her, asking her to be the mother of God. It is a beautiful prayer, the words of which are:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, and my spirit exults in God my saviour.
For He has looked with mercy on my lowliness, and my name shall be forever exalted.
For the mighty God done great things for me, and His mercy will reach from age to age.
And Holy is His name!

Everything stopped for me as I listened to the words of our Blessed Mother's prayer, and it occured to me the utter foolishness of my situation - that I have nothing to worry about, and yet have given myself over to it: yet Mary was faced with what must have been the most fearful position in the world, second only to the suffering of her Son. You, Mary, barely a teenager and engaged to be married, will conceive a child who will be the Saviour. Yikes! And her response was total abandon, and praise of the Lord. I believe she was joyful, but that the joy came as a result of her prayer, and not the other way around.

Sometimes when we get into a mood, it takes deliberate action and prayer to bring us out of it. We can't wait until we feel at peace to pray - sometimes we have to put on our raincoat, and enter into the storm. This is the example of our Blessed Mother, and this is the message of Advent. We don't know when the Lord is coming again, and He may seem so far away. But despite that, if we pray and turn our hearts to the Lord, only then will we - as our Blessed Mother - enter more fully into the joy that He promises.

My Buddy

Stephen is my absolute middle child. Number 3 of 5 children, he is also at what I consider to be one of the most difficult ages of toddlerhood (4). He is strong-willed and determined, which are in and of themselves wonderful attributes to have. However, for a four-year-old who just will not be quiet at mass because he is so intent on asking you (not in his church voice, either) why those lights are up there on the ceiling, and just will not take "I don't know", "because Fr. Mike put them there", "to light up the church", or any other variation for an answer, it can be quite trying.

I was sick yesterday with a bad cold. When we walked into mass, the kids started to be quite themselves for their ages, and I prayed, "Lord, please give me the strength to be loving with them today, and not to snap at them if they misbehave." I was so very impressed with the good behavior that resulted from all of the kids, but most especially from Stephen. The Friday before we had been at a holy hour, and I timed him out at least ten times (yes, you can time your children out during adoration, haha!). We were the loudest family there, and I was at the end of my rope.

Most of our stuggle comes with just getting him to sit still and not roll around everywhere (which, at four years old, is something he should be capable of, at least for a few minutes at a time). With my older boys, if they are fidgeting or not standing when they are supposed to, I discovered that if I hold out my hand to them, they will reach up for me. Then, simply by holding their hand they will stand up. I'm not sure why, but it's so much better than disciplining them, because they choose it for themselves. And it becomes something to affirm them, not to correct them.

So I put my hand out for Stephen (who was laying on his back on the pew), but he wasn't having it. He rolled around completely ignoring me. I always try to get them to look into my eyes before I say something to them, but he wouldn't even look at me. I could feel my blood starting to boil, and suppressed the urge deep within me to just yank him up out of his seat and say, "YOU STAND NOW BECAUSE I SAID SO AND DO NOT IGNORE ME!!!" Instead, I remembered that he is my buddy.

Earlier in the summer, I began using the buddy system with my kids. If we are going out somewhere, I pair the older ones with a little one to help them get ready, and hold each other's hands while we're out (I had seen it on 19 Kids and Counting). They all responded really well to it, but Stephen did in particular. I noticed that when he played with his older brothers, he started calling them his buddies, and it really meant something special to him. He made up this saying, "buddies always stay together." It has been great, because as the third boy (and with the next child being a girl), I notice that often he get left out of what the older kids are doing, and that he didn't seem to have the same bond as the older boys did. This new concept of a buddy gave him something special to attach to them, and deepened his feelings for them (and they for him). I could get the older boys to do anything for him if I reminded them that he was their buddy. It was beautiful!

So there in the church, faced with the iron will of my four-year-old, and praying for the strength not to just loose it on him right there, my hand still outstretched I said, "hey buddy?" He turned and looked at me with his sweet little smile, took my hand, and stood up straight and still beside me. For the rest of mass, anytime he started to get out of hand I would do the same thing, and my buddy was happy to pay attention and stand beside me.

I watched a documentary about elephants recently. In elephant families everyone follows a matriarch, and the bond with her is so strong that the elephants will turn away even from hunger if she calls to them. I realized at mass that the same can be true for the kids, that if I call on the strength of my bond with Stephen, instead of being stern, he will respond with his affection for me. Don't get me wrong, I know there are times when strict discipline is required. But far too often I think I go to that first, out of desparation. And yesterday, feeling completely empty and drained of myself, I cried out to God and He gave me the grace to see that there is another way, a better way.

Thank you Lord, for showing me that without you I don't have what it takes - but that with you, and in You, I have everything I need to treat my children with the love and respect they so deserve.

The Best Job in the World

When I was growing up, I always loved kids. My cousin and I used to fight for the attention of our many younger cousins. At family gatherings we were willing babysitters to exhausted parents who wanted a break, and I loved every minute of it. I always used to say that if working in day care paid better, that would have been my career.

Funny though, I've tried the babysitting thing. And it's not enough to love kids, I don't think. There is a special kind of person who is called to do that for a living, and my children have been blessed to be cared for by a couple of them. But it's not me. What I have discovered though, is that my ideal job does indeed involve being around kids all day, but that the pay is even much less than that of a daycare worker. It is, of course, a mother.

I was out with my kids earlier today, and I realized how much I really, truly enjoy spending time with them. I always have, but now I don't feel as though a million other things are dividing my attention. On previous maternity leaves I have had the luxury of a part-time sitter, where I could drop the kids off if I had errands to run, or just wanted a day to myself once a week. That, however, would now cost me upwards of $50 just to drop the kids off for one day, and I have a hard time justifying that. The result? Now Jeff does most of the errand running, and whenever I go in town I bring everyone - which means we do something fun together (I'm not one to waste a trip).

People always say they don't know how I do it, and I know they never quite believe me when I say that having more children makes a lot of things easier. I found it way more difficult to get around with three babies than I do with my five children, because the two older boys are older and much more capable of helping me round the little ones up. And I've had seven years of getting around to figure out the best (and most efficient) way to do it. And I'm learning not to put too much pressure on myself - if I make it anywhere at all, it's an accomplishment. I don't stress about being late when I'm on my own with the kiddies.

You would think that having more kids would make you busier, but for me it's the opposite. It is crystal clear the things I cannot do anymore, so I just don't do them. Instead, I get to spend my days enjoying this journey with the best companions a girl could ask for. And that is the best job in the world!

Catholic Guilt

These days, I am feeling strongly convicted that I need to be more kind to my children. My three oldest boys share a bedroom. For the past several months bedtime has been tricky, as the youngest of the three Stephen has a difficult time settling down, keeping the older ones (and in fact, the entire household) awake. Our solution has been to sit outside their room after they go to bed, and speak swiftly and sternly at the first sign (or rather, sound) of disruption. It has been working pretty well.

Last night when the boys went to bed, Timothy was upset. I tried my best to comfort him, but (as is common with Timothy) there was nothing I could say to calm him down, and so I ended up having to leave the bedroom while he was still crying. Not long after I left, I heard the slow creak of the door opening. Thinking it to be the cat, I jumped up and started shushing at the door. Only then did I discover that it was Stephen, up out of bed. I reacted with a harsh, "you get back to bed!" It was only when I was tucking him back in that he said, "but Timothy's still crying." I looked at his little face, and my heart broke. He was pouting, and he was really upset. He was concerned for his brother, and I thought he was just being defiant (and treated him that way). I felt like mean Miss Hannigan in "Annie".

People often speak about Catholic guilt, but I think those people must not truly understand the heart of God, and His intentions in providing guidance through the teachings of the Church. It is precisely the teachings of the Church that bring me comfort in times like this. God wants me to be patient with the kids not because He wants me to feel bad about times like this, but because He knows that I will not be happy if I am constantly giving in to my emotions. He knows that by learning to control my impulses, I will see the bigger picture, and that in being loving in all situations, I will be happier myself, and make my children happier as well. And when I do fall short, as I so often do, it is the teachings of my faith that help me to know I am not stuck there, and that I am not an awful person. We all sin and fall short of the glory of God, but forgiveness is just a breath away (the breath it takes to form the words to ask for it), and once received, brings us to a place where we have a fresh start.

Today is my fresh start, this very moment. And I am so grateful for the faith that brings that to me. In the Catholic Church I find not teachings that guilt and shame me, but guidance that helps me grow more into the person God wants me to be. A person who is happy, a person who is free, and above all, a person who loves God and His people (especially those entrusted to my care) above everything else.

Culture of Life

I think most often, people think that being open to life is the job of parents. As Catholics, we vow to accept children lovingly from God, and it is a vow Jeff and I take very seriously. We know that each little one we bring into this world helps us to become more of the person God intended us to be. But we also know that the buck doesn't stop with us. Because being open to life is an attitude not just for the parents, but for the entire community surrounding the family. And it doesn't stop once the baby is born, it continues for the rest of their lives.

We are so incredibly blessed to have two sets of parents who bend over backwards to help with our children. If too much time goes by without us calling them, they are calling us saying, "Can we come see the kids? We miss them!" They are always willing and ready to watch some or all of the kids if we need to run an errand, or just take a break. We are so fortunate, because not everyone has this. If it wasn't for their openess to life, our children wouldn't have half the life they have now. And we would find it much more difficult to be good parents without their love and support. Whenever anyone tells us what good parents we are, I say that we couldn't be good parents if our parents weren't first good to us.

Not only do we have awesome parents, but we also have a great network of family and friends who love and support us in our journey as parents. Whenever we have friends over, they are all eager playmates for our children. And when we bring our kids on outings, we find in them extra hands to help look after the kids. When we show up at friends' houses, they are happy to have us all over, even when they know it will mean their place could quite possibly be turned upside-down! They don't shy away from including us because we have children, and never act as though they are a burden. Some of our childrens' best friends are in fact our friends, and it makes me so happy that for Jeff and I, having a good time with friends can include our children as well. We are building happy memories as a family that I know will benefit our kids for years to come.

So my challenge to everyone reading this today is this - whatever your stage in life, whether you have children or not, make it your mission to be open to life by supporting young families. Jeff and I are infinitely grateful for the support we receive on a daily basis. We could not do this without you!