Children Are Always Recording Audio and Video (My Nanny Diary)

Any time children are partially awake and conscious, you can be fairly certain they are recording everything you say and do, even if they seem to be totally occupied with whatever fun, possibly noisy toy currently in hand. 

If you have an infant or are around toddlers or any young children, it’s a good time to reprogram your vocab to G-rated and fine-tune your shut-up filter, because everything you say (and do) can and likely will be repeated generally at the most inopportune time.  Any words shouted or said with any sort of extra emotion will be the most likely candidates for new vocabulary acquisition. 

That’s why so many kids learn “NO!” very early on, because they hear it all the time.  “Up” and “down” are two other ones children tend to learn very early.  Seinfeld does a great bit where he talks about this phenomenon.    

Many Occasions for Humility

There’s no way around it, really; whatever you say can and will be used against you.  It provides many occasions for humility (in case being peed, pooped, spit-up, thrown-up, and sneezed on hasn’t produced a sufficient amount of that in your life, yet.)

   
 Having spent a lot of time working with and caring for children of a variety of ages, I’ve gotten pretty darn good about keeping exclamations—even in the midst of an emergency or crisis—G-rated around little people.  I figure I’ve already had enough explaining to do when I have a little one shouting things like: “Where my ho’?” on the playground.  I did actually have this happen to me and quickly rephrased the question for the little tike so as not to be shunned from the church playground forever: “You mean: Where’s my gardening tool?” 

He had been helping his parents working in the garden recently, and there was a plastic hoe and other gardening tools in the sandbox in that playground area, but that’s certainly not what it must have sounded like to the other mommies and nannies at the playground that day. 

   
I’m all for encouraging kids to learn the proper names for things, but only when it doesn’t get us kicked out of the sandbox.  I’m sure it didn’t help a whole lot that when a car would drive by with really loud rap music playing that the same little one would stop whatever he was doing on the playground and start his bounce dancing.       

      
Sometimes it’s hard not to laugh when kids come out with something you know they must have heard at home that couldn’t possibly have been intended to be repeated anywhere. ever.  I’ll admit I laughed hysterically when I was reading a book by Anne Lamott in which she talks about how she came to the realization that she and her son had gotten in the habit of using some words that were inappropriate.  I can’t in good conscience quote exactly what either of them said (as it’s not G-rated), but if you’d like to read it directly (and I think you’ll want to), you can find that particular excerpt of Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.

     Minor Misunderstandings

They will happen all of the time anyway, because kids fill in the words that they think you said or make up their own when recounting a story.  Case in point, just this morning we had the following exchange:  

   
“Dad is a she,” Sunshine said.

    
“Your dad is a he.  Your mom is a she,” I replied.

   
“My mom is not a sheep!” she said emphatically with more than a little attitude working.

   
I explained that I did not call her mom a sheep, but I’m not sure if that really sank in, so I informed her mother of the conversation because I knew she’d be amused and also in case later during dinner or bedtime she recounted to her mom what she thought I’d said.       

    
We had quite a few mishaps when my youngest sister, who is 11 years younger than I am, would repeat and/or mess up something one of us had said and announce it to family, friends, guests, etc. at the most awkward times.  Some of the mix-ups were just plain hilarious. 

Once my cousin had been telling us a story about how she'd been visiting UC Berkeley and had seen two women walking around holding hands wearing nothing but tie-dyed socks.  She added that she didn't think the two of them had ever seen a razor.  Most of this went right over my youngest sister's head.  Later when my sister was retelling the story to someone, I heard her say that “the two women looked liked they'd never seen a raisin.”  Then she added, "I don't know how she could tell that, though."

    

Running commentary

As those who know me are already aware, I absolutely love spending time with little ones.  It isn’t long before I go into “running commentary” mode where, for purposes of learning and language acquisition, I describe everything around us and all the things we’re doing as we go.

    
I did this so often on walks with “my little guys” that they got to the point when they’d know what was coming next and get excited and tell me before I had a chance to say a word: fire station, library, church with bells that ring and that at noon and 6pm play two songs…  

   
I’m glad to know I haven’t lost this valuable time-with-toddlers instinct from my earlier days as a nanny.  Apparently my “running commentary” switch still works.  That being said I don’t need it or use it quite as much when there’s also a preschooler in the house, because her commentary is pretty much always running.  And by that I mean, pretty much whenever she’s awake her mouth is running, which can be as amusing and entertaining as it can be exhausting and annoying when it goes on for hours.  

In short, it’s easier to tone it down a tad when little ones are in earshot, so you are less likely to find yourself explaining to a concerned adult how it is that your child knows certain words, phrases, or exclamations. 

     

7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 16)

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All Mainstream Media Writers Need to Know about Covering the Catholic Church: I’ve found two articles: How to Report on the Catholic Church and the other The Anti-Catholics Guide to Catholic Comboxes that cover the fundamentals that new writers, journalists, and bloggers in the mainstream media will ever need to know to move up in the world of unfounded, who-needs-the-facts reporting on the Roman Catholic Church.  Perhaps these two pieces could be combined in a quick reference desktop format. 

These pieces are as wickedly funny as they are disturbingly true.  Guys, thanks for keeping us laughing while keeping it real!

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Running commentary: As those who know me are already aware, I absolutely love spending time with little ones.  Last Sunday, I had the opportunity to take care of one of my favorite little people while her parents went to Mass (Kevin and I had gone to another one).  I took Vivi outside to walk around and play behind our church.  It wasn’t long before I went into “running commentary” mode where, for purposes of learning and language acquisition, I describe everything around us and all the things we’re doing as we go.

I did this so often on walks with “my little guys” that they got to the point when they’d know what was coming next and tell me: fire station, library, church with bells that ring and at noon and 6pm play two songs…  I’m glad to know I haven’t lost this valuable time-with-toddlers instinct from my days as a nanny.  Apparently my “running commentary” switch still works.

 

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The Power of the Sacraments:  Last Saturday evening, Kevin and I were reminded in a moving way of the power of the sacraments.  We went to Mass to support a friend who was coming into the Catholic Church.  We’d met Andrea (Andi), his fiancée, and knew her only a little better than Stephen.  We had no idea which Sacrament(s) of Initiation Stephen would be receiving.  We weren’t sure if family members and friends were coming from out of town to support him.  Truth be told, his roommate John didn’t even know the who or what, just the when and where for the event, but I guess that’s not a shocker since guys don’t tend to deal too much with details...

...It was beautiful to see the joy and anticipation on Stephen’s and Andi’s faces.  Seeing the two of them together on such a special day reminded me how incredible it felt when Kevin first started coming to Mass with me because he wanted to be there, participate in the Sacraments, and live what he learned.  Faith has been very important to Andi, and I was really excited for her as well, because I know how significant it is to have the love of your life open his heart to the Lord.  To read about the wonderful evening, click here.

    

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She’s movin’ out and up: Last week, I helped my youngest sister pack and load up for her move to Ohio for her sophomore year at The Ohio State University.  I was trying to find the piece I’d begun writing on the experience, but then I remembered I’d saved it on my mom’s computer since ours was still in the shop.  It’s probably just as well, for now, since it was not the smoothest move out of the mother nest, though it definitely can’t beat our worst family move ever.    

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Word to You Mothers:  All will be well.  If this isn’t the perfect description of motherhood, I don’t know what is.  My comment to the tired mommy: Actually, the doing your best but dead tired and desperately in need of the Lord’s mercy and forgiveness pretty much sums up the exhausted but got to keep going point for any vocation that is so very demanding in mind, body, and spirit.  The gift in all of this is that you are aware of the Lord’s love, His many blessings, and you treasure the precious moments with your children, can laugh at some of the inconveniences, and draw closer to the Our merciful Father in the midst of the storm… 

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Recording Equipment On: We had quite a few mishaps when my youngest sister, who is 11 years younger than I am, would repeat and/or mess up something one of us had said and announce it to family, friends, guests, etc. at the most inopportune times.  Some of the mix-ups were just plain hilarious. 

Once my cousin had been telling us a story about how she'd been visiting UC Berkeley and had seen two women walking around holding hands wearing nothing but tie-dyed socks.  She added that she didn't think the two of them had ever seen a razor.  Most of this went right over my young sister's head.  Later when sister was retelling the story to someone and I heard her say that the two women looked liked they'd never seen a raisin.  Then she added, "I don't know how she could tell that, though."

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Out of the Convent: As you know, I’m super-excited about this weekend because my favorite Catholic singer is coming to town!  I never thought I’d get to see Danielle Rose perform live (as she was in a cloistered convent for two years before discerning God wanted her to come out and continue her ministry as a music missionary).  Danielle Rose is coming to our church to do two free concerts this weekend.  If you’re in the area, join us!  Unable to make it to these awesome events, check out her website to read more about her education, vocation, amazing music, and her ongoing discernment.  Also take a look at the organization China Little Flower to whom she’s donating the proceeds from her fall concerts.  

Head over to Conversion Diary, to read Jen Fulwiler's wonderful tradition of 7 Quick Takes Friday.

In Memory of Our Fathers

My husband Kevin I didn’t plan or do anything special for Father’s Day since neither of our fathers or grandfathers are still living.  It actually feels weird to walk by greeting card displays filled with Father’s Day cards and hear other people talking about what they’re going to do to celebrate with their dads. 

     
Kevin and I were up in Rochester, New York (where both of my parents and my husband grew up) the last Father’s Day June 2009 when my dad James Niermeyer was alive, so we didn’t get to spend it with him.  Fortunately, we did get to celebrate his birthday with him that year, while the rest of the family was up having their summer vacation on Lake Ontario. 

     
I created a web page a while ago as a tribute to my dad, James Niermeyer, his oldest brother, Robert Niermeyer, as well as Kevin’s mom and dad, Joyce and Harry Potter.  (Yes, that’s really his dad’s name.  Don’t believe me?  Look at their gravestone and the obituary.)  To check out the pictures, articles, obituaries, and stories, click here. 

The Fourth of July: My Favorite Independence Day Celebration

My favorite Independence Day I spent with Kevin and his family in Rochester, New York, on Lake Ontario. I was used to having a cook-out with my parents and sisters and usually going somewhere to see a legal fireworks display, but the Fourth of July at the cottage with Kevin’s family was something entirely different.

It was one big fun free-for-all. Kevin’s sisters, his nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, and cousins by the dozens had a tradition of gathering at the cottage on July 4th to enjoy a fun-filled day of playing, eating, talking, swimming, boating, and of course watching fireworks. Both sides of Kevin’s family were milling in and out of the cottage throughout the day and into the night.  Friends would show up to talk for a bit. Neighbors came by to say hi.

The weather for my first big summer party at the cottage was nice and sunny. The badminton net was set up in the yard. The water wasn’t too choppy for boating. The tide was low enough there was a decent strip of beach available for building sandcastles (and later a bonfire). The grill had been cleaned and was ready to go. We had tons of food. Hamburgers, hot dogs, potato chips, corn on the cob, his dad’s famous fruit salad, huge slices of watermelon, all kinds of drinks as well as plenty of sunscreen and bug spray to share.
  
Kevin and I played some intense games of badminton. Normally, the two of us played the way my family prefers when no one else was around—meaning no net, no boundaries, just keep the birdie in the air at all costs. But I agreed to play with the actual rules, boundaries, a net, and keeping score.
  
After we finished a doubles match, Kevin and I got Popsicles and sat on the porch eating them while his cousins played. One of his cousins started doing sound effects that made the pair of them even more hilarious to watch. Every single time he swung, he would grunt or groan like the Wimbledon players do. He even shouted out the score with a British accent. Good times, good times.
 
I’m not sure if it was before, after, or during my first Independence Day celebration with Kevin’s family that I learned about some of their previous Fourth of July bashes. Kevin told me that one year someone on shore set off a bottle rocket which hit the boat that he and his friends were in. The bonfire they had every year usually got so big it would set the deck and/or the neighbor’s tree on fire. This tradition prompted Kevin’s aspiring firefighter friend to stand at the ready with the garden hose. (Said friend is now a volunteer firefighter in East Rochester. No really, he is.)
  
My first year being a part of these holiday traditions, Kevin and I went out on the boat to watch the fireworks. It was awesome to see the fireworks from out in the water. The reflection of the lights on the water and the increased visibility—usually trees, houses, a stage, or something were in the way of me seeing the entire spectrum of the show—made the night that much more spectacular.
 
The big display of fireworks set off from Charlotte Beach was on our left and the significantly smaller, definitely illegal fireworks show put on by Kevin’s family members was to our right. We held each other close as we let out the necessary oohs and ahhs that, of course, enhance any light show.
  
Fun, food, fireworks, laughter, and romance—what a great mix! Hope your Independence Day includes at least three of those ingredients. Happy Fourth of July!

Interview with the author of Sabbath Presence & Meal Stories

Brief Bio: Kathleen (Casey) Ferguson is a cradle Catholic who went on Encounter with Christ in college and made her Cursillo in 1998 at Mary Mother of the Church Abbey in Richmond, VA. She has since served on a number of Cursillo teams and also completed the Spiritual Direction Institute (SDI) program with Monsignor Chester Michael. She has written two spiritual books: Meal Stories and Sabbath Presence. She has two adult children and belongs to St. Gabriel parish where she participates in group reunion, is on the Feast Team, and serves as a Eucharistic Minister.  She works as a Speech Language Pathologist in Richmond, VA.

Note: I conducted the below interview, and it originally appeared in The Rooster Review August 2006.

How did you come to write Sabbath Presence?
I was part of a Jubilee Committee, and Sabbath was the first of the Jubilee values. It was simple, clear cut, important, but the invitation to observe Sabbath was not well-received in the parish.

What writing process do you use?
I mostly used Lectio Divina which has four parts: read, recite, respond, rest. I read Scripture, meditated on it, had a conversation with God, and then did twenty minutes of centering prayer at the end. I used different types of Lectio Divina and my prayer journal to write both books. My first one was Meal Stories. I wrote both books because God instructed me “pray, read Scripture, and write your experience.” So I wrote to be obedient. A series of coincidences brought about the publication of the first one. I thought that was all God had in mind for me to do. The publisher called to ask if I was writing another one, and I said, “No, I’m a therapist, not a writer.” When asked if I was currently working on anything, I said I was preparing a retreat on Sabbath and that it could in no way be expanded into a book.

What was your experience writing this book?
It has been an awakening of dissatisfaction and holy longing. It was much more disturbing to write this one than Meal Stories. I finished it almost because I couldn’t do it anymore.

What spiritual books would you recommend?
The Gift of Being Yourself by David G. Benner
True Self/False Self by Richard Rohr
Why Not Be a Mystic? by Frank X. Tuoti
Street Spirituality by Robert J. Wicks
New Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton

The Very Hungry Caterpillars Crawl Again

     Lately, many kids at school have spent the majority of their time on the playground searching for caterpillars. Because some 3-5 year olds aren’t as gentle as others, we began to enforce a look but don’t touch rule. Each time someone spotted one crawling along, he or she shouted to everyone to come and see. One teacher began saving the caterpillars the children found by moving them on a paddle, piece of mulch, or a stick to a tree outside of the sandbox and just slightly above the reach of curious little hands.
     Sparked by the kids’ curiosity and my newfound fascination with the process of a tiny caterpillar hatching from a little egg and in a matter of weeks going through several stages of transformation that lead to a magnificent butterfly, I went to the library and checked out some books on the life cycles of butterflies.
     I brought one of the books to school that has a easy caterpillar comparison page, so we could try to identify the type of caterpillar crawling all over the play area. At circle time one day, I explained the life cycle of a butterfly to the kids and showed them the wonderful photos included of each stage leading up to the emergence of the butterfly. By the end of story time, the kids and I had narrowed our guesses about what is probably populating our playground down to three different types of potential butterflies.
     I was thoroughly impressed when a four year old came up and showed me the drawings he had done of a butterfly’s life cycle. Interestingly enough, the only thing missing was a picture of the caterpillar crawling on a tree, the very part of the life cycle he and others sought out each afternoon. I mentioned this, and he quickly went and drew one, then we spread the drawings out, and he put them in order with an extra page on the front and back so I could staple it for him, which in his mind is all it takes to make it into a book. I was so excited that he actually got it that I started showing other teachers and students the book he’d done.
     One of the great things about working with children is that they get really excited about the things adults so often overlook. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time examining caterpillars as I have recently, simply because they are so fascinating to the kids at school. The patterns on some of them are really intricate and beautiful. They’re very agile, acrobatic even.
     I’ve often been able to see God in the splendor of nature, but it’s usually a sunset, a flower, a tree, or a butterfly that makes me smile in awe and His creation. I’m grateful that the enthusiasm of little ones has brought me to an appreciation of the magnificence of nature in all its stages. Children have again proved to be very good little spiritual directors for me.  (Originally posted May 2, 2009 on my former blog).

Good Friday: Christ's Sorrowful Passion

The Agony in the Garden

"Stay with me. Remain here with me. Watch and pray. Watch and pray."

Jesus is in the Garden of Gethsemane. He has said, "My soul is sorrowful even to death." Mt 26:38 When reflecting on this portion of the Gospel and this first of the Sorrowful Mysteries, I imagine Christ in such anguish. He prays, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will" Mt 26: 39 that He is being shown the most horrifying sins committed past, present, and future, and knows what incredible suffering He must endure to bring about our salvation.

"Oh Father, I know You can hear me. Is there any other way? Another prayer to pray? Father, if Your love permits, let this cup pass me by. Still let it be as You would have it, not as I."
-Danielle Rose lyrics

It is because of His fervent love for us that God has limited Himself by entering human form. He feels loneliness, sorrow, distress, and pain just as we do. Seeing the torture He was about to undergo physically, mentally, emotionally, and even spiritually, He feels overwhelmed, yet even then He is completely obedient to His Father's will and plan for the salvation of the world.

I am always humbled and amazed by His willingness to undergo so much suffering for us. One morning while I was still in my freshmen or sophomore year of college, I had a very vivid dream. The minute details I wrote down in a prayer journal I haven't located, yet, but they aren't as important as the effect the dream had on me. I woke up feeling completely unworthy of God's love and at the same time acutely aware of His incredible mercy washing over me. At that moment, I had an epiphany that I wasn't anywhere near strong enough in my faith that I would willingly agree to suffer physical pain in order to atone for the sins of others.  

  
As this realization came over me, I thought of the torture Christ said yes to for us, and I felt so humbled that I got down on the floor and laid flat on my stomach with my face touching the hardwood and praised God. This position was the only physical way I could express the way my soul was bowing down to God for such deep love and unparalleled sacrifice.

The Scourging at the Pillar

Christ is brutally whipped by men who are trained in torture. He knows He is innocent, yet He accepts each blow because of our sinfulness.


Crowning with Thorns

He is given a reed as a scepter and royal looking cloak to wear over His bleeding body. They force a crown of thorns upon His head, piercing His scalp as our iniquities pierce His mind and soul. He endures their mocking, spitting, and humiliation for our sakes.

Carrying of the Cross

After He has been brutally beaten, viciously mocked, then He is forced to carry the Cross He will be nailed to in between two criminals. He falls three times carrying such a heavy burden. He is stripped of His clothes.

The Crucifixion

"Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
     Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
     Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?"
   
It was actually the bones of Christ's wrists and ankles (not His hands and feet) that were pierced with nails to hold Him on the Cross. In the end, He became too weak to pull Himself up enough to take a breath, so He suffocated and died.

I invite you to reflect on all Christ suffered for your sins and mine, allow the sacrifice to sink in and become a growing awareness of God's mercy and unconditional love for each and every one of us. This posture of prayer and of the heart prepares us for the joy of Christ's Resurrection come Easter.

"Crucify Him...every child torn from the womb...Crucify Him...every judgment I presume...Crucify Him...every prisoner on death row...Crucify Him...Will you cast the first stone?...Lord, have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord, have mercy on us." -Danielle Rose

     This was originally written and appeared on my former blog April 10, 2009.

The following is the prayer I wrote for the Good Friday reflection for the Young Adult Ministry workday Lenten e-mail.

Is 52:13—53:12; Heb 4:14-16, 5:7-9; Jn 18:1—19:42 Thirst

Forty days ago, we received an invitation to share the world’s hunger through fasting. Today we fast again. This time, we are reminded of the thirst for justice Jesus knew, as he uttered these words from the cross: “I thirst.” - Catholic Update: Lessons of the Heart

Let Us Pray:

Lord Jesus Christ,
You cry out to us each day,
hungering for our love,
our attention, our willingness
to accept Your mercy, forgiveness,
compassion, and healing.

Help us to answer Your call
and quench Your thirst
to be loved, adored,
praised, and worshiped by us.
Make us more aware of the deep thirst
in us for You alone.
Pierce our hearts with the power
of the thirst, the unfathomable yearning
to have Your unconditional love
acknowledged, accepted, and reciprocated
by each and every one of Your children. Amen.

Holy Thursday

Do you believe in a God who would humble Himself to wash the dirt and grime off of your feet?
  
The disciples had been walking everywhere. Their feet were likely hard with calluses, bunions, caked with dirt, sand, grime, not to mention sweaty and smelly. Yet, in order to reinforce to them the meaning of being a humble servant, Jesus washed the filthy feet of His friends.
 
I have participated in Holy Thursday services for many years, and I have had the experience of washing and drying other people's feet as well as that of having my own washed. The most poignant example of servitude when this gesture really hit home for me, though, was not Holy Week.

The most moving foot washing experience I've ever had took place one morning during our Cursillo Team overnight in an upper room at Richmond Hill (a place that is most decidedly holy ground). It was Saturday morning and there were thirteen of us sitting in a circle in a room with a huge wooden cross standing by the wall. On a table in the center of the room was a pitcher of water, a large bowl, and some towels.
 
I thought that we would do what we had done at some churches on Holy Thursday and each have our feet washed, then help wash someone else's feet. That's not what happened, though. Two women who are both very loving, selfless, humble servants (and, therefore, were perfect leaders for our team) asked us to remain seated as they came around to each one of us. We sang hymns while they gently and lovingly washed each person's feet and wiped them dry. I never realized how much tenderness and affection could be conveyed in such a simple act. Many of us were brought to tears, we were so moved by the experience.

Do you believe in a God who would eat His last meal with you though He knew you were about to betray Him?

Jesus knew that those He had spent His public life with, the people He had loved as family, those with whom He entrusted the Truth about Himself were not going to be there for Him when He suffered such brutality, anguish, and humiliation. He chose to have His last meal with the very people He knew would betray Him, deny knowing Him, and disperse in a very short time.
 
I don't know about you, but I have a hard time sitting across from people and sharing a meal with them when I think they might say or do something hurtful. Christ knew for sure that they were going to betray Him, yet He still drew them close to Him, expressed His love for them, and gave them the most precious way of remembering Him once He was no longer in His familiar human form.
 
That was when He instituted the most holy sacrament of the Eucharist, as He took the bread and wine, and taught them how to remember the Passion after the Resurrection, when food and drink made by human hands would, by the power of the Holy Spirit, become His Body and Blood.

"Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed."

This reflection was originally written and posted on my former blog April 9, 2009.

Fond Memories of Holy Week: Part III

     On Good Friday when our row got up to venerate the cross, he remained seated. I was disappointed. A few minutes after we returned, Kevin went up on his own and joined the line. My heart skipped a beat.
     I was very curious to see how the Easter Vigil would go. It’s a long Mass since many readings are done and songs are sung that serve as a summary of the faith. They begin in Genesis starting with God creating the world and finding it good and end up in the New Testament with Christ’s rising from the dead and appearing to the disciples. Besides the trip through the Bible, any RCIA candidates (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) are Baptized (if they haven’t been previously), given First Communion, and Confirmation. Children who have not yet been Baptized and/or whose parents are being brought into the church are also given the sacraments of initiation at this time.
     It is a very powerful, very moving service—one that includes all the major elements of the Catholic Christian faith. I was really hoping Kevin wouldn’t get bored and start pulling on my shirt like a toddler asking how much longer before we could leave.
     Kevin loved taking part in the Mass. When it came time for Communion, he received both the Body and Blood of Christ. He paid attention to all the readings, said the prayers he remembered, and held my hand. I was overjoyed!
     Afterwards Kevin said the Easter Triduum, particularly the Easter Vigil, helped him to understand the faith. What’s more, when he returned to Rochester after that weekend, he started going to Mass on his own, usually at St. Charles, a church with great significance for both of our families. Kevin’s aunt and uncle attended the parish and knew my grandmother from there which is how our family got to rent the cottage, and thereby meet Kevin and his father, the real Harry Potter. It’s also the church where my parents were married.

     On Easter Sunday, we celebrated Mass in the Atrium Chapel at Roanoke College. I enjoyed being a Confirmation sponsor. Afterwards, we had a reception with lots of wonderful food. That’s when Fr. Remi, the pastor of Our Lady of Perpetual Help and the priest who ministered to our Catholic Campus Ministry, recognized Kevin’s dedication. After finding out he’d driven down from upstate New York to spend four days attending church with me, he named Kevin “the patron saint of boyfriends.” I agreed.
     All proof that countless miracles are still happening in the world. God is awesome!

Fond Memories of Holy Week: Part II

     Even knowing I’d be participating in all of these events, Kevin came. What’s even more amazing is that he went with me to each of the Masses and services and actually participated. We went to Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Salem, VA for the Easter Triduum since that was the parish that sponsored our Catholic Campus Ministry. By that time, Kevin had come to church with me on other visits, but he never sang, never went up to Communion, never seemed fully present at Mass.
     Kevin was raised Catholic. He went to public school up until eighth grade when he was given the choice to go to Catholic school, so he could make his Confirmation. This is what he chose to do. When we met the summer before my junior year of high school, he’d already been Baptized, made his First Communion and done his first Confession. He’d also been Confirmed and fallen away from the Church.
     Kevin and I spent many a late night talking on the phone about faith. For a very long time, Kevin was extremely put off because I insisted on going to church, praying regularly, and emphasizing that faith was and is an integral part of who I am. He felt like he was in competition with God for my attention. I made it perfectly clear that wasn’t the case. I wanted God to be first then and always. Kevin wouldn’t and shouldn’t rise above second in my list of priorities.
     That Holy Week, I was given many signs that my prayers that Kevin would be given the gift of faith and return to the Church were heard by God. On Holy Thursday, Kevin went up and received the Eucharist for the first time since he’d first started accompanying me to Mass. He only took the Body of Christ, not the cup, but I was still doing spiritual cartwheels and back flips.

Fond Memories of Holy Week: Part I

Holy Week of the year 2000 was a very memorable one for Kevin and me! We had a lot of firsts: I was a Confirmation sponsor, I would be away from my family on Easter, and Kevin and I spent the Easter holiday together.
   
I wondered how things would go when Kevin offered to come down for Holy Week. The previous fall we’d gotten into a heated argument because I insisted on going to Mass even though Kevin had driven 500 miles to spend three days with me at Hollins. He had fallen away from the Church and couldn’t understand how I could “waste” any of the precious time we had together by going to Church. I went anyway, not knowing if he would have left early by the time I returned. He hadn’t, and that evening we came up for the menu for our relationship: LAUGHING TOGETHER.
   
I was definitely surprised that Kevin wanted to come during Holy Week because I’d told him what it would entail. I had my college courses and assignments as usual and would be going to the Foot Washing on Holy Thursday, the Veneration of the Cross on Good Friday, the Easter Vigil (which usually lasts about three hours) on Saturday, and also Mass on Easter Sunday which would run long because there would be a Baptism and at least one Confirmation.

Go Ahead, Rock the Boat

     Jesus rocked the boat quite a bit by identifying two commandments that sum up the Big Ten and supersede all the others in the Torah He knew so well. "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments." Matthew 22: 37-40 NAB
     It was very profound that a Jewish man well-versed in the numerous laws laid out in the Torah would say that there are two that mean more than all the rest. He shocked even His closest friends by following these two commandments even when doing so meant being condemned and publicly ridiculed, humiliated and brutally beaten, wrongly accused and crucified.      Even today, God sometimes calls us to say and do things that require an unbelievable amount of faith, courage, love, trust, and strength, because we know they will bring judgment on us, that we will suffer from having to bear the disapproval of those closest to us, and that for a time, we may have to stand alone. By alone, I mean without family and friends, not without God.
     Below is a prayer I wrote as one of the Lenten reflections the Richmond Diocese Young Adult Ministry e-mailed to people around the world to accompany the Readings 2 Kings 5:1-15ab; Luke 4:24-30

     Lord, so often we seek the approval of our spouse, our family, our friends, our colleagues, and society, and are easily swayed by their opinions. Please help us have courage enough to turn to You when we need guidance, and put Your view of us, Your wishes for our future, and Your thoughts about our words and actions, above those of the people around us.
     You alone know our hearts completely. You alone know what is ultimately best for us. Inspire us to spend more time listening to You so it is easier for us to separate Your will from our own and those of the people closest to us. Protect us from despair and disillusionment by arming us with the truth, the strength to do Your will, and the wisdom to submit everything we are and have to You.

Originally written and posted on my former blog March 11, 2008.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Palm Sunday for some is the day when they are handed long palms at church with which they can bop their siblings on the head and show their prowess at creating neat little green crosses. It’s a day when they can sit down and listen to the Gospel because the long account of Christ’s death includes significant suffering in mind, body, and spirit.
    
Some of the last words Jesus speaks as he suffocates and dies on the cross are not what they seem. For quite some time, I thought when Christ cried out ‘“Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”’ (Matthew27:46) that He was feeling and experiencing a separation from God because He had willingly taken on all of our sins. My mom pointed out a Psalm that suggests this was not the case. It’s completely changed the way I see the moments before Christ’s death.
    
As any well-educated Jew at that time knew, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” is the beginning of Psalm 22.

Even as he gasped for his last breaths, Christ was speaking of fulfilling the prophecies of old and bringing new hope. Psalm 22 is called “The Prayer of an Innocent Person.” It includes many allusions to the specific types of suffering Christ endured during his Passion.
    
For example, it says “All who see me mock me; they curl their lips and jeer; they shake their heads at me: ‘You relied on the Lord—let him deliver you; if he loves you, let him rescue you.’” (Ps 22: 8-9) This is precisely what happened when Christ was made fun of, called the King of the Jews, beaten, spit upon, and forced to wear a crown of thorns and a royal looking cloak as his tormentors insulted Him.
    
“As dry as a potsherd is my throat; my tongue sticks to my palate; you lay me in the dust of death” (Ps 22:16) describes his incredible thirst—one so strong for righteousness that He is willing to suffer the torture of humiliation and dehydration on the road to an even more painful death.
   
“They stare at me and gloat; they divide my garments among them; for my clothing they cast lots.” (Ps 22:18-19) and Matthew 27: 35.
    
In verses III and IV of Psalm 22 are words of hope, courage, conviction, faith, and praise. Why is this significant if Christ only uttered the first line? Well, let’s see. If you hear or read: “I pledge allegiance…” or “Our Father, who art in heaven…” does it call to mind the rest of the pledge or the prayer? It probably does.
    
In Christ’s final hour, He was calling to mind a Psalm the Jews would know in its entirety. With a single phrase, He got them thinking about 32 verses of Scripture that are so much more than a cry for help. For scholars of the holy book, this brought to mind a portion of the Torah that describes a person who is tortured in a number of ways, but who through it all trusts in God and knows that the suffering will ultimately result in God’s glory and inspire a long line of believers.
    
Think of this during Holy Week, and see how it changes your view of Christ’s Passion and Good Friday.

Note: All Scripture quotations are from the NAB translation.

Written and originally posted on my former blog: March 11, 2008

The Most Valuable Works of Art

Many interesting things happened in and around me one April day. Walking down that morning to pray at the abortion clinic and meet the parishioners who came over after 11am Palm Sunday Mass for the procession led by Fr. Kauffman, the pastor of St. Benedict’s, I was thinking, praying, and it occurred to me how ironic it is that in a little house with a small separate building the most precious works of art are being destroyed purposefully and legally.

    
Across the street is the huge building with heavy gates, security guards, and cameras, that’s known as the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. These works of art created by human hands are guarded, cared for, of interest to the cultured, wealthy, learned among us, yet right across the street, original one-of-a-kind works of art more precious than the most striking painting, the most unusual sculpture, the largest diamond, the rarest gem, the purest gold are being completely destroyed at the hand of someone who calls himself a medical professional. The sign on the door of the house on the corner of Grove and Boulevard is one that deceives: Richmond Medical Center for Women when it is nothing more than another abortion clinic.

     
Note to reader: I've written several blog posts over the past three years about being involved in 40 Days for Life. Since the movement has grown bigger, but the message of love and healing has remained the same, I've decided to post the articles from my previous blog site here. This post was written and originally posted on April 13, 2009.

    
A man who has been involved in 40 Days for Life brings flowers and lays the bright bouquet at the side door of the clinic every time he comes to pray there. What a powerful gesture. This man recognizes this property for what it is, a graveyard for thousands, who died a traumatic, tragic death, at the hand of a trained killer and with the consent of their mother, father, grandparents...

    
And if this isn’t horrific enough, our government is now considering removing the conscience laws protecting those doctors and medical professionals who have moral, ethical, and possibly even spiritual integrity from having to participate in atrocities against life.

    
During this 40 Days for Life campaign, many things have happened in our city and around the world that are coincidences to some, and clearly God-incidents to others. In Richmond, our governor didn’t pass legislation that would expand the death penalty, and after much hard work led by some key local pro-lifers, he also signed the bill that has brought Choose Life license plates to Virginia. Yes, politicians can be taught the importance of respecting life and the calls of their constituents to answer to that will arise even if the people remain silent and the stones cry out.

    
I saw the Family Lifeline office for the first time that day on the way to having breakfast with Mom after praying outside of the abortion clinic with Fr. Kauffman and others after Mass. On the windows, there are huge pictures of the transformation of a caterpillar into a butterfly. I believe there are four different panels. I intend to go back and take pictures of them.

    
A small white butterfly fluttered along with me as I walked to the abortion clinic to pray this morning, and during the time I was there humming the Divine Mercy Chaplet to myself, holding my Rosary, and an “I Pray 40 Days for Life” sign with an African American mother kissing her baby, I saw three, sometimes even four, of these small white butterflies fluttering around. These were definite signs of hope for me, their significance even stronger since the book I am reading by Sue Monk Kidd While the Heart Waits: Spiritual Direction for Life’s Sacred Questions revolves strongly around imagery and symbols, especially that of the cocoon and the butterfly.

So how can we, an Easter people, honor new life? In Richmond, people involved in the 40 Days for Life prayer vigil are continuing to pray at the clinic for at least two hours a week from now until the next 40 Days for Life starts in the fall. My family and I are again taking part in the Pregnancy Resource Center of Metro Richmond's annual Walk for Life. This resource for men and women, formerly known as the Crisis Pregnancy Center, provides a wide variety of services to help pregnant women in our area. Many of us are also contacting our government leaders and speaking for those whose voices are being taken away.

We can honor new life through prayer and apostolic action.

Are you protesting? No, I'm praying.

     A teenage girl walked by me with four of her friends. The five of them were talking and laughing as they drank their Slurpees and strolled down the Boulevard on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. One of them watched a squirrel scurry up a tree. The others poked fun at the friend who was worried about killer squirrels attacking. I smiled to hear them carrying on.
     It was then that one of the girls looked at the sign I was holding that reads PRAY TO END ABORTION. 40 DAYS FOR LIFE and asked, “Are you protesting?”

      “No, I’m praying,” I said.

How to Save a Life: 40 Days for Life, Pregnancy Resources, and Rachel's Vineyard

Last week I spent several hours praying with others in front of a local abortion clinic for everyone who went in for any reason. During the one hour that morning and hour and a half that evening, I prayed with nine women, three men, and ten children. We blocked no one, didn't get in anyone's face, approached no one in the parking lot, had no gruesome posters about the realities of abortion to use as scare tactics, and we didn’t shout at anyone about anything.

Note to reader: I've written several blog posts over the past three years about being involved in 40 Days for Life. Since the movement has grown bigger, but the message of love and healing has remained the same, I've decided to post the articles from my previous blog site here.  This post was written and originally posted on Tuesday, October 23, 2007.

All we brought were one 40 Days for Life sign, pregnancy resource brochures for any who asked us for them, and our prayers. The movement to protect women and their unborn babies has been in the forefront of my mind for weeks as 40 Days for Life has been going on across the country with miraculous results.

Police have been hired by St. Benedict’s parish to stay with the pro-lifers doing the 24/7 vigil through the night at the local clinic these 40 days. One night, the police officer said she was going to go back to her Baptist church Bible study and encourage them to join the vigil.

Another evening the police officer on duty informed an abortion clinic worker she had to leave the parking lot, that it was way after hours and that she could not legally remain on the clinic’s premises any longer. She said she wasn't leaving while there were people protesting on the sidewalk. He informed her the people outside weren't protesting, they were praying. There is definitely a big difference!
 
People who attack those who are pro-abortion, saying that they are evil and should be harmed, are not upholding a plea for respecting all life. What women and their partners need is to be treated with respect and given adequate information about all of their options. Too many women are trapped and pressured by their boyfriends, family, friends, or those in abortion clinics to abort the child they want to keep and would be able to keep if they knew all of the pregnancy resources available to them. The best thing to do is educate women and men about ALL of their choices.
 
A friend who had an abortion and later miscarried has never been able to have children and is very sad she has been unable to conceive the children she’s longed to have for many years. She recently experienced much-needed healing at a Rachel's Vineyard retreat. She has poured a great deal of love and compassion into young adult ministry and into her nieces and nephews, though she still mourns the loss of her children.
 
Another friend had a child in her teens who she gave up for adoption years ago. Later she married and had two children. Just recently her first child sought her out and brought his wife and kids to meet her.
 
My cousin who is Korean was adopted by my aunt and uncle when she was an infant. She was very sick, but they took her in anyway. Now she is happily married and a mother of two with another one on the way.
 
One weekend earlier this month a group of us were praying as part of a Life Chain and someone who may or may not have been pro-abortion brought a home-made poster that read: “Bigots Go Home!” I thought it would be interesting if I went over and offered to hold it for a while after praying with the others in the group. 
 
I firmly believe the bigots should go home. The people who attack and/or judge anyone who walks into that clinic can be called a bigot. I’m not sure what she meant by the sign, since I’ve heard abortion called African American genocide. Maybe she was against abortion and the killing of so many black children. I may never know.
 
The highlight of my day last Friday was having a young woman roll down her car window as they drove away from the abortion clinic and saying with a smile on her face: "Thanks for the brochure. We decided not to go through with it."

I flashed her a huge smile and said, "Congratulations!"
 
I was so blessed to have this happen. I'm not sure who gave her a brochure or when, since there weren't any left there when I arrived. Someone else had planted a seed, and I had been blessed to hear that it had born fruit in the form of a child who will live. It's true, we don't know what our words and actions have and will bring about.
 
I think the most important outcome from the 40 Days for Life will be more women knowing that God and those of us there praying love them and their unborn children. We aren't there to judge them or the workers in the abortion clinic.
 
We're there to offer help and support so women feel confident they'll have the physical, emotional, spiritual, and financial resources necessary to keep an unexpected child.
 
Another thing we hope is that those who do have an abortion will experience healing in mind, body, and spirit. We pray that this healing will be complete so they will not end up among the majority of women who have abortions and suffer from depression, become suicidal, and are at a significantly higher risk for developing breast cancer.

Mother Teresa was right. If we judge people, we have no time to love them.
 
May God bless anyone who reads this with peace, love, joy, and an unequivocal passion for Truth, mercy, and forgiveness. Amen.

Reflections on & beyond THE SHACK

     At times while I was reading this novel, I would close my eyes and do my best to picture the transformed shack as it is described in the book. The language and imagery is beautiful, very poetic in spots. The conversations are rich and filled with love. Yet, there is a heaviness and a seriousness to what’s happening because the main character Mack has some doubts, questions, and even some unresolved anger towards God because of what’s happened to one of his children.
     I believe many of us can identify all too well with Mack’s trouble accepting God’s unconditional, unlimited love. When faced with illness, injury, and injustice, we are often inclined to wonder why things happen. We all have periods in life when we desperately need to be reminded that we are precious to God, that He can bring good out of absolutely any situation.
     The Shack provides a good combination of interesting characters, action, and suspense with otherworldly experience, spiritual revelations, and theological discussion. It’s a fascinating story that draws you in, yet this work of fiction incorporates many of the age-old questions people have had about God, religion, good vs. evil, and man vs. man.
     Actually, in many places throughout the book, the author eludes to various famous philosophical questions and discussions I studied in a course I took in college called the Philosophy of Religion. Reading this book reminded me of the hours I spent reading arguments and discussions by philosophers who lived and wrote a number of years ago.
     That semester I went to class with all of these different theories, questions, and debates in my head, then my professor would ask us questions that would make us dig even deeper to understand and explain what these men were proposing, what line of logic they followed, and if it made sense.
     At times, I could almost feel my mind stretching to new lengths and expanding when faced with these universal questions about God and man. Even if the answers weren’t clear, just knowing the questions people thought to ask made me feel like my brain would have to grow in order to contain all the possibilities.
     My favorite day of this course was on Friday. Why? Because Saturday was sure to follow? No, it was because after doing my best to sift through, consider, accept, and/or debate so many concepts, I would get into my light blue Pontiac 6000 and drive through a very picturesque valley. I would get out at the top of a hill and could feel God welcoming me, His mother outside waiting for me to enter.
     I always arrived just in time, gave a quiet nod to the other regulars who had come to worship, and sat down ready to let the clutter in my mind exit, so only faith would remain. Before long, the reasons and questions, some of which reason may never understand, were replaced by truth, hope, and love. I couldn’t help but smile as I said the Creed, reached out my hands to others to say the Our Father and do the kiss of peace. I yearned for the Eucharist. I had answers and could embrace, even appreciate, the mysteries inherent and perhaps necessary to having faith.
     I would walk out of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church after Mass feeling refreshed in my faith and grounded in the truth. It was a great way to put the philosophers’ voices and nitty-gritty debates to rest so that the Holy Spirit was easier for me to hear in the present.
     If we spend time actively participating in our relationship with God, it may very well come to our attention that the rotted out beams, broken floorboards, and rusty pipes in our soul need to be replaced. Without fear of condemnation or a demolition crew showing up on our doorstep, we can allow our loving Father, Son, and Holy Spirit to assess the damages. It can be uncomfortable or even painful at times when we are called to be aware of the desolation, the places in need of repair, and be willing to let the Carpenter in. The difference is the price quote for the damages is beyond anything you could pay. Fortunately, you have a lifetime warranty that covers any and all damages, including that of natural disasters, human misfortunes…and it’s been paid for in full. Are you ready to let God transform your shack into His tabernacle?
     You can purchase this book here.  I wrote this review of The Shack for the Tiber River Blogger Review program.  Tiber River is the first Catholic book review site, started in 2000 to help you make informed decisions about Catholic book purchases. I receive free product samples as compensation for writing reviews for Tiber River.

Unearth the Treasure

     I love thinking about how the theme of unearthing the treasure relates to spirituality. Of course it brings to mind wooden treasure chests brimming over with gold coins, emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, and rubies. It also makes me think about children digging in the dirt or the sand with a passion few adults bring to the same activity. When kids have a pail and shovel, it’s all about discovery and play. They have no idea what they’re going to find, so the energy and curiosity fuel their desire to dig deeper and deeper.
     We know that at some beaches kids are likely to find seashells, some pebbles, lots of sand (which they can and will manage to get in all of their major crevices), and possibly some trash that they will often mistake as being something of value.
     As adults, digging and fun aren’t often synonymous. We dig through closets to find shoes and purses to find keys. We sit in traffic while construction workers dig up pipes. We dig up weeds and dirt on other people.
     Perhaps what we need as adults is to rediscover the joy of digging while fully believing that we’ll find something really good if we’re willing to stick with the search.
     We have to take time out to unearth the treasure in ourselves and help those around us do the same. It’s far too easy to let our treasures get buried underneath the sand. Each time we are criticized, hurt, disappointed, afraid, or sad, it’s as if another pile of sand has been shoveled on top of our treasure chests. Not only do these piles of sand make it hard for others to find our treasures, but they also makes it difficult for us to open our own treasure chests even though we can locate them without trouble.
     To God, each of us is a precious treasure. We each have immeasurable value in His eyes. When we take the time to listen to God, He will show us how He feels about us and tell us how He sees us. God and those special treasure-seekers He places in our path will help us to discover the essence of who we are and who we can be.
     Treasure-seekers come in many forms. They may be church leaders, spiritual directors, family members, or close friends of ours. They could be co-workers, mere acquaintances, or total strangers. Perhaps a beloved pet, a touching movie, a well-written book will be part of the process that leads us to unearthing treasure. God has an uncanny ability to work in and through people, animals, nature, and experiences to reach us.
     There are circumstances that may cause us to lock up treasure inside our chests and hide it in hopes that it’ll never again be found. In that case, the excavation process may take some time. Trained spiritual anthropologists may need to go in to help remove the debris and grime allowed to build up. I say, dig anyway! Soon enough, you’ll strike it rich, and the beauty of God’s love will burst into every color of the spectrum when reflected and refracted through the diamond that is you.
Unearth the Treasure

However much digging it takes
to unearth the treasure,
it’s worth it.

However many shovels you break
and new friends you make
in the process of

unearthing the treasure
that is you,
it’s worth it.

Discover and accept
you are a treasure.
Live as the treasure you are.

Become a treasure-seeker,
and affirm the beauty
you see in others.

I wrote the above reflection and poem July 27, 2008 in honor of the participants on the 408th Central Virginia Men’s Cursillo Weekend whose theme was Unearth the Treasure. God bless you as you continue treasure-seeking.