Oops!

            My children and I started attending Mass every First Friday at the start of our school year last August.  For nearly a year, we have been very good about getting ourselves up and ready and to the church every first Friday of the month, not missing even once.  We planned to keep up our devotion and continue attending every First Friday this year also…..

            Have I mentioned that this summer has been a little crazy?  Well, it is all my fault, but things have gotten even more disorganized and off kilter in our routine this past week.  You see, the children and I were greatly anticipating the Olympics.  During the last Olympics, we barely even noticed the Games were going on and certainly did not follow them very closely.  But this year, we looked forward to them for months.  We feel a sort of connection to them this year.  My parents have good friends from Great Britain whom we have come to know.  They have shared some of their English traditions and native foods with us.  We adore their accents and enjoy spending time with them.  Also, my son’s Boy Scout troop has a “brother troop” from England and every few years they take turns visiting each other.  This year it was my son’s troop’s turn to head across the ocean to jolly old England and the trip happened to be scheduled for this week!  So, though my son did not go along, quite a few of his friends are there in London right now!  We heard they even got tickets to an Olympic soccer game!  This, of course, makes the 2012 Games seem a little closer to home and a lot more exciting to us.   Couple all that with the fact that my middle daughter started taking gymnastics classes last Fall, and well… we knew we couldn’t miss a minute of the excitement.

            The older children and I have not missed a minute.  We have stayed up until midnight every night this week cheering on our American athletes and anxiously awaiting results of their competitions.  Last night, as my eyes were growing heavy in exhaustion, I said, “I don’t know if we’ll make it all the way to midnight again.”  But then we did.

            This morning, we were all moving a little slowly- the late nights of the past week are finally catching up with us.  I was sort of vaguely aware that it is Friday but did not realize it is First Friday until my son asked, at 10:43 if we would be attending Mass.  Mass starts at 11 (unless we are really on the ball and get up to go to the early Mass at 8 a.m.).  I looked around at my children- all dressed in t-shirts and shorts.  I looked at my own blue jeans and t-shirt.  I looked at the clock and calculated the time—could we all change our clothes, get our shoes on, get into the car and drive the 15 minutes to the only church with an 11 o’clock Mass in 17 minutes?  For a second I thought- we can do it, let’s hurry.  And then, I realized- we really couldn’t.   

            So, we missed it.  We missed First Friday Mass, for the first time in a year-- because of the Olympics and because I refuse to take my children into a church not dressed appropriately and mostly because I am so distracted and scatterbrained these days….

            I feel a little guilty but Tim reminded me recently that a wonderful holy priest once told him, God loves us just as much no matter what choices we make.  I am pretty sure that is true even when our choices are dictated by forgetfulness and distraction…

Longing for "Belonging"

            I kept seeing things about picking a word for the new year and focusing the next 12 months on that word-- on learning more about it and growing more in it and turning to God for greater understanding of it.  The idea intrigued me but I couldn’t decide if I should do it.  

          At first, I thought I would.  I opened my ears and my eyes in search of my word.  And every word I heard seemed to have potential to be “the” word.   

          Then, I decided I wouldn’t because I could not choose just one word and if there were one million words then none of them would have meaning.  So, I tossed aside the idea of a word for the year.  

Then the word “belonging” grabbed me and it has not let go yet.  So, here I am a few days into the new year and focusing a lot of my thoughts on the idea of  belonging.  I have still not committed to a year of contemplating this word, “belonging”, but I am curious to see if that is what happens.  

            My first encounter with belonging came as I wrote my last blog post.  I had intended it to be all about the Feast of the Holy Family but it turned out to be more about my own family and where I fit into it.  About how, after a lifetime of feeling like I just did not really belong, I realized I absolutely do belong and even with all our imperfections and struggles, I am grateful to be a part of my family.  

            Then on New Year’s Day we went to a different parish for Mass, because after staying up way too late on New Year’s Eve, we slept in and did not make it to “our” Church.  I sat there before Mass began, feeling like we did not really belong.  Then we were asked to bring up the offertory gifts.  I thought about all the reasons we should not do it, reasons all centered around the fact that we did not belong.  And as I sat there making excuses not to participate, it hit me once again-- of course, we belonged there.  I realized, every Catholic Church is “our” Church and we should be honored to bring our gifts forward to the altar and be a part of the beauty of the Mass.  We accepted the invitation, and as we came forward, I prayed that God would accept the gifts we held in our hands as well as the ones we offered in our hearts.  It was a beautiful moment.  And, for that second anyway, I understood the concept of belonging and the importance of accepting God’s gift of it in my life.  

            I think my whole life has been about trying to find the place I belong.  

          I think a sense of belonging is what we all look for in life, what we all need and are made for.  “Belonging” wasn’t one of the many words I had considered but it seems it is the word that was chosen for me, and I suspect, it will be the perfect word to see me through this year. 

Celebrating Mary

            December 8- the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, which means today is the day we, as Catholics celebrate Mary, the Mother of Our Lord, being conceived without sin.   Today we honor Our Lady mindful of her peace, her meekness, her holiness, and her obedience.  

The morning found my house looking anything but peaceful, meek, holy, or obedient.  Mass was at 8 am and I had the job of rousing the children and getting them all ready- dressed, hair brushed, shoes on, and out the door in time.  My children, much like their mother, are not morning people.  I started the process of waking them at about 7:20.  “We have to leave for Mass in half an hour,” I warned pulling up the shades in their dim bedrooms and tugging at their covers to awaken them.  It was a frigid Florida morning with temperatures topping out at 43 degrees, so surely stripping them of their comforters would get them moving.  Yet, my oldest uttered not a sound, she simply pulled the blankets back up to her chin and went right back to sleep.  My second child yelled from his bed, “It does not take a half hour to get ready for church!” and also lay back down to slumber.  The 8 and 6 year olds did get up but for a few minutes wandered drowsily around looking lost, and the little one, my two year old, blinked her eyes in a daze as I took her out of her cozy crib and to the bathroom to fix her wild hair.  Two little ponytails, a bag of oyster crackers to take along for nibbling during Mass, ruffle bottom tights to go with her long sleeved shirt and green plaid jumper, little shoes buckled on her little feet and my toddler was all ready to go.  By that time, the three middle children had also found their way and gotten themselves ready.  It took three more tries and, I admit, a bit of yelling, to finally get my oldest up though.  She dragged herself out of bed threw on some clothes and yanked the hairbrush through her hair, presenting herself in the family room just minutes before we really had to leave.  The scowl never left her face, even as I thanked her for finally obeying.  

Mass of course, was beautiful- peaceful and holy and a true celebration to honor both Mary, and her son Our Lord, Jesus.   “Peace be with you,” the priest said (and with your spirit)..... and for an hour it was.

Back home to rush and get the children fed so we could get the oldest to her math co-op by 9:30.  Everyone needed hot chocolate to combat the “freezing” weather and everyone was staaaaaarving for breakfast,  so we tripped over each other in the kitchen to get something in our bellies before jumping back in the car and setting off for math.  We set off, steaming to-go cups in our hands, toast crumbs on our chins, to fight the traffic on the way to get one child to class, then back home for the rest of us for an hour or so of our own work before going back out to get their sister from her class.  

As I was contemplating the chaos of life, in light of the beauty of the Feast we celebrate today, it occurred to me how blessed we are to have the Queen of Heaven watching over us.  How, like Mass was a moment of peace and tranquility in the craziness of my busy morning, Mary is a beacon of peace in the world.  She is, for me, the perfect example of meekness and obedience.  Whenever I turn to her she always offers me a bit of peace and serenity.  When I go to her in prayer, she gives me rest and quiet stillness and her intercession, always leading me closer to her Son, the Prince of Peace.  When I pray the Holy Rosary, honoring her and remembering her in the prayers, she fills my heart with overwhelming peace.  

God knew we would need a mother interceding for us from Heaven, He knew we would need her example of holiness, He knew we would need her peace, especially in the madness of preparing for Christmas.   This feast celebrating Mary, the Immaculate Conception, is so perfectly timed-- a little reminder of peace and of what matters most, in the midst of the busiest (sometimes craziest) time of the year.

Our second home--and our first...

    Thursday evening we all piled into the car and headed to church.  Tim has his middle school youth group meetings on Thursdays and it is always a huge treat when he allows us to join him.  It was a “game night” and I was his volunteer so our kids had the privilege of participating in the fun.  It was not a holy experience but they had a great time playing capture-the-flag in a large field by the church and hanging out with Tim’s fabulous youth group kids. 
    Friday was “First Friday” so the kids and I went to Mass in the morning.  The homily was thought-provoking and inspiring, and after Mass we were photographed together for a Mother’s Day poster one of the parishioners was putting together.  Then we found ourselves back at church that evening for another youth group event.  Pizza and a movie-- The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.   Again, it was not exactly a spiritual event but the movie was impressive and the company was great. 
    Saturday morning we went to Mass once again, this time as a family, to be part of the jubilee celebration of two of the religious sisters from our parish.  It was beautiful to see them renew their vows and rejoice in 50 years of serving God as Sisters of St. Clare.   The pews were full of priests and religious sisters and I hoped my children could feel the peace and holiness that permeated the church.  We came home after Mass and changed our clothes quickly because we had a First Communion party that afternoon.  Our good family friends were so kind to include us in the celebration of their son’s special day and seeing his genuine joy at receiving Jesus in the Eucharist for the first time was really wonderful. 
    Today, of course is Sunday and Mother’s Day and what better way to start the day than at church again?   It was even more special than usual today because the May Crowning was this morning and our 8 year old daughter, who will be making her First Holy Communion next Sunday, was chosen to place the wreath of flowers on the statue of Our Blessed Mother.  She did a beautiful job crowning Mary and then reading a special Mother’s Day prayer with the other children and our pastor. 
    Many memories of my own childhood are of time spent at church.  I remember running around with my friends during “coffee and doughnuts” and the church festival weekend when we would play games and eat junk food while my parents worked a booth.  Of course, I remember sitting in the pews for Mass every Sunday surrounded by family friends and neighbors and watching my parents help out as Extraordinary Ministers of Communion.  I remember hearing about my mom’s faith sharing group and the kids in the C.C.D. classes she taught.  Our Church, growing up, was our home away from home. 
    My children are so blessed to have the same experience.  They’ve spent so much of their childhood at our church they might consider it their first home and our house, the second.  At least, I hope so.  I know there are no guarantees and when they become adults they will all make their own way in this world, but I hope that like me, their childhood memories of the joy and community at church will remain with them.   I pray that no matter how old they get and where life might take them, they will always consider the Catholic Church to be their home.

Should I stay or Should I go now?

It is Sunday morning.  Our Sunday mornings are always the same.  In a little while, we will all pile in the mini-van and set off for Mass.  The girls will be dressed in cute little sundresses with sandals on their feet, the boys will be sporting collared shirts and khakis.  We will bless ourselves with holy water as we enter the church, our five year old sticking his whole hand in the font and dripping the water everywhere as he attempts the Sign of the Cross.  We will each genuflect as we quietly file into a pew about 4 or 5 rows back from the altar, on the left hand side of the church.  The kids will switch places a few times as we line them up with Tim and I in between, in order to find the best possible seating arrangement for respectful, reverent behavior.  The five year old and seven year old cannot be next to each other, though they try to trick us into it every week.  The 11 year old and nine year are best kept apart also, though they really do know how to behave in Mass by their ages.  The baby almost always has to be with me, because if not she is not with Mommy she will squirm and fuss.  Once settled we will kneel down to pray before Mass begins.  It is a beautiful quiet time of reflection as we put ourselves in the presence of God and prepare for the beauty of the Mass…for about a second.
    At some point, within seconds of entering the sanctuary and bowing our heads in prayer, someone, despite our well planned seating arrangement, will poke someone else.  Or there will be a fight over who gets a Missal.  Or someone will start to complain about their shoes being too tight.  Or the baby will decide to screech just for the sheer pleasure of hearing that loud ear splitting noise shatter the silence of the holy place.  Usually, just about the time the opening notes of the gathering song begins, I start questioning whether I can stay in the church any longer or should already set off for my inevitable retreat to the cry room.  As the priest leads us in the Penitential Rite and we pray for Christ’s mercy, I am usually only half praying as I watch the baby walking back and forth on the pew smiling at the people behind us and distracting them, and her siblings, from their prayers as well.  When it is time to listen to the readings I sit down only to find the diaper bag has been emptied of the few little toys we always bring along in the hopes of keeping baby occupied and I have sat on a plastic monkey or pirate or car or whatever.  I remove the toy from my seat only to find the baby is screeching again, or babbling, or fussing because now that we are all sitting she has no clear place to walk back and forth and see what is going on.  Tim and I meet eyes and I silently ask whether now is the time to leave.  But, thankfully the baby usually can be distracted by the Missals or the envelopes placed in the pews for visitors to use for donations at the time of the Offering.  She will happily pull everything out of the shelves on the back of the pew in front of us and except for the sound of rustling papers and books being dropped she’ll be quiet again for a minute.   We stand again for the Gospel reading and somehow the baby will end up back on the pew but this time instead of walking back and forth she’ll find a purse sitting within her reach and start checking out everything the old lady sitting next to us has brought along this Sunday morning.  Mortified, I try to discreetly return the reading glasses, wallet, and various papers to the purse as everyone behind us stifles a giggle without drawing the unsuspecting owner’s attention, and again meet Tim’s eyes to inquire if now is the time to leave.  But as the priest finishes the Gospel and we sit to hear the homily the baby is now sitting happily with her big sister and I, too, will relax to finally get something out of Mass.  But, of course, that doesn’t ever last long.  And at some point during the homily, it will be so obvious that it is time to get that loud, fussy baby out of the church that I won’t even need to glance at Tim to get his opinion on the matter.  I will grab my eleven month old and her diaper bag, just in case, shoo off the 5 year old and 7 year old who think the cry room is something akin to the church playground, and head to the tiny little hallway with the big window and a pew squeezed in, that serves as our parish’s cry room.  Of course, there will be a couple of other families there, with all their toys spread out and their children talking or crying or climbing the pew and I will spend the remainder of the hour stuck in the only free space left, a corner of the teeny, little room completely unaware of what is going on in the sanctuary.  I will, thankfully, be able to escape for a moment to participate in Communion with a squirming baby in hand and feeling like the eyes of the entire Church are on us as we are last to receive.  And at the end of Mass as we are sent off with a blessing, I will feel like somehow I missed most of the Graces of the morning, along with missing most of the homily.  And yet, Christ will be with me and I will be ready, like it or not, to face another week of my beautiful vocation of motherhood.

A Tale of Messiness and Mercy

As we all climbed out of the car in the parking lot we looked a little disheveled to say the least. We had been visiting family and friends all week, staying up late, running all day to try to fit in everything we most wanted to do on our short trip, and already that day, driving for more than an hour much of which was spent in stop and go traffic, to get where we were, to squeeze in one more essential thing before heading back home to Florida.
The building loomed impressively before us. It was made all of stone with beautiful domes, archways, and tall stained glass windows. We walked around to the front and stepped through the heavy wooden doors. The inside was even more overwhelming than the outside had been. The interior was covered in artwork. Beautiful paintings and statues met our gaze no matter where we looked. The high ceilings glittered with golden mosaics and we stared awestruck around the majestic Cathedral before quietly filing forward to find a seat right in the middle, enveloped in a sacred silence.
It was the Vigil Mass for the second Sunday of Easter and we were blessed to be celebrating it at the Basilica Cathedral of St. Louis as a sort of finale to our spring break vacation of visiting family and friends. The car was packed for our long car ride home which we would begin immediately following the Mass. We were all tired from our week of fun and near-constant activity and the truth was, we looked it. As I marveled at the splendor of the architecture around us I couldn’t help but notice how dramatically we contrasted with the church’s exquisiteness. I looked at my family and noticed my oldest daughter’s red, puffy eyes from the tears that had been coming on and off ever since we said good bye to her aunts and cousins earlier that morning. I noted my oldest son’s sloppy hair and equally sloppy rumpled t-shirt. I was not surprised to see my middle daughter’s skirt was practically sideways from her twisting and squirming in the car on the way to Mass. And the remnants of lunch crusted to my youngest son’s sleeve, where he had obviously used his shirt as a napkin, didn‘t surprise me much either. Adding to my humility was the little stab of guilt I felt when I realized that the pants I had laid out for Tim to wear on our journey home were the ones with the bleach stains all over the front. Then, as if we did not already present quite a motley crew, I noticed during the gathering hymn that the baby had a look of concentration on her face, which was rapidly turning a deep shade of red. I sighed as I grabbed the diaper bag and tried to discreetly slip out to change her now full diaper.
I spent the rest of the hour in the back of the huge Cathedral trying to keep the baby quiet as I attempted to participate in the celebration of the Mass before me. I found myself wondering if it was even worth being there, not looking or feeling like I belonged in such a place of holiness. I was consumed with my wandering thoughts and I was continually distracted by the baby and the sights all around me. Before I knew it, it was time for the homily and I heard the priest speak lovingly of God’s great mercy reminding us that it was Divine Mercy weekend. As I listened, it hit me that perhaps this experience was the perfect metaphor for God’s love and mercy. Here we were, looking a bit scruffy and worn out, looking a little out of place, in this sacred and beautiful space. Our imperfections were so obvious and yet we were not turned away at the door, instead we were welcome to enter into the beauty and splendor of the majestic Cathedral. Interiorly, I realized we are often as sloppy and unkempt as we appeared externally that Saturday evening but still we are welcomed, invited even, to take part in the beauty and splendor of God’s Church, and God’s perfect love and mercy. Though we will never be worthy, we are invited to know God and we are loved by Him, forgiven by Him, unconditionally and without fail. So, despite our haggard appearance I knew there was no better way to acknowledge and participate in the gift and blessing of Divine Mercy.