tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71306321930667537052024-02-02T01:46:04.148-05:00Flowers For FrancisFinding joy through my faith, family, and the natural world.Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.comBlogger151125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-34556800502403911502021-11-18T15:39:00.001-05:002021-11-18T15:40:13.781-05:00From Halloween to Hallowtide: A Look Back<p>I know that with Thanksgiving approaching, Hallowtide is now just a fading image in our rearview mirrors, but before all the jack-o-lanterns turn completely into humus, I wanted to share a little about how our Hallowtide traditions have changed over the past decade. Suffice to say that how we celebrate today is a long ways from how we started.</p><p>I still remember, with a bit (okay, a lot) of nostalgic longing, the first Hallowtide that I celebrated with my children. After years of infertility, being able to finally celebrate with my own child was a big deal to me. That was in 2010, and I didn't even know then that Hallowtide was a thing; it was just Halloween to me, so how we celebrated was very secular, i.e., candy and costumes. And even though we didn't go anywhere on Halloween, I still remember the joy I found in gathering up miscellaneous items around the house and making my son's first-ever costume and snapping a photo of him. My husband took delight in adding the sign to complete the outfit.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMO2pzY4v4rM21nyds3E8ETTVH-G6kDv0Q3yFojm8KE8qjsHOaAO-i-JG1DaZJ65tjtqvniZkLX-gGt0isfKEURV6SJg5WcXul5qMvwrPRjHBI5I1dC5PNInj33aM1G4NK3BBjmuX5Q/s1144/spooky2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="1144" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMO2pzY4v4rM21nyds3E8ETTVH-G6kDv0Q3yFojm8KE8qjsHOaAO-i-JG1DaZJ65tjtqvniZkLX-gGt0isfKEURV6SJg5WcXul5qMvwrPRjHBI5I1dC5PNInj33aM1G4NK3BBjmuX5Q/w400-h299/spooky2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first costume for my first kid, Halloween 2010. Pretty scary, eh?<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>It was great fun putting together a costume for my baby in 2010, but little did I know then that a year later, I'd have TWO little ones to dress up. This was a bit more challenging, but with a little creativity and a lot of duct tape (used only on the costume, I promise!), I came up with costumes inspired by two free plastic helmets that they got at the local fire truck parade the month before. It was very cute and not a bit liturgical.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyzLCw-S6Q2zMT_4IOF_j2EBEvHwo45B4Q1WZo59pOHiudufTvkv_x2RXECujCCDbD0HS_ArWqlVQcqM1SpPbSYVWylUwqDMLSpUI5-zX03NFABxC_WsFQKZ_G12o1gPzxtwePEptaug/s1917/little_firefighters1.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1917" data-original-width="1669" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyzLCw-S6Q2zMT_4IOF_j2EBEvHwo45B4Q1WZo59pOHiudufTvkv_x2RXECujCCDbD0HS_ArWqlVQcqM1SpPbSYVWylUwqDMLSpUI5-zX03NFABxC_WsFQKZ_G12o1gPzxtwePEptaug/s320/little_firefighters1.JPG" width="279" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two little firefighters, Halloween 2011.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />What I thought was challenging in 2011 became almost impossible in 2012. This was the year I became a stay-at-home mother, and my two boys were now very mobile, very strong-willed, very exhausting toddlers. I was in full-on survival mode, hence I skipped the costumes completely and just went for the Halloween t-shirt. I think I threw some chocolate candy in a bowl for them, based upon their faces in this photo. That year is kind of a blur, and the last thing on my mind was trying to teach my kids about saints, or feast days, or anything other than basic commands like "sit" and "stop" and "don't touch".</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpdsdNecNsNMPdBCVbfto0Mm0XSfp9Bs6bGiKLbpdbcudcYitE6TVwJHUBKXMKj2wes3iGCLA19SMQFmf8ofCY6HRSIXwjzekZCEXXbd5sGKJon-4qQrwyS6b-3XtIOQWDXud9ibclw/s1144/joah_messy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1144" data-original-width="856" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpdsdNecNsNMPdBCVbfto0Mm0XSfp9Bs6bGiKLbpdbcudcYitE6TVwJHUBKXMKj2wes3iGCLA19SMQFmf8ofCY6HRSIXwjzekZCEXXbd5sGKJon-4qQrwyS6b-3XtIOQWDXud9ibclw/s320/joah_messy.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I love my Mummy" and <br />I'm coming for her. Halloween 2012.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>By the time Halloween of 2013 rolled around, I was starting to find my groove as a stay-at-home mother, as evidenced by the fact that not only were my boys back in costumes, but I also somehow managed to bake and decorate two kinds of sugar cookies for the holiday. I'm not sure what came over me. Of course, there wasn't a saint among them, and my boys remained holy terrors.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4bEz8RqCySnukscWLL-X8efA_kHPDcIUlwoABIcXDjBNUckD-3lZXr1OOpvLCfGXYiDHKw-VL2qXt-qyTT6bu64O7T2C-DIWyjogARZ55FTbaj9xyIYtFrT_fbSo3hn3kkKxYrHLJEw/s2048/P1010751.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1532" data-original-width="2048" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4bEz8RqCySnukscWLL-X8efA_kHPDcIUlwoABIcXDjBNUckD-3lZXr1OOpvLCfGXYiDHKw-VL2qXt-qyTT6bu64O7T2C-DIWyjogARZ55FTbaj9xyIYtFrT_fbSo3hn3kkKxYrHLJEw/s320/P1010751.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZSp7EQymq-Xeot7FN7MMNr4zVG0Mwxv1A4wELVNsHEhZyD99dNGBADDmtAdbQ1PqJC-TKvjiFPkkyamfpitPBGFW242gBftC7Q-oQeGEdsXGEBvs38u1xzJF_0MhgLS4YzDRoHubaw/s572/sneakypirates.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="428" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZSp7EQymq-Xeot7FN7MMNr4zVG0Mwxv1A4wELVNsHEhZyD99dNGBADDmtAdbQ1PqJC-TKvjiFPkkyamfpitPBGFW242gBftC7Q-oQeGEdsXGEBvs38u1xzJF_0MhgLS4YzDRoHubaw/s320/sneakypirates.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There wasn't anything much scarier than when these two <br />got that look on their faces. Halloween 2013.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Two years into being a stay-at-home mother, I realized that it was a very rewarding gig, but I really didn't know what I was doing. My children were feral, and my attempts at trying to instill any sense of virtue in them were falling flat. So, I did what any desperate mother would do; I searched for an online community that might offer some kind of moral support and helpful advice. That was back when blogging was still popular so, I hopped on the bandwagon. I began reading Catholic blogs (and started this one) and that changed EVERYTHING. Within a few months, I had found a network of mothers trying to raise their children in the Catholic faith. Reading those blogs, I was intrigued by their attempts to bring the faith into every facet of their family life, including how they were celebrating holidays and liturgical seasons. I found myself wondering if I should do the same. </div><div><br /></div><div>At first, I was hesitant. Although dressing kids up like saints seemed like a fun and catechetical thing to do, I worried about depriving my children of the secular version of Halloween, so I tried to give them both. </div><div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFIKbGeeKu-WrpRBYjxpsu6auZD13akCyw50tOoysPI78WBuGVjJ0rwqXDi6WVVxqDL6UzXLqtYUeNcoOnkuuW3f2CKjvCySr0XJL2ni6PVA2wEKzKpXiIvbA7GtkGHzNN5Ro8zoIZXQ/s2048/catandcrow.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1532" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFIKbGeeKu-WrpRBYjxpsu6auZD13akCyw50tOoysPI78WBuGVjJ0rwqXDi6WVVxqDL6UzXLqtYUeNcoOnkuuW3f2CKjvCySr0XJL2ni6PVA2wEKzKpXiIvbA7GtkGHzNN5Ro8zoIZXQ/s320/catandcrow.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Secular costumes for trick-or-treating, Halloween 2014</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSW20Rk3ejhyphenhyphenlCHKCSzxnQELa0UDG6bTnu8XU5-rXqyacrMA08FKqhEfZRU73A1dGJ5KRvlu_KjvYL4IkxKCNUxayLBhG5laLqJ8D0WKSFhXLq8oNQoJAO9TthrKEY-U43DMJGTTEXA/s2048/cookies.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1532" data-original-width="2048" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSW20Rk3ejhyphenhyphenlCHKCSzxnQELa0UDG6bTnu8XU5-rXqyacrMA08FKqhEfZRU73A1dGJ5KRvlu_KjvYL4IkxKCNUxayLBhG5laLqJ8D0WKSFhXLq8oNQoJAO9TthrKEY-U43DMJGTTEXA/s320/cookies.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween AND Hallowtide cookies, 2014</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ-6yh6TnZcMvQ-eNr4LH0hY5xCCD_yUYL565xV-31l6HGYC1oZYdnPJzQc5WxIpN_Cf1O8p9iwLLjjsvEFRPM-BqHvXVgtk57U0ef_Cix00kE2lTMMqvz6H2GWJUeyi_NNyCE7YXUQw/s2048/jackolantern.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1532" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ-6yh6TnZcMvQ-eNr4LH0hY5xCCD_yUYL565xV-31l6HGYC1oZYdnPJzQc5WxIpN_Cf1O8p9iwLLjjsvEFRPM-BqHvXVgtk57U0ef_Cix00kE2lTMMqvz6H2GWJUeyi_NNyCE7YXUQw/s320/jackolantern.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory pumpkin carving, 2014.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6iGOMzvogMUcuiXR-oqM23HXvEaL3pRVUmnZZndrtfl3k2MUHIvRkKCHrRwFhSqxr7enM4rM1901pCWWZZUThZ7b9gWhz5vgorBm5shtsgMNBrR4sdqxvrgq9dFYuU2PHnVf9gIA4A/s2048/joah_colors.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1532" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6iGOMzvogMUcuiXR-oqM23HXvEaL3pRVUmnZZndrtfl3k2MUHIvRkKCHrRwFhSqxr7enM4rM1901pCWWZZUThZ7b9gWhz5vgorBm5shtsgMNBrR4sdqxvrgq9dFYuU2PHnVf9gIA4A/s320/joah_colors.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Attending our first <br />All Saints Day party, 2014.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfQYYbfaz08pJMg-5Kk4agsMf5zlfnnPZtap6klfumEhZGVFJMVr3GzWLnrOYSbRR3sZnsHAQ2nzI0mAaOfSrmCWaWpUZeqyBQOA4yR4Sa8az_ItirqYVBRaT430ehCl6mdNo5ImZdA/s2048/P9031542.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1532" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfQYYbfaz08pJMg-5Kk4agsMf5zlfnnPZtap6klfumEhZGVFJMVr3GzWLnrOYSbRR3sZnsHAQ2nzI0mAaOfSrmCWaWpUZeqyBQOA4yR4Sa8az_ItirqYVBRaT430ehCl6mdNo5ImZdA/s320/P9031542.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first saint costumes I ever made, 2014 <br />(St. John Bosco & St. John the Baptist)<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Halloween 2015 wasn't much different than 2014. I was still doing two sets of costumes, still trying to take the kids trick-or-treating, and still trying to keep a foot in both the secular world and liturgical world. It was a lot of work, but I thought it was necessary in order to keep my kids both Catholic and "normal". Only later did I come to realize that being both a devout Catholic and normal in the eyes of society may be mutually exclusive!<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexMvzKOGw-Gp7ubNBtBjwKEOElzf8mAi2wCZ9MV2nu45qaAXRb6Xlo8K6Jpea4i6IZr60rVhs42G9y8QhgBEH0dQ3VQvk37KlFL4Cc_vn3hyY3Yaf9A-ScjFsKg4Cv5hgyqR94IUQsA/s1920/PB011434.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexMvzKOGw-Gp7ubNBtBjwKEOElzf8mAi2wCZ9MV2nu45qaAXRb6Xlo8K6Jpea4i6IZr60rVhs42G9y8QhgBEH0dQ3VQvk37KlFL4Cc_vn3hyY3Yaf9A-ScjFsKg4Cv5hgyqR94IUQsA/s320/PB011434.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallowtide 2015<br />(St. Joseph & St. John Bosco)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUaonAb9rzpSwCByanEo5FcKBeCeEUqz9l78JiEBNQhwk0VL5rIGbI04HSYQ_ec_mdAhGyz2Zia8scgTk3cKfKDXy1AQZROvYEBHokJHsyH-K7PxSoIdUleG33JTqmGLcf90Iwx6zCg/s1920/PA301408.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUaonAb9rzpSwCByanEo5FcKBeCeEUqz9l78JiEBNQhwk0VL5rIGbI04HSYQ_ec_mdAhGyz2Zia8scgTk3cKfKDXy1AQZROvYEBHokJHsyH-K7PxSoIdUleG33JTqmGLcf90Iwx6zCg/s320/PA301408.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween 2015<br />(A pirate & his black cat)<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />And then Dominic joined our family in 2016, and I was back in survival mode with a 2-month old and two still-feral 5 and 6 year old boys. Needless to say, something had to go, and that was trick-or-treating. My husband and I were done loading kids into car seats, driving around in the cold rain after dark, and waiting in traffic jams and candy lines for sweet treats just so our kids could have the wonderful experience of greedily hoarding candy and scarfing down too much sugar, which took feral to a whole other level. Instead, I replaced it all with buckets of candy that I bought (and moderated) and called it all good. It was one of the best parenting decisions we ever made. It would be another year, however, before it finally dawned on me that if I didn't dress them up in secular costumes, they would still turn out okay.<br /><br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONa08KuJ2UhINBI0WhbAaoncQI5jiAV3Obg79SS0DERuyiuUZyIWRx49VFm37pzAOcvOswo4ABEPsZMfFI3pU16BJU9ja1TUiGzJkNw-ET_5-Wemxx_Vb2S4QWRTldYWLZwJQPGHpsA/s2048/20161031_190840.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONa08KuJ2UhINBI0WhbAaoncQI5jiAV3Obg79SS0DERuyiuUZyIWRx49VFm37pzAOcvOswo4ABEPsZMfFI3pU16BJU9ja1TUiGzJkNw-ET_5-Wemxx_Vb2S4QWRTldYWLZwJQPGHpsA/s320/20161031_190840.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's hear an Amen for Halloween-themed <br />sleepers that just zip up! Halloween 2016</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHq2QUJHeEHCuGMFEy5wf-cRKyHm9QuqosZpN1uDVnlDr1XGize87SlwnScYQzaODMX_v51g73nJyksTaU2laZ4o2-gbAf2J1JHdYnGWooaLFFfbfoGw9O5c4mlegKYn2xCU16Dra5eA/s2048/20161029_095941.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHq2QUJHeEHCuGMFEy5wf-cRKyHm9QuqosZpN1uDVnlDr1XGize87SlwnScYQzaODMX_v51g73nJyksTaU2laZ4o2-gbAf2J1JHdYnGWooaLFFfbfoGw9O5c4mlegKYn2xCU16Dra5eA/s320/20161029_095941.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little guy insisted that it wasn't Halloween<br /> unless he got to dress up like a cat again. Halloween 2016</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZHnoi2cDc-W1VVJ7rNjGQ-OiTu4su6uE1ZAfxBfkR0-WX-7Km6Hl3bbhyphenhyphenUjafXs9UmqEBwqApST0Na0PkTM7RzUzGdquKiF8UdCT5RgDDUP_AMTn6ntC3eaKAZTOZnA8fGMer3FvLQ/s2048/20161029_094909.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZHnoi2cDc-W1VVJ7rNjGQ-OiTu4su6uE1ZAfxBfkR0-WX-7Km6Hl3bbhyphenhyphenUjafXs9UmqEBwqApST0Na0PkTM7RzUzGdquKiF8UdCT5RgDDUP_AMTn6ntC3eaKAZTOZnA8fGMer3FvLQ/s320/20161029_094909.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And if brother dresses up, he wants<br /> to, also. Halloween 2016. (Wildlife ranger)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />For Halloween 2017, we continued with the tradition of carving pumpkins and eating candy (purchased by Mom), but the confidence I gained from ditching trick-or-treating the year before gave me the courage to finally do away with secular costumes completely. Instead, I encouraged the boys to put their thoughts and efforts into which saint they would like to represent for All Hallows' (Saints) Day. I thought I might be in for a fight, but once I assured Joah that I would never throw away his cat costume (and I haven't), and that he could pick a saint who loved animals as much as he does, he was all for it. It also helped that I promised them that I would make chocolate chip "pumpkin pancakes" for supper, and while I didn't realize it at the time, a new Halloween supper tradition began.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WgzVxzVT2d-r_hmsIdy1U52v177A2YX2QsD8DwnkYvYqxdO-bitRmO4y7l3nmx5jXnJwOFwjqcYN5nhXN3_mfCHgvM511jQHnYtSHWxS6Gx7PPHROsB-iEcYZ-vSPxnaix-pIciToQ/s2048/20171030_160126.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WgzVxzVT2d-r_hmsIdy1U52v177A2YX2QsD8DwnkYvYqxdO-bitRmO4y7l3nmx5jXnJwOFwjqcYN5nhXN3_mfCHgvM511jQHnYtSHWxS6Gx7PPHROsB-iEcYZ-vSPxnaix-pIciToQ/s320/20171030_160126.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween 2017.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXZSPfftAx3GJMD9qHly9GirH46lFWwsW5Xe3_iPd1Pq4Ph2W9Up3SXIWlIgZPLT1iYTHe-gw7CyfL5FIzdMpXif7S1w7m9p6fDtUIoM6byXMJwSHkkgd58363lqtr8ww-3mVz41-3Q/s2048/20171031_084504.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXZSPfftAx3GJMD9qHly9GirH46lFWwsW5Xe3_iPd1Pq4Ph2W9Up3SXIWlIgZPLT1iYTHe-gw7CyfL5FIzdMpXif7S1w7m9p6fDtUIoM6byXMJwSHkkgd58363lqtr8ww-3mVz41-3Q/s320/20171031_084504.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pumpkin pancakes for supper, Halloween 2017</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJuFNYMMmfGuf9WVTzsBPNUHFUU5EXXa24AtnJQYLxYdyWSGHmbxHeP24S69SAcmkGx-3zxq-Z_wurNzpTMuxKPvBuvbLn9DtTz8OXTQnd9DNODILchMHoQALkoNWgY0f-bCCgUTB9g/s2048/20171031_191417.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJuFNYMMmfGuf9WVTzsBPNUHFUU5EXXa24AtnJQYLxYdyWSGHmbxHeP24S69SAcmkGx-3zxq-Z_wurNzpTMuxKPvBuvbLn9DtTz8OXTQnd9DNODILchMHoQALkoNWgY0f-bCCgUTB9g/s320/20171031_191417.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom-approved candy, Halloween 2017.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4pYJoUOOMSyPRX7Z2IE_pLVnTn3bihHgJiJLdzEvbE2Vyg2_dM_ceSGndhF1jzGF4UD0vkxc8cc_D9Rf0GvpHICzdSHOU_KX6n5yElVCyJUSzD7Gcc4_gSAdghsJBYuX3uhbIu_BCg/s2048/2017-11-01+20.12.49.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1099" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4pYJoUOOMSyPRX7Z2IE_pLVnTn3bihHgJiJLdzEvbE2Vyg2_dM_ceSGndhF1jzGF4UD0vkxc8cc_D9Rf0GvpHICzdSHOU_KX6n5yElVCyJUSzD7Gcc4_gSAdghsJBYuX3uhbIu_BCg/s320/2017-11-01+20.12.49.jpg" width="172" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Francis of Assisi, Hallowtide 2017</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgryGJVuuq-9m9fC412YbHMKdXXFcf4GIy35_21_AQmVo5zS9iYCVlKwoZRy1rg8q1nyTe_RFAG01mc4htJm6o8xWhvLd1cTxT297pa4apGQObGLT388QnTaHRXNNPC5md_BR7fuiqbpA/s2048/2017-11-01+20.14.02.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1478" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgryGJVuuq-9m9fC412YbHMKdXXFcf4GIy35_21_AQmVo5zS9iYCVlKwoZRy1rg8q1nyTe_RFAG01mc4htJm6o8xWhvLd1cTxT297pa4apGQObGLT388QnTaHRXNNPC5md_BR7fuiqbpA/s320/2017-11-01+20.14.02.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. George, Hallowtide 2017</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJ9TYJ0XBF6VWi8EC_7OVpS9WKgiu1Gpdx3OoAXWtMl6VhLP9PecXQPWc_QmAwo5qTX1yqpcG28BscF2eOOiaBnrsT_OxVy-4AkhaR4XmcdpQsUnZd8hHxZ99oK92EGGwhOh9mkAZ-w/s289/2017-11-07+10.04.54.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="208" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJ9TYJ0XBF6VWi8EC_7OVpS9WKgiu1Gpdx3OoAXWtMl6VhLP9PecXQPWc_QmAwo5qTX1yqpcG28BscF2eOOiaBnrsT_OxVy-4AkhaR4XmcdpQsUnZd8hHxZ99oK92EGGwhOh9mkAZ-w/s0/2017-11-07+10.04.54.png" width="208" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A (very mobile) St. Dominic, Hallowtide 2017<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>We mostly repeated the process in 2018, but the boys kept upping their game with the saint costumes. With the time I saved in not making secular costumes, I was able to put more time into helping them with their saint costumes. John really wanted to be "a saint with a beard", so I made a beard for Moses, and sewed a tunic for St. Francis of Assisi. <br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7o5nm9mgEGw3_iArzYXXJd2Sb9pesUBredvRik0pjNFQ5scPXQshN37waaUTGQ0qctsT3yJfruQAfHGH-dOJO8WRQXzCM6VwfcapT5vX7ZAPJlRm0KLPt2jheFaT2C3oeVH6mPx0Yg/s2048/20181028_174710.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7o5nm9mgEGw3_iArzYXXJd2Sb9pesUBredvRik0pjNFQ5scPXQshN37waaUTGQ0qctsT3yJfruQAfHGH-dOJO8WRQXzCM6VwfcapT5vX7ZAPJlRm0KLPt2jheFaT2C3oeVH6mPx0Yg/s320/20181028_174710.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF55lHgLFSHeC6KbofNZh5f_i2GfBXaTiAFye5oHl4odPUAxOn8biudFn77vmeMDmJn8H2pYGQYrHUi3uIvoAwaZLqquKlNSlFxiCAN3m4l5T4LoH4wPcVtk9_nJnOJu_R8f6v4CP9Tw/s2048/20181031_174230.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF55lHgLFSHeC6KbofNZh5f_i2GfBXaTiAFye5oHl4odPUAxOn8biudFn77vmeMDmJn8H2pYGQYrHUi3uIvoAwaZLqquKlNSlFxiCAN3m4l5T4LoH4wPcVtk9_nJnOJu_R8f6v4CP9Tw/s320/20181031_174230.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEch_dP_oidsg12h81XXXlyY2zGG-BzDOmN8JoKdiWCPtyXhUDAv2z2Uj5pPIVkV5P1KoH02Loojl7DqMvHnPSJqQA5kDa08bE4MHPcqrXYYvrgcNd-lHm9XbjpqxArKgLH9s7TcWXTA/s824/saintcostumes.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="824" data-original-width="608" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEch_dP_oidsg12h81XXXlyY2zGG-BzDOmN8JoKdiWCPtyXhUDAv2z2Uj5pPIVkV5P1KoH02Loojl7DqMvHnPSJqQA5kDa08bE4MHPcqrXYYvrgcNd-lHm9XbjpqxArKgLH9s7TcWXTA/s320/saintcostumes.jpeg" width="236" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moses, St. George & <br />St. Francis of Assisi. Hallowtide 2018</td></tr></tbody></table><br />By the time 2019 rolled around, liturgical living had become for us a way of life and feast days, and saint stories, and solemnity celebrations were being incorporated into our entire year. And although we still carved pumpkins and ate candy on Halloween, the focus of this holiday for my family had turned completely around from where it had been five years previous. It was in 2019 that I first started referring to "Hallowtide," and our entire family was enjoying the new way that we were celebrating so much, that we wanted to share it with others. So, that year, our entire family dressed as saints. We all wore our costumes to Mass on All Saints' Day, and after Mass, we invited everyone to our home for an All Saints' Day party. It was great fun, and my kids and our friends still talk about it today. <br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHpEzD4JafqiWhaR22DNLmJAMd-0terNNsCUzjx_KyZPKJ7smOIGw0IrxQZ3ztEU5TBshMO0BaCRreXb56cMKgEaHtkqRC6kTznOvjXj1xBfwsjuaKF8DYoSu51c1V1VmlCKu3i_Suw/s1589/2019-10-31+20.20.36.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1589" data-original-width="953" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHpEzD4JafqiWhaR22DNLmJAMd-0terNNsCUzjx_KyZPKJ7smOIGw0IrxQZ3ztEU5TBshMO0BaCRreXb56cMKgEaHtkqRC6kTznOvjXj1xBfwsjuaKF8DYoSu51c1V1VmlCKu3i_Suw/s320/2019-10-31+20.20.36.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little guy, however, was missing his cat costume,<br /> so we dug it out for him for old time's sake. Hallowtide 2019.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZHC2oZ7oRErB28a_t38H-RJzC8scnVjMGHpPMmgU-U6lTNFIfPFy5qRQCvYIwrVvQWpbsSKYVubpFLX60Cf_IzRiGz75QhG74D0bLX5X_Y9Bs1PYNXngsBIUZsKV9UkR-lzdxS_ksw/s879/2019-11-01+23.26.52.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="879" data-original-width="687" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZHC2oZ7oRErB28a_t38H-RJzC8scnVjMGHpPMmgU-U6lTNFIfPFy5qRQCvYIwrVvQWpbsSKYVubpFLX60Cf_IzRiGz75QhG74D0bLX5X_Y9Bs1PYNXngsBIUZsKV9UkR-lzdxS_ksw/s320/2019-11-01+23.26.52.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family that wears saint costumes <br />together, stays together. Hallowtide 2019.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6i7lu4r96ifDRfa-PScAsPy-RXvFJ2orSJdM8-K03UBGw5z3F5I5q4KwHbbbbUUXAKwpVFlbNytKe9FXnWbv79QGwam3N6dZII5WYkg4q83gM0iFPuihWJZRcpjahY2peBusNjgNmXQ/s1024/20191030_174650_1574886395153_resized.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6i7lu4r96ifDRfa-PScAsPy-RXvFJ2orSJdM8-K03UBGw5z3F5I5q4KwHbbbbUUXAKwpVFlbNytKe9FXnWbv79QGwam3N6dZII5WYkg4q83gM0iFPuihWJZRcpjahY2peBusNjgNmXQ/s320/20191030_174650_1574886395153_resized.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making soul cakes for the<br /> party, Hallowtide 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVx-C_F8fh8q_R3YDbQfNXEFh72sDmNIVCr36NbD2nAcrITNs9CwQdvMG_EhNOZBgu-e0x2txE8ZU8UL23TiamjYSURilbcKls4idyqxkM4kAa8JP7fwi-tbmBAnkqzQVu25fZnt0WKg/s1920/PB013014.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVx-C_F8fh8q_R3YDbQfNXEFh72sDmNIVCr36NbD2nAcrITNs9CwQdvMG_EhNOZBgu-e0x2txE8ZU8UL23TiamjYSURilbcKls4idyqxkM4kAa8JP7fwi-tbmBAnkqzQVu25fZnt0WKg/s320/PB013014.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A feast of saint-themed snacks <br />for our guests. Hallowtide 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><br />And then, in 2020, the world changed, and the idea of hosting a party in our home was out-of-the question. It was this year, more than any other, that I was so thankful for the liturgical living traditions that we'd already established in our family. It was also in 2020 that I realized that we had not yet fully incorporated the last piece, perhaps most important part, of the Hallowtide puzzle into our lives. Pandemic deaths seemed to be all around us now, making us more fully aware of the significance of All Souls' Day. And so, it was in 2020 that we added cemetery visits on All Souls' Day to our Hallowtide traditions. On that day, we visited five cemeteries. I asked the kids to choose a headstone in each one, make a chalk rubbing of the stone, and record the name of the person who it belonged to. We said a decade of the rosary at each of the five cemeteries, then came home and added the names we'd recorded to our our Poor Souls candle, which we lit each evening when we said our family rosary (another tradition we started in 2020). It was a lovely and meaningful end to our Hallowtide, and one that we repeated again this year. <br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2ikoIlS40VcyIpfk2xKVcIyvEMJgvrTglpEdThqiLTmdmBRuYLEFKBy4FR2QBkIBi6g9KtEHjCf10ai7axy1Y4TQ1aMQXbG90pVSnJsfEJ-msyzpz57lRWptABEwo7TMC9ObImG22g/s2048/IMG_20201031_190840631.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2ikoIlS40VcyIpfk2xKVcIyvEMJgvrTglpEdThqiLTmdmBRuYLEFKBy4FR2QBkIBi6g9KtEHjCf10ai7axy1Y4TQ1aMQXbG90pVSnJsfEJ-msyzpz57lRWptABEwo7TMC9ObImG22g/s320/IMG_20201031_190840631.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallowtide 2020. This time, we placed our jack-o-lanterns <br />on the graves of our 3 babies, weaving many of our Hallowtide traditions together.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6DcpXup8mOPPcClsk84snTa5FAavBDEBpcmmDuzRne3uznflWNGBIgW2c3-WvMbUcrkrsOE9h4Gl_qrjHuFGL1SYZPexKZhLAqfhb9QWEkeYu0dUhyphenhyphenP0qolc8nfS9OPbYQcgOzHlcXg/s2048/IMG_20201101_111346.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6DcpXup8mOPPcClsk84snTa5FAavBDEBpcmmDuzRne3uznflWNGBIgW2c3-WvMbUcrkrsOE9h4Gl_qrjHuFGL1SYZPexKZhLAqfhb9QWEkeYu0dUhyphenhyphenP0qolc8nfS9OPbYQcgOzHlcXg/s320/IMG_20201101_111346.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Isaac Jogues, Hallowtide 2020</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmHVebGQXmaipEpt11zMm8HqQ-BO_Ap-VintWM1ZosOlG7UTfY3iDH6gD_1WLsi9x71niWHo3DWb1wEMZbWfeQND9AOo9sEm2HQJ_4xKmfsMvVGMUeu8VP54dCrHQsqYlquy5edjW1g/s2048/IMG_20201101_111353.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmHVebGQXmaipEpt11zMm8HqQ-BO_Ap-VintWM1ZosOlG7UTfY3iDH6gD_1WLsi9x71niWHo3DWb1wEMZbWfeQND9AOo9sEm2HQJ_4xKmfsMvVGMUeu8VP54dCrHQsqYlquy5edjW1g/s320/IMG_20201101_111353.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Joseph, Hallowtide 2020</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLM09N9Hn4dfBRjslFubPuzXocvOyYPdkU1X-KOAPaiqjuWYdLdbxRLrcFeMW3dY6yvAmNZFj_wwrZ6y4uqWyvD8kGh3hOyx5ejyZRzRtR_6CxdoRnh-Tp31YPL1sB0iTuz8LI4oGdw/s2048/IMG_20201101_111357.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLM09N9Hn4dfBRjslFubPuzXocvOyYPdkU1X-KOAPaiqjuWYdLdbxRLrcFeMW3dY6yvAmNZFj_wwrZ6y4uqWyvD8kGh3hOyx5ejyZRzRtR_6CxdoRnh-Tp31YPL1sB0iTuz8LI4oGdw/s320/IMG_20201101_111357.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. John Bosco, Hallowtide 2020</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapvojt9AwRlNpq2AFGai536r0WObIJgjLadg6k7QncJ6A6MdExMTuPoGKUNcROMJ-tETVpwXWVXVlTQDVnA89bD2T6Jyi5IFhuqMet5suSH_NeSisBjirXRREzj-yG81GgIPK2kHq7w/s4096/IMG_20201102_132612815_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiapvojt9AwRlNpq2AFGai536r0WObIJgjLadg6k7QncJ6A6MdExMTuPoGKUNcROMJ-tETVpwXWVXVlTQDVnA89bD2T6Jyi5IFhuqMet5suSH_NeSisBjirXRREzj-yG81GgIPK2kHq7w/s320/IMG_20201102_132612815_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All Souls' Day at the cemetery. Hallowtide 2020.<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Which brings us to now, and the recent end of another Hallowtide. How much my children have grown in these years! How much I have grown! I am much different than the mother I was ten years ago, when I blindly followed the mainstream, doing things without knowing the reason for doing them. I will forever be grateful for the blogs of 2014 (especially <a href="https://catholicallyear.com/blog/">Catholic All Year </a>) that led me down this path, and for the many mothers out there who are also doing the same in their families. It is primarily through their inspiration and example that I am learning how to live the faith with my children in my own home.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxD1rJpQNBKIvoJGMpSt7f8fxnaOnCP8jmotGmm6Vu1M2RirapoH56RcGRsZ4JSnh-zme-eQBDEkXjy0Wwkbdqw3hoLH_wNBJDgz2ko_KWs083VykmjXFEAbWCIyn2lkJ_izl8HLUug/s2048/20161101_175843-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1298" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxD1rJpQNBKIvoJGMpSt7f8fxnaOnCP8jmotGmm6Vu1M2RirapoH56RcGRsZ4JSnh-zme-eQBDEkXjy0Wwkbdqw3hoLH_wNBJDgz2ko_KWs083VykmjXFEAbWCIyn2lkJ_izl8HLUug/s320/20161101_175843-1.jpg" width="203" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallowtide 2016.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>There once was a time when I worried that we were depriving our children of Halloween. Now, I believe that they have something even better. They have Hallowtide. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-V0d4KeGucCQz3OTsQ0Fm-rO4Na3vaTlNEfpTyT8IWYqd1iu-xhnHnLmMY5ipPVmuHYWFyMbC603VFumM_BgGpG01IgxWKHPIi1s9AlVfgRlZoc57nJIqbxwS169vDGOxCW9n0wsWQ/s2048/IMG_20211031_172048080_BURST000_COVER_TOP.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR-V0d4KeGucCQz3OTsQ0Fm-rO4Na3vaTlNEfpTyT8IWYqd1iu-xhnHnLmMY5ipPVmuHYWFyMbC603VFumM_BgGpG01IgxWKHPIi1s9AlVfgRlZoc57nJIqbxwS169vDGOxCW9n0wsWQ/s320/IMG_20211031_172048080_BURST000_COVER_TOP.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallowtide 2021</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijosbxYZcb-KVtgU4MRDK1dAqFg7Ep2vLYDLrH08RIchJ8ZCFC0-Jjw3AHrulT29m4Qm8ggWCGBUev667xgEGvGz9C9I8YQa1U1rzUDPr-9lu05gS9O8m6cOh-42Cp5r5JXRGDbnm0og/s2048/IMG_20211031_184902077_BURST001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijosbxYZcb-KVtgU4MRDK1dAqFg7Ep2vLYDLrH08RIchJ8ZCFC0-Jjw3AHrulT29m4Qm8ggWCGBUev667xgEGvGz9C9I8YQa1U1rzUDPr-9lu05gS9O8m6cOh-42Cp5r5JXRGDbnm0og/s320/IMG_20211031_184902077_BURST001.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallowtide 2021</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSFk-OHHMWyd8Lrp7XLgerF1nL2_bwzMabWiiit9tfPFJ081LQ_XQ5FjK0aDDiQUK-d_A587i-h3WFSP7DHRjzYpWOfpvze5aWtkjXjNqsiK9LiwUDi6VonWVLLeWRdpQwcx6w4Vq8fQ/s2048/cemetery.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSFk-OHHMWyd8Lrp7XLgerF1nL2_bwzMabWiiit9tfPFJ081LQ_XQ5FjK0aDDiQUK-d_A587i-h3WFSP7DHRjzYpWOfpvze5aWtkjXjNqsiK9LiwUDi6VonWVLLeWRdpQwcx6w4Vq8fQ/s320/cemetery.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallowtide 2021</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjabu8g0IZLCGNZCWVJOFYPMkzdjZEA2IKkd9a1bUS2PlBQTfvZipOfHq9GgBswwTeJ-JLaZHQfeLDNQLwwNujC00MGubeWj3homajF56G2EWQASkblUhKQnaUFkgfaRsTIPz7LT5mg/s2048/saints2021.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1670" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjabu8g0IZLCGNZCWVJOFYPMkzdjZEA2IKkd9a1bUS2PlBQTfvZipOfHq9GgBswwTeJ-JLaZHQfeLDNQLwwNujC00MGubeWj3homajF56G2EWQASkblUhKQnaUFkgfaRsTIPz7LT5mg/s320/saints2021.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallowtide 2021<br />St. Christopher, St. Roch, & St. Luke</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-68775224103574012352021-10-16T12:25:00.001-04:002021-10-16T12:26:04.897-04:0020 Years: A Marriage Worth Fighting For<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguj7LeBgNf56IXvNNrO32dUhBT6B5r9FVTKL3LWZXS-9ihKM16tyILok2k6pAnSu5-ZJul0zGq2GrMxb1G1v5gcXYk5Djbb5YEseNus_A8B3WFRHH9a3WXdXcB8aFgxx3NCDo_zT0HJw/s960/wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="509" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguj7LeBgNf56IXvNNrO32dUhBT6B5r9FVTKL3LWZXS-9ihKM16tyILok2k6pAnSu5-ZJul0zGq2GrMxb1G1v5gcXYk5Djbb5YEseNus_A8B3WFRHH9a3WXdXcB8aFgxx3NCDo_zT0HJw/w213-h400/wedding.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Twenty years ago this week, we became a family.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And what a long twenty years it has been.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I do not say that to dissuade anyone from the vocation of
marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marriage is beautiful and truly
the best thing that ever happened to me. I prayed for it for years before
meeting my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed for God to
lead me to just the right man, the one meant for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He answered those prayers, and His grace has
sustained us through these two decades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But these twenty years, they have been long, and difficult, and our
marriage has barely survived some of it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It all started well enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We were both in our early 30s, both never married, both well-educated,
financially secure, and more importantly, kind, considerate and responsible
young adults.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both loved
birdwatching, camping, hiking, and music. We loved good conversation about a
range of topics and would talk for hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We loved creative writing, and composed hundreds of poetic, romantic
emails to one another that greeted us each morning as we started and ended our
days in different time zones, half-a-world apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We loved to travel, and every opportunity to
be together was a great adventure, either in the Australian bush, or in the forests
of Appalachia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took naps on the
beach, and hikes in the snow, and eight months after we met, he proposed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t wait to say yes.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQ6FNmcFlQjLxz_OkUWBnp-uG2HKWGe2YwCvTLWQreeug9YGX2XyjjYGKRYazM4cCpP6Nk4-UZ3HZLGKOMgFrH-RbwrngOTIR-vuYGcJRs6NEavxS0S1ujUuTLWl3H3nk_DGqxq4Mtg/s1872/CFallsTogether.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1218" data-original-width="1872" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQ6FNmcFlQjLxz_OkUWBnp-uG2HKWGe2YwCvTLWQreeug9YGX2XyjjYGKRYazM4cCpP6Nk4-UZ3HZLGKOMgFrH-RbwrngOTIR-vuYGcJRs6NEavxS0S1ujUuTLWl3H3nk_DGqxq4Mtg/s320/CFallsTogether.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">We thought our families would be happy for us, but the news
was met with lukewarm acceptance. Nonetheless, we moved forward with our
plans. We met with my parish priest, who
took an immediate liking to my future husband.
We set the date. October 13, six
months to the day that he’d proposed to me. Lucky 13, we always said.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXm8pruVcG5gxpSdjnK34bGYNS5th3l8MIdRmkMWG37zxosZXP0hXtdG3HQ5eAd5bHrIkdclVMBmmV5vitDhWP4EiTr2T4tuxcqRr_Dsqe_PXypkTivDn5vxtblUSntokDtk4dqQ82A/s1513/wedding_outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1513" data-original-width="1177" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXm8pruVcG5gxpSdjnK34bGYNS5th3l8MIdRmkMWG37zxosZXP0hXtdG3HQ5eAd5bHrIkdclVMBmmV5vitDhWP4EiTr2T4tuxcqRr_Dsqe_PXypkTivDn5vxtblUSntokDtk4dqQ82A/s320/wedding_outside.jpg" width="249" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Yet, a cloud hung over our plans. My father would not bless our marriage. He was not pleased that I was planning to
marry a non-Christian. My husband’s
father, in turn, was not happy that I was a Catholic. Words were said, but hearts would not change.
We dug in our heels, more determined than ever to get married and show our
parents how wrong they were. My father
walked me down the aisle with a long face, and my husband’s parents struggled
to smile. In hindsight, I can understand
why.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We were unequally yoked, he and I, and the struggles began
almost immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither of us had a
frame of reference of what a healthy, Christian marriage looked like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon after the honeymoon, the life changes
started coming hard and fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, a
move to a new state, new jobs for both of us, and then, infertility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Years and years of infertility, losing our
first baby in miscarriage, and lies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lots and lots of little lies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Marriage was rapidly becoming my worst nightmare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mQPjrADu-PE55uPN9bhvLYb-H1Wvt9bQYRPW4OihK7K7JAjHKSYHtxST-3ldx_Zm9krRr5ux98ag2xWeMMdxzDuakTA2vP75tLB_UX39QJX5Mml_HO5_8sq0_FCiQdYhJPs6C1Mh5w/s1024/christmas05+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mQPjrADu-PE55uPN9bhvLYb-H1Wvt9bQYRPW4OihK7K7JAjHKSYHtxST-3ldx_Zm9krRr5ux98ag2xWeMMdxzDuakTA2vP75tLB_UX39QJX5Mml_HO5_8sq0_FCiQdYhJPs6C1Mh5w/s320/christmas05+010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Yet, somewhere in there, God poured His grace. Never one to miss Mass, I went every Sunday
and holy day and my non-Christian husband went with me, every time. It was the only thing my father had asked of
him before we married. “Promise me
you’ll go to church with her,” he’d said, and my husband promised, and he
did. Three years into our marriage, he
joined the Catholic Church. One year
after that, we were at <a href="https://www.helpourmarriage.org/">Retrouvaille</a>, seeking help. The closer you get to Jesus, the harder Satan comes after you, and little did we know then just how much he wanted to destroy what we were trying to build. <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUKdac9SbXGil4bPPOL6oq_U6sZBtIIH4ECfdt1Ue7S5cpPQyI9F531L2FQ9VYgNPH4lJg0xgfZ6SYmMKNTnniEhUAM7DU6TmV7qSVx6VqKkszHo_HTihiogwWEz-Atp8nLaqXWbNPg/s2048/tom+lyn+hike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUKdac9SbXGil4bPPOL6oq_U6sZBtIIH4ECfdt1Ue7S5cpPQyI9F531L2FQ9VYgNPH4lJg0xgfZ6SYmMKNTnniEhUAM7DU6TmV7qSVx6VqKkszHo_HTihiogwWEz-Atp8nLaqXWbNPg/s320/tom+lyn+hike.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Things did not get better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They got harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realize now,
years later, that I was making them harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Always seeking perfection in myself and in him, I was seldom
satisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now of the same faith, we
still practiced it only minimally together outside of going to Mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And although we could still find joy in our
common hobbies and travels together, the day-to-day mundane tasks were tearing
our relationship apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was convinced
that having children together would bring us closer, but when the children
finally came after a tumultuous nine years, the strain of parenting children
with challenges added a whole new layer of burden to our already tenuous marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each of us dealt with it in our own way, and
rather than leaning on one another, we instead used one another as a dumping
ground for each other’s brokenness and frustrations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust eroded, and Satan whispered in our
ears.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgTcHoShknLCIjB6iDkPbIFz1wM3izlIpe19mn4dbAtKD9jkFJxArVQtxNlLitz_tjMIcR5-7h7KzyM-nhGXKUdi8Q1b0jG4cuTPtaY2XRLXXn0fb86XitNgcinHLDHmefus4YUQv-w/s1543/family+with+john.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1163" data-original-width="1543" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgTcHoShknLCIjB6iDkPbIFz1wM3izlIpe19mn4dbAtKD9jkFJxArVQtxNlLitz_tjMIcR5-7h7KzyM-nhGXKUdi8Q1b0jG4cuTPtaY2XRLXXn0fb86XitNgcinHLDHmefus4YUQv-w/s320/family+with+john.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">It was in desperation that <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2020/10/he-will-not-win.html">I began saying a daily rosary for our marriage</a>, with the specific intention that I would grow in humility. I had rarely prayed the rosary before
that. For months after I began, nothing
improved. I went to confession more
frequently, as did he, but still, little changed. I kept it up.
Three months later, I asked him to join me in a daily rosary, and he
agreed, but only if we included the kids as well. So, we did, and life got even harder. The kids hated saying the rosary and every
evening, we faced an exhausting, uphill battle when we’d try to gather them on
the sofa. So many of our rosaries were
said badly, and it often took an hour to complete one, if we completed it at
all. There was no doubt in my mind that
something or Someone was doing all he could to break us from this most powerful
devotion.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcWtWMvlQsMbN0MDZZq8kJjXOQ3aYceYBGVMw0no2r94U8F429tbE1LK1bTbQfvEx4qk0O9WmzABp-QnSyENV9BXvYgbSjTcIVRs0IAFHO0LWmTuAc7D3eAivY97Pkf29B50srXxSvQ/s4096/IMG_20210321_110739989_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcWtWMvlQsMbN0MDZZq8kJjXOQ3aYceYBGVMw0no2r94U8F429tbE1LK1bTbQfvEx4qk0O9WmzABp-QnSyENV9BXvYgbSjTcIVRs0IAFHO0LWmTuAc7D3eAivY97Pkf29B50srXxSvQ/s320/IMG_20210321_110739989_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">But although we had many setbacks, we did not stop. And while I cannot put my finger on the
moment when everything changed, I can assure you that things did change. This month, on October 7, we celebrated the
Feast of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary, and my family, joined by our parish
priest, sat around the kitchen table and said a most beautiful rosary together with
prayerful intentions. Our children now
look forward to snuggles on the sofa while we pray the rosary together, and my
husband leads them with enthusiasm. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEbeJqTf7JiyrE79TxSMkG-IECJtEQImfFBrNr7gz4dtqd0z5Vp2t_bBv7oyEDMiD3CJWOmzRfr3enAumAw8k7nxHnLq05agvtNPe40SYgz6ffrCQm2TBNawEyXei93-dlomqsQTgZQ/s2048/blanketfamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEbeJqTf7JiyrE79TxSMkG-IECJtEQImfFBrNr7gz4dtqd0z5Vp2t_bBv7oyEDMiD3CJWOmzRfr3enAumAw8k7nxHnLq05agvtNPe40SYgz6ffrCQm2TBNawEyXei93-dlomqsQTgZQ/s320/blanketfamily.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Slowly, our marriage is healing. We take walks together. We have loving
conversations again. We try to do small things for one another during the day
without complaint. I try to be more
accepting, less anxious, and search for humility when I want to be judgmental. This past week, he gave me a new pair of
binoculars for an anniversary gift because mine have been broken for years, and
he said his missed his “birding buddy.” Last
Sunday, we went on a 24 hour get-away, just the two of us, and he made all the
reservations. For the first time in a
very long time, we are back where we started, twenty years ago. We are falling in love. <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDMcB2gaLasfGbz5rxcaa7W7Tee0sXS-C8lxemnzVLdiULAYE8Ho_z-J9dv1GQnS8eloEAz2yI52qhKfsz78RoZiPBBCqJb3L8aSWgJ4HHo4ii5xcX6iWOpK_WITYLDgR075BF2fNLEg/s1795/IMG_20201011_162500362_PORTRAIT%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="1795" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDMcB2gaLasfGbz5rxcaa7W7Tee0sXS-C8lxemnzVLdiULAYE8Ho_z-J9dv1GQnS8eloEAz2yI52qhKfsz78RoZiPBBCqJb3L8aSWgJ4HHo4ii5xcX6iWOpK_WITYLDgR075BF2fNLEg/s320/IMG_20201011_162500362_PORTRAIT%257E2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Satan is far from finished with us, we know. Our old wounds routinely get re-opened, and
it is still too easy for us to succumb to our lower nature and the temptation
to run away to a place where we can lick our own wounds. Pride still looms
large over our relationship and colors our conversations on a daily basis. Yet, despite that, we are doing one thing differently. Now, we hold hands with one hand and keep a rosary in the other, and are fighting together for a marriage worth saving.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTasd8TezgnSv-nmeq2YvG89jYXIaco4s6KoStuyjVDI9K3Rq9beYcH0yMhSvTPduXWmMpZM1uIAgMgBb6ubC-GNbxJZ5DcDnYdJB6_09xKsT0mgh6k4x_CKd-s446vAtY4DxOgVqNiw/s855/close+up+sunset+couple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="737" data-original-width="855" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTasd8TezgnSv-nmeq2YvG89jYXIaco4s6KoStuyjVDI9K3Rq9beYcH0yMhSvTPduXWmMpZM1uIAgMgBb6ubC-GNbxJZ5DcDnYdJB6_09xKsT0mgh6k4x_CKd-s446vAtY4DxOgVqNiw/s320/close+up+sunset+couple.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">In five more years, we will be celebrating, Lord willing,
our Silver Jubilee, and I am already planning it. We will stand at the same altar with the same
priest and renew our vows. Our sons will
stand beside their father as his best men, and witness their parents publicly
profess their love and commitment for one another. It will be much like it was the first time,
only much different in a most important way.
This second time, we will receive the Eucharist together at a
matrimonial Mass offered just for us, and our union will be sacramental and
holy and the way it should have been to start with. I might even ask my father to walk me down
the aisle again, and should he agree, I have no doubt that this time, he will
be smiling. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>As a father has compassion on his children, </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>so the Lord
has compassion on those who fear him. – Psalm 103<o:p></o:p></i></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-86522368559093830452021-09-23T17:45:00.000-04:002021-09-23T17:45:24.271-04:00What I Did On My Summer Vacation<p> “Mom?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t feel
so well.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so it began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
end of our summer vacation before it even started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or shall I say, the end of MY summer
vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one I’d spent a week
prepping food for and three days washing clothes and packing suitcases for. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one I’d planned so well, jockeying around
dental appointments, co-op meetings, therapy sessions, and various other activities
just so that we could find 5 days in a row on the calendar of free time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one that I’d researched and made phone
calls for in order to secure tickets at a reasonable price.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one I’d been dreaming about for months as
I dug potatoes in the hot sun, threw laundry into the washer, washed another
sink full of dishes, and cooked another meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We hadn't taken an extended family vacation since June 2019, and I was beyond ready to get away. </span>Just a few more weeks, I’d say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, a few more days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, a
few more hours, before I could escape it all and just go have fun with my
family. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Five days of me and the boys
and my husband getting away from the reality of chores and obligations and
appointments and just having an enjoyable time with each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t wait.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s just car sickness, I told myself, as I tried to clean
the vomit off my little one’s carseat with an old napkin and wiped off his
clothes while keeping one eye on the vehicles whizzing by us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when it happened again an hour after we’d
stopped traveling, and I felt his forehead getting warmer and warmer to the
touch, I knew it wasn’t carsickness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
made him comfortable in the motel room and for the remainder of the trip, that’s where
he and I stayed, while the rest of the family enjoyed the summer vacation that I
had planned.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My husband, being the good sport that he is, offered to take
a turn staying with our sick child in the room, so that I could go out and have
some fun, too, but I declined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As much
as I would have enjoyed riding the log flume and eating ice-cream with my older
boys, a bigger part of me felt like I needed to be with my sick child. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I encouraged them to go on and have a
wonderful time and assured him that I and the little one would be just
fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And although I had initially expressed
bitterness at the circumstances (“WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN NOW??”, I had exclaimed
the night before), once I accepted that I had a child who needed me more than I
needed a vacation, my soul finally began to feel peace again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if I could hear God saying, “Okay,
pass <i>this</i> test,” and, I think I did pass it, even if I didn’t get an A+.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Which has gotten me to thinking a lot about all the little
tests that come with being a mother. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
nothing else, motherhood has been the most effective means God has found in
teaching me just how much I need to grow in humility although, marriage is a
close second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both involve relationships
that cannot be navigated well without a continual outpouring of grace from Our
Lord, of that I am sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could almost
feel the grace come into my soul in the form of acceptance of the circumstances
that had caused my vacation plans to unravel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s as if, once I did the work of having a more humble heart, God gave
me the ability to accept what I could not control, and my bitterness and
disappointment just melted away. Acceptance
must certainly be one of the many gifts of humility, and it is a feeling that is
still somewhat foreign to me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It has been (and probably always will be) my greatest
challenge to humble myself enough to be worthy of this gift of acceptance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggle to see whatever unfolds before me
as part of God’s divine plan. Instead, I want to “fix” every situation, every
person, and make things “better”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only,
too often, my desire for control and fixing makes things far from better. It
often looks like me criticizing my husband for not hanging up his shirts, instead
of thanking him for bringing in the laundry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It looks like me yelling at my kid for spending 2 hours doodling on his
homework, instead of seeing him as a person who is far more creative than I
will ever be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes it looks like me
wanting to find a part-time job so that I can be regarded as "successful", instead
taking pleasure in the success of being able to prepare healthy meals for my family
with fresh food from my garden and keeping a tidy home where they feel comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A few hours before it was time to head home from our
vacation, my little one was feeling better, and asking for potato chips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he figured out that he’d missed all the
planned vacation fun because he’d been so sick, he was disappointed, and his
little lip began to quiver and his eyes fill with tears. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hugged him and assured him that he would get
another chance.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And he will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so
will I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And perhaps the next attempt at
taking a family vacation won’t go as planned either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe it will. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either way, I know that if I have a humble
heart, trusting that God always works all things for our good, that He will
again give me that gift of acceptance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
the meantime, I guess He just needed to remind me that sometimes, a vacation is
less about escaping my reality and more about finding it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhytqdxsJ2dwEVwgkQiN7tOghsutPoLUf9dmQVfJGwcXK_P465__MQ_IO7FoH4_G2g441IeY8luf0RgD9vEvOBGpjmTXgoFYDRTPJjo0scTB1xL_tW5HP6u2TbkaQDWQQ28GRAYyeZ4g/s2048/dollywood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhytqdxsJ2dwEVwgkQiN7tOghsutPoLUf9dmQVfJGwcXK_P465__MQ_IO7FoH4_G2g441IeY8luf0RgD9vEvOBGpjmTXgoFYDRTPJjo0scTB1xL_tW5HP6u2TbkaQDWQQ28GRAYyeZ4g/s320/dollywood.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We finally made it!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-49831079449820792792021-08-28T12:44:00.000-04:002021-08-28T12:44:47.095-04:00When We Lose the Liturgy We Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEl6zX1m4i7nxRq7zBrO2NYVFwGV0baQnMFIxTt5CWNNVAjCoXgwiRJoTVI1Z7nU5R3zqNA3ukRr_NjvauBflY44tIMvmmr7UIU4r_HGKOS9eEguBW1h5fEcG2zhp4CQXLiGmqBEtE9g/s1107/IMG_20210611_195005_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1107" data-original-width="1107" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEl6zX1m4i7nxRq7zBrO2NYVFwGV0baQnMFIxTt5CWNNVAjCoXgwiRJoTVI1Z7nU5R3zqNA3ukRr_NjvauBflY44tIMvmmr7UIU4r_HGKOS9eEguBW1h5fEcG2zhp4CQXLiGmqBEtE9g/w400-h400/IMG_20210611_195005_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>When the news broke last month regarding Pope Francis’
latest <i>motu propio</i>,“Traditiones Custodes,” regarding the imposition of
restrictions upon making the Latin Mass (TLM) available, like many Catholics, I
was disappointed in the lack of charity shown to those with an affection for TLM.
Pope Francis stated that he made his decision
“to promote the concord and unity of the Church,” and, while his methods seem to promote the opposite, like it or not, he has a point. There is little doubt
that having two different forms of the Mass available has increased division
within the Church. In the past 14 years
since Pope Benedict XVI issued his apostolic letter (<i>Summorum Pontificum</i>)
acknowledging the right of all priests to say Mass in the Extraordinary Form
(EF), which is in Latin, many Catholics have left their local congregations
behind and moved to an EF parish, often many miles away. More seriously, I personally know Catholics
who refuse to attend Mass at all unless it is offered in the EF form (and vice
versa). To me, this seems like choosing to commit mortal sin rather than
participating in a form of the Mass that one does not prefer. The popes, neither Francis nor Benedict XVI,
I suspect, hoped for that end result.
And now that the proverbial horse has escaped the barn, it seems to me
that Pope Francis is trying to shut the barn door. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I suppose Pope Francis’ edict could be more sinister than
that, and if it is, time will tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
for now, having two very different forms of the Mass available in dioceses has
created less and not more unity among the faithful. This is not to say that
there is no fruit coming from TLM, because I know there is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have witnessed first-hand the return of
fallen away Catholics after they experienced the Mass in the Extraordinary Form
(EF).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have seen my own son respond to
the reverence and rituals of TLM in a way that he never responds to the Mass
when he attends the Ordinary Form (OF).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It has made me wish on several occasions that we had the opportunity to
attend TLM on a regular, weekly basis, and if one was available within our
community, we certainly would. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that
is not an opportunity that my family has, and I admit that I am very saddened
by this latest decision of the pope’s because it makes it less likely that my
family will have that opportunity in the future. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so, while the hierarchy of the Church debates, the rest
of us must look forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fear that the
division already at play will now become even more acute in the Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will entire Catholic communities of
traditionalists spring up around a central church that offers TLM?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will more families pull up roots and move to
the diocese or parish that suits them best? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, this is already happening, and as
the Church becomes more and more polarized (as our country has), I predict it
will continue. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t say I blame them,
as it is very, very tempting, especially for those of us with children, but I
wonder, where do we draw the line? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
diocese is only as faithful and true as its bishop, and bishops change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we keep uprooting and moving around to
follow the bishops we like, or trust?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Will we eventually end in schism, as so many predict? If we can’t follow
our pope, who do we follow?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I ask these questions because I have been through a similar
situation before, albeit to a much lesser degree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For ten years, my parents and I drove two
hours every Sunday to attend Mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not
TLM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove two hours every Sunday to
attend Mass in the Ordinary Form, even though there was an Ordinary Form of the
Mass being offered at the Catholic church located five minutes from our house,
a church we had attended for ten years prior to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What made us leave one parish for the other
wasn’t bad homilies or unfriendly parishioners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What made us leave was a lack of reverence and acknowledgement by the
priest and the laity in the church of the Divine Presence in the
Eucharist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though Jesus was present
on the altar, nobody acted like He was there, even the priest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In those ten years, my family’s faith
faltered until we broke ties and found another church many miles away that put
the Blessed Sacrament first and foremost in the Mass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember falling in love with the Mass in
that newfound church, where they used incense, real gold chalices, genuflected,
spoke a few prayers in Latin, and used hymns that dated back to the 1870s and
not the 1970s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect I felt a lot
like many Catholics feel when they attend their first Mass in the Extraordinary
Form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything about it fed my senses,
and I wanted to learn more about this religion that I’d always had but never
fully experienced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Holy Spirit set
me on fire, and I soon found myself signing up for religious pilgrimages,
joining RCIA courses, and counting down the days until I could purchase my
first catechism when it was finally published in English in 1994.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In short, I was experiencing a spiritual
renewal in my Catholic faith.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But there were consequences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Catholic parish in my hometown, the one where they’d watched me get
confirmed, where they’d hosted a graduation party just for me when I graduated
high school, where we had friends who would call on us and check on us if we
didn’t turn up for Mass, that parish felt rejected by our decision to leave
them and become part of another parish miles away. In a short time, many of our
former parishioners no longer associated with us, nor we them. They were “one
kind” of Catholic now, and we were now another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were becoming “traditionalists” and they
were the “liberals”, and none of us wanted to be like the other. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s the oldest trick in Satan’s book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before he destroys, he divides, and we are
all pawns in his evil game. Perhaps Pope Francis is as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some Catholics certainly think so, even going
so far as to refer to him as the “Anti-Christ” and refusing to accept him as
our Holy Father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I agree, our Holy
Father certainly has led us into confusion, but so many leaders are guilty of
the same, yet, their position still requires our respect, even if they do
sometimes misuse their authority. Often times, they are just not very good at
leadership, and we should pray that the Holy Spirit gives them the gifts
necessary to be authoritative and benevolent leaders of those under their
authority.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But for our part, we must guard our souls from anything that
appears holy but leads us towards disunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For now, there is “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic” Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s not forget that. Whether we find
ourselves in the pews of a liberal-leaning parish, or an extremely orthodox
Latin Mass parish, or somewhere in between, keep in mind that, for the most
part, holiness comes from within us, and by receiving the sacraments, and not
from the form of Mass that we attend.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When my parents and I left our little hometown church thirty
years ago, I believe we were prompted by the Holy Spirit to do so. I say this
because, in hindsight, I can see how the Holy Spirit was leading me to the
places where I needed to be in order to truly learn about and appreciate the
Catholic faith and all its beauty and teachings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are a Catholic who found yourself
drawn to TLM during the past decade, I suspect that the Holy Spirit led you
there, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps you were like I
was, lukewarm in the faith, poorly catechized, uninspired by the humdrum new
age music and tired of homilies without substance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps you left all that and found your true
faith in an EF parish, making it worth all the sacrifice it took to be there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And perhaps now, you feel like you are going
to lose all of that, and that the rug has been pulled out from under you, and
that you (or your children) might lose your faith altogether without it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I suppose that’s a lot how the disciples felt when the day
came that Jesus left their side, and it was their turn to take the Good News to
the far corners of the world, as he commanded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At that moment, perhaps they felt weak in their faith because He was not
as obviously present as he’d been before. How much easier it must have been to be
Jesus’ disciples when He walked beside them, and onlookers could see Him in
their midst!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, not only did it take a
true act of faith to believe Jesus was still with them, but the disciples also had
to face the lions, and be the seeds of the faith in lands where they were not
welcome nor understood. They had to convince people who had never seen this man
called Jesus that He was real, He was there, and that He was God. What an
overwhelming task this must have been, and I suspect they were not comfortable
about this approach Jesus was taking to spread the faith on earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if the disciples wanted to rebel
instead of just accept that they were now going to have to live and worship
among those who didn’t believe nor see what they had seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A future of persecution and martyrdom awaited
them when they chose to take their witness into the temples filled with
non-believers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my mind, it’s not
unlike those who have been comforted by the real presence of Jesus in the EF of
the Mass now being called to take their experience and wisdom and share it with
those who have not had this same, deep encounter with Our Lord, as challenging
as that will be.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For my own story, God didn’t allow me to stay in my
comfortable little Catholic bubble where I was able to practice my faith
surrounded by other Catholics who believed and practiced like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twenty-five years after my parents pulled
their family out of the parish I’d grown up in, I found myself back in it, this
time with my own family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things had
changed there some; there was at last, a tabernacle with a sanctuary lamp lit
beside it, and they finally had a crucifix behind the altar, praise God! But the
homilies were still fluffy and light, the parishioners friendly yet irreverent,
there were still no kneelers, no statues of the Blessed Mother and St. Joseph,
no mention of saints, no traditional Catholic hymns, and (true story), no
confessional. It only marginally felt like a Catholic church.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There was a part of me that wanted to turn and run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How would I be able to maintain my faith in
such an environment, let alone catechize my children? But instead of running,
we have stayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stay and we pray, and
we try to be missionaries in our own parish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It has not been easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have
been ridiculed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have been
marginalized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have been tested and
are still being tested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But through
persistent prayer, slowly, ever so slowly, the Holy Spirit has been working,
and today, our church has kneelers, statues (albeit very small ones), and we regularly
sing traditional hymns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through the
working of the Holy Spirit, we have been sent a very reverent priest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have First Friday adoration (yes, my
family is the only one that attends, but that’s okay!), and we have monthly
confessions in a make-shift confessional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes, we even use Latin prayers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The seeds are growing, ever so slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I realize now, in hindsight, that had my parents and I not left that
parish thirty years ago, we wouldn’t have been prepared to return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We needed that time away to grow strong and
learn our faith before we could become missionaries in our hometown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much like Jesus spent three years forming His disciples before sending them out into the world, the Lord gave my family time and
led us to the right places and people who prepared us for where we are
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, although going to Mass is
far from the experience I long for it to be, through the sacraments, answered
prayers, and a handful of inspiring holy people, Jesus continues to give my
family the grace we need in order to stay in the mission field.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And that is my challenge to anyone who has seen their
faith grow and flourish by being part of TLM community but now is at risk of losing the liturgy they love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps you will have the opportunity to stay
where you are and TLM will not be taken away from you, and if so, what a
blessing that must be!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you do
not; if circumstances beyond your control take you away from the traditional
liturgy that you love, perhaps Jesus is asking more of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it is His way of telling you that you
are ready now to go out on your own just as His disciples did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it is time to become a missionary in
your own hometown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take what you have
found in traditionalism and bring it to the rest of us as best you can without
being uncharitable. Trust that if you are the seed, God will water the soil, and
his church will grow both in number and in love for the Eucharist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when you find yourself the only one wearing
a veil, or saying the rosary, or at adoration, or kneeling during the
consecration, know that you are not really alone, that the angels and saints surround
you, and that your example is sorely needed, whether anyone else appreciates it
or not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our world, our church, is
divided enough. Be strong, be faithful, and pray. Pray that someday, in
God’s good providence, we will all be united by only one form of the Mass, and that it
will be “true, good and beautiful," as it should be. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-8564035017445706652021-07-24T12:58:00.001-04:002021-07-24T14:14:41.402-04:00And Now 11<p>It's birthday week for our eldest, son, John. I've <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-crossing-part-1-of-3.html">written about John</a> a few times in the past. He's the reason I started this blog. A few years after he was born, I realized that I wanted to start a blog so that I could share my infertility, my parenting, and my faith stories with others. I wanted others to know that miracles really do happen every day, and John is proof of that. I wanted to tell the story of what happened before he was born, while I carried him inside me, and what has happened ever since I held him for the first time. He's the one who changed everything for me and made me want to write it all down. It is his life that is intertwined in so many of my stories. </p><p>I don't write as many stories now as I used to. I guess in part that is because I feel like I've already told my most important story; the story that needed to be shared about John and how long it took for him to come into our world, and how the first time I held him, I finally, maybe for the first time in my life, knew that God truly loved me, not in some allegorical sense of the word, but real, true love that comes at a price that for so long, I did not want to pay. </p><p>He's eleven now, freshly minted and even closer to the day that I will be letting him go. I won't be ready, of course. But if you know my story, you know that I was preparing to let him go from the moment I knew he existed. He has never felt completely mine, I suppose because he really isn't. He's always been God's child, and his name reflects that. </p><p>Today, John and I are celebrating the beginning of another year for him with some of his favorite things. A hike, just the two of us, through the forest, looking for chanterelle mushrooms. He can outpace me now, and I notice that he is all arms and legs, as his body prepares for the growth spurt that will soon have him looking at me eye-to-eye. While we walk, he talks non-stop about things that I have little understanding of...black holes, rocket boosters, circuits. He stops only for a moment, to kneel down and touch the plant called Sensitive Plant, watching its fronds fold as his fingers brush across them. And for a moment, I see the little boy who walked beside me years ago, and learned from me as I showed him this natural phenomenon for the first time. Today, I take pleasure in knowing that he is still delighted by such simple little moments. </p><p>It was when he was almost 5 that I wrote <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2015/07/almost-five.html">this blog post</a>, on a whim, asking him various questions about himself. How could that have been 6 years ago? But for posterity's sake, I am repeating it here again. Six years later, he's now a child more than half grown, still reminding me that miracles happen every day.</p><p>****</p><div class="MsoNormal">(age 5/ age 11 answers)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s your name? John / John</div><div class="MsoNormal">When were you born? June / July 2010</div><div class="MsoNormal">Where were you born? Missouri / at a hospital in St. Louis</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s your favorite food? Candy! / I like ice-cream a lot.</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s your favorite color? Blue / Purple</div><div class="MsoNormal">What do you love to do with Mommy? Sleep / Snuggle</div><div class="MsoNormal">What do you love to do with Daddy? Play drums / Listen to music together</div><div class="MsoNormal">What do you love to do with Joah? Hug him and throw him in the air. / Jumping on trampoline</div><div class="MsoNormal">What do you want to be when you are a grown up? Old. / Own a restaurant and be a scientist</div><div class="MsoNormal">What do you love about your mommy? Your eyes. / You let me have ice-cream</div><div class="MsoNormal">What do you love about your daddy? His drums. / He lets me listen to (loud) music on Saturdays</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do you like summer or winter better? Summer! / Summer</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s your favorite thing to do outside? Swimming / Swimming</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s your favorite thing to do inside? TV / Read</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s your favorite prayer? Angel of God prayer. / Our Father</div><div class="MsoNormal">What scares you most? Lightning / Thunder & Lightning</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s your favorite animal? Zebras / Chickadee</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do you like Christmas or Easter better? Easter because I get a lot of candy. / Easter because it's longer</div><div class="MsoNormal">What makes you sad? If Joah is crying and hurt. / Mistreating animals</div><div class="MsoNormal">What makes you happy? Going places. / Reading</div><div class="MsoNormal">What makes you angry? Joah biting me. / Getting yelled at.</div><div class="MsoNormal">What is something mommy always says to you? Go poo poo. / Don't snipe at others.</div><div class="MsoNormal">How old are you? Four. / Eleven</div><div class="MsoNormal">How old is mommy? I don’t know. Twelve? Thirty? Eighty? / Are you 50?</div><div class="MsoNormal">What are you very good at? Maybe helping Mommy. / Hiking</div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0pIITEdZ0UPc0x89gRM5AXVI_RN8NCuLPGvf77HglwN8yZMxR-e0u5om_5wwRTrKDxw7OvlZ0aZL92rBUQdfSiYuJgEQDoikHjjVO55K_kzwGhy0KhPa_gjx-3_UMeH9xKmN_n3gAw/s2048/john+birthday.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1263" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0pIITEdZ0UPc0x89gRM5AXVI_RN8NCuLPGvf77HglwN8yZMxR-e0u5om_5wwRTrKDxw7OvlZ0aZL92rBUQdfSiYuJgEQDoikHjjVO55K_kzwGhy0KhPa_gjx-3_UMeH9xKmN_n3gAw/w246-h400/john+birthday.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-2685443152595803652021-06-20T15:49:00.001-04:002021-06-20T21:05:46.792-04:00My Family's Connection to St. John the Baptist<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrXSslyZaKMD8RPq7ZsqLFds204pdZjCXUPIdyiDxZ9SwjjwMVJvARACBMm5NjS8BLsUBOa5nkc7QbCv8aF9TVBssY6DRqzzhNhJrg3GPQljTgKSDXt19QEamZIUkWaerfd3FFdRoEQ/s2048/stjohnthebaptist.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1236" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrXSslyZaKMD8RPq7ZsqLFds204pdZjCXUPIdyiDxZ9SwjjwMVJvARACBMm5NjS8BLsUBOa5nkc7QbCv8aF9TVBssY6DRqzzhNhJrg3GPQljTgKSDXt19QEamZIUkWaerfd3FFdRoEQ/w241-h400/stjohnthebaptist.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Our family has a lot to be thankful for this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll be celebrating three birthdays (my
parents’ and my husband, Tom’s) and “name day” for our son, John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In thinking about that, I realized that I
never really shared the story behind the connection our family has to St. John
the Baptist, so I thought now would be a good time, since the Solemnity of the
Nativity of St. John the Baptist is this Thursday, June 24.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It all started long before I was even remotely interested in
liturgical living, and before I really knew any of the stories of the
saints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom and I were 3 years into our
marriage, and he was preparing to join the Catholic Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As his confirmation date approached, he was
contemplating whom he should choose as a patron saint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not being well versed in Catholicism myself,
I suggested perhaps he simply choose St. Thomas since they share the same name,
but Tom wasn’t a fan of that idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I
suggested perhaps he choose St. John the Baptist since Tom’s birthday falls on
the Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That appealed to Tom more, and he
facetiously commented that he could relate to St. John the Baptist because he
frequently “lost his head”, a somewhat snarky reference to our marital
relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, St. John the Baptist
became Tom’s patron saint, and as the years passed, Tom and I came to realize
that, although chosen slightly in jest, this powerful saint would one day prove
that the joke was on us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fast forward six years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was finally pregnant again after losing our
first baby in miscarriage four years earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’d recently found out that we were expecting a boy, and Tom and I
began discerning names for our son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Another Tom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope. Tom was
adamant that we retire that family name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Leo? Max? Justin? Joseph? Paul? James? None of the names I suggested
seemed to work for Tom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I
remembered Tom’s patron saint and asked, “What about John?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom thought it over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He liked the reference to his patron
saint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I liked the connection it had to
Tom’s birthday and conversion to Catholicism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I also wanted a name that reflected an infertility story from the Bible,
and the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth seemed more than fitting. So, we
settled on the name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John it would
be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little did we know that the name we
had chosen would take on even more significance in the coming weeks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two months later, I awoke shortly after midnight and
realized that my water had broken during the night. My heart sank. I was only
28 weeks along in my pregnancy with John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After so many years of infertility and the loss of our first baby, I
expected the worst. The day before, I had felt so strong and healthy and
happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents had just arrived in
town, and we were preparing to celebrate Tom’s birthday the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only now, instead of waking up to a day of
celebration, Tom and I were waking up to our worst nightmare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were sure we were losing our John.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We rushed to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning on
that June 24<sup>th</sup>, 2010.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
prayed a rosary on the 40-minute drive, and I tried to keep calm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The following 24-hours were full of
trepidation as we waited to see what my body would do next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was admitted to Labor & Delivery and
hooked up to monitors and pumped with steroids and we waited. And we
prayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We particularly prayed to St.
John the Baptist because it was his feast day, hoping that he would intercede
for us, and ask God for a miracle on our behalf, and to please protect our own
little John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as we waited and
prayed, Tom read to me the passages from the Bible that told the story of
Zechariah and Elizabeth and the birth of John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In those long hours, I felt great comfort come over me when meditating
on the life and story of St. John the Baptist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt confident that he was interceding for us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A day later, we got our miracle. Instead of giving birth
prematurely, as had been expected, my amniotic fluid began to build back up to
normal levels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another week later, I was
sent home, still pregnant, and on July 23, John was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was healthy and bright-eyed and ready to
take on the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His first word was
“light”, and I am convinced God made him to bring light into dark corners of
the world, much as John the Baptist did.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And for a long time, I thought that was the end of the
story. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Time went by, and our family grew, and we held St. John the
Baptist in high regard in our home. Every year since that June 24, 2010, our
family made a point to celebrate not only Tom’s birthday, but also the feast of
this great saint who was now the patron of both Tom and our little John and to
whom we owed a great debt of gratitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However,
I never suspected that St. John the Baptist wasn’t quite finished yet.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This time, it was August 2016, and we found ourselves in
Houston, Texas, a thousand miles away from home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were again waiting for a baby, and again,
things were not going as planned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
baby’s birthmother had just delivered a healthy baby boy, whom we planned to
adopt, but she was in serious trouble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her vitals tanked soon after giving birth, she was unconscious and not
responding, and the future of both her and her newborn baby were in limbo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without her written consent, we would not be
able to adopt her child, and if she died (a real possibility at the time), with
no other family around, he would become a ward of the state of Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But more importantly, she was the mother of
our future son, and we already considered her a part of our family and wanted
her in our life and in our son’s life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We prayed desperately for a miracle, asking God to save her and bring
her back to us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That long night turned into another long day, and she
remained unresponsive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her baby was in the nursery, and I was not allowed to
see or hold him without her consent. And because we had no proof of a relationship with her, we were not allowed to see her, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was devastated, knowing the little baby we
hoped to make our own was lying in the hospital nursery instead of a mother’s
arms and his mother had nobody by her side as she fought for her life. Tom and I called our priest, our friends, our family asking for prayers
for her and for our adoption situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And then I remembered that this wasn't the first time I'd been in a hospital, waiting to see if I was going to lose my baby, and I remembered that there
was one person who had helped us through it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>St. John the Baptist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, we
turned to him again, and begged him for his intercession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please, St. John, do it again. Please, save
this baby and his mother.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Hours passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Night came
again, but I could not sleep. Then I heard a ping on my phone. It was a message
sent by our birthmother. I was puzzled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Someone must be using her phone, I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I messaged back, and she replied back, and
said it was her and would I come see her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I couldn’t believe it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was awake
and responding! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even more, she wanted
to see me, and know that I had her baby in safe keeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart burst with joy and gratitude, and a few
days later, she allowed us to adopt her baby boy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so, once again, we were given a miracle, but why do I
attribute this miracle to the intercession of St. John the Baptist? It was a
few days after we brought our sweet little Dominic home from the hospital that
I realized that his birthmother had made her miraculous return to consciousness
in the evening hours of August 29, the Memorial of the Passion of St. John the
Baptist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was stunned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I not have seen that coming?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, everything made perfect sense.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have heard it said that the saints are often calling to
us, wanting to intercede for us, to help us in our most difficult trials.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never quite understood that for a very long
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a time when I struggled
to remember the names of even a few saints, and I never really took asking for
their intercession very seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
journey through infertility changed a lot of that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It changed because, for a time, I (mistakenly)
believed that God wasn’t hearing my prayers. So, in desperation, I turned to
the saints and asked them to pray for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe God will hear them, I thought. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In hindsight, I think God allowed me to feel disconnected to
Him in prayer so that I would turn towards the saints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he wanted me to realize that it
wasn’t just me and Him, but rather, me, Him and a whole bunch of best friends
in heaven whom I could call upon anytime for help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The communion of saints, as the Church refers
to it. I think God knows we need that kind of community both on earth and in
heaven.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Since that time almost 20 years ago, when Tom and I first
half-jokingly made St. John the Baptist a part of our family’s story, a lot has
changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have changed. My image of
saints as distant figures in church history has now been replaced by a very
real awareness of them standing beside me, calling out to me in little ways,
hoping that I am listening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their names,
their feast days, their stories, all pop in and out of the moments of my daily
life, usually at times when I am wrestling with a particular challenge or
anxiety that threatens my spiritual well-being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But of all the saints who have come to my aid, it is through the
intercession of St. John the Baptist that I have experienced the greatest
miracles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without his help, I often
wonder if I would have my two sons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
is a most powerful saint, in so many ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A saint so great that the Catholic Church recognizes him as deserving of
two feast days, and I am both honored and humbled that my family, thanks to his
intercession, is connected to both. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>St. John the Baptist, pray for us!</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Note: If you would like to read more about my infertility
story, John’s birth story or Dominic’s birth story, you can find them posted
<a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/p/my-infertility-story.html">here</a>, <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-crossing-part-1-of-3.html">here</a>, and <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2017/08/born-on-sunday-adoption-birth-story-pt-1.html">here</a>.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-39900028726702408462021-05-29T21:38:00.003-04:002021-05-29T21:48:57.282-04:00My 5 Tips for Taking Kids Hiking in the Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Linking up with Kelly over at her blog today.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Check out her post and others <a href="https://thisaintthelyceum.org/sqt-i-would-tell-you-in-person/">at this link</a>. Thanks, Kelly!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3TINIITtDwYwPApQDS-vpl-3SEpEW_UtuRBUMF08MP9N_IM_rU13hWD_6hyY-A6rSLO2eW8t0zMPe3L7hWqPYA_IVPRj4fn9ib26M3MsL3JjmzHFudtNZ0wb8kCOK5crVxKuSklT9A/s500/rainbarbarian.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3TINIITtDwYwPApQDS-vpl-3SEpEW_UtuRBUMF08MP9N_IM_rU13hWD_6hyY-A6rSLO2eW8t0zMPe3L7hWqPYA_IVPRj4fn9ib26M3MsL3JjmzHFudtNZ0wb8kCOK5crVxKuSklT9A/s320/rainbarbarian.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Yesterday, we went hiking, my family and I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not unusual for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hike a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least once a month, sometimes more
often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We live smack dab in the center
of a National Forest, so there aren’t many other options for
entertainment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully, there aren’t
many other things we’d enjoy doing more.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The unusual thing about our hike yesterday, however, was
that we hiked in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now this may
not seem all that unusual, but given the choice, most people would not hike in
the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or should I say, most adults
would not hike in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They love it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have come to know this after spending years as an outdoor
educator. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, we had planned to
hike with 7 other families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it turned
out, 6 of those families backed out of coming at the last minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reason?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was raining.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, we hiked with the one other family that showed up, and
our boys had a blast, just as I knew they would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mother and I, whom I only knew casually,
got much better acquainted, and bonded over our mutual agreement that kids are anxious about enough things these days, why make them anxious about the weather,
as well?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rnlcIXKd-mJtXxzjo0u1aJ6RJP_59ix079SjbkwqkGWAUZrKxr1oYXddcXOjTjU0NL3eyxI0TbqN3nXnITJ9DQTfW4n3E5P3gJ8c7D8B80Z1froezgzexG2JVy-fv8klIXiseR83fw/s2048/IMG_20210528_130235424_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rnlcIXKd-mJtXxzjo0u1aJ6RJP_59ix079SjbkwqkGWAUZrKxr1oYXddcXOjTjU0NL3eyxI0TbqN3nXnITJ9DQTfW4n3E5P3gJ8c7D8B80Z1froezgzexG2JVy-fv8klIXiseR83fw/w400-h225/IMG_20210528_130235424_HDR.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skipping rocks in the rain.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we got home that afternoon, it was still raining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son, who was already wet from the hike,
asked what he could do, and I suggested he take the firewood off the front porch
and return it to the woodshed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without
hesitation, he agreed to do it, and a few minutes later, I looked out the window
to see him loading wood into the wagon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was wet but
working, and it dawned on me that children who play in the rain become adults
who will work in the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in a
world where time is money, that just might be the edge they need someday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent my professional career working with
men and women who were required to perform most of their assignments
outdoors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many times, projects got
delayed significantly due to inclement weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not because the weather prohibited them from completing the work
assigned, but because they were unwilling to work in less than perfect conditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It cost the government tons, not to mention
the frustrations that came from incomplete projects and delayed timelines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All because it was raining, or too cold, or
too hot, etc, etc.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOB9SzaY68WcGoiN19FXPeX_TqTdlS8alKADzvYVleT4jUKmaDVyZkFi7dhcBCr_JTSmpRQ0YYEv_CT-TPeV0aTfX5H3GW22HBtKILg9ZNPSc6V9TyKr60WYS5ldYu3NewHcwOsWvUBA/s1836/IMG_20210528_152217551_1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOB9SzaY68WcGoiN19FXPeX_TqTdlS8alKADzvYVleT4jUKmaDVyZkFi7dhcBCr_JTSmpRQ0YYEv_CT-TPeV0aTfX5H3GW22HBtKILg9ZNPSc6V9TyKr60WYS5ldYu3NewHcwOsWvUBA/w320-h320/IMG_20210528_152217551_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving firewood in the rain.</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />However, I do realize that a lot of people, especially
mothers, are not sure just HOW to enjoyably hike in the rain with their kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, getting cold and soaked is a very
unpleasant experience, and if you have cold and wet children, then the whining
begins, and they will drive you totally nuts, and you will vow to never,
ever take them out in the rain again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know. I’ve been there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I
decided to share a few of the things I have learned after years of taking kids
(and myself) outdoors in rainy weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span>Get rain pants.</i></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">I think most parents have a rain coat for
their child, but I have seen very few people show up for an outdoor activity in
wet weather wearing a pair of rain pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Get some.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only will they keep
the kids a whole lot drier, but they will also prevent the mud that they are
sure to smear all over their rumps and knees from grinding into their
clothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, when it is time to put
the dirty, muddy little rascals into their car seats post-hike, you can just
peel those nasty rain pants off, put them in a plastic bag, and Voila!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have kids with clean pants again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No soiled car seat covers, and no mess in the
car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rain pants are also awesome for putting
over their pants when they play in the snow, or for just having on even when it
is not raining, but the ground is wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
always buy the lightweight rain pants so that they are not too warm in the
summer, and ripstop nylon is best because you know those kids are going to walk
right through that briar patch! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p>My favorite rain pants and accompanying rain coat for kids are the Kids' Discovery Rain Pants and Jacket (pictured below), sold by LL Bean, but unfortunately, the big kids sizes are no longer on the market. They do have a similar (more expensive) pair available and sometimes you can get them at a big discount on Black Friday.</o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VEMzb7Tlr2ent-fdf3r57QN4zeDkqucXX1XZXzRTNNJ4X0fSK67M-z9Fi4V5uZy-RBuxrAkeKV0fHCoJehNCdFgiL335GyBUkXAMPEK1S8Ru0JRz9izJW77eRzFsbzZFaXtvNxz_pw/s1920/PC261532.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VEMzb7Tlr2ent-fdf3r57QN4zeDkqucXX1XZXzRTNNJ4X0fSK67M-z9Fi4V5uZy-RBuxrAkeKV0fHCoJehNCdFgiL335GyBUkXAMPEK1S8Ru0JRz9izJW77eRzFsbzZFaXtvNxz_pw/w300-h400/PC261532.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little hikers, six years ago.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p><br /></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p>Since I didn't want to pay that much nor wait until Black Friday, I recently purchased the Columbia Kids' Cypress Brook II rain paints (available on Amazon) for one of my older sons, and so far, they are holding up well. I generally have had good luck with Columbia brand kids clothing.</o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p>Oh, and one more thing. When you get home with those mud-caked rain pants that you stashed in a plastic bag, take them outside, give them a good shake, then put them in the washer on the rinse setting. DO NOT USE LAUNDRY SOAP and DO NOT PUT THEM IN THE DRYER or else your rain pants will soon just become pants, and lose all the waterproof qualities that they once had.</o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLwOZb3VuK9a2H7qCeXfsclGLWLV7Wrsnh7UqF3vIcpy-nGbV-9P_NlnqXbqqQnTlm2veQy7mdSh2ZRRGrjGDf021jRWa50ZLuOYMmeHXhK5NCt_1tPKH83CeqEGr-W6Twkt1NfY2wPA/s1920/rain+hike.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLwOZb3VuK9a2H7qCeXfsclGLWLV7Wrsnh7UqF3vIcpy-nGbV-9P_NlnqXbqqQnTlm2veQy7mdSh2ZRRGrjGDf021jRWa50ZLuOYMmeHXhK5NCt_1tPKH83CeqEGr-W6Twkt1NfY2wPA/w300-h400/rain+hike.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br /><o:p><br /></o:p><p></p><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span>Wear waterproof shoes</i></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">My boys all have waterproof hiking boots,
but more often than not, when it is really wet or we have snow, they wear
ordinary rubber “chore boots”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again,
because it is often warm, I buy the uninsulated boots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pair them up with some wool-blend socks, and
their feet will stay warm even if they get wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Heavier socks also prevent blistering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">Some rubber boots hold up better
than others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I am not a big fan of the cutesy Western Chief boots, mostly because they have poor tread for slippery surfaces. I also tested the Crocs rain boots on my 9 year old and they lasted about 3 weeks. </span>We have mostly been using the Ranger Splash series youth rain boots by Honeywell for our boys since they were 2 years old, and by far, they have held up
the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Some sizes are currently available from Amazon, and I've also found them online at Wal-mart. </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Another plus to wearing these boots is that they have higher tops than most kids' hiking boots, which is something to consider when <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2015/09/my-lesson-from-rattlesnake.html">hiking in rattlesnake country</a>.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">And h</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">ere’s a helpful
hint…when wearing rain pants with boots, be sure that the kids pull their rain pants
over the tops of their boots, not tuck them into the boots, otherwise, the
water will just funnel right down into their shoes. Somehow, this seems obvious to me, but
I have learned that it is definitely not obvious to an 8 year old!</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGwjQuUdZC7_C5_yUIWftJnueGM7V2Qmu5_3GTNDctLcDpQP8CXG6PINYPWMVaws1FvjaEv1WlCLGtxUgudWE5s1SziY5NFtLfPIh4sXJkFcFTIFmCkWrEINJVv91gcsIJH8SI0Wj9Dw/s2048/IMG_20210528_122119865.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGwjQuUdZC7_C5_yUIWftJnueGM7V2Qmu5_3GTNDctLcDpQP8CXG6PINYPWMVaws1FvjaEv1WlCLGtxUgudWE5s1SziY5NFtLfPIh4sXJkFcFTIFmCkWrEINJVv91gcsIJH8SI0Wj9Dw/w225-h400/IMG_20210528_122119865.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you wanna see salamanders,<br />you gotta hike in the rain.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->3<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Wear a ball cap.
</i></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">Pull a raincoat hood over a ball cap and
unless you are facing the wind, the rain will run down your hood and away from
your face. And if you have a kid who
wears glasses, they will still be able to see, at least until they decide to
turn their face up towards the clouds and catch raindrops on their tongue!<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcZRrkT2N-9pIjSNG9QNv-3FOv_bfVopCgC0yq8WkY0TFKNDWWQ2BQ0VuktiMjdz-GKAcCEqLmxc2GhIE7krTFUelwu4bVAB4oOOyL3rJuPUejngKUvWR2iatZrg9EjnFraYJ-YcKAA/s2048/IMG_20210528_120331194_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcZRrkT2N-9pIjSNG9QNv-3FOv_bfVopCgC0yq8WkY0TFKNDWWQ2BQ0VuktiMjdz-GKAcCEqLmxc2GhIE7krTFUelwu4bVAB4oOOyL3rJuPUejngKUvWR2iatZrg9EjnFraYJ-YcKAA/w225-h400/IMG_20210528_120331194_HDR.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching mist rise above the river<br />in between rain showers.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p><br /> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: medium;">4<span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Know how to find shelter.</i></span></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">When hiking anytime, but especially with
children in rainy weather, it’s important to have a plan for finding shelter,
if needed. I usually try to stay within 15 minutes of shelter when
thunderstorms are around. When the
storm hits, we wait it out in our shelter.
I have a son who is deathly afraid of thunderstorms, and I think the
best way to help him past his fear is to expose him in a safe manner to the
storms. When it is all over, he relaxes
and realizes that he’s still okay. Bit
by bit, he is overcoming his phobia. A
vehicle or picnic shelter or cliff overhang or cave or even beneath a large
evergreen tree are all shelter options that we have taken advantage of when
caught in downpours or thunderstorms, although some shelters are definitely
better (and safer) than others. And yes, lightning
is a threat at times, but that risk is still probably lower than the one you
took driving on the freeway to get to the trailhead. <o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitDDE5_7MZjMqutbwVFpSapahvgfA6jlU5IbVJWHyNMNgNwy99MQIh3L00yyOcX_QkV2E_ZjBXB8Ag0XP532_uAIeVlpqDMrxT1Td3LvpYziEbRsIHApMA_HhSY2M_-2OEyiBICXWZQ/s2048/rainstorm+kids.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitDDE5_7MZjMqutbwVFpSapahvgfA6jlU5IbVJWHyNMNgNwy99MQIh3L00yyOcX_QkV2E_ZjBXB8Ag0XP532_uAIeVlpqDMrxT1Td3LvpYziEbRsIHApMA_HhSY2M_-2OEyiBICXWZQ/w400-h300/rainstorm+kids.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting out a downpour under a cliff overhang.<br />This one caught us by surprise, hence, no rain gear.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i><br />5.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Stay warm.</i></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">I always say, “It’s all fun and games until
the kids get cold,” and it’s true. Regardless
of whether it is raining or sunny, if the kids get cold, their fun is
over. For this reason, I am much less
likely to take kids out in the rain if it is below 45 degrees F than if it is
70 degrees F. Even if you dress them
with all the best rain gear and boots and hats, they are going to get wet in
the rain. If you keep them moving, they
can usually handle it if the temperatures are above 45 degrees, but you should
definitely plan to pack some extra dry clothes for when they slow down and
start to get chilly. Generally speaking, adults will start getting cold before the kids do. If it is around 70 degrees or warmer, odds are those kids are going to ditch their rain gear anyway,
and just want to get wet, because nothing feels better on the skin that a warm,
summer rain. When this has happened to me, I’m not above
making them strip down to their underclothes before getting into the car for
the return trip home. Keeping an old
bath towel in the vehicle is a huge help at times like that!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFe6KdH8J8RqrwWdXpfye6Ue_ywXAwfryvqUB1-B6cMMVd1iqaXqCir-mQd54wS8GxTfgeysOHfw3U7_9oLoL_IcoDzoTbJ9aOEpbS5Zq9qVF0Px9wMh1nriqD-8zgv7uITiiAqhNiQ/s2048/IMG_20210528_135138888.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEFe6KdH8J8RqrwWdXpfye6Ue_ywXAwfryvqUB1-B6cMMVd1iqaXqCir-mQd54wS8GxTfgeysOHfw3U7_9oLoL_IcoDzoTbJ9aOEpbS5Zq9qVF0Px9wMh1nriqD-8zgv7uITiiAqhNiQ/w225-h400/IMG_20210528_135138888.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mostly dry hikers yesterday. As expected, one<br />of them ditched the raincoat and decided to just get wet.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">So those are my 5 tips for how to prepare kids for hiking in the rain. Of course, these
same tips apply to adults as well, and I follow them myself (well, except for
the stripping down to the underclothes part!). I encourage you to get those kids outside in
all kinds of weather. Life is full of
enough anxieties; let’s not teach our kids to be anxious about the
weather. God gave us the natural world
so that we would always have a place to play and imagine and grow. Our Lord uses rainy days to bring life to
the earth and even more so, to our children. I try not to get in the way of
that.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivm6uPu81uiHLt-dHYKx9cflGrh4818pNJy8z6ZV1BKgAdXifkaNU3T0Xg20KV8DOJAzMIH3pJS5VAg2V_JojDIHmWO9u8kAXHKJJtFVk3kt7783K0_UtzcI0ZrysvHL-kIT0fPDfRPA/s1920/mom+hike.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1920" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivm6uPu81uiHLt-dHYKx9cflGrh4818pNJy8z6ZV1BKgAdXifkaNU3T0Xg20KV8DOJAzMIH3pJS5VAg2V_JojDIHmWO9u8kAXHKJJtFVk3kt7783K0_UtzcI0ZrysvHL-kIT0fPDfRPA/w400-h300/mom+hike.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i>He covers the heavens with clouds;<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i>He prepares rain for the earth;<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i>He makes grass grow on the hills.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center;"><i> Psalm
147:8</i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-5733548795492835642021-05-08T12:27:00.002-04:002021-05-08T12:27:45.442-04:00May Days<p>I have a serious case of writer's block but am determined to keep up with my goal of a post per month, so rather than try to paint a picture with words, I will share with you some photos from our past month. We couldn't have had a prettier springtime, and it has continued. I'm chomping at the bit to plant tomatoes, but I also learned a hard lesson last year when we had a killing freeze on May 11th! So, I am trying to hold back.</p><p>In the meantime, we have been hiking, planting potatoes, doing schoolwork, and cooking. Always cooking. I do not know what I am going to do when I have 3 teenage boys to feed, as I am already barely able to keep up with their appetites! For scrawny little runts, they sure do eat a lot. I am counting on them being able to cook for themselves in a few more years, and so far, they are doing pretty well in the their training! </p><p>There is no big news on the homefront, which is always a good thing. Tom and I are still married, the boys are finishing up 5th and 4th grades and Dominic is graduating from "Grandma's Preschool" this month. He is wise beyond his years and recently completed the "know how to jump on one foot" task that was on his "Things Kids Should Know Before Kindergarten" checklist. So, I guess he's ready now.</p><p>Our dog did chase off a bear last week, so I make sure the boys go into the woods in pairs now so that they can give the bear options. <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2018/11/ready-to-receive-call-to-adopt.html">Our dog, Chessie</a>, is the best when it comes to chasing off squirrels, rat snakes, bears, and UPS deliverers. </p><p>So, without further elaboration, here is our collage of all things Springtime 2021 so far.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lVWUBPhR_TKa1QZqo6SNz0V4v38IHN-nZPBC9-ZTDW-OXRL-kU6kMDpX0tg4sNp9dL-tKIHGkolnwdfmkXN6935ugvZtlxbmGFB5PHuIHjbIFuf2QxdcpbkH9EE8HxxLDlERB3zSCQ/s2048/IMG_20210403_215817208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lVWUBPhR_TKa1QZqo6SNz0V4v38IHN-nZPBC9-ZTDW-OXRL-kU6kMDpX0tg4sNp9dL-tKIHGkolnwdfmkXN6935ugvZtlxbmGFB5PHuIHjbIFuf2QxdcpbkH9EE8HxxLDlERB3zSCQ/w225-h400/IMG_20210403_215817208.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our at-home Easter Vigil ceremony,<br /> lighting our Pascal candle</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7N7SRDV9JMuJB1Aasoo2Rig-1Kf0PS7Cx8iOcu4yeG3N_ohyOwdUgPTbffxnAnsw6GKjqZ_XhyphenhyphenVfai3wD1atkZzFsBkfvc47F2LOsA_3j_qdtXifza35t9tphVMHaGNEzjSKXpzdR4g/s2048/IMG_20210404_085425229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7N7SRDV9JMuJB1Aasoo2Rig-1Kf0PS7Cx8iOcu4yeG3N_ohyOwdUgPTbffxnAnsw6GKjqZ_XhyphenhyphenVfai3wD1atkZzFsBkfvc47F2LOsA_3j_qdtXifza35t9tphVMHaGNEzjSKXpzdR4g/s320/IMG_20210404_085425229.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dying our eggs with natural food dyes</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGNX-SgRGnRTCM-c25YYCM6wlGmHibpk5WvBYDQ2iuzQsZhvBlxCskVHM1XPjjM1W2zvRlkwztDBr4oW57qcfS0zv39XvMypvBwEOKu5CZ4V3v4__wX5jKI5QAU90L6pEWVuNre980A/s2048/IMG_20210405_105123310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGNX-SgRGnRTCM-c25YYCM6wlGmHibpk5WvBYDQ2iuzQsZhvBlxCskVHM1XPjjM1W2zvRlkwztDBr4oW57qcfS0zv39XvMypvBwEOKu5CZ4V3v4__wX5jKI5QAU90L6pEWVuNre980A/s320/IMG_20210405_105123310.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring cleaning. If you are looking<br /> for a natural floor wax, try coconut oil!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpN7bVXwExxMsFDdV-cuuWthzSZ0FFhHEo_1crb-j3vbWrlu5XLCxmiUks19YTx7vrvjIyrWMVsBW3hW2633C-bMmFPkhV50uyQ-YW93wIIdunxg3qTRB9LFxwLZMVrs2nVqChS29OKg/s2048/IMG_20210409_133922912_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpN7bVXwExxMsFDdV-cuuWthzSZ0FFhHEo_1crb-j3vbWrlu5XLCxmiUks19YTx7vrvjIyrWMVsBW3hW2633C-bMmFPkhV50uyQ-YW93wIIdunxg3qTRB9LFxwLZMVrs2nVqChS29OKg/s320/IMG_20210409_133922912_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A spring break trip to Lost River Cave in western KY</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkz6NvlabERvm2jRen1uGBML8xGz_X2yDeBZQAHVT2s_qNasqE1jX20ntfkvEoUmPl6wNPNcnXetIhiD-mLzBxE8Vp-lXewTNPQM3Og5QtX_nJw0osrjTBT7iJwOJ65Of7YQ4Kd4o0eA/s2048/IMG_20210411_113157992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkz6NvlabERvm2jRen1uGBML8xGz_X2yDeBZQAHVT2s_qNasqE1jX20ntfkvEoUmPl6wNPNcnXetIhiD-mLzBxE8Vp-lXewTNPQM3Og5QtX_nJw0osrjTBT7iJwOJ65Of7YQ4Kd4o0eA/s320/IMG_20210411_113157992.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With a side trip to the Fathers of Mercy chapel</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrz1HqJSVvxF3XkRI5O8iXMsgXmS8STuiwvuN1T-LIV6Ozn4dkiYWoEfG07WKnbJt2x7sjnHjUrFQw4hzkiDC7rxyWavHAJ-QYsQuy2Fz4cgCxCS1IAwb9c3HQslVUiHoCgfqvsuKIig/s2048/IMG_20210413_102142628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrz1HqJSVvxF3XkRI5O8iXMsgXmS8STuiwvuN1T-LIV6Ozn4dkiYWoEfG07WKnbJt2x7sjnHjUrFQw4hzkiDC7rxyWavHAJ-QYsQuy2Fz4cgCxCS1IAwb9c3HQslVUiHoCgfqvsuKIig/s320/IMG_20210413_102142628.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Potatoes in the ground</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9YJ4BPhvNzw-oDVFo0VyIG2PCgFU5BhaVu8yPsjCxGS3P5Rz5RHHso2B4ofLtdWLUTgcRbVMt0Cp2DBzmB_IA9fpFp4ytyZbxGQXkTSWElSRHckVRqfqyShhaRD0xFxepIAWy1KeCA/s2048/IMG_20210426_134812629_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9YJ4BPhvNzw-oDVFo0VyIG2PCgFU5BhaVu8yPsjCxGS3P5Rz5RHHso2B4ofLtdWLUTgcRbVMt0Cp2DBzmB_IA9fpFp4ytyZbxGQXkTSWElSRHckVRqfqyShhaRD0xFxepIAWy1KeCA/s320/IMG_20210426_134812629_HDR.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morel mushrooms, a delicacy!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3cDTKgbx9SIjFa4p3cuMJMGlfc1-wMZF_WBB19wgrsCGsCT2G12WEd88IUGzPqitUcvuezD_FYkYkbioBX0hdvtHvRlPeWH1psG2A90OkNww4SYN-Px-zZ6QGWNXmuj-E_ZUJHLKEXg/s2048/IMG_20210427_152104378_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3cDTKgbx9SIjFa4p3cuMJMGlfc1-wMZF_WBB19wgrsCGsCT2G12WEd88IUGzPqitUcvuezD_FYkYkbioBX0hdvtHvRlPeWH1psG2A90OkNww4SYN-Px-zZ6QGWNXmuj-E_ZUJHLKEXg/s320/IMG_20210427_152104378_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A trip to Frozen Head State Park to look for wildflowers.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDxZqmHHPx5ndi2EEnAnaxQo3ZvBtvmiHgUZ7p0TJn8My8lgXCBjqnal-e6E55h5HmNbdpVso5hRy2UXQm0TOsHXV2BhgZq5Mi4IHS-GLxrNiHj1gNojgRC0va9bKia873YuPbui7iA/s2048/IMG_20210427_152910520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDxZqmHHPx5ndi2EEnAnaxQo3ZvBtvmiHgUZ7p0TJn8My8lgXCBjqnal-e6E55h5HmNbdpVso5hRy2UXQm0TOsHXV2BhgZq5Mi4IHS-GLxrNiHj1gNojgRC0va9bKia873YuPbui7iA/s320/IMG_20210427_152910520.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Large white trillium</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_9EyhO2ski7eEeA0Z4Xn0p5btTBko2iryIEquxmz4dMyJTYpAvcUdWToQmZ-7baEkADLD5F8rf0mY5rXSs5Ib7oQrR9lfdSRKxVJZMN1XadVuMgPrbGniP92cXfBSCLr8dFBv4aifg/s2048/IMG_20210428_083020436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_9EyhO2ski7eEeA0Z4Xn0p5btTBko2iryIEquxmz4dMyJTYpAvcUdWToQmZ-7baEkADLD5F8rf0mY5rXSs5Ib7oQrR9lfdSRKxVJZMN1XadVuMgPrbGniP92cXfBSCLr8dFBv4aifg/s320/IMG_20210428_083020436.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black-eyed Pea, our new hen, laid her first egg!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaBsDCUbTHb0zyvlOBNMclQ5EUCnV2FpeSUymenzaoN7pxoXP3mPLph4Mcj06T6R3gM7bVVTd-xb2keMwSo9I9sR0ad39uWx6x7MVsHPSKk_ELltcUoZXg_88nD75mGeCXYDKkfffpA/s2048/IMG_20210429_123621622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaBsDCUbTHb0zyvlOBNMclQ5EUCnV2FpeSUymenzaoN7pxoXP3mPLph4Mcj06T6R3gM7bVVTd-xb2keMwSo9I9sR0ad39uWx6x7MVsHPSKk_ELltcUoZXg_88nD75mGeCXYDKkfffpA/s320/IMG_20210429_123621622.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little boy isn't little anymore. <br />Here he is teaching 2nd graders about the human body.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEnqfoTboZMffkzp3a2KiJP0Uh_iv1sGIhbX1PdPeSgpjJAlqkldCgpze_isY4ZO5F5d0vFCDT5zrk5mV1yDi8ANhDmvAQo8Yr2C8yNGntNzWWplqotOkXoEMXu8QAhWm41NXVaRRQQ/s4096/IMG_20210502_080212728_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEnqfoTboZMffkzp3a2KiJP0Uh_iv1sGIhbX1PdPeSgpjJAlqkldCgpze_isY4ZO5F5d0vFCDT5zrk5mV1yDi8ANhDmvAQo8Yr2C8yNGntNzWWplqotOkXoEMXu8QAhWm41NXVaRRQQ/s320/IMG_20210502_080212728_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby broccoli plants in the ground.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEnqfoTboZMffkzp3a2KiJP0Uh_iv1sGIhbX1PdPeSgpjJAlqkldCgpze_isY4ZO5F5d0vFCDT5zrk5mV1yDi8ANhDmvAQo8Yr2C8yNGntNzWWplqotOkXoEMXu8QAhWm41NXVaRRQQ/s4096/IMG_20210502_080212728_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsoas3euneWMA_BEuNpItJ-qLtpQa6z9jd4nqi7BBBzzaFsGck9R_KPiO78YTbWXt0t2-yF924CYiFwWduofWBTLoanTZFTAU4IVdi9waDiQKoQrE0b2BEDHcTJjKW4MlOVFEU4X7kww/s2048/IMG_20210504_132354813_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsoas3euneWMA_BEuNpItJ-qLtpQa6z9jd4nqi7BBBzzaFsGck9R_KPiO78YTbWXt0t2-yF924CYiFwWduofWBTLoanTZFTAU4IVdi9waDiQKoQrE0b2BEDHcTJjKW4MlOVFEU4X7kww/s320/IMG_20210504_132354813_HDR.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhubarb after the rain.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4D17cZsRDYDOmyNn0HjaNKEHdorowVziWl1qKgGvQAvQXbxRsPSAw2J5vr41d0a4Msc4WiEJu2Bd6BSQ17Z8uPTiNQlXkNZeyzn4JQAY5KTP3AFqVen8qHP0RMiyjeQR87Eecv4r5HQ/s2048/IMG_20210506_072406033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4D17cZsRDYDOmyNn0HjaNKEHdorowVziWl1qKgGvQAvQXbxRsPSAw2J5vr41d0a4Msc4WiEJu2Bd6BSQ17Z8uPTiNQlXkNZeyzn4JQAY5KTP3AFqVen8qHP0RMiyjeQR87Eecv4r5HQ/s320/IMG_20210506_072406033.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big brother made little brother an omelet!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB95wXSWH5COqvUR_LnNE6_WXGgMYy64oNICiWE9RY5tJXYE-oscteUwroCfPOySPDUPX7oScvJbvHJdHxg5WU8N-A84jzsyVAdGixJyeUtSIIKYDMcTjX5N2-2fKSB_VT4J-giEk-gA/s2048/IMG_20210506_123700810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB95wXSWH5COqvUR_LnNE6_WXGgMYy64oNICiWE9RY5tJXYE-oscteUwroCfPOySPDUPX7oScvJbvHJdHxg5WU8N-A84jzsyVAdGixJyeUtSIIKYDMcTjX5N2-2fKSB_VT4J-giEk-gA/s320/IMG_20210506_123700810.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homeschool art class</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>And the beat goes on. Happy May Days to you!</div>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-55670283063924735552021-04-03T12:03:00.002-04:002021-04-03T12:03:47.027-04:00Point of Reference (Birthday Reflections)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaCb9UZYvzeOovqwqmLNxcIW1XpNdM23EHSHyaMOC1ScQHKReAsA_zaFpu-VERw17sOew4fbxUtZfLRB2pP1qSH44jpptrkWuVR-6rm6_VNjMtMy_zoQUx6jRQ1w9ZX0nb50pnW7hOw/s1564/wildflower+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1564" data-original-width="1564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaCb9UZYvzeOovqwqmLNxcIW1XpNdM23EHSHyaMOC1ScQHKReAsA_zaFpu-VERw17sOew4fbxUtZfLRB2pP1qSH44jpptrkWuVR-6rm6_VNjMtMy_zoQUx6jRQ1w9ZX0nb50pnW7hOw/s320/wildflower+collage.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I was born on Holy Thursday, a fact I didn’t realize until
just a few years ago. I have always loved Holy Thursday, the pageantry of the
Mass on that night, the meaning of the Last Supper, the humility shown in the
washing of the feet, the celebration of the priesthood, the end of what is
always a long Lent, the summation of our faith in the gift of the Eucharist
given to us on that night, the solemn act of departing in silence, and spending
quiet time with our Lord at the altar of repose. Long before I knew that it coincided with my
birth, I loved it, and apparently, God knew I would, so He gave me the day as a birthday gift.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This year, my birthday falls on Holy Saturday, and is
overshadowed by the preparations for Easter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are cleaning the house, and I will be
baking and decorating and assembling Easter baskets for the kids. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At sunset, we will have a bonfire and chase
away the darkness, renew our baptismal promises, and sing the Alleluia
songs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The focus will not be on my birthday, but on
the day we were all given a chance to be “born again”, as the Bible-belt saying
goes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My birthday can wait, as it should.
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It took me a while to realize this, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humility is not a virtue that comes easy to
me. I was reminded of that again this past week, when I got terribly upset
because my husband asked me to write out a list of what I would like for gifts,
rather than just “shopping from the heart” as I’d hoped he would. I minced no
words in expressing my disappointment and hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Of course, it was not really about the gifts at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was that strong desire we all have inside
to just be loved and wanted and the center of someone’s attention, if only for
a little while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The center of
attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exactly the opposite of
humility.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I recognized in a <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2020/10/he-will-not-win.html">very painful way last year</a> that so many of
my anxieties and emotions are brought on by a lack of humility. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since that time, I have tried to be more mindful
in practicing this one virtue from which all other virtues stem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been a challenge for which I was not
well prepared and has been a series of triumphs and failures. Much as the
Israelites were winning the battle as long as Moses’ arms were held up, I have
found that when I really work at humility, I am winning the battle for peace
and love in my home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I relax, the
battle is no longer in my favor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thankfully, I have the saints and our Blessed Mother to help me lift my
arms back up, and the confessional, which is where I placed myself on Holy
Thursday this year.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I awoke on this Holy Saturday, I reflected upon the
many birthdays I have been blessed with in my life. Fifty-two of them so
far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a lot of reflection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most, I cannot even remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few, I recall, were terrible, like the one when
I turned forty and was still childless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was a bad one. Then, there was the one when I drove from Missouri to
Kentucky with two three-year olds in the backseat, moving them away from the
only home they’d known to a new life in a new place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a stressful and anxious one. There was
the birthday when I submitted my letter of resignation after a 20-year career
in the workforce, a gift to myself that came 10 years later than I’d
planned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was the birthday marked
by a pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament. Accompanied by a
supportive husband who understood the importance of the trip to me, and the
three children I never thought I’d have, that birthday was an act of thanksgiving
to God for 50 years of answering my prayers in ways better than I could have
imagined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there was the birthday I
had last year, spent in pandemic lock-down, when the only pilgrimage I could
make was to the forest outside our door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>God blessed me that day with sunshine and wildflowers because He knows
that second to family and faith, it is His creation that I love most. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was in this reflection that I realized that birthdays are
nothing more than simply a point of reference for our lives. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I leave this world, my birthday will be
meaningless to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I am in in this
world, they are a point from which I can look forward with hope and look
backward with gratitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are the stepping stones along a journey
to my final destination, if only I can remain humble. And in between each stone
grow wildflowers and children and a marriage and a family and a realization
that all along, I have always been the center of God’s attention. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-1222555457071575962021-03-21T19:55:00.001-04:002021-03-21T19:57:21.229-04:00It Started With St. Joseph's Day<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVhR2Fz0spJWJtAnkGVWYDCEdepI3asZaOz16VClJC9DPf05R9-2oa3V4NIzdEbOsMLCryXTsmSQXRLNIqcANeZUQfU0uhbENkItVLkSEUJeZ4F0vExSSBJW5HwJ1KVcDqcuIFb3UsZg/s2000/2019-03-19+20.06.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVhR2Fz0spJWJtAnkGVWYDCEdepI3asZaOz16VClJC9DPf05R9-2oa3V4NIzdEbOsMLCryXTsmSQXRLNIqcANeZUQfU0uhbENkItVLkSEUJeZ4F0vExSSBJW5HwJ1KVcDqcuIFb3UsZg/s320/2019-03-19+20.06.48.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Joseph's Day, 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />It all started on St. Joseph’s Day, six years ago.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That was the day that I took my first step into
incorporating liturgical living into our family life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a spontaneous act, spurred by the
influence and inspiration I was finding in relatively new bloggers who were
sharing with the rest of us how they lived the Catholic life at home with their
kids. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I was still a relatively new mom. My oldest child was four years old, and
I was toying with the idea of homeschooling because we didn’t have the option
of sending our kids to a Catholic school (among other reasons).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I had no example to follow, no upbringing
that incorporated the faith into daily living (aside from grace before meals),
and no idea how to make being Catholic something my kids would understand, let
alone enjoy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Raising children in a
community where Catholics are the extreme minority made me even more determined
to bring our faith into our daily life, and I knew making it fun was imperative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t just want our children to know they
were Catholics; I wanted them to WANT to be Catholics. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I did what I’d done two years before, when
I was looking for a community that understood the experience of infertility
from a Catholic-perspective. I started searching the blogs for the community
that I couldn’t find next door, only this time, I was looking for experienced,
devout, Catholic mothers who were teaching the faith in fun ways to their children.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That was in 2014, when blogging was still a “thing” and the
blogging community was strong, and networked, and we were all learning from one
another in more than 30 second sound-bites. With a little searching, I found blogs
like <a href="https://catholicallyear.com/blog/">Catholic All Year</a> and <a href="https://www.showerofrosesblog.com/">Shower of Roses</a> and <a href="https://www.catholicicing.com/">Catholic Icing</a>, among others. I
dove into them, reading post after post, and was blown away by all that they were
doing with their kids to live fully the liturgical life. Still,
I hesitated, mostly because living liturgically the way those families on the
blogs did just seemed so overwhelming and beyond my capabilities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> My boys hated crafts and coloring sheets</span>, I did not feel like I had the time to do so many of the
things that I saw and admired on the blogs, and I just barely knew the faith
myself, yet these blogging mothers were so well catechized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I read about it a lot and did very
little. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But the seed had been planted, and the Holy Spirit was
watering it in my soul. It was on March 19, 2015 that I remember driving to
pick up my two little boys at preschool when the thought suddenly struck me
that it was St. Joseph’s Day, a Solemnity no less, and I, once again, was
completely ignoring it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It nagged at me,
much as the Holy Spirit does sometimes, and I couldn’t shake the thought that I
should at least do something to honor this Patron of our Universal Church and
encourage a devotion in my sons to this model of men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, it was already 2 p.m. and I didn’t
have time to make or prep anything; however, I did remember reading that it was
a tradition to eat cream puffs (zeppoles) on St. Joseph’s Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, with only a few minutes to spare, I drove
past my kids’ school, and went a few extra miles to the grocery store, grabbed
a packet of eclairs from their bakery shelf, and then rushed back to the school
to pick up the kids. It felt a little crazy, and much too unplanned for my
comfort, but at least it was something. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we arrived home, I made dinner, then told the boys that
I had a surprise for dessert (since it was Lent, they found this very
perplexing).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cleared the table, put a
statue of St. Joseph in the middle of it, unwrapped the eclairs from their
cellophane wrapping, and served them on a plastic Disney plate. The boys were
ecstatic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, they loved St.
Joseph’s Day, and suddenly, I did, too! I snapped a couple of photos and shared
them on social media to commemorate our first baby steps into liturgical
living.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgboZxxMSAc_LrHy0vx6a7cyCLUV6g9qBqosQSoFdi9uNG25aTJkQTbx0HInpEJmGNpoeK_v57y2DOIM6ytlN3Hqd3ytuqBXB1ybrlvcvqGtmTcumtV8fsqpRBHIKmRN862DZS_r4tg/s1920/johndonutlick.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgboZxxMSAc_LrHy0vx6a7cyCLUV6g9qBqosQSoFdi9uNG25aTJkQTbx0HInpEJmGNpoeK_v57y2DOIM6ytlN3Hqd3ytuqBXB1ybrlvcvqGtmTcumtV8fsqpRBHIKmRN862DZS_r4tg/s320/johndonutlick.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Joseph's Day, 2015</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br />That was the beginning of a new way of learning for my
husband, myself, and our kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As feast
days would approach, I would research them and plan little ways to celebrate
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And although our children focused
mostly on the treats they were receiving, or the fun parts of the day, they
also began to associate the activities with various saints, liturgical seasons,
feasts, memorials, and solemnities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
perhaps more importantly, I was learning along with them, and living the kind
of life I wish I’d had as a child being raised in the very progressive
post-Vatican II church of the 1970s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
so many ways, sharing the faith with our kids in this way has felt like a
second chance for me to learn and experience so much that I missed out on as a
Catholic kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has truly been a
win-win.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNAOaWQpbj9tDhK712LIN64SHyd5RR4-jTV8ghdEDapePnuDvnHnNEJgQOzRwcJjZg_AvL2O_VmTRuHEMic62RXmP6fzRfVz3TjHgwUqiA_4bR19VleTrzWem9fWId70cZd5Wle9pQg/s2048/20170320_193403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNAOaWQpbj9tDhK712LIN64SHyd5RR4-jTV8ghdEDapePnuDvnHnNEJgQOzRwcJjZg_AvL2O_VmTRuHEMic62RXmP6fzRfVz3TjHgwUqiA_4bR19VleTrzWem9fWId70cZd5Wle9pQg/s320/20170320_193403.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Joseph's Day, 2017</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br />This past week, for the sixth year in a row, we celebrated
St. Joseph’s Day again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Six years later
though, it has now evolved into an all-day celebration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of a last-minute trip to the grocery,
my son and I cooked in the kitchen together, making our own cream puffs
side-by-side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54C5BrM2XkWawDH5oW9IgHmW8lL7EK6aJqxSqtii5XYw-MUJ7w8LkBKwZwAqRnnFN7hipBhhIvUFmFlH9atQ_vvCytQXOVeJrqsVUBPUnWp5-AHkAzvfyoU1rOGDGlmt0FAR_Rfvfbg/s4096/IMG_20210319_164229062_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54C5BrM2XkWawDH5oW9IgHmW8lL7EK6aJqxSqtii5XYw-MUJ7w8LkBKwZwAqRnnFN7hipBhhIvUFmFlH9atQ_vvCytQXOVeJrqsVUBPUnWp5-AHkAzvfyoU1rOGDGlmt0FAR_Rfvfbg/s320/IMG_20210319_164229062_PORTRAIT.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Joseph's Day, 2021</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>My husband, a true
carnivore who looks forward with great anticipation to Meat Fridays, took off
work early so that he could put pork chops on the grill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My other son, who loves working with wood
just as St. Joseph did, worked in the garage on a craft made from pieces of
cherry wood that he cut and sanded, turning each piece into a pretty little
candle sconce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnNKr35EsXQmKHwqHg-ipIoZSjeaNCp6pQVj19nkVIJF_pSOhSrGm2_tYbCqUalZsdxl1VpzvbEElQ4OMCLlmqs8OXehZ9Sq_FTWMGjugdd-OZBx-ZuVXFPRXUJ1BCm0UbjDOIiK2eQ/s2048/IMG_20210319_190339111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnNKr35EsXQmKHwqHg-ipIoZSjeaNCp6pQVj19nkVIJF_pSOhSrGm2_tYbCqUalZsdxl1VpzvbEElQ4OMCLlmqs8OXehZ9Sq_FTWMGjugdd-OZBx-ZuVXFPRXUJ1BCm0UbjDOIiK2eQ/s320/IMG_20210319_190339111.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Joseph's Day, 2021</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>We invited a few
(non-Catholic) friends over, and our two parish priests, and all sat down to a
feast together, telling stories, and predicting whether or not St. Joseph was
going to send us some sunshine on what so far, had been a very gray and cloudy
day (he did). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As the sun set that evening, we finished up the dishes,
swept the floors, lit the candles in our brand-new St. Joseph’s Day sconces, and
said our family rosary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The four-year
old, wiped out from a day of non-stop activity and no nap, leaned against his
dad and was sound asleep before the second decade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the candlelight, our statue of St. Joseph
stood illuminated, looking down from the mantle upon our little family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later that night, as I kissed my oldest son
goodnight, he leaned forward and said, “I wish every day could be like this,”
then he drifted off to sleep, no doubt dreaming of cream puffs and the love of
St. Joseph, and as he did, I recognized that my dream was already coming true.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-38611883675014060492021-02-06T11:00:00.002-05:002021-02-06T20:23:52.979-05:00On Finding My Tribe<p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">LIFE takes us to unexpected places,</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"> LOVE brings us home.</span></i></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve moved
around a few times in my life.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My
earliest years were spent in the southwest, where I can remember spending
Sunday afternoons on Hopi Indian reservations, watching the Butterfly Dances
and dancing alongside the Hopi Indians as a happy youngster, searching for the
black-and-white painted Pueblo clowns moving amongst them.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As I reached school age, my family moved to
the south, where I picked up a southern drawl and wondered why my parents
didn’t put a rebel flag in their yard like all the neighbors.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My coming-of-age years were spent in the
mountains of Kentucky, living in a very isolated region among people who could
not relate to living anywhere else, and who had no desire to do so. Later,
married life took my husband and me to the Midwest. There, we lived outside St.
Louis, but my work took me into the Ozark hills and a culture very similar to
the one I’d come to know in Appalachia.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ten
years later, we returned to the hills of Kentucky, where I am now, and where I
hope to remain, God willing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I share this
because I have been thinking a lot lately about those who feel that they have
not found their “tribe” and are searching for just the right place to
live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mindset seems especially
rampant now, post-election, as both conservative and liberal-minded folks look
for a place where they “belong”. And I admit, I have thought about it a lot as
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is very tempting to want to
move someplace where more people think like us, live like us, maybe even look
like us. Would this be the solution to my discontent? Do I just need to find my
people? Is it time to circle the wagons?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It’s called
the “siege mentality” and it happens when we begin to feel threatened,
isolated, or oppressed because of what we believe or how we choose to live.
More than just the “grass being greener” folly, the siege mentality often develops
when we have been victimized, ostracized, or marginalized because we took a
stand to fight and found ourselves standing alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes us want to run until we can find a
group willing to stand with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
not that this is necessarily a bad thing; we all desire a community to which we
belong and that helps us feel validated to some degree. Such is human
nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I only wish to issue a
word of caution that this kind of thinking can too often mislead us into making
some very big life decisions based upon an illusion of happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Before I was
born, my father as a young man moved to the southwest in search of adventure
and to satisfy his desire for wide-open spaces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Six years later, he’d had his fill of it and missed the changing of the
seasons and rainy days and growing tomatoes, so he moved back east with his young
family in tow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Six years after that, he
decided he wanted to go back home, and live in familiar lands with familiar
people again, so he moved us back to his hometown and swore he’d never move
again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forty years later now, he never
has. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took him 13 years and nearly
2,000 miles of distance to realize that he was happiest where he’d
started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My story is
a bit different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never felt a strong
desire to move around, perhaps due to being involuntarily moved around as a kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when presented with the opportunity to
move to the Midwest, I was excited, not so much because I was not happy with
where we lived at the time, but more because we were moving to an area where
there were more Catholics, the “Rome of the West”, no less!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And frankly, I was looking forward to living
for the first time in a place where I was not the religious minority. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">However,
what I found was that in this Catholic stronghold, the people were not as
friendly as those I’d known in the south, where everyone calls you “sweetie”
and “blesses your heart”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband and
I felt spoiled to have dozens of Catholic churches to attend that were within
50 miles of our home, yet, two years later, we were still trying to find a
parish where our more traditional Catholic beliefs were supported.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we did, we found that after having
children, the more orthodox crowd (and priest) at the Catholic church where
we’d been attending, did not take too kindly to unruly toddlers disrupting
their prayers, and so we began church-hopping again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And at nearly every church we attended, we
were disappointed when pro-life events were poorly attended, by the pro-Obama
bumper stickers in the church parking lot, and by a general lack of hospitality
afforded those who were obvious strangers. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So, after
ten years, we moved again, and just as my father did, we landed right back
where we’d started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here we live today,
in the middle of the Bible belt, in an ocean of strong Christian evangelicals
and a speckling of lukewarm Catholics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
belong to a large Christian, but not Catholic, homeschool co-op that allows me
to scratch out the line about “Sola scriptura” in their Statement of Faith
before I sign it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We attend a Catholic
church that struggles to remain Catholic, but at least where we can receive the
sacraments validly and welcomes enthusiastically my family and accepts our behaviorally
challenged children as they are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
social circle is composed primarily of homeschooling families and a few others,
none of whom share our faith. Like me when I was a child, my children are
growing up without Catholic friends and without being exposed every Sunday to
the true beauty and reverence that the Holy Mass deserves and should offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our life here is certainly far from our ideal
but we make it work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">What that
means is that my husband and I must work even harder to catechize our children
at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It means we must make a greater
effort to find opportunities to expose them to the beauty of the faith by
taking road trips to visit cathedrals or attend ordinations or beautiful
Catholic weddings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It means inviting our
priests over for dinner regularly and asking them to hear our confessions on
the back porch because our Catholic church was built without a confessional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It means using a solid, Catholic curriculum
for their homeschool education because the closest Catholic school is 100 miles
away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But more
than anything, it means that we must find a way to accept that God has put us
where he wants us even if it does not seem ideal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if I can think of a million ways that it
could be better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could worry about my
sons meeting “good Catholic women” to marry someday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could worry about them leaving the church
because of the Protestant environment in which they are growing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could feel upset about my fellow
parishioners who scoff at the way my family chooses to practice what they
believe is an “old fashioned” form of Catholicism. There’s no shortage of
things to be depressed about if I dwell on them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And dwell on
them, I have. After living for a couple of years where we are today, I was
restless and questioned if we were in the best location for our family and our
faith.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">For a long time, I did not think
I belonged in this small town of people who seemed nothing like me. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">However, experience had already taught me that
no matter where we go, no place will meet all my expectations.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So, we decided to stay for the long haul. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And it was
only after I accepted that fact that God began to lead me to my own tribe. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to my surprise, they were not the Catholic
community that I for so long had wanted to be a part of. Instead, he showed me
that it was my Protestant brothers and sisters living all around me who would
be the ones I could look to for encouragement and example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took my experience of living in both a
Catholic stronghold and the Bible Belt to realize this.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Right now,
<a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2014/05/5-things-i-love-about-living-in-bible.html">it is their example, and not that of most Catholics, that I am admiring.</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are the ones voting for life when it
really counts, forming militias and taking a stand when out-of-state protestors
arrive on their doorstep, and still going to church every Sunday despite
COVID-19 and governmental threats. They are the ones showing up for Veteran’s
Day services and flying the American flag proudly in their yards. They have
nourished their faith from generation to generation by teaching their children to
learn from the Bible, memorize the commandments, go to church every Sunday
(wearing their Sunday best, of course), and respecting the Biblical authoritative
structure of the family. These are the things I see our Protestant brothers and
sisters doing that are making them great evangelizers in this historic moment
for our country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">For a long
time, I didn’t think I’d ever find my tribe, and wanted to move to a place
where people were more like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little
did I know that God was waiting to show me that the place I needed to be was
right where I was all along, surrounded by people I never would have guessed
would be the ones I needed to be around the most. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-62985446655206742212021-01-16T12:43:00.001-05:002021-01-16T13:33:29.811-05:007 Quick Takes - 2021 So Far<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy New Year!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-1-<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like most, I’m not sad to see 2020 end, but I have clenched
teeth about 2021.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am pleased to say
that I am feeling even better than I did after <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2020/12/my-covid-19-experience.html">my last post</a>, in which I
described my COVID-19 experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
certainly was a strange illness for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For weeks, I had some fatigue and serious brain fog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hormones went completely wacko afterwards,
also, and so did my moods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told my
friends that I was either pregnant or post-COVID.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, it certainly wasn’t the former as those
days are behind me now (sadly). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things
are slowly coming back to normal, and I’m planning to resume running again this
coming week, which will probably look a lot like walking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband had an antibody test done two
weeks ago and oddly enough, it came back negative, which amazed me because he
certainly was exposed to the virus many times while I had it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I attribute it to either the virus not being
as highly contagious as we had thought or God’s mercy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably both.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> -2-</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we usually do, my husband and I welcomed the new year in while
we were sound asleep. For the past 20 years, we have helped with a local Christmas
Bird Count (CBC) on New Year’s Day and this year was no exception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the 25<sup>th</sup> year for our
particular count, and I have been helping since the beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back then, I was a single, energetic, eager-to-learn
young woman and now I’m a married, worn-out, been-there-done-that
mom. Yet, a love of birding has remained constant in my life and
it always will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that someday, I
am an eighty-plus year-old woman still counting birds on New Year’s Day. Hopefully
some younger birders will join me and drive me around while I peer out the windshield
counting starlings and turkey vultures, which is all that may be left.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UJiiq16COAF803vDZUVLiAlva9ZCzjDddKberwn57nLSx6hICe_7KW6kwG6xX8w_qkBiPLtpCJx8l5wO4jy2M9eEj4pivXgXIUoAcbGQ-rgrwmZ7mp-uYTQLSRlug83WrpKqENfAYw/s2048/IMG_20210101_143347116_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UJiiq16COAF803vDZUVLiAlva9ZCzjDddKberwn57nLSx6hICe_7KW6kwG6xX8w_qkBiPLtpCJx8l5wO4jy2M9eEj4pivXgXIUoAcbGQ-rgrwmZ7mp-uYTQLSRlug83WrpKqENfAYw/w225-h400/IMG_20210101_143347116_HDR.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The intrepid birder.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-3-<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had an epiphany!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
wrapped up our 12-Days of Christmas celebration with a sweet little Epiphany
party at home and invited a couple of friends who also were now post-COVID to
join us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made my first attempt at a charcuterie
and it was a lot of fun to put together, even if not Pinterest worthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also made our own chocolate coins, something
I wished I’d thought of doing years earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of our kids reacts to soy lecithin, so I always have to make our own
chocolate candy or buy the very expensive allergy-friendly variety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I had my own little epiphany and
realized that for the price of two bags of the allergy-friendly coins, I could
buy a candy coin mold, a bag of Enjoy Life chocolate chips, some gold foil and
make my own!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was super easy and the
kids enjoyed doing this as one of their “12-days of Christmas” activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At our 12<sup>th</sup> Night party, we hid
the coins and the kids searched for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whoever found the baby in the king cake got to keep all the gold coins (if
they were an Evil King) or they could choose to share their gold (if they were
a Good King).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out that Daddy found
the baby, and while he was on the fence for a moment, he decided to be a Good
King and share his wealth of soy-free chocolates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long live the King!<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifsYNUq-OzlyZVtdTqIjlQAKaHB5e8PAris7fU6qTyWtWMLtnhub1vvKCM-ueCOaCSI2VrqPvwwCk70byfLw-D_DiM0K8zalrC5SmPR2T2U2rZGqO_-hvhL08Ilxom8I3_6pqF_Kp6YQ/s4096/IMG_20210103_185242272_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifsYNUq-OzlyZVtdTqIjlQAKaHB5e8PAris7fU6qTyWtWMLtnhub1vvKCM-ueCOaCSI2VrqPvwwCk70byfLw-D_DiM0K8zalrC5SmPR2T2U2rZGqO_-hvhL08Ilxom8I3_6pqF_Kp6YQ/w300-h400/IMG_20210103_185242272_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">King Dad</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDa3NTUTOJLrNZIiKHIpzsOgYwbdSgayyITohz5VKVy-pRW_b8aguWB9hhQ_C9-xI7YND9xSYRmKrJLcCv0fd9bMDQTB4zxWNilkfXuZWr12kd8ro6rOlI572Jv60BTuloDtCymQPgGA/s2048/IMG_20210103_154735769_BURST003.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDa3NTUTOJLrNZIiKHIpzsOgYwbdSgayyITohz5VKVy-pRW_b8aguWB9hhQ_C9-xI7YND9xSYRmKrJLcCv0fd9bMDQTB4zxWNilkfXuZWr12kd8ro6rOlI572Jv60BTuloDtCymQPgGA/w225-h400/IMG_20210103_154735769_BURST003.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6nevXYg25tnyj9SXrBQQOOHebDVkcmZs08TNhDxqDg0NRuIeWX0-dJlhiAb71Jd1r0ZbHx_ihM71IBd7sggFWzo33K-kPSq3gUivdT70ssSrz_ZjR2UDxTy9vu5y_PJhikCsADLslQ/s1080/IMG_20201230_194741_586.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6nevXYg25tnyj9SXrBQQOOHebDVkcmZs08TNhDxqDg0NRuIeWX0-dJlhiAb71Jd1r0ZbHx_ihM71IBd7sggFWzo33K-kPSq3gUivdT70ssSrz_ZjR2UDxTy9vu5y_PJhikCsADLslQ/w400-h300/IMG_20201230_194741_586.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyLEw5sAb2ON0_uISM8ooWY06uUKPcv7BTTo7iYsfbUkHxTvm5K0U3d5WTA3VXGdVqqnU1Fvq5gagPsT_iEFEjNjSgKHwF1-NxEiW4zSbAF4qrQ-jYw6O-isRJF5hA3I98Kp2X2O7kw/s4096/IMG_20201231_113358395_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyLEw5sAb2ON0_uISM8ooWY06uUKPcv7BTTo7iYsfbUkHxTvm5K0U3d5WTA3VXGdVqqnU1Fvq5gagPsT_iEFEjNjSgKHwF1-NxEiW4zSbAF4qrQ-jYw6O-isRJF5hA3I98Kp2X2O7kw/w300-h400/IMG_20201231_113358395_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-4-<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After a much needed 2-week break, we resumed school work
this past week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first day was as bloody
as I expected it would be, and it was painful realizing that even sending them
to school right now would mean still having them at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>LOL!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But day 2 went much better after a few motivational speeches (aka,
threats) from mom, and I think we are back in our groove again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still long for the day that I can have both
boys doing schoolwork in the same room, but I have accepted that that day may
never come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For now, we are making
homeschool work by having each kid in their own space and I wear the floor out going
back and forth from one to the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You wouldn’t think I’ve been doing this for six years now based upon how
every day feels like day one all over again, but I am hopeful that by the time
they start high school, I’ll have a system down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strange enough, however, our kids
continue to learn despite my (and their) imperfections so something must be
working.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHUBYvzw8xgrjzqhSm934QghcM6EcVORDgAejrZvZy9zN5fNWxg-cJIQtuT8j0aW_SYT3CHHEfZaxbM4IglC8at6DPQrJvvuw7Mf7WUKX7koSEMOabi0FQPeOG7hosPQ0IPodTEJz7aw/s4096/IMG_20210113_101358515_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHUBYvzw8xgrjzqhSm934QghcM6EcVORDgAejrZvZy9zN5fNWxg-cJIQtuT8j0aW_SYT3CHHEfZaxbM4IglC8at6DPQrJvvuw7Mf7WUKX7koSEMOabi0FQPeOG7hosPQ0IPodTEJz7aw/w300-h400/IMG_20210113_101358515_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-5-<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Added to the stress of homeschooling, COVID, and holidays
has been my ongoing plight in trying to kill a deer this winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crossbow season opened on September 19 and continues
through January 18 and it looks like I will be out there in the deer blind freezing
my thumbs off until the very last sunset of the hunting season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been both extremely rewarding (read, time
alone outside) and frustrating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the almost one-hundred hours now that I have spent
hunting, I have seen exactly one deer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That one deer walked up to my blind, looked at me and turned around, all
within about 10 seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think they’ve
got my number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the second year
in which I have been unsuccessful with deer hunting, and our freezer is empty
of venison now, leaving me with a primeval feeling of failure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am applying this
year for a Kentucky elk permit, and my odds are about 1 in 100 in
getting drawn, which I find strangely encouraging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9szEIvd1vO6Mg643IvtF6QjXBLZY0OhHTidcLHNadXUNrglB3hnRVIfMO9kYUbmJ8JTa2Ds3tPT_sPhY8tqVf8Em7XerUSu89uyOqj-bRrOnvQwXXDFxk07Xwg7eFOPqmLasKds0FKw/s2048/IMG_20201230_073951001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9szEIvd1vO6Mg643IvtF6QjXBLZY0OhHTidcLHNadXUNrglB3hnRVIfMO9kYUbmJ8JTa2Ds3tPT_sPhY8tqVf8Em7XerUSu89uyOqj-bRrOnvQwXXDFxk07Xwg7eFOPqmLasKds0FKw/w400-h225/IMG_20201230_073951001.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">One of too many sunrises I watched from the deer blind this season.<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-6-<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For southern Kentucky, it’s been a snowy winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think we’ve had a total snow accumulation for
the winter of about 5 inches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God likes
to tease us with snow down here, giving us just enough to get us excited and
eager to build snowmen, but then turning off the snowfall just before the grass
is covered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, the kids have instead
turned to other snowy outdoor pursuits such as jumping on their trampoline and
watching the snow fly up as they land, and throwing miniature snowballs at their
grandfather as he unsuspectingly steps out onto the front porch, and tricking
the dog into eating snow fluff stirred
into her bowl amongst the dogfood. I am taking the boys into the forest today for
a “snow hike” which is exactly what it sounds like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boys love to look for animal tracks and
deer trails in the white stuff and sabotage their mom with snow balls down my
neck collar when I’m not paying attention, then they’ll come home and muddy up
the floors and toss wet clothes all around the woodstove and beg for supper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I aim to please.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie65ud5-bFMKujME3Y41-ZyUftGw805JiRhhmX1UB-ryEWvvPzS95rQ1IZQX8KZtFSu2uWEpzcgOtIhwOnXqXR9lxB5CyKm2kV8r6bgzdN5e1HPGWEImMuw4ltK4KnC2GJM-r-JXRGNg/s4096/snowball.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie65ud5-bFMKujME3Y41-ZyUftGw805JiRhhmX1UB-ryEWvvPzS95rQ1IZQX8KZtFSu2uWEpzcgOtIhwOnXqXR9lxB5CyKm2kV8r6bgzdN5e1HPGWEImMuw4ltK4KnC2GJM-r-JXRGNg/w300-h400/snowball.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-7-<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Christmas often brings gifts that keep on giving and such
was the case with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of weeks
after Christmas Day, a friend messaged me asking if we’d like more
chickens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did we need more chickens?
No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we have space for more chickens?
No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But like the homesteading gateway drug that
they are, I just couldn’t turn down free chickens, especially when I found out
they were Jubilee Orpingtons, a breed I’ve really wanted to raise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, with about 30 minutes notice, I went to
pick up 7 baby chickens and built a make-shift brooder pen in our laundry
room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are adorable and really
growing fast and making me ever so grateful that my sense of smell that I lost from
COVID has not completely yet returned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My husband, who now is tasked with building a “chicken box” this weekend
that will become base camp #2 for the new chickens when we move them outside,
was not thrilled, but I just reminded him that thankfully, our friend
didn’t offer me a free goat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHKqJawVpPc-u007EYUHJ5suFQAtfGYtwx54Z6GaNYrYuovfCjSvqaZuAWurSTE00282IhARu6X5F6V5ynTsckaPU_nW6DcyWiCfyw_hKWXFuEtQMVfBjuv1pXiOANLhRk3fj782rkw/s4096/IMG_20210106_094322158_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHKqJawVpPc-u007EYUHJ5suFQAtfGYtwx54Z6GaNYrYuovfCjSvqaZuAWurSTE00282IhARu6X5F6V5ynTsckaPU_nW6DcyWiCfyw_hKWXFuEtQMVfBjuv1pXiOANLhRk3fj782rkw/w300-h400/IMG_20210106_094322158_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Meet "Black-eyed Pea". His name comes from New Year's Day. <br />If you're from the south, you'll understand.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And that’s about it for 2021 from here so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is the year over yet?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just kidding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If you’ve made it this far, I encourage you to head over to <a href="https://thisaintthelyceum.org/quick-takes/">Kelly’sblog</a> and check out some more Quick Takes much more worthy of your time!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-20678823928353217962020-12-26T11:13:00.000-05:002020-12-26T11:13:14.177-05:00My COVID-19 Experience<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo-y3WiA_Yz4jM4RxbPkFzQaiMxmZVsm5Vu0lRT-0dhr_X3M5OP0myr8Kay7pwig4aEFC8-pFWETZM8halLPl32BOq22LSHj1M99nJ6Mxuxk9jYSCfVn_3s1kbhHIX3JwlyNvWoweIDA/s4096/snow+dec.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo-y3WiA_Yz4jM4RxbPkFzQaiMxmZVsm5Vu0lRT-0dhr_X3M5OP0myr8Kay7pwig4aEFC8-pFWETZM8halLPl32BOq22LSHj1M99nJ6Mxuxk9jYSCfVn_3s1kbhHIX3JwlyNvWoweIDA/w300-h400/snow+dec.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking to Grandma's house on Christmas day.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Merry Christmas!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As Minnie Pearl would often say, I’m just so proud to be
here, and I hope you are, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s
nothing quite like a bout with a new to science, new to the human population
virus to make one appreciate being able to get up and take a deep breath in the
morning, and such was my gift this Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thank you, Jesus!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It started with body aches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Or maybe it was the unusual rash that appeared (and itched like crazy) on
my back two days before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or the headache
that I just couldn’t shake the day before that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They say that COVID-19 is not like the flu, and now that I have experienced
both for myself, I would agree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike
the flu, which would hit me fast and hard, the COVID-19 virus came on slowly
for a couple of days before really settling in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By the time I realized I really was getting sick, I’d already gone hiking
with a few friends, been to the grocery, and kissed my husband and hugged on my
kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, I wore a mask to the
grocery, social-distanced, all that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully,
nobody I was in close contact with during that time got sick (even the employee
who helped me use the self-checkout at the grocery).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know it is starting to sound cliche’, but I have no idea
how I got it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two weeks prior, I
hadn’t been within 6-feet of anyone unmasked outside of my immediate family, with
three exceptions, and those three people were not ill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps one of those three was an asymptomatic
carrier, but if that were the case, I would think others in their social
circles would also be getting COVID-19, and that does not seem to be the case
(I live in a small town so everyone knows who everyone hangs with around here,
LOL!).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Anyhow, I wonder if I may have been exposed to the virus
months ago and it lingered in my body until my immune system weakened. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that doesn’t take much, as my body already
struggles with an auto-immune disease diagnosed in 2002 (interstitial cystitis).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But really, I’m not sure any of that matters,
anyway. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that living any kind of life
beyond sequestering ourselves in our house meant accepting an element of risk,
and I have no regrets about that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Uncertain of exactly when my “Day 1” began, we quarantined
for longer than the recommended 14-days, which, considering our homesteading,
homeschooling, teleworking lifestyle, really wasn’t all that difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent 9 days in bed, the longest in my life,
other than the period of bedrest required when I was pregnant. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body cycled between chills, fever, and body
aches that would come and go over and over for about four days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never had a cough, not even a tickle in my
chest, and no issues with breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nasal
congestion was minimal and there was no sore throat. I never lost my appetite nor
my strength, which I found quite odd and very unlike the flu. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My single worse symptom was intense back pain
around my kidneys, which lingered for a couple of weeks and even today, re-emerges if I
over-do it and get fatigued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the
first week of symptoms, I lost all sense of taste and smell, completely, thus
confirming that I definitely had COVID-19.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One month later, I have regained only some of my taste and smell, making
Christmas treats a bit of a downer, but giving me the perfect penance for
Advent.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Other than that, life is mostly back to normal now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had the most beautiful first day of
Christmas yesterday, complete with snow, which happens only about 10% of the
time here in southern Kentucky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joah
requested a snow shovel for Christmas (along with a hard hat and pruning saw…not
your ordinary kid), so I guess God decided to send some snow to go along with
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still get easily fatigued, and
Christmas Eve, with all its preparations, combined with kids pulling out all
their “behaviors”, almost did me in, but my heroic husband came to my rescue and
sent me to take a nap while he picked up the slack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has been my saving grace during all the
days that I have been out-of-pocket, and in God’s mercy, he has stayed healthy
and strong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It is not lost on me how serious this virus is for so
many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I was ill, a friend of mine
lost her mother to COVID-19 and my heart breaks for her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others we know of are having serious lingering
effects. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly do not want this
post to appear to downplay its effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have very elderly parents and friends with chronic conditions, and I fear for
all of them, and would not knowingly put any of them at risk nor encourage them
to take unnecessary risks. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Still, I am grateful now to have had it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In some ways, it is a relief to have been through
it and have it over with, much as having a root canal or giving birth feels. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often reflect on my life and think about all
the times God has given me another day; times when only <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2014/10/an-open-letter-to-my-guardian-angels.html">my guardian angels</a> or
modern medicine have saved me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been
living on borrowed time for a long time now, and I am thankful once again to be
able to fight another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess God
has more work for me to do. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I pray that you have a most blessed Christmas season, and I
will see you in the coming year, Lord willin’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-42188549730198569252020-11-21T12:39:00.000-05:002020-11-21T12:40:01.074-05:00Pleasure Without The Pain<p>The morning sun was warm on my face this morning as I
stepped outside. I should have been deer
hunting, considering the mornings that are above freezing during a November
deer season are few and far between. Yet, as much as I love watching the sun
come up and hearing the forest come to life, I also hate cold toes and frozen fingers. This morning, I could have had the pleasure
without the pain. But instead, I slept
in, thinking only about the pain I was escaping instead of the joy I may have
been missing. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Novembers in Appalachia usually go in one of two directions
climatologically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some years, we have
days upon days of cold, cloudy, wet weather with gray trees silhouetted by gray
skies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other years, we have starry
mornings, bright blue skies and days upon days of sunshine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There usually is no middle ground in an
Appalachian November; the days are either extremely depressing or incredibly
uplifting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it is in God’s mercy
that he chose to give us the latter for 2020.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The kids and I have made the most of these extended Indian
summer days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve taken up a new hobby:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>mountain biking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, we biked almost 10 miles, half on
trails and half on roads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The week
before that, we did 8 miles on backroads through the forest, and the week before
that, 4 miles to the river and back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other
than a few “Oh s#$%” moments and an aching tailbone at the end of the day, it
has been glorious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had forgotten what
it felt like as a child to climb on a bike and race down the road, wind in my
face, feeling like I was escaping the confines of my home and the reality of my
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How ironic that as a 51-year old
housewife, I still feel the same. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On each of our rides, we inevitably pass a cemetery or
two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Appalachian forests are full of cemeteries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was pleased with my boys when, without
prompting, they stopped their bikes at each cemetery to offer a prayer for the
dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Earlier in the month, we spent All
Souls' Day making a pilgrimage to five cemeteries, saying a decade of the rosary
at each.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids made gravestone rubbings
and recorded the names of whomever they felt led by the Holy Spirit to pray
for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we returned home that evening,
we wrote those names on our Remembrance Candle and have lit it each night as we
prayed for all those on it. Since that day, we’ve written the names of three
more friends on that candle who have passed on to eternal life since the month
began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often wonder who’s name will be
next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If 2020 has made me aware of
anything, it is that. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I made my weekly run to the grocery store this morning as I
do most Saturday mornings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The store was
already crowded, despite it being only 8:30 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old ladies were buying frozen pie crusts,
one young couple was debating about the size of turkey to buy, and the onion
and yam kiosk overflowed to capacity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
I scanned my groceries at the self-checkout, I chatted with the employee who is
there every Saturday and knows my routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We know each other by name now, and always enjoy making small talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, she told me that it was on Thanksgiving
Day last year that her husband went to the hospital and I saw her eyes fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not ask any questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I already knew that today, she is a
widow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I took the mac n cheese, Vienna sausages and tuna fish that
I’d bought at the grocery and dropped them off at the Blessing Box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Noticing that someone had left trash around
the base of the <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2020/08/a-tale-of-two-statues.html">statue of the Blessed Mother nearby</a>, I walked over to her and
picked it up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun was even warmer
now, and when I stopped to remove my jacket, I noticed a middle-aged lady in a
motorized wheelchair had already spotted me placing food in the Blessing Box
and was approaching it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled at her
and waved and I suppose she smiled back behind the mask she was wearing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finished cleaning up around the statue and
noticed that people had been putting small stones around our Blessed Mother’s
feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I prepared to leave, I checked
the Blessing Box and it was already empty again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And now, I sit in our local library, mandatory mask on my face, typing
quietly in the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ladies at the
front desk discuss the people they know who have COVID-19 and I think about my
own friend who often hikes with me on Saturday mornings, but today, is in
quarantine on this lovely weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting
here, I look at the periodicals in the magazine rack:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>TIME magazine has a cover photo of Biden and
Harris with the headline “Time to Heal”; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>National Geographic proclaims “A World Gone
Viral”, Working Mother magazine asks the question “Now What?” and Liberty magazine
ponders “The Collapse of Liberal Democracy?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next to the magazines stand three large racks
of paperback novels, all with broken spines and worn-out covers, evidence that
they are clearly the most-read books in the entire library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are divided into two major
categories:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>romance novels on two racks,
westerns on the other. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Escapism for each
gender.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After this, I’ll return home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are making a brisket for supper and inviting
a family to join us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They, like us,
homeschool, and share much of our philosophy, not to mention a love of good BBQ.
This past summer, they spent most of their time hiking the Appalachian Trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When not hiking, they were camping near the
trail, performing “trail magic” for other hikers, which basically means, meeting
long-distance hikers along the trail and providing them with hot meals and snacks,
shuttles and friendly and encouraging conversation. He’s a military veteran who
speaks his mind but makes a lot of sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He has already been suspended on social media twice, or maybe it’s three
times now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m starting to lose count.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He and his wife are pretty sure their family
had COVID-19 last month but did not get tested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They isolated and rode it out, like most of us will have to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, I will head home and make a cake and some beans to go
along with the meat-fest my husband is preparing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll enjoy sitting in this warm November sunshine
and chatting while the kids do flips on the trampoline and race bikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A friend told me that we should never have
gotten that trampoline, by the way, because they are so dangerous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’ll never let her daughter on one, she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t doubt she’s right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yesterday, flying down the hill on that
mountain bike, I saw myself for a second heading to the ER, or one of my
kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, we’ve already spent most of
2020 nursing my son’s broken elbow, thanks to a bike accident he had in late
April.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I doubt my friend has ever done a flip on
the trampoline or flown down a hill on her bike. "Couch potatoes are the new heroes of 2020" was a headline I saw this past week.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today is supposed to be the last warm and sunny day we have
for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This week will bring cloudy
skies and rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deer gun season will end
this coming weekend, and the Christmas music will start playing in the stores. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t expect I’ll be able to get another
bike ride in with the boys for quite some time now, maybe not until
spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fear it will be a long winter,
once it finally arrives.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWkGhyphenhyphen5g5DUbc9vuvmkTAoT91Cvo2K0kns874TQxGVu9XVO8BaZ0vHippqgzj8yxBdtnOsRFh5ghghVD4es8EpugBdZe54vqWpwgyvZ84dVXaDsMSrOiZVr-wiSR2JyYsPdW4i2AvRtA/s4096/john+bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWkGhyphenhyphen5g5DUbc9vuvmkTAoT91Cvo2K0kns874TQxGVu9XVO8BaZ0vHippqgzj8yxBdtnOsRFh5ghghVD4es8EpugBdZe54vqWpwgyvZ84dVXaDsMSrOiZVr-wiSR2JyYsPdW4i2AvRtA/w300-h400/john+bike.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-31163671866843526902020-10-10T21:26:00.001-04:002020-10-25T10:04:31.966-04:00He Will Not Win<p>It’s raining, a far cry from where we were this time last
year, when our 41-day drought finally ended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2019/10/rosaries-for-rain.html">said my rosary daily during that dry period</a>, desperately praying
for only enough rain to keep our fall garden alive, while watching my broccoli plants,
kale, collard greens, and arugala shrivel up and turn brown. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in the end, our Blessed Mother heard me; our good Lord sent the rain and we were eating freshly picked broccoli
for Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God always gives enough.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tomorrow brings to an end another series of daily
rosaries for me, as I finish day 54 of my 54-day novena.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, this time, I was not entering into October desperately praying for rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead, I was desperately praying for my marriage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This week, on October 13, we will be celebrating 19 years of
matrimony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been a hard-earned 19
years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not write much about marriage,
mostly because I don’t feel like I’m very good at being married. I also don’t write often about parenting
because I don’t feel like I’m very good at that, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If, by their fruits, you will know them, then
both my marriage and parenting skills leave a lot to be desired, because the
fruits of both are sparse and sometimes pretty rotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So often, I think God has picked the wrong
person to tend this vineyard that I call my family. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Of course, that is the devil talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My feelings, my judgement of myself, my
perspective, mean very little in God’s eyes, especially when being obscured by
self-doubt and self-pity. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How much time
have I spent reflecting upon my own desire for a different kind of husband,
different kinds of children?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too
much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much, too much.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was a moment of revelation that showed me how close I was
to losing it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband packed his suitcase
and I could see in his eyes that it was no joke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Adding to the stress, our autistic </span>son had kicked another hole in the wall, broken
the door of our heirloom hutch, and was threatening to hurt his father in yet
another fit of unexplainable rage that was becoming almost a daily occurrence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were late night arguments, too much
yelling, too much judging, too much blaming, and too much bullying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A demonic atmosphere began to take hold in the
home, and every moment of peace or attempt to pray was being disrupted. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The perfect storm was brewing and we
were all spinning in its vortex.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That’s when I began the 54-day rosary novena.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed it every day, desperately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And things got worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept praying, and things got even
worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The temptation to yell, rant, and fall into
self-pity became stronger, and the opportunities to do so became more frequent.
I struggled to resist the urge to give into my bad habits. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I encouraged my husband to go on a much-needed
get-a-way that lasted 14 days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both
needed to re-set. Staying home with the kids, one of whom was very dysregulated,
would be a sacrifice that I could offer up to Jesus with the intention that He heal my marriage. I was determined to
stay in the spiritual battle and fight my true Enemy, who I was beginning to
realize was not my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I added
fasting to my battle plan and centered my thoughts on one word, humility, the supreme virtue from
which all other virtues come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With each day of reflection upon this virtue, I became more
and more aware that my lack of humility was the means by which I was allowing
the Enemy to tear apart my family and allowing me to fall into sinful behaviors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The intense desire to be loved and feel validated
was my idol, and I would stop at nothing to protect it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I only need reassurance,” I would plead with
my husband, even after he’d try to express an apology that I felt just wasn’t
“good enough”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why did God give me such
terrible kids?” I often moaned in self-pity, completely overlooking the blessing
that I had in each of these children I’d prayed so long for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I began saying the Litany of Humility and it left a bad
taste in my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I truly
desire such things?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don't I deserve to be loved? Deserve to be wanted, honored, praised for doing good, acknowledged for being right? The more I thought and prayed about it, the more I came to realize that I've spent most of my life trying to achieve these very things. Now, I found myself praying to be released from them. It was, and is, very uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sadly, for too long, I have been focused more on receiving
love than giving it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh yes, I have done
countless small deeds with what appeared to be great love, but it was not true
love, because I was not practicing true humility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My small deeds, when not returned with affirmation
or validation, particularly from those closest to me, rapidly turned into the seeds of contempt that, over
time, caused my vineyard to be overtaken by weeds and not bountiful fruit. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It has been a rocky road, these past 54 days, and these past
19 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband returned from his 14
days away, renewed and ready to try again, but the Enemy came after us harder a
few days later, and we (I) gave in to our old behaviors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the midst of that, I read this past week’s
Gospel reading, in which Jesus made it loud and clear to me, saying: <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #363936; font-size: 9pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt; line-height: 107%;">“When
an unclean spirit goes out of someone,</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #363936; font-size: 9pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt; line-height: 107%;"><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">it roams through arid regions searching for rest</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">but, finding none, it says,</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">‘I shall return to my home from which I came.’</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">But upon returning, it finds it swept clean and put in order.</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Then it goes and brings back seven other spirits</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">more wicked than itself who move in and dwell there,</span></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">and the last condition of that man is worse than the first.”</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Luke 11: 24-26)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And that is how it has always been, and always will be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The battle I must fight for my marriage, my children, my
own soul, will never end until my time ends. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see it clearer now, in part because I have
come very near to losing the battle and the Enemy revealed himself to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I have complete trust in Our Lady and
her Fatima promise, and I know that if armed with the Most Holy Rosary and the virtue of
humility, he will not win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVltsonyTohcFmB9WlV9YK9z3qcxEHbYq4UJre8_f7Gd8dyIdCX0uEvzvCtq015VQBXHDEl0_Q1qm65X5SRMROZpwldnowhceXp1_uvedaqtZylmp2oTSXj1cQAlkQ3jBxdTREqFU0w/s1513/wedding_outside2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1513" data-original-width="1177" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVltsonyTohcFmB9WlV9YK9z3qcxEHbYq4UJre8_f7Gd8dyIdCX0uEvzvCtq015VQBXHDEl0_Q1qm65X5SRMROZpwldnowhceXp1_uvedaqtZylmp2oTSXj1cQAlkQ3jBxdTREqFU0w/s320/wedding_outside2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Our Lady, Virgin Most Powerful, pray for us.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-59933512473856794112020-09-26T11:23:00.001-04:002020-09-26T13:25:59.992-04:007 Quick Takes - Get Out(side) While You Can<p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’m suffering from a case of writer’s block so what better
time than now to do 7 Quick Takes, <a href="https://thisaintthelyceum.org/42-things-about-me/">linking up with Kelly over at her blog</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy Birthday, Kelly!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-1-<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s September!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do
believe that September is becoming my favorite month of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2015/09/7-quick-takes-things-i-love-about.html">blogged about this before</a>, but every
year, I love September even more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think people tend to overlook the wonderful things about September, skipping
too quickly ahead to “pumpkin spice & jack-o-lantern” season instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But September, with it’s dusky evenings and
cool mornings, late summer wildflowers and heralds of migration always leaves
me feeling nostalgic and more at peace than any other month of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love the <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2018/09/goodbye-summer.html">winding down of the summer</a> and all
its craziness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vxX5P_chif_lGJL0D3urbA0FwO2urIn6Inyb85X2pk9MEdPLgMqJ6lxueDqgmgfSyL1EjryaxR1oh2ERj7RBrQCE3ca4mOfeYLuMRJdyOWw0W3YZAwSJYmuOHPDU2YCLl8SkEJj0nQ/s2048/strawberrybush.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1532" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-vxX5P_chif_lGJL0D3urbA0FwO2urIn6Inyb85X2pk9MEdPLgMqJ6lxueDqgmgfSyL1EjryaxR1oh2ERj7RBrQCE3ca4mOfeYLuMRJdyOWw0W3YZAwSJYmuOHPDU2YCLl8SkEJj0nQ/w299-h400/strawberrybush.JPG" width="299" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEuN10dcrx-RAsK5AcTTgGolO3hpGyj_9AhoBRYI_8ebI1ZqdLPEmMltfQpgP4KnJGpv3Lh7mxZpGlVPyzgrHGyDRsHiL61MKl0kFTBst2pEN4wZEV5pp1YMqgvU4O6IkA-fhx8egHQ/s2048/walnuts.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1532" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEuN10dcrx-RAsK5AcTTgGolO3hpGyj_9AhoBRYI_8ebI1ZqdLPEmMltfQpgP4KnJGpv3Lh7mxZpGlVPyzgrHGyDRsHiL61MKl0kFTBst2pEN4wZEV5pp1YMqgvU4O6IkA-fhx8egHQ/w299-h400/walnuts.JPG" width="299" /></a></div><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">-2-</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">Unlike last year, this year, thanks to several tropical
depressions, our September has been filled with rain, and so the garden is
still growing, although the season is near an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This week, maybe even today, I hope to dig
the sweet potatoes and then in a couple of weeks, I’ll be planting garlic, and
that’ll be a wrap for Garden Year 2020.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The year has been good, but nothing like Garden Year 2019 was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That year was our most bountiful ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year, there were no apples nor pears,
and a late freeze in May took a heavy toll on our potatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, God always provides just enough, and
our shelves are still filled with the canned food from last year’s surplus, plus
we harvested just enough corn, squash, potatoes and tomatoes this summer to get
us through another winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmaHsSM4Z_GBoUsVC8TEFiCOikJ5e48P8M5ygn1LgmOYlEB6fwhHPMMTtPXu6Zw-gnuQuZg8A0F_OQoWFt1Gt_-3SLab4101bVJ7UzSiX889grpbjVCKAB8otByttB64vWhh2F7hTIw/s2048/IMG_20200912_114254819_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmaHsSM4Z_GBoUsVC8TEFiCOikJ5e48P8M5ygn1LgmOYlEB6fwhHPMMTtPXu6Zw-gnuQuZg8A0F_OQoWFt1Gt_-3SLab4101bVJ7UzSiX889grpbjVCKAB8otByttB64vWhh2F7hTIw/w400-h225/IMG_20200912_114254819_HDR.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-3-<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">School has begun, although for us, school never really
ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have always homeschooled
year-round, which allows us to work learning into our daily routine when it is
most convenient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year, we are doing
5<sup>th</sup> grade, 4<sup>th</sup> grade and pre-K.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have thought often about blogging more
about our homeschool experiences, but it seems like every homeschooling blogger
has already done that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For years, I mostly
stayed “in the closet” about homeschooling, sharing little about it over social
media and with family and friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
now, in 2020, it’s suddenly cool to be a homeschooler, so I’m a little less
apprehensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no advice to new
homeschoolers other than it is really hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But if your kids are anything like mine (and if they are, you have my
condolences), they will learn despite everything you do wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There really must be a lot of grace that God gives
to homeschoolers for this miracle of learning to happen despite all the chaos
and disruptions that make up our homeschool days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I trust him to do his part if I only do my
part. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUsH1QBXvr329HIxY__Z2wXXASCSH4jAHku6nlbXl2SporIzA_L1r4cSLNAZnT7fLJnDaKtMHkpBK1AaUPlnRFU3xaj1WOZezS_IzyV3MvrwvwfP2P7w-0BULee8Uoy1y66xPWXeKeQ/s2048/reading+bw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUsH1QBXvr329HIxY__Z2wXXASCSH4jAHku6nlbXl2SporIzA_L1r4cSLNAZnT7fLJnDaKtMHkpBK1AaUPlnRFU3xaj1WOZezS_IzyV3MvrwvwfP2P7w-0BULee8Uoy1y66xPWXeKeQ/w400-h225/reading+bw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">-4-</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">With cooler temperatures that came with September and less
time required gardening and putting up food, we’ve been doing more hiking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a week without rain last week and took
advantage of the low water levels to go to the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The water temperature was “almost” too cold
for swimming, but of course that doesn’t stop little boys from jumping right
into it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They ran and played and swam
and jumped and fished and cooked 2 pounds of hot dogs over an open fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homeschool lessons of the day were 1) how to
successfully build a fire using only one match and things we found in the
forest, 2) how to cast a rod and reel without piercing your neighbor’s ear, and
3) how to leave-no-trace when all is said and done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life skills that will take them far, I hope.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxlMKlCT4Jz9jnhGFAKPq1753fQeo6adnzJo9Y2o5UOJB25LO_nHBhvGQhZgMeVfiiPZf5sB8PMXiupgiTBQUxC6hJjTIPcn7PQqOez8Rv6l1wq2_VAugKS59zJ0ym7wus5of25MqHQ/s2048/IMG_20200923_114136431.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxlMKlCT4Jz9jnhGFAKPq1753fQeo6adnzJo9Y2o5UOJB25LO_nHBhvGQhZgMeVfiiPZf5sB8PMXiupgiTBQUxC6hJjTIPcn7PQqOez8Rv6l1wq2_VAugKS59zJ0ym7wus5of25MqHQ/w400-h225/IMG_20200923_114136431.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITDvA2QT4YSNlCT7E1joDaubmP9jSXWCyv81arqWhUNLabJVh286XyCZI91GJ2ERXlXZvWFdGyaLqgUk1iH0M-0JQiuViJen3G6PjhksyhI1noEOS6HVoqt6m8HhhFzqI20FNJvrrjA/s4096/IMG_20200923_114624986_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITDvA2QT4YSNlCT7E1joDaubmP9jSXWCyv81arqWhUNLabJVh286XyCZI91GJ2ERXlXZvWFdGyaLqgUk1iH0M-0JQiuViJen3G6PjhksyhI1noEOS6HVoqt6m8HhhFzqI20FNJvrrjA/w300-h400/IMG_20200923_114624986_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq261Uf8XI1ozIJn9ov_EXYLSAdeKAZrAzbIQ1T6V6ZOC_fYfvvAS4Q34Qk4-6Xsb7r5Cp6x4j87IVoHT4BS1sN8zpNOzpAsC7VT-bK-f3Or1PB9avr1jdeyovYre5Gns-9OfIkFUCFw/s4096/IMG_20200923_115302985_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq261Uf8XI1ozIJn9ov_EXYLSAdeKAZrAzbIQ1T6V6ZOC_fYfvvAS4Q34Qk4-6Xsb7r5Cp6x4j87IVoHT4BS1sN8zpNOzpAsC7VT-bK-f3Or1PB9avr1jdeyovYre5Gns-9OfIkFUCFw/w300-h400/IMG_20200923_115302985_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4lJPLNU8M0a6uq9e7jqmnX9rY0AwmgXbiuqB7W1Ylh4EzvU_KiO2_BmPYZrK1aI56tjCKN52kmzYojhtigWyV4VVGIlPjZ01PmyQCaQI9hbIda6eqLAaidB0KlvZsUbWQ90x02k4cw/s2048/IMG_20200923_120007403_BURST001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4lJPLNU8M0a6uq9e7jqmnX9rY0AwmgXbiuqB7W1Ylh4EzvU_KiO2_BmPYZrK1aI56tjCKN52kmzYojhtigWyV4VVGIlPjZ01PmyQCaQI9hbIda6eqLAaidB0KlvZsUbWQ90x02k4cw/w225-h400/IMG_20200923_120007403_BURST001.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzZplvlRMBpWPWTGgfejxV6TnqLrNzH0ANno4wTC72Xakembl1IPZpiNTJt_uLxFKFJ5cVPMIzvFc4FrPdH9DOX22qs6-khsQKXBIiKnjVNKTfHxbHwkP279iXIzzbrhAwE7STLE4ZA/s2048/IMG_20200923_145030965_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzZplvlRMBpWPWTGgfejxV6TnqLrNzH0ANno4wTC72Xakembl1IPZpiNTJt_uLxFKFJ5cVPMIzvFc4FrPdH9DOX22qs6-khsQKXBIiKnjVNKTfHxbHwkP279iXIzzbrhAwE7STLE4ZA/w400-h225/IMG_20200923_145030965_HDR.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">-5-</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We celebrated two birthdays this month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>September 13 was the 2-year mark for our dog,
Chessie, something the boys made sure I did not forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chessie got a lovely “cake” made of leftover
chicken nuggets, cheese sauce and dog food sprinkles as her award for
officially leaving the puppy years behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And as lab and lab-mix breeds are known to do, she is finally starting
to act like she has a brain now that she has reached the two-year mark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is loyal to her family, especially Joah,
who claims her as his own, and has shown remarkable patience around our
chickens in spite of the fact that two boys keep trying to encourage her to
chase them for their own delight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is
also showing evidence of becoming a surprisingly good squirrel dog and expertly
spots and trees any squirrel that dares put foot on the ground around our bird
feeder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No doubt, it is the mountain cur
in her that we can attribute to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, while I had my doubts about Chessie in her first year of life, her
brain seems to be maturing, and she is turning into a remarkable dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This same phenomenon gives me hope for my
children!<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaF3ONpYupAH9-iIwnGWGCrDqbZiqToUO8qSVXM5lZDt0pOzPVbvIwYhnMUdSqoxzwW8dr2LD0c_k-VJm5o3pNsiQLQVzk3AF5OBHeOal1kXumPrCbLw_-cAzFhsNZorxfgGSlbjSYtA/s4096/IMG_20200923_114751721_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaF3ONpYupAH9-iIwnGWGCrDqbZiqToUO8qSVXM5lZDt0pOzPVbvIwYhnMUdSqoxzwW8dr2LD0c_k-VJm5o3pNsiQLQVzk3AF5OBHeOal1kXumPrCbLw_-cAzFhsNZorxfgGSlbjSYtA/w300-h400/IMG_20200923_114751721_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHhI3MyMVGfJts0qouaNf9hzfKYLVKcv0jSNLNIK9mnQ41Hdxru8aFzQ1rjQN9cpW37-SI4cWXp9I44cHb1RqXM3tYTGF_eGu3RoxLY_MFbsumBVSNlQxI7ibB_xSMFuJtwMjwvufjg/s2048/IMG_20200914_191630826.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHhI3MyMVGfJts0qouaNf9hzfKYLVKcv0jSNLNIK9mnQ41Hdxru8aFzQ1rjQN9cpW37-SI4cWXp9I44cHb1RqXM3tYTGF_eGu3RoxLY_MFbsumBVSNlQxI7ibB_xSMFuJtwMjwvufjg/w400-h225/IMG_20200914_191630826.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJLxdaSuhqEpL2ED83KaXuA3WKOVhY2qHBb3tONJ1pffugmlY3qIQOvGFiiga9iId_0uQaltnSMnLWPBrrHVMfU0WlGdAYuKUkndC31c_ofAby4tgpykk3z__6NOPFEJDVeOgcZXtLA/s2048/IMG_20200914_191201208.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJLxdaSuhqEpL2ED83KaXuA3WKOVhY2qHBb3tONJ1pffugmlY3qIQOvGFiiga9iId_0uQaltnSMnLWPBrrHVMfU0WlGdAYuKUkndC31c_ofAby4tgpykk3z__6NOPFEJDVeOgcZXtLA/w225-h400/IMG_20200914_191201208.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">-6-</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">And of course, the other birthday not to be overlooked was
that of our Most Blessed Mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike
Chessie, Our Lady did not get chicken nuggets for her birthday, but rather,
some home-baked gluten-free chocolate chip cookies prepared by John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, also unlike Chessie, Our Lady
was more than willing to share her special treat with the rest of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John took great pleasure in baking cookies
for her birthday, perhaps knowing how generous she’d be in sharing!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdzhOhM9bYZUCzNB5nZjFDb3HEudYvsQ_5Ndtmf8eU6SaT_NnqO5qhJsvaUfDJaatbHT1JmtX4RJxUT3RE7e0vhC0oKT-FXy8ElrpFspKVFOj9D4lBCCGBhenRV5L1eQhDdmGKOQzlA/s4096/IMG_20200908_183711149_PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdzhOhM9bYZUCzNB5nZjFDb3HEudYvsQ_5Ndtmf8eU6SaT_NnqO5qhJsvaUfDJaatbHT1JmtX4RJxUT3RE7e0vhC0oKT-FXy8ElrpFspKVFOj9D4lBCCGBhenRV5L1eQhDdmGKOQzlA/w400-h300/IMG_20200908_183711149_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">-7-</div>
<p class="MsoNormal">And lastly, this September will be recorded in my memory as the
time when I took care of all the kids alone for 13 days straight while Tom was
out of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Small potatoes to many
mothers out there, I know, and I tip my hat to all of you ladies who are
single-parenting, or who have husbands deployed, or are frequently away from
home for other reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are superheroes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for me, this was the longest period I
have had to solo-parent all the kids since becoming a parent and it was brutal,
but worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom got some much-needed
time away and caught up on some work, and I realized that just keeping the kids
alive and fed really is the most important thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And absence really does make the heart grow
fonder, so I am feeling even more thankful now for this man whom God gave me to
help me through life and especially, with this parenting gig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know even more now than ever that I
couldn’t do it without him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XQ-VZxSjf-WwFa3syfEfXbooalqSSAb_vHOhrz_PTufitBC3lllYl05td6Nm2ZXTKwEJJl2RM6BoR8Q599Yf5Un7v8yTkQFE-k6wCs4b3J1HvXx9Krnr8NBVYMH6kZLSh2g2vgtB8Q/s2048/IMG_20200923_150604356.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XQ-VZxSjf-WwFa3syfEfXbooalqSSAb_vHOhrz_PTufitBC3lllYl05td6Nm2ZXTKwEJJl2RM6BoR8Q599Yf5Un7v8yTkQFE-k6wCs4b3J1HvXx9Krnr8NBVYMH6kZLSh2g2vgtB8Q/w300-h400/IMG_20200923_150604356.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I hope you have a wonderful ending to this loveliest of
months!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Based upon the arrival of the
fall migrant birds I’ve seen, the woolly worms, the persimmon seeds, and the
general aura of 2020, I expect an early and hard winter so, get out(side) while
you can!<o:p></o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-33598627689540983042020-08-15T18:34:00.000-04:002020-08-15T18:34:07.271-04:00A Tale of Two Statues<p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Nobody said anything, but I could tell that most of them
didn’t really like the idea.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I could tell by the silence and the lack of enthusiasm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">It had been suggested at a church meeting by one of our
church’s elderly parishioners that we place a statue of the Blessed Mother in
the newly acquired parking lot across from the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was already a raised bed built of natural
stone in the corner of the lot, and she thought it would be the perfect spot to
establish a small grotto. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few smirked,
most said nothing, and the suggestion was ignored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Months went by and weeds overtook the stone bed in the corner. Eventually, another member of the parish
suggested that a “blessing box” be placed in the corner of the lot, directly on
top of the stone bed, a suggestion that was met with enthusiastic support. Within just a few days, the blessing box was
in place, standing atop the would-be grotto. The church parishioners took turns filling it
with non-perishable food items for the local citizens in-need, who came to it
within hours, usually leaving it empty again.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">More time went by. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then one Sunday, another parishioner made
an announcement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and her husband had
been given a lovely, vintage marble shrine of the Blessed Mother by their
former parish, which no longer had a place for it, and she and her husband wanted
to place it in the lot across from the church. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was apprehension. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was hesitancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But after this parishioner agreed to not only
donate the shrine, but to also do all the labor and pay for all the expense of
establishing it in the vacant lot across from the church, the church leaders
agreed to allow it, and so she and her husband went to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">There were doubts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some, including myself, wondered how long a public statue of Our Blessed
Mother would last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We live in a wonderful
small town, but Protestantism is strong here, and there are certainly a lot of misconceptions
about Catholics and idolatry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feared
that any statue of Our Lady would be vandalized, or be used by non-Catholics in
the community as justification for their mistaken belief that Catholics “worship
Mary”, as they so often like to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Still, I thought about how we, as Catholics, are called to evangelize
not just by doing good works (such as the blessing box), but also, and perhaps
more so, by publicly expressing our faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so,
on a hot Saturday in July, my family joined the husband and wife, and we helped
pull weeds and put up new fence and cleaned up the old lot to make ready for
the little Marian shrine.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">On August 15 of last year, the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Most Blessed
Virgin Mary, our priest blessed it. It was a lovely little shrine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Following our priest, my children and others
from the parish proceeded to the shrine from the church, singing Ave Maria and
carrying silken lilies. That same day, my husband and I renewed our children’s
consecration to the Blessed Mother in front of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Later, other</span> members of my parish mentioned to me
privately that they enjoyed stopping and saying a “Hail Mary” in front of it each
time they took food to the blessing box. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was beautiful, and I smiled at myself as I
thought about how Our Lady has a way of coming to us no matter how many
obstacles we put in her way.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMbdt4oAzNx_n9B1ZMnPvJ4ijYzr4j9vnz2-g9BS30fjOdVyiQpr-yIkZW7vZTUKOvVLUUKjWApLTccdccqYQgiFfE4Z7C9rn9ZM2maYUjXq-sNMN_nx8SjwBE7EMQOt_OH4hsB9n3A/s640/bvm2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMbdt4oAzNx_n9B1ZMnPvJ4ijYzr4j9vnz2-g9BS30fjOdVyiQpr-yIkZW7vZTUKOvVLUUKjWApLTccdccqYQgiFfE4Z7C9rn9ZM2maYUjXq-sNMN_nx8SjwBE7EMQOt_OH4hsB9n3A/w384-h512/bvm2019.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">But then she was gone.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">It had happened in the middle of the night, about a month
later, and was caught on security cameras.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Three young adults approached the statue at around 3:00 a.m., toppled it
off its pedestal, and carried it off into the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
soon as my family heard the news, my kids began to cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who would do such a thing, they asked?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could they?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More concerning was what would happen to her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would she be used in some occult practice
somewhere?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or sold in a pawn shop?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or simply smashed into little pieces and reduced
to sediment in an act of demonic contempt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Feeling somewhat distraught, I reminded my children and
myself that the statue had been blessed and consecrated and that it really
belonged now to God, not us, and that if we trusted in him, something good
would come out of the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then,
we said a rosary, offering it for those who had stolen the statue and praying
for its safe return.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">It took a few weeks, but eventually, local law enforcement
was able to use the video from the surveillance camera and track down the thieves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, late one night, just as it had been
stolen, the statue was returned, unharmed, by a sheriff’s deputy.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">She was back, but by now, the monetary value of the statue
had been made public, and there was a real concern that placing it back in the
shrine would elicit another theft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
it was decided that instead of returning the high-value vintage statue to the
shrine, another, less valuable statue would be put in its place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The elderly parishioner, the one who had
first suggested building the shrine two years earlier, eagerly offered to
donate her family’s own Blessed Mother statue to replace the original, and so it
was done, and almost a year later, it is still standing there, representing all
that is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJ2uIIGgzDv5biwJVYdylcEVzHI2aV5rSuykn1UKx2fcK14D4lkxZZMLbPrwETfwObSP7UlGWD3dBaS5lA2spO5TWKCeQ1iLAoKpc4z1grgtZREvHIeJqFikcpgWOgmWjLzAWZ1YPwA/s3366/bvmedited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3366" data-original-width="2680" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJ2uIIGgzDv5biwJVYdylcEVzHI2aV5rSuykn1UKx2fcK14D4lkxZZMLbPrwETfwObSP7UlGWD3dBaS5lA2spO5TWKCeQ1iLAoKpc4z1grgtZREvHIeJqFikcpgWOgmWjLzAWZ1YPwA/w408-h512/bvmedited.jpg" width="408" /></a></div><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">We had hoped that today, one year from the day that the
first statue was blessed, that our priest would bless this second statue that
took its place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had planned to bring
our family to mass, then we would process to the shrine and place roses at her
feet and re-new the consecration of our children to our Blessed Virgin Mary, as
we do every year on this day. However, it is not to be, as a member of our
parish tested positive for COVID-19 this past week, and now our church is
closed and locked for two weeks, and we are again left on our own to say our
own prayers and ask for our own blessings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, instead, I visited the little shrine
alone this morning, placed flowers around her feet, said a “Hail Mary”, and then
walked over to the blessing box next to it and made my weekly donation of tuna
fish, mac n cheese and sardines.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">And if you are a long-time reader of this blog, you will
know that my family, too, has an outdoor statue of our Most Blessed
Mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we lost our first child,
Francis, I wanted a statue of Our Lady to stand guard over his grave, and so my
husband and I made a special trip to a local statuary to find just the right one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We placed our statue next to Francis’ grave,
which over time, became two more graves as we lost more children in
miscarriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot express the
consolation that seeing that statue over my children has brought to me through
the past 15 years, and she has always been there waiting each time that I took “flowers
to Francis”.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsFlBJuAMkMrpuV7NS_CB0Gr4-Cj4ggxGXca0ZhuSJm9fx59XiM121BckkIdXV8Bbxl24TtlBpMqeC1tzlQmIX10PJ9O7gOtT7Xa7k9HE8_cV-usB4I2AoUYAgS9LDm7Ij-dv11oUgg/s1527/mary.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1527" data-original-width="1141" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsFlBJuAMkMrpuV7NS_CB0Gr4-Cj4ggxGXca0ZhuSJm9fx59XiM121BckkIdXV8Bbxl24TtlBpMqeC1tzlQmIX10PJ9O7gOtT7Xa7k9HE8_cV-usB4I2AoUYAgS9LDm7Ij-dv11oUgg/w382-h512/mary.JPG" width="382" /></a></div><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">However, today, there is another statue in her
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it happens, when the couple who had donated the vintage statue of Our Lady decided not to place it back in
the church lot’s shrine, they were left with the question of where should they keep it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I encouraged them to take it
home and set it up in their own yard, as a place of meditation and prayer, but they resisted this idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wife said she was
waiting for “just the right spot” because the statue meant so much to her, and
she said that keeping it for themselves did not seem quite right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so, the statue stayed tucked away in
storage for many more months.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">One day recently, while visiting with her, I shared with the wife the story of our infertility struggle and mentioned the loss
of three of our children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made the
comment that we had buried our unborn babies, and she asked me where.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I told her they are on our property,
next to our Blessed Mother statue, she was astonished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s it!” she exclaimed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s where she belongs, next to your
babies!” and she insisted that we place her beautiful vintage statue of Our
Lady at their graves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few days later, she
and her husband brought the lovely statue to our home, and we placed it over
guard of Francis, Karol and Isaac-Anne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DYwr2yLO_q2L4xhyL-uhAg2MtfOxLXc9w_I9voSB9kyXcOBoZfsIbChJwFbHLdWlMB1pUr-FSTgEpDnumUhADAR-klAo08UTMcuJyH9LeK7lXMZbVEa7p_syb9KBeyY0CtHmQW7Klw/s4096/bvm3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="3072" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DYwr2yLO_q2L4xhyL-uhAg2MtfOxLXc9w_I9voSB9kyXcOBoZfsIbChJwFbHLdWlMB1pUr-FSTgEpDnumUhADAR-klAo08UTMcuJyH9LeK7lXMZbVEa7p_syb9KBeyY0CtHmQW7Klw/w384-h512/bvm3.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>And
there she stands today, on this Solemnity of the Assumption of the Most Blessed
Virgin Mary, one year from the day that she was blessed in the church parking
lot, having since passed through the hands of both evil and good, and then being put into storage but finally ending up just where, as my friend said, she belonged all along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> As always, our Blessed Mother is never outdone, and God responded to our plea for her safe return in a way we never imagined. He is so good and so full of surprises.</span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Today, as my family stood in
front of her and renewed our children’s consecration to her once again, I thought about the words of St. Paul, who wrote that "all things work for good for those who love God”(Romans
8:28). Might I add, for those who
love His mother, too.</p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p>Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-88460584434647371482020-07-25T11:25:00.001-04:002020-07-25T11:25:50.725-04:00And Now He's 10...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I know mothers
are supposed to love all their children the same, but I can’t help but think
they all have a special little spot for their first-born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that the child him or herself is
more special than any of their other children, but rather, what that child represents
to the mother is extra special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
women like me, <a href="http://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2014/07/four-years-after-miracle.html">who prayed to be mothers for so long</a>, that first-born represents
the end of a long, lonely walk in a barren desert, and an answer to countless prayers.
And once that child comes along, after
so many years of waiting and wanting, the thought of losing what we desired for
so long is almost unbearable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When my
eldest son turned 8 a couple of years ago, I remember thinking he was starting
to grow up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then in the blink of an
eye, he turned 9, and I remember thinking that he was already half-way
grown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now this week, he turned 10,
and my heart is breaking as if I was about to watch him leave for college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s in
double-digits (something he likes to point out to me often), or perhaps it’s
because he is starting to ask questions about adult things, and reading the
newspaper and pulling out my recipe books and planning dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am very proud this little boy who isn’t so
little anymore, and who I now refer to as my young man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He’s always
been <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2015/07/almost-five.html">wise beyond his years</a>, asking me questions that I found strangely
perceptive for his age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s still small
for his age, which he comes by naturally, but his mind is growing by leaps and
bounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s one of those kids who, by the
age of four, already had most things in life figured out, and who studies
everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knows all the “book
answers” and every day is a lesson in putting them into practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Since he was
five, I have been his school teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
sat side-by-side on the sofa five years ago as he sounded out three-letter
words to me and we tried to count to thirty together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, we still sit side-by-side and I listen
as he tries to explain CS Lewis to me, or we tackle mixed fractions
together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And each day now, there is
always a moment when I look at him and I think, “When did you learn that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He is my
metric for motherhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His birthday is
my anniversary…the anniversary of when I made <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-crossing-part-1-of-3.html">the crossing </a>and left that barren
desert of infertility behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as he
counts up to the day that he is fully grown and can leave home and embark upon
his own “great adventures,” as he likes to say, for me, every day is a count
down to when I have to finally let him go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And maybe if I start preparing my heart for it now, then in the next ten
years (or fewer), I’ll be ready for that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But probably not.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So for now,
I enjoy the snuggles that he’s still willing to give, the way he walks beside
me and still wants to hold my hand, the fact that he still thinks I can answer
all his questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as each day goes
by faster than the day before, I’ll try to remember what a miracle he is and
that, as the doctors said when I carried him, God must really have something important
planned for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something that will
require me to let him go. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br />Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-44458328066106319002020-06-27T14:43:00.002-04:002020-06-27T14:43:58.471-04:007 Quick Takes - 7 Photos for JuneFor such a long year, it certainly is going by fast. Rather than write another post about deep thoughts, I've opted to go for quick and easy this time and share seven photos from this past month, just for posterity sake, and to keep from breaking my own personal goal of one blog post per month in 2020! So, here they are, in no particular order.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>--1--</b></div>
The garden. There are people who take long summer vacations. Serious gardeners are not one of them. We finally got everything planted by early June and now we are in what I like to call "maintenance-mode" which basically means, keep the good plants growing taller than the bad ones. To beat the heat, I go out about three times a week at sunrise and work at it for about two hours. I love it. The cool mornings, seeing the garden change daily, and having that quiet time to myself does me a world of good. Each of our two older boys has their own garden this year, too, and I am encouraged to see their enthusiasm increasing a little every year as they take ownership in their own little patch of dirt. Now, if I could just get them to pull the weeds...<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQuRnZdzNA48ah4KwiQPt3Yh5QpvGWUVmupi3-Qyp8VkM_hvWFVbxjbiQTQ1SlzeCFUMCJ5V6viv8Jc2ulqk-i9zrMtYSwIoAS_uSYdzUj39GCS-CVvn4SWeUbGmxZ87e2TvaLaAVJAg/s1600/IMG_20200603_083237764_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQuRnZdzNA48ah4KwiQPt3Yh5QpvGWUVmupi3-Qyp8VkM_hvWFVbxjbiQTQ1SlzeCFUMCJ5V6viv8Jc2ulqk-i9zrMtYSwIoAS_uSYdzUj39GCS-CVvn4SWeUbGmxZ87e2TvaLaAVJAg/s400/IMG_20200603_083237764_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>--2--</b></div>
Related to <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2020/05/what-will-i-tell-my-dark-skinned-son.html">my last blog post</a> and all that's going on in our country today, I guess you could say that this photo represents my form of protest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgro5Hc1tCFfpEmM3EJUiyTYUOEJz5dMV3AGGV9HxT8xf5t5pVy5MZRHGq3zO9vUTXHJIcpbXPNMXBMAeLx_2YhyC8ISG28lcGjYNmWrFIg4U4St14BIQP-O4gpTPR64MfZXMsEPOBpEA/s1600/IMG_20200606_110059269_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgro5Hc1tCFfpEmM3EJUiyTYUOEJz5dMV3AGGV9HxT8xf5t5pVy5MZRHGq3zO9vUTXHJIcpbXPNMXBMAeLx_2YhyC8ISG28lcGjYNmWrFIg4U4St14BIQP-O4gpTPR64MfZXMsEPOBpEA/s400/IMG_20200606_110059269_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b>--3--</b></div>
And this. He has recently developed a love of "saying mass" at home. He walks around and hands out the host to anyone who will take it, saying "Body Christ". He says he's making his own "home church", which isn't surprising because...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitv7eKXW1xqDr2hIP9D4o6cqb3lUuMUxapi9gH3mZ6tedrS2iZqsYGO6_wB8cyL971NRlya2pgSkYL6-dLwX7IH3jfrjT0UWL5I8dbenhQx9OHLG_nlB_MnnZxbtVNFIINJYRciXyl8Q/s1600/IMG_20200619_095533367_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitv7eKXW1xqDr2hIP9D4o6cqb3lUuMUxapi9gH3mZ6tedrS2iZqsYGO6_wB8cyL971NRlya2pgSkYL6-dLwX7IH3jfrjT0UWL5I8dbenhQx9OHLG_nlB_MnnZxbtVNFIINJYRciXyl8Q/s400/IMG_20200619_095533367_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br />
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<b>--4--</b></div>
...we are now on week number 15 of having "home church" instead of going to mass at our church. Because of the social distancing requirements, there isn't room for everyone to fit in our little church now, so we are trying to give others the opportunity to go, plus, ever try to keep a mask on a 3-year old? My husband has done a beautiful job leading our "dry masses" at home, and then when we wrap that up, we all load up in the car and drive to our church where the priest gives us holy communion in the parking lot. He is also allowing us to make appointments for confessions and hears them outside as well. Strange times.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ziV6rQGIoii3eaLVwF0FAZe1hI-xKts183sxlQbv1KbzT7FrTbDu4n0Y1VOqNS0yg_UMc4XkePxLUsPCvdKx8bkqGQTEhkVAvVhilVnGjalUJm67O_mC2fg122zwhhHiVfUcA2qZLg/s1600/IMG_20200614_103316063_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ziV6rQGIoii3eaLVwF0FAZe1hI-xKts183sxlQbv1KbzT7FrTbDu4n0Y1VOqNS0yg_UMc4XkePxLUsPCvdKx8bkqGQTEhkVAvVhilVnGjalUJm67O_mC2fg122zwhhHiVfUcA2qZLg/s400/IMG_20200614_103316063_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b>--5--</b></div>
About a week ago, the boys and I joined with two other families and participated in the "Rise Up and Run" 5K organized by <a href="https://www.theessentialmother.com/blog-2/rise-up-and-run-a-catholic-virtual-5k">Melody over at The Essential Mother</a>. It was so much fun! We were lucky enough to have a cool weather spell and took advantage of it to complete the run. Before we did our run/walk/bike, each of us talked about who or what we were praying for during the run, and I was touched by how thoughtful our little ones were. One child prayed for her grandparents who had lost jobs due to COVID-19, one for his father, one for a recently widowed friend, etc. It was such a beautiful moment and I thank Melody for encouraging everyone to "Rise Up and Run", united in prayer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWORsn2qXy-OBYoYEEDJWyfKjSCSo0JhcNJR7uiJZ2vQ2lJQSgQshSXXBnLVjvM34Fm4i-P5YcakDAKylEHsPt25nANURSiW-Dh6kP-iyr-8C0sJTFWBmoAW-Qi5YkHp_uBnYisZPPw/s1600/IMG_20200615_185024372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWORsn2qXy-OBYoYEEDJWyfKjSCSo0JhcNJR7uiJZ2vQ2lJQSgQshSXXBnLVjvM34Fm4i-P5YcakDAKylEHsPt25nANURSiW-Dh6kP-iyr-8C0sJTFWBmoAW-Qi5YkHp_uBnYisZPPw/s400/IMG_20200615_185024372.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>--6--</b></div>
This past week, we marked the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, which is a very special occasion in our family. My husband and son both share St. John the Baptist as their patron saints, and it is also my husband's birthday. St. John the Baptist has interceded for my family on at least two very important occasions, and I truly believe I have him to thank for two of my children. I keep meaning to write a post on the subject and maybe I'll get one up in time for the Memorial of the Passion of St. John the Baptist on August 29.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVzgVJ-7AahcdJqR3SZsJ6B1tdI1TEIVYDU7Q9XDHnRP8R5K2F-xmahQnchm5Pd8CnwSORUzK3yxzH9D3ncpB9jVDrHyNlqEdz9t333h3NS6hj0KA4CFNeKDkJIgw8tIaVEiv6B3O9g/s1600/IMG_20200624_122703191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVzgVJ-7AahcdJqR3SZsJ6B1tdI1TEIVYDU7Q9XDHnRP8R5K2F-xmahQnchm5Pd8CnwSORUzK3yxzH9D3ncpB9jVDrHyNlqEdz9t333h3NS6hj0KA4CFNeKDkJIgw8tIaVEiv6B3O9g/s400/IMG_20200624_122703191.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our little John with his name-day gifts.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
--7--</div>
In the coming month, I will have been a parent for ten years. Ten years! It is not lost on me that my little ones are already half grown. From the time that they turned eight, it seems like my two "twibling" boys have just grown up before my eyes. It does break my heart, and scares me a little. Last night, while helping me wash the dishes, my oldest began to explain to me his interpretation of heaven and hell and I really had to stop and listen to him in order to understand it all. His thoughts were so profound and complex (he's been trying to read CS Lewis lately) and all I could think was, when did he learn all of this? I focus so often on my failings as a mother, but moments like that remind me that God will redeem anything that I offer up to him, including all of my parenting mistakes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rnBGfwAHHDHyxwRx1WlqE7rrk0wixo2ycJsN4fwagAaeZfPuMycxW9shqINzC-pS0uVhhNoRGYfRBWuRW3MkcLIoV9A_QARLmkZCR024yia4a0eTe_H0460sHx1hXFouhU9sFYgLzQ/s1600/IMG_20200612_102754451_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rnBGfwAHHDHyxwRx1WlqE7rrk0wixo2ycJsN4fwagAaeZfPuMycxW9shqINzC-pS0uVhhNoRGYfRBWuRW3MkcLIoV9A_QARLmkZCR024yia4a0eTe_H0460sHx1hXFouhU9sFYgLzQ/s400/IMG_20200612_102754451_HDR.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Now, hop on over to<a href="https://thisaintthelyceum.org/sqt-no-party-but-celebrating-no-surgery/"> Kelly's blog to check out some other quick takes</a> of life in the Catholic blogosphere. Thanks, Kelly!Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-12057741469915103902020-05-30T15:38:00.001-04:002020-05-30T15:51:28.473-04:00What Will I Tell My Dark-Skinned Son?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjE_x_N8nt62AjGlAwS5q2oEim1dJkzuCZo8pRGX0aZlB9xQ5wxbla4BKskeLqrO9kO0x7uEVZb6zy42auQPc0oLEhrE5sKSlpNAYuRSwJ3SeACA1x2WbDTpcwgyVTfRu-QCX6YGEjQ/s1600/IMG_20200517_185048164_PORTRAIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjE_x_N8nt62AjGlAwS5q2oEim1dJkzuCZo8pRGX0aZlB9xQ5wxbla4BKskeLqrO9kO0x7uEVZb6zy42auQPc0oLEhrE5sKSlpNAYuRSwJ3SeACA1x2WbDTpcwgyVTfRu-QCX6YGEjQ/s400/IMG_20200517_185048164_PORTRAIT.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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It’s back in the news again, and no, I’m not talking about coronavirus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m talking about racism.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I made the mistake last night of catching up on the weekly
news before bedtime. With my husband and two of my kids gone on an overnight
trip with their cousins, I was having difficulty falling asleep, so l dove into
the headlines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there it was, another
tragic story about a white cop and a black suspect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read the story and it all seems plausible
and just so terrible. The suspect is dead, the cop has been fired, and questions
are being asked. Was this racism, or something else? I try not to take
sides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have family members who are
second-generation law enforcement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want
to show them and all law enforcement the respect they deserve, just as I respect
those who serve in our military and government and who work tirelessly for
justice so that we may live in peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our freedoms would evaporate without them on the frontlines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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But I also have family members who are dark-skinned, one of
whom is my son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He slept next to me last
night as I read about the rioting, the anger, the vengeance, and the lack of
compassion on both sides of the issue. These injustices seem to be occurring
over and over in our country, particularly for young men of color. How do I
prepare my son for a society like this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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I am white, but I did not come only from white people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came from ancestral origins partly known,
partly unknown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father remembers his
great aunt, who was the sister of his grandfather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tells me about how she was regarded as a
black woman because her skin was so dark, which was the physical reflection of
her Native American ancestry. I remember my grandmother refusing to wear short
sleeves on hot summer days for fear of tanning, and she encouraged me to do the
same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told me the stories about the
murder attempts made upon her father, her grandfather, and her uncle, all of
whom were considered second-class citizens by a community that knew well their
ancestry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that was a hundred years
ago now, and we’ve moved beyond that kind of racism in our country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or so we think.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Four generations removed now, I have light skin. As a
result, I have never been the victim of racism and so I do not know what that
feels like. However, I am a woman in a male-dominated career field, a <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2014/05/5-things-i-love-about-living-in-bible.html">Catholic in the Bible Belt</a>, and the <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2020/01/why-i-let-my-kids-play-with-kids-who.html">parent of special needs kids</a> in a trans-racial
family, so I do know what prejudice feels like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And years ago, when I was discerning whether or not I should parent a
child of another race, it was many of those experiences that came to mind and
convinced me that I could do the job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although
he and I do not share the same ethnicity, he and I can share what it feels like
to be unfairly judged and marginalized, and as painful as some of my own
experiences have been, I realize now that going through them was God’s way of preparing
me for being his mother. Or so, I hope.<o:p></o:p></div>
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What I will tell my son is that prejudices can seep into us
when we do not even realize it, beginning at birth and continuing throughout
our life. By nature, we notice differences in the world around us, and
particularly in the people around us. This is how we learn and it is a good
thing to recognize those differences. Our diversity in thought, experiences,
shape and form, among other things, makes humankind in general stronger and more
resilient, and our survival as a species depends upon such diversity. The
pandemic we are currently in will not be the end, not by a long shot, of
humankind, and that is only because of our physiological diversity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My children know the biological reason for variations
in skin tone and we leave it at that. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
not all children are given such simple, scientific explanations for our differences,
and so they are too often left to figure things out for themselves, creating
fertile ground for the seeds of prejudice to be planted by well-meaning
individuals filled with misunderstandings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will tell my son that racism is subtle and
well-hidden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sweet little old lady
in the church pew. The friendly neighbor next door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doting grandmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chummy co-worker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The friend who preaches “inclusiveness” and
“tolerance” on social media.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These and
others very well may carry within themselves racist or sexist persuasions that they
will disclose only within their closest circles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will encourage him to ask God to reveal
these people to him, and I believe that as he matures, he will develop that
“sixth sense” that clues him in to such people, a sense very familiar to those
who are part of a minority segment of society.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I will remind him that racism goes both ways, and that he
must be mindful of any tendencies he may have to show bias toward others. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shortly after we adopted him, we introduced
him to our Hispanic friends. I recall them passing him around, loving on him
and snuggling him, and one commenting that they wanted to take him home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jokingly, we replied that they could do so if
they brought him back, to which they replied somewhat seriously that no, he
should not come back to us. It gave me pause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Did they feel sorry for our son, to be adopted into a white family? Was
this a thinly disguised comment intended to express a deeper feeling that only
they could raise him properly because they all shared the same ethnicity?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The preference our Hispanic friends show
towards our Hispanic son compared to how they treat our non-Hispanic sons, is
obvious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t upset me, but it is
racist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I recognize it for what
it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no ill-will in their
hearts, yet, having been the recipients of prejudice that I can only imagine, I
know they must feel somewhat protective and concerned about my son. It is human
nature to be drawn to those most like ourselves, and I am grateful that my son
has these friends who share his ethnicity in his life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will remind him that his outer appearance is what people
see first about him, and only those who want to know him better will ever see
beyond that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I will remind him that
some people will never want to know him better, and that this mostly likely is
a response to their upbringing and personal experiences and has absolutely
nothing to do with him. I will also remind him that only Jesus can change such
a heart, and that he should pray for them and love them anyway. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My son is only three, but he has already been the victim of
prejudice and racist attitudes due to his dark skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the moment we brought him home, we have
faced the stares, the comments about his “beautiful skin”, the desire of people
to run their hands through his hair, the questions about his ethnicity, the
subtle biases shown by some family members who don’t give him quite the same
kind of attention afforded to his brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As his mother, I hate it, but I also try to understand it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can’t let racism anger us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is an injustice, for sure, but like
poverty, it will always be part of the human condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over my life, I have experienced many grave
injustices due to my gender, my religion, my cultural background, my
values.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sons will, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pray that it does not turn them into angry,
bitter men, but rather, makes them even more sensitive to those who are also
victims of such. I pray that they will become bridge-builders, and witnesses to
life and fighters for true justice. But most of all, I pray that if I, as their
mother, must mourn their loss due to an injustice grounded in prejudice, that I
will rise above a desire for vengeance and instead, imitate the Blessed Mother
when she cradled her own cherished son who was killed for the same reasons. And
in the nights to come, when darkness draws near and I cannot go to sleep, rather
than catching up on the news, I think I will talk to her, instead. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>“Lord, send forth your spirit, and renew the face of the
earth. “<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>Psalm 104<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-78112267059816396162020-04-04T13:31:00.004-04:002020-04-22T14:04:11.785-04:007 Quick Takes - Easter Is NearLinking up with <a href="https://thisaintthelyceum.org/sqt-in-like-a-lion-and-not-going-out-of-my-mind/">Kelly over at her blog </a>today. Thanks, Kelly!<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, let’s start with the obvious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I debated about whether this blog post should
be about sharing my deep thoughts regarding the COVID-19 crisis or whether to
just keep it light and share about some of the wonderful things that are
happening around here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve decided that
with all that’s going on, and with the approach of Holy Week, we have enough
hard stuff to dwell on, so I’m going to go with an upbeat post this time
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll save the deep thoughts for
later. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
--1--</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy April!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Springtime has hit Appalachia in full glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our mountainsides are blushing with the many
shades of green as tulip poplars and the big-leaf magnolias spring forth (pun
intended!) their new leaves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interspersed
among them are the purple hues of the blooming redbuds, the white of the
serviceberry (“sarvusburry” if you’re a local) and the cream of the dogwoods, each
bringing with it a cold snap timed with the bloom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This past week, we fired up the woodstove
again as we passed through “redbud winter” and in a couple more weeks, it’ll
be time for “dogwood winter”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the middle of May, “blackberry winter” will have many scratching their heads, wondering
how it could possibly be so cold in May, yet “blackberry winter” in May is as <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2014/05/7-quick-takes-mothers-day-blackberry.html">predictable as the springtime</a>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mid-western city-raised husband laughs at
these local colloquialisms that I grew up with, but has come to accept that mountain
folk have their own colorful ways of explaining the world around them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_-wJ9d8A0waAnQHaYf4FdZGKkKs2I7RVemZFTe682TXW4-TM2Xr2osgE8ACNDbZJhGqImHqOybFw-e4_8sgLoJ8sI0kpG1G33OZKbZrMzPvjbuLl6W9-cZIrZninZYXuhmTitjm3lw/s1600/IMG_20200319_152059433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_-wJ9d8A0waAnQHaYf4FdZGKkKs2I7RVemZFTe682TXW4-TM2Xr2osgE8ACNDbZJhGqImHqOybFw-e4_8sgLoJ8sI0kpG1G33OZKbZrMzPvjbuLl6W9-cZIrZninZYXuhmTitjm3lw/s400/IMG_20200319_152059433.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo I took on St. Joseph's Day just as the sun started to peak out of the clouds.</td></tr>
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In our own social distancing/ homeschooling/ homesteading way,
which really hasn’t been much different than our life before COVID-19, we’ve
been celebrating the feasts and fasts of the Lenten Season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point, I want to send a big thank you
to <a href="https://catholicallyear.com/blog/">Kendra at Catholic All Year </a>for her continual inspiration in helping us keep the faith at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I follow her
blog religiously (pun intended again!) for her perspective and ideas and
lately, it has been invaluable as I’ve searched for ways to have church and now
Holy Week at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you, Kendra! <o:p></o:p></div>
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St. Joseph’s Day is always a big deal at our home and this
year, I attempted gluten-free cinnamon rolls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They weren’t terrible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Succeeding
at gluten-free pastry making has been my last big hurdle in this gluten free
lifestyle that we adopted three years ago in order to improve my children’s
mental health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try to avoid xanthan
gum and other additives, so have yet to find a gluten-free flour mix that I’m
satisfied with when it comes to baking, but I’m getting closer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that to say, these cinnamon rolls were
devoured by my family, proving yet again that even a hockey puck would be a
delicacy to a 9-year-old if you just smothered it with butter and sugar!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
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A few days later, we celebrated the Annunciation with some
fresh flowers in the home, and ribs for supper, both definitely not something we’d
do during Lent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, as he did on St.
Joseph’s Day, God blessed us with a beautiful sunny day, which was not part of
the weather forecast, as we’ve been plodding through day after day after day of
rain since last year ended. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so grateful
for some sunshine and much needed Vitamin D that obviously couldn’t come at a
better time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
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All that sunshine brought out the dandelions and of course,
we had to have some <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2018/04/dandelions-for-dinner.html">for dinner</a>!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids
love to eat fried dandelion flowers and we never have leftovers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Picking them this year seemed especially
significant considering the amazing health benefits found in all parts of the
dandelion plant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Combined with a little
sunshine, I’m hopeful that our immune systems got a much needed boost during
the past couple of weeks. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0wLKitEDRXFyLP3gW6LzrZrrU_jK6o1I3WbSzMWpYhrO2wNL4XwJzbVnPU9uYLiqqx9rgFBTkXF-NgqWZq0AI2C2-E-2mJuQrDYlcu1n2QnSpj4tCaqldXQdsI_doR9bWi42hH8hqw/s1600/IMG_20200325_163308765_BURST001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0wLKitEDRXFyLP3gW6LzrZrrU_jK6o1I3WbSzMWpYhrO2wNL4XwJzbVnPU9uYLiqqx9rgFBTkXF-NgqWZq0AI2C2-E-2mJuQrDYlcu1n2QnSpj4tCaqldXQdsI_doR9bWi42hH8hqw/s400/IMG_20200325_163308765_BURST001.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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With the cancellation of public masses across the country, our
family has been doing “home church” and it has been very successful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom and Joah normally play the music at our church
for mass anyway, so we have the advantage of still having live music just as we
would at mass every Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We follow a
dry mass outline very similar to the one Kendra recently described <a href="https://catholicallyear.com/blog/">on her blog</a>, and
Tom gives a little “homily”, which is usually an explanation of the Sunday
readings and gospel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We get dressed for home
church just like we would if we were going to mass, and it has been a good way
to teach the kids that we don’t dress up for church so that others can see us,
but rather, because Jesus can see us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, it’s not even close to being the
same as going to mass, but it has certainly helped us keep our Sundays still
feeling like Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For Palm Sunday, we
are going to use some fronds from a yucca plant growing on our property and
process around the homestead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose
the chickens and dog will enjoy joining us! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect maybe there were a few feral animals
in the procession when Jesus arrived in Jerusalem, so I guess it’ll be somewhat
authentic.<o:p></o:p><br />
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So that has been my therapy during these challenging and
scary times, i.e., keeping things as much the same as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, it could all change tomorrow, but that
is nothing new. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No day comes with a
guarantee, but the seasons do, and in this season, we are planting our
potatoes, celebrating the arrival of the hummingbirds (they arrived
yesterday!), picking dandelions, wondering
at wildflowers, and trying to stay close to Jesus by not tearing each other
apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And lest I dig into my deeper thoughts, as I
have already promised not to do, I will stop there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun is shining outside my window and I
have yucca fronds to pick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy Palm
Sunday!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Easter is near.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-56488408793813963902020-03-14T17:29:00.000-04:002020-03-14T17:45:15.809-04:00He Saw Only Light<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcI6-Q70fjpbspbm2MnKbAemSs-qJp7mkApZCGR5nWsoQk1zKrJ0eNrIRj89VY3_uK9OZ47Fpq9XMpqaU65rQo1EuPDE6Tcwx7culZBVm4rXV1Fuv6RAFJUIJkfT5pn-Rn0G4z_JoT6Q/s1600/tornado+tree2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcI6-Q70fjpbspbm2MnKbAemSs-qJp7mkApZCGR5nWsoQk1zKrJ0eNrIRj89VY3_uK9OZ47Fpq9XMpqaU65rQo1EuPDE6Tcwx7culZBVm4rXV1Fuv6RAFJUIJkfT5pn-Rn0G4z_JoT6Q/s400/tornado+tree2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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What a week.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The memes that floated around the internet a week ago
announcing the pending uncertainty that came with having a time change, a full
moon and a Friday the 13<sup>th</sup> all in the same week, now seem to have
been hauntingly prophetic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For all that
transpired this week, pandemic pandemonia, an unprecedented plunge of the stock
market, and for me personally, an EF-1 tornado that struck our property
Thursday night, how convenient it would be if we could only blame it all on the moon
or some other superstitious aligning of mystical occurrences beyond our
control. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“God saved us”, my son said Friday morning when we surveyed
the damage surrounding our home. Timber snapped and uprooted only a hundred yards from our
house made me think of the twenty-inch diameter red maple standing just outside
Dominic’s bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could have
been that tree, I thought, and it would have landed squarely on top of his crib
while he slept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it didn’t, and for
reasons either totally random or completely unrandom, depending upon your faith
perspective, our roof and the red maple outside his window were spared, and so
was he.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like to think that his
guardian angel held the tree up while the mantle of the Blessed Mother shielded
our home from the 100 mph winds that went just to our north.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, Dominic was baptized on the feast
of the guardian angels, and his room is adorned with angels on every wall, and
I certainly was praying many Hail Marys as I waited for the storm to pass. In
that context, it makes sense that, as my son said, God saved us, or at least as
much sense as blaming it on the full moon and Friday the 13<sup>th</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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I did my usual Saturday morning grocery run today, and walked
down aisles stripped of hamburger meat, mac n cheese, soda, cleaning products
and of course, toilet paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My two
oldest, both 9 now, pushed their own cart this time, filling it with food to
put in our local blessing box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are
using the money they make by selling eggs from their chickens to pay for the
groceries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so proud of these two
boys, walking like little men, thinking about what kind of food people would
like most, and trying to do the math in their little notebook so as to not go
over budget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I had been thinking of people’s
greed and need to hoard, my two boys were thinking about people’s need and what they
could give. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a few years ago, I
never would have predicted this kind of behavior from my boys, nor from
society. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We’re keeping our Lenten calendar up-to-date as best we can,
with one of the kids marking off each day as it comes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today is day 16 of Lent, yet it feels like it
has been much longer, thanks to the events of this past week. I have struggled
with staying focused on the liturgical season when surrounded by such intense drama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if I abstain from media outlets, the
anxiety builds when world events hit so close to home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last Sunday morning, my husband and I had to
explain spiritual communion to our sons, when we told them we would no longer
be able to receive the Eucharist on the tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Joah began sobbing at the thought of not being able to receive the
Blessed Sacrament, as if he’d been told that his beloved dog had gone
missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How difficult it felt to ride
out the storm when our view of Jesus walking on the water was being so obscured
by pragmatic directives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Years ago, when I worked as a wildland firefighter, there
would be times when I served on a fire crew for weeks at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Working in often remote locations, subject to
smoke and grit and dust and physical fatigue, combined with an element of risk
that was always there on the fire line, members of the fire crew would
gradually begin to show their true colors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It never started that way, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Coming together as a crew, we’d present our best selves at first,
well-rested, fed, showered, motivated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The first week would be filled with camaraderie, the second, would be
similar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But somewhere around day 16,
things would begin to turn, and in-fighting, grumbling, anxiety and competition
would begin to emerge. I recall one instance when a particular crew member
decided to self-isolate and refused to eat, sleep, or communicate beyond
necessity with the rest of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
her coping mechanism as she waited for our 21-day fire detail to come to an end
and she could go back home to her safe space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And come to an end it did, and she along with the rest of us, returned
back to our homes with matching paychecks that indicated matching experiences,
but it had been far from that. <o:p></o:p></div>
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"Perspective is everything", the wise financial advisers are
telling us now as we wait to see if the next Great Recession begins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perspective is everything, every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to remember that on this day 16 of
Lent, as the effort of two weeks of presenting my best self begins to leave me feeling spiritually exhausted and desiring to self-isolate.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Last night, we ended the day by lighting Joah’s baptismal
candle and renewing our baptismal promises with him, as he celebrated the
anniversary of his baptism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
that day 9 years ago so well, how he screamed the entire time, how the priest,
annoyed by my baby’s incessant crying, quipped that we should “take our cry-baby home”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the covered
statues in the church that day, because it was Lent, and how people in the
parish questioned us for having a baptism during the Lenten season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just didn’t seem appropriate, they
thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had lost their perspective. </div>
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Last night, that child who screamed through his baptism, and who sobbed last
Sunday because he couldn’t receive the Eucharist, and who picked out groceries
for the hungry this morning with pure joy in his heart, that child beamed as he
watched the flame flicker on his baptismal candle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As dark as his world is sometimes, at that
moment, he saw only light. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<br />Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-85573803282856015332020-02-29T11:54:00.001-05:002020-02-29T11:55:45.895-05:007 Quick Takes - Leap Year 2020 Edition<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR15wdvmL-_BdNlz2DwqVi3paQwu9rPjvL_zfggw1xDFqIsNQZ_CYA0-3q_2st5PZCAHUHwhS6HInM5S8aVX8bakfulgEvGq3jfssSilRtPGqIFTV7l1dCYSC0LZBguXRKkIGn6ERZ5g/s1600/1-1-P2231699.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="800" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR15wdvmL-_BdNlz2DwqVi3paQwu9rPjvL_zfggw1xDFqIsNQZ_CYA0-3q_2st5PZCAHUHwhS6HInM5S8aVX8bakfulgEvGq3jfssSilRtPGqIFTV7l1dCYSC0LZBguXRKkIGn6ERZ5g/s400/1-1-P2231699.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wood frog, the first frog to emerge from winter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>--1--</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy Bonus Day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
least, that’s what I call February 29.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How awesome that we all get an extra day this year, and how even more
awesome that it occurs on a Saturday. Win, win!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I asked my kids last night what we should do on this bonus day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The votes were #1 no school work, #2 no
chores, #3 play all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, they’ll
get 1 out of 3 (no school work), anyhow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dream on, little ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all,
it’s Lent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>--2—</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Considering this day doesn’t really count, so to speak, I
decided to take advantage of it to catch up on ye ole blog here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband (my most faithful blog reader)
thought <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2020/01/why-i-let-my-kids-play-with-kids-who.html">my last blog post</a> was my best ever so I thought about just stopping
while I was ahead, but who am I kidding. This month was my 6-year blogiversary so
how could I quit now??<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure I
agree with my husband’s assessment of my latest post, but I will say that it
was one that took me two years think about before I was ready to write it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, my perspective on parenting
has done a complete 180 in the past 9 years. How easy it is to make our
children into our idols and eagerly anticipate when they will reflect our “good
parenting” for all the world to see!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was well on that path until God gave me Teflon children, upon whom no
traditional parenting method sticks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
for Lent, I am working on seeing my children as they are, accepting their
limitations, trying to see the good, hard as it sometimes is, and ignoring a
judgmental world that seeks to find satisfaction in comparing everyone to
themselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>--3—</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, speaking of the good, here is the <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2014/02/our-most-special-valentine.html">best part of every February</a>
for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joah turned 9!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am now the mother of two nine-year olds for
the next six months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try explaining that
one to people!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For his birthday, he requested
chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Easy enough, until you consider that the kid is gluten-free, dairy-free,
and tolerates very few eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully,
through a vegan friend, I have learned so much in the past few years about how
to accommodate his diet restrictions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joah
loved this chocolate cake I made for him!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The frosting is also amazing and had no sugar in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, we used dates. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a happy kid! For his birthday, we
actually were visiting my sister, who has 7 kids, including three boys 10 and under,
so they alone made a party. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
complete mayhem. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcd0mIg6clAb3DempTyMUArECBjvcesRL9ZvPzFJ3HUSPCUT3W170i_y_czSWWjR4H6epJuuiC9pOv0VSyP37lJkBRs2yEx3g5bZvxF8RljOdfPuuSY16kh8xQG-RwnjDzV0vQzlc3A/s1600/IMG_20200215_192934026_BURST001_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1118" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcd0mIg6clAb3DempTyMUArECBjvcesRL9ZvPzFJ3HUSPCUT3W170i_y_czSWWjR4H6epJuuiC9pOv0VSyP37lJkBRs2yEx3g5bZvxF8RljOdfPuuSY16kh8xQG-RwnjDzV0vQzlc3A/s400/IMG_20200215_192934026_BURST001_1.jpg" width="278" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>--4—</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I often say that Joah is the one who has taught me the most
about true love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is he, more than my
other children, who has required the greatest sacrifices, and who challenges me
to rise above my own desires in order to meet his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In turn, it is Joah who has the softest, most
sensitive heart for those he cares about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Two days after Joah’s birthday, we always remember the birthday of our
little Karol Elizabeth, whom I lost in miscarriage two days after Joah turned
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joah has often referred to the fact
that he shares his birthday with his sister in heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year, amongst all the chaos around the quick
trip we made to visit my sister, I completely forgot about Karol Elizabeth’s
birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But not Joah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The morning of her birthday, he walked up to
me and told me it was an important day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I asked him why, he reminded me it was Karol Elizabeth’s
birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God love him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t want her to be forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided to visit her grave and sing happy
birthday to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the least we
could do, but for Joah, it was huge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Karol Elizabeth would have been 7 years old now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This coming week, on March 3, we will be
celebrating the birthday of her brother, Isaac Anne, whom we lost in miscarriage
one year after Karol. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure Joah
will not let me forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God bless all my
children!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
-<b>-5—</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And one more thing about Joah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something that we adoptive mothers think about
a lot is how our adopted child will feel when they get older and start to understand
what being adopted really means. We have never kept Joah’s adoption a secret from
him and speak to him openly and positively about it whenever the subject comes
up. Two years ago, he was able to <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2018/03/living-for-easter-lenten-update.html">re-unite with his birthmother</a>, a true miracle
and answer to lots of prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that he’s
even older, he’s coming to terms with the sense of loss that I believe every
adopted child must face eventually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know it is a struggle for him sometimes and my heart breaks for this part of
his life that I can’t “fix”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year, as
we did last year, our family spent the first two weeks of February writing love
notes to one another and hanging them up in the window, where <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2019/02/7-quick-takes-blogiversary-valentines.html">they look sopretty</a>. Then, after Valentine’s day, I take them all down and turn them into
little books for each person in the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This year, as I read over the little valentines hanging in the window, I
saw this one written by Joah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not
know what prompted it (other than perhaps a yummy supper that he liked), but
needless to say, it touched me and his dad so deeply. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In spite all that I sometimes think I’m doing
wrong in the parenting department, little things like this remind me that there
is always hope and that God will take care of the things that I can’t.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2DWOPNU4PWRgUBuR2df_75N0iEqMzULm6yLtaEJla1XajtSQDS3yONBIqxI6TE8G8zS54L7XVPjvAaMq6LsNmc54uWIbSrCiCSFrYDXBQ_1tW9k_h4DXHs35KhnTK8Ct3xrx1vra6Q/s1600/IMG_20200224_130103812_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2DWOPNU4PWRgUBuR2df_75N0iEqMzULm6yLtaEJla1XajtSQDS3yONBIqxI6TE8G8zS54L7XVPjvAaMq6LsNmc54uWIbSrCiCSFrYDXBQ_1tW9k_h4DXHs35KhnTK8Ct3xrx1vra6Q/s400/IMG_20200224_130103812_1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>--6—</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And not to be left out, the end of February is also a milestone
for this little guy, who hit the 3.5 mark yesterday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s because he’s the baby, but it just
feels like he is growing up faster than the other two ever did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He may be 3 but he talks like a 4-year-old
and is a real chatterbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, it
just goes on and on and I have to ask him to please stop talking!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, he’s probably going to be the most
extroverted one of the family, which is a good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve always said he’s been the cherry on top
of my sundae and that hasn’t changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wish so much that I could keep him little forever, but he’s not going to have
any part of that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recently gave away
the diaper changing table and we have replaced it with a small table and chair
that I hope to use for Dominic when we start formally homeschooling him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so bittersweet giving away the baby
things but I am old enough now to recognize when it is time to let go and move
on, and that time has come for me and my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll never have the large family I once
dreamed of, but I am beyond thankful for the three children whom I have here and
my three in heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil1lFWD7Bs3Z30NOnar2kyk4t5QPKl91ADt8Y7GaTZRBzAZM_8nxKqmMwPUv2-v8ZEYJB7LGZvpBhaHEWnLNAusXNsbwGfHToO-_2gIxg4UpN4c6OrtwhzWx1DpNYKLT0gEWihcwKdwQ/s1600/IMG_20200227_121811371_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="922" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil1lFWD7Bs3Z30NOnar2kyk4t5QPKl91ADt8Y7GaTZRBzAZM_8nxKqmMwPUv2-v8ZEYJB7LGZvpBhaHEWnLNAusXNsbwGfHToO-_2gIxg4UpN4c6OrtwhzWx1DpNYKLT0gEWihcwKdwQ/s400/IMG_20200227_121811371_1.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Performing his favorite chore...crushing egg shells to feed the chickens.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>--7—</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And of course, it all started with this child, the first one
I got to hold in my arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As my oldest
and least “needy” kid, I feel like I don’t give him the attention he deserves,
and he’s now closer to being 10 than 9. My first decade as a parent is coming
to a close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often think about how I
have been a parent now for as long as I tried to become a parent and struggled
with infertility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both decades transformed
me into who I am today, for better or worse. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of it has been easy, and all of it has
tested me in very uncomfortable ways. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wouldn’t want to go back to any of it and in most ways, I am glad those days
are behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps that is a good
thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps that is how God prepares us
for our final destination, making sure we always keep looking forward towards
being in heaven with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it is
best not to want to go back, not to want to cling to the past, but rather, to
keep looking forward with hope and to be thankful for the coming day, that inevitably
brings us closer to our last day here and our first day with him in
heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year for Lent, I am
thinking of that. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgT0AiAEcV8kH4q2VhZ1XamNzWFoO0AOLIO8fSXw8flEiHYLv7vrVilHqbLVEP6eCWITXYqQLI7nC9afr4F2QcxWlTWTwpjv6Z5hUdmyw0FwvgeId1wOsbedZ4Av0zQPcDO0hUfpq5Rw/s1600/IMG_20200222_163340014_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1583" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgT0AiAEcV8kH4q2VhZ1XamNzWFoO0AOLIO8fSXw8flEiHYLv7vrVilHqbLVEP6eCWITXYqQLI7nC9afr4F2QcxWlTWTwpjv6Z5hUdmyw0FwvgeId1wOsbedZ4Av0zQPcDO0hUfpq5Rw/s400/IMG_20200222_163340014_1.jpg" width="395" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing knee deep in water last week, looking for frog eggs. <br />
That apple didn't fall far...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you to Kelly for the link-up!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’d like to take a leap back, you can
find my Quick Takes for leap day 2016 <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2016/02/7-quick-takes-leap-year-edition.html">here</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Or you can go check out other great Quick Takes at Kelly’s blog
<a href="https://thisaintthelyceum.org/sqt-telling-you-about-lent-wont-help-me-a-bit/">here</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-7442978133435800662020-01-28T19:09:00.000-05:002020-01-28T19:09:26.276-05:00Why I Let My Kids Play With The Kids Who Don't Behave<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJGv2ekF7bNmQD0vyjN52Ne9umnc5F_JCNISlPl59fVqcZi3TgPE_JwL-apK-Hdru9LEtMIVoy0QZb68cLKehUHa1UwvIbnX_D5K3h_rCW7S8C2oPVoKWTssMAWO6y8wjoFUVFMppKg/s1600/playground.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJGv2ekF7bNmQD0vyjN52Ne9umnc5F_JCNISlPl59fVqcZi3TgPE_JwL-apK-Hdru9LEtMIVoy0QZb68cLKehUHa1UwvIbnX_D5K3h_rCW7S8C2oPVoKWTssMAWO6y8wjoFUVFMppKg/s400/playground.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>This post is in honor of St. John Bosco, whose feast day is January 31, and <a href="https://flowersforfrancis.blogspot.com/2015/01/choosing-st-john-bosco.html">who had a soft spot in his heart for the kids who didn't behave</a>.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>***</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was one of those conversations that I’ll never forget,
and it completely changed my perspective on parenting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This is hard,” she began, and I knew at that moment that
this phone call from one of my closest friends was not going to be pleasant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two days before, she and I and a couple of other mothers
with small children had gathered at the playground for one of our weekly
play dates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d formed a tight-knit group
of friends who were all stay-at-home moms navigating the challenges of
parenting young children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all had so
much in common. We believed in letting
children learn through play, we loved the outdoors, we practiced healthy lifestyles, and we all wanted to
instill in our children a sense of adventure. Even more, we were all transplants
in this small community where making new friends was difficult, so we greatly
valued the friendship we’d found in each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that day at the playground, everything changed when my
son got rough with my friend’s child at the top of the slide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw none of it, as I sat on a blanket with
my 8 month old and fed him crackers, but my friend saw it, and it frightened
her as she watched her 2 year old nearly get pushed off the top of the slide by
my 6 year old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody got hurt that day.
My son was reprimanded by me when I learned that he was bullying at the top of
the slide, and then he and the 2 year old played nicely the rest of the
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for my friend, who had
witnessed my son’s aggressiveness and extreme behaviors before, it was
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was calling me now to tell
me that she would no longer be allowing her children to play with mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hung up the phone and my husband walked in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at him and began sobbing as I shared
the conversation with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My son saw
me crying and when I explained to him that his closest friends would no
longer be playing with them anymore, he began sobbing, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why?”, he'd asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Because of the way you behave,”
I told him, and he just looked puzzled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My heart broke, not only because I had lost one of my closest friends, but
also because I knew my son had no idea what he had done wrong. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t tell my friend it wouldn’t happen
again because I knew it could, and there was nothing I could really do about
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No amount of consequence,
discipline, or reprimand was going to turn my special needs child into a child
like hers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was the end of that play group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other moms and my friend continued to
meet for play dates after that, but we were no longer invited. To my friend’s
credit, she at least had the courage to call and explain to me why she was
ending our relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other
mothers simply became silent, and the efforts I made over the next few months
to continue those friendships went unrequited. I had thought we had so much in
common, but I now knew there was one very big difference, and that difference
had changed everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had tried to explain that to my friend that day on the
phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to explain that my son
would never want to hurt anyone, that he has moments of anxiety that take
control of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I apologized for his
behavior that day at the playground and all the many times before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assured her we were working on it, that we
were seeing psychiatrists, doctors, therapists, and that we were still trying to
find the right cocktail of medications and diet changes that would help. I
promised to try harder to keep an eye on him on play dates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I agreed that she had every right to be
upset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understood why she’d want to
put distance between her children and mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I really did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was the last time we really spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She retreated to her world of neurotypical
children, and I retreated to mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
that, I stopped trying to form friendships with mothers of young children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped going to story hour at the library,
stopped having friends over to play, took our kids out of CCD, and didn’t even
consider having them involved in Boy Scouts or most other group
activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was grateful we
homeschooled for many reasons, not the least of which, I would not be getting
phone calls from the school about my child’s behaviors, and rumors about my
children would not circulate in the public school system of our small town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I isolated myself and my children, convinced that no mother
would want their children influenced by mine. They did not live in the world I
was living in and would not understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, instead of finding friendship with other mothers of young children,
I began to look for friendship with older women who did not have children at
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was blessed to find a few, and
these sweet older ladies accompanied me and my kids on hikes, field trips, and
sometimes just visited my home to play with my boys and give me a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did not judge my kids or throw away our friendship,
in part because they were past the days of raising their own children (days
that they truly missed), and in part, because they valued their friendship with
me and weren’t just in it for their kids.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As time went on, my son’s behavior slowly began to
improve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two years now since that phone
call, I’m proud to say that he plays well with others and is a real
charmer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The anxiety is still there,
but he works hard to keep it in check, especially in social situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With time, we are optimistic that he will get
even better at channeling it in less destructive and aggressive ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have started having friends with young children
again, we've returned to CCD class, and we go to the library programs regularly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They love having friends over to our home to play, and they look forward to
homeschool co-op every week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I will never forget that phone call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pain that came when another mother, for
whom I had the utmost respect, decided that my children were a bad influence on
hers, was a blow that I never saw coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We were both giving 110% to parenting our children, and her children
reflected that, but mine did not, and that hit me like a ton of bricks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For two years after that, I felt like a
parenting failure, and both I and my family suffered as a result.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, I am not a parenting failure, although if you
judge parenting by the way a child behaves, you may think that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m the mother of very special children with
very difficult challenges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not
pretty and it is not fun. There is very little joy in parenting such difficult
children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Raising children with these
issues is not something I chose, nor wanted. But in the process, I have learned
such a very important lesson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My entire
perspective has changed now when I see a poorly behaved child. I feel empathy
for that child, and in particular, for his mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much like nobody wants to be a drug addict, nobody
wants to be the parent of one. No child wants to live in a perpetual state of
dysregulation and mental anguish, and trust me, nobody wants to be the parent
of one of those, either. But sadly, the number of all of these types of
situations is increasing at significant rates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How are we going to respond?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think completely separating ourselves from those who
are not the “kind of people we want to be around” is the best answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not what I want to teach my
children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right now, I do not tell my
children that they can not play with certain kids, and I am most grateful for
any mother who allows her children to play with mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not cut off friendships if someone is
not living the kind of lifestyle that I agree with, or raising their children
the way I think they should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I have a
duty to protect myself and my children from physical and spiritual harm?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But surely we can find ways to do so without completely severing
relationships and segregating ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Boundaries are important, but there is always a cost when we put them in
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too often, we are quick to move
away instead of towards those who challenge us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, I am still relatively new at parenting and as my
children mature, and little problems turn into big problems, my perspective may
change again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for now, I let my kids
play with the "bad kids".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let their
interactions become “teachable moments”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I recognize that many of these young children struggle just like my kids
do with mental health issues that aren’t easily resolved, but also, that aren’t
contagious. I want to remain friends with the mother whose child spit on mine,
or whose son pushed mine, or kicked him, and I want to offer her my empathy,
not disdain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not condone or ignore the
behaviors, but I understand where the behaviors may be coming from because I
have been on that side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been the
mother of the kid who can't behave, and it has taught me my greatest lesson in humility yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>St. John Bosco, pray for us.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7130632193066753705.post-83133765300723007742020-01-04T12:33:00.001-05:002020-01-04T12:34:09.075-05:002020 Vision<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVV2qj8CtcPAMPeN7ncV0zZGrycXgliT1qiCIkq2TLVgezU9yUlfCidHmsbMWpAWDoS60uHdyt3uInnS2yE7Jx7C5eI-G33_rMR13V6u8tWNCOymmZAsaReOiPtawhOVEbuouF311bkQ/s1600/20190214_072937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVV2qj8CtcPAMPeN7ncV0zZGrycXgliT1qiCIkq2TLVgezU9yUlfCidHmsbMWpAWDoS60uHdyt3uInnS2yE7Jx7C5eI-G33_rMR13V6u8tWNCOymmZAsaReOiPtawhOVEbuouF311bkQ/s400/20190214_072937.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Every day a new day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This post is inspired by <a href="https://whatifgodsaysno.blogspot.com/2020/01/2020-vision.html?showComment=1578152118668#c7716277064079307838">Donna over at her blog</a> and by <a href="https://thisaintthelyceum.org/2020-vision/">Kelly's latest link-up</a>, both of whom are encouraging us to share a vision of our coming year. I like this idea much better than making a list of resolutions. Creating a vision for the new year seems like a creative way to move forward, with room to make mistakes but not losing the overall image of where (or who) I want to be one year from now. Resolutions, however, sound so, well...resolute. <br />
<br />
I suppose in looking forward, I must first look back. Hindsight is 20/20, the saying goes (no pun intended). I am not one who tends to reflect much on the past, being more accustomed to always being motivated by my to-do list and what I want to get out of each day, and planning my days, weeks, months accordingly. The time goes faster that way, and feels less wasted. Years speed by. In 2020, my baby becomes a preschooler, my eldest child becomes a tween, and my husband and I are on the cusp of completing our second decade of marriage. I could use the cliche', "Where did the time go?", but I know where it went. I pushed it away.<br />
<br />
2019 was a challenging year. I turned 50. My marriage was rocky. My child was diagnosed with autism. My circle of friends grew smaller. My husband traveled a lot. My children fought a lot. I lost my part-time job.<br />
<br />
And I responded to all of this by pushing time away. It was easy to do. I had no shortage of distractions to keep me busy. My rule of life ruled me. Cooking, laundry, gardening, homeschooling, cleaning...I devoted myself to meeting all my family's material needs in 2019. I tried to fool myself into believing that this would be enough, and that if I just worked hard, the end-product would be a loving, peaceful home life. <br />
<br />
But as I end this year, I recognize that in my frenzied 2019, I created not a peaceful home, but an anxious home. My children are strong in body, thanks to the clean diet I work so hard to follow, but are weak in spirit because they have a mother too busy to play with them, and who forces them to pray. My husband is well cared for, with clean shirts and three home-cooked meals a day, but is sad because he has a wife who nags and sets unattainable standards for him to reach. And me, I just keep pushing the time away, making it go faster and faster, because parenting is hard, and marriage is hard, and friendship is hard, and special needs are hard, and solo-parenting is hard, and teaching math is hard, and the faster time goes, the sooner it will all be over. <br />
<br />
And soon, it will all be over. In 2019, my father turned 80, and my mother falls asleep now during our conversations, and I think a lot about the day I'll get the dreaded phone call that one of them is gone. Already, I am going to too many funerals for friends who are my age, dying of cancer, heart disease, strokes. My network of professional friends, built assiduously during my career, has become a network of retirees. The new friends I make now all tend to be either younger or older than me by a decade, or two, and are restless and searching for their happy place and so, do not stay here in this remote corner of the world very long. I say goodbye too often and resist making new friends who I know will likely be moving on in a year or two. In 2019, it felt like a lot of things were ending.<br />
<br />
When I started 2019, my vision for the new year was to use my time wisely and to make the most of every minute of my day. It was a noble endeavor. I exercised more and my body is stronger now. I cooked more, and my family benefited. I cleaned more and our home is tidy. I scheduled better and we got more done. I grew more food than I ever had before, and our pantry shelves are stocked full of wholesome goodness. Perhaps it is a mid-life phenomena, but in 2019, time became not my enemy, but my friend, because by maximizing how I used my time, I felt like I could maximize my life. And that gave me what I craved; it gave me control. And where there is control, there is peace. Or so I thought. But somewhere in 2019, I forgot to relax. I forgot what Pope Francis once said, how important it is to "waste time with our kids". And not just with my kids, but with others, too. <br />
<br />
So, that is my vision for 2020 in a nutshell. I want to waste time. I want my children to see me take time to pray instead of hearing me telling them to pray. I want my husband to hear more compliments and fewer requests from me. I want to waste time with him like we did years ago when we'd just talk on the phone about nothing for hours. I want to make new friends, even if goodbyes are inevitable. I want to visit my parents more, and listen to them repeat the same thing over and over because they forgot they'd already said that. And I want to write more stories, because someday, when this is all over, all that will be left is what I took the time to write down. The time that feels so wasted right now.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Lyndahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12098641342923439602noreply@blogger.com4