Little by Little--Instilling a Faith Life in Children

Like any parent I have hopes for my kids.  Most notably:

1)  that they grow up to be thoughtful, caring, and compassionate human beings.
2)  that they claim Christianity--any form of Christianity--for their own.
3)  and if they decide to be Catholic--well, that´s just icing on the cake!



But what am I doing to help them turn out this way?

Example

If I want them to be thoughtful, caring, and compassionate human beings, they need to see me being thoughtful, caring, and compassionate.

But I´m human, and I mess up.  I probably mess up most often with them.

So if I know I´ve been wrong, I don´t hesitate to tell them I´m sorry.

They see me reading, they see me writing.  We read together.  We talk about things--politics, religion, social situations, adoption (friends recently adopted two little girls), death, future plans, crazy stories (that´s mostly provided by the five-year-old)--nothing is off-limits.

But writing this down, I´m noticing that we might be falling short on the "compassionate" section.  I'll have to get to work on that and turn some of this talking into action--with something the kids can participate in, too!

Mass

If we want our kids to grow up to claim the Catholic faith as their own, we go to mass.  Every week.

However, this last year, our oldest led the charge in getting us to mass regularly.  Our parish has "children's mass" every Sunday at 10:30.  This year, Clara was invited to be one of the angel dancers that stand in front and lead everyone in motions to the songs sung.  She's up there with her best friends, and soaking up the fact that she gets to dance in front of everyone.

I hope she´s soaking up some of the deeper meaning of the mass, too.

But, one step at a time.

Catechism

Now that the kids are school-aged, they´re also going to catechism every Saturday.  At first, we´d send the kids every other week, and as the school year dragged on, we tapered off our participation when Lent rolled around.

Oops.

But the teachers keep track of attendance, and last year the kids with the best attendance got prizes.  So, this year, Clara is insisting on going every week.  I´m glad that she´s motivated enough to go.  It helps that her best friends go, too.  

Joey's still in kindergarten.  Sometimes I make him go.  Sometimes, when he says he'd really rather stay home, I let him stay home.

But that ties into Point #4--

Not Shoving It Down Their Throats

I really, really want my kids to have a personal relationship with God.

I really, really want them to be personally motivated to read their Bibles regularly, so they know what they believe and why they believe it.

I really, really want them to develop so many spiritual practices, but I know that one of the best ways of turning them away from religion is to shove it down their throats and beat them over the head with it.

Let's not be counter-productive here.

In the home I was raised in, we went to church regularly, we went to Sunday school regularly, and when we were older we were involved in youth group.  However, we didn´t talk about God much at home, and we rarely prayed together, apart from meals on major holidays.

By the grace of God, as adults, both my brother and I are both practicing Christians--so that approach worked!

But, let's be honest, "shoving it down their throats" goes by a case-by-case basis.  Much like everything else, we need to be attentive to our kids, let them talk, listen to them, understand their perspective, and they´ll be more receptive to being receptive to us.



Memorable Baptism

This is another carryover of my upbringing.  It´s not necessarily the right choice for everyone.  In fact, I´m not even advocating this for others.   It just worked out well in my case, and I´m hoping that will play out equally well in my children's lives, too.

When I was very small, we didn't attend church regularly until I was 4 or 5.  Therefore, I was not baptized as an infant.  Just before we moved across the midwest, my parents decided to get my brother and I baptized.  I was on the older end of 7, so I had to answer for myself whether I believed in God, renounced the Devil, and all that.

While it wasn't my idea to get baptized, I was in agreement with it, and I remember it.  While I didn't understand all the symbolism surrounding the sacrament, I knew that I was spiritually washed clean and officially a child of God.  And it wasn't that I just knew in my head that I was spiritually washed clean.  When the pastor poured the water over my head, I honestly and truly felt clean inside!  It was a great feeling, and I feel blessed that I do actually remember it.

And now, after Easter, when the priest sprinkles us all with water before mass, reminding us to remember our baptism, I love that I literally DO remember mine!

Sometimes I wonder if some of the draw for Catholics to turn to other denominations is that (in some churches) they´re encouraged to get baptized again.  It's a sacrament filled with such symbolism (in Protestant traditions--as Catholics, we tend to take things both  symbolically AND literally!).  But, either way, it's so important and so loaded with meaning that I wonder if some don't get re-baptized in other traditions just so they can remember experiencing the beauty of being baptized.

Now, don't get me wrong--I believe that infant baptism is just fine and dandy.  (OK, for full disclosure, I used to be strenuously opposed to it, now I´m OK with it, and just last week I found myself defending the practice of infant baptism to my Jehovah's Witness friend.  So I guess I've been fully converted!)  The Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 1250 beautifully states, "the sheer gratuitousness of the grace of salvation is particularly manifest in infant baptism.  The Church and the parents would deny a child the priceless grace of becoming a child of God were they not to confer Baptism shortly after birth."

Oh, I feel the weight of that statement!

Full disclosure--my kids are still not baptized.

My husband and I agreed that we want them to decide for themselves.  I do feel some guilt about not baptizing them as babies.  But it's a gamble that I'm hoping will pay off in the long run.

After all, nothing has been more precious so far than hearing my son decide that he does want to get baptized.
     
        "Why do you want to get baptized?"

        "Because I love Jesus, and he told us to get baptized."

(I promise, he came up with that response on his own!  Isn't that the most wonderful and profound thing that he's ever said?)

I'm so excited that next Easter, my son will be able to remember his baptism, too--not just figuratively, but literally!  And I hope that experience will stick with him, that feeling of being washed clean and being accepted, so that when other opportunities or doubts or antipathy arise, he'll have that experience to remember and cling to.

My daughter, on the other hand, will be entering 3rd grade this next year.  In our parish, kids receive First Communion when they're in third grade.  Her friends will be doing their First Communions.  But Clara is aware that, unlike her friends, she has to get baptized first.  She's got her godmother all picked out.  She's been eyeing those gorgeous, white dresses for awhile.

But she still hasn't made a commitment one way or another about getting baptized yet.

And we've let her know that's perfectly fine.  She can always get baptized and receive First Communion the following year, or three years later, or whenever she decides she's ready.  She knows it's her choice, and we'll respect her decision if she chooses not to.

Peer pressure may pay a powerful factor here.  That may be a good thing, it may not.  I want her to both be baptized and receive First Communion for the right reasons.  She knows the decision is up to her.  And she usually makes good decisions.

Whatever she decides, she will be required to attend catechism until she finishes junior high, though!

What's Next?

My kids are 8, 5, and 1.  We've all still got a lot of growing to do.  We've all got a lot of learning to do.

It's mid-July, and we're still working our way through our Lenten prayer chain. (But, we are still working on it!)

We often forget to pray before meals.  But something is rubbing off, as about once a week, my son reminds us to pray before meals.

As the second-grader was borrowing my Bible for catechism this last year, we'll buy her a Bible of her own this summer--a REAL Bible, not one of the kiddie picture-Bibles!  It being summer, and we're not bogged down with homework, it would probably be good if we read our way through a Gospel together, too.

Beyond that, I'm open to suggestions.  I've been involved in a Bible study for years, with women of all ages.  When we're off on tangents, the comments that stick with me the most are from the moms that regret not instilling an active faith life in their children while they were young.  I take their laments to heart.

So I´ll do what I can now.


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This month, the Catholic Women Bloggers Network is blog hopping with the theme "What I Am Doing Now In the Hope of Keeping My Kids Catholic".

New Beginnings--or Final Sprint?

For April, the South of the Border Bloggers decided that their monthly blog hop would have the theme of "New Beginnings".

Really?  New Beginnings?  I´m just not feeling it.

Now, I love new beginnings as much as the next person.  But my personal calendar of new beginnings does not coincide with nature´s calendar.  (Although, as an aside, I am loving that I live just barely north of the Tropic of Cancer, so I do get to enjoy Spring bursting forth.)  Furthermore, as the heat cranks up this time of year, no one has the energy to start new goals and projects.  At least, I don´t.  

But, let´s not kid ourselves--I´m really just counting down the weeks until school gets out.  Twelve long weeks.  Let´s take a deep breath, and run with all our might though this home stretch!

Thinking about it, when do I celebrate fresh starts and new beginnings?

• Summer vacation
• the beginning of the school year
• October (oddly enough--it gives me time to get used to the new school schedule and make my own plans!)
• Advent
• New Year´s
• Lent  

But Spring?  For the reasons listed above, I´m just not feeling it.  

However, last week, I was shaken out of my complacency.  What happened last week?  Right, Easter!

I´m a big fan of Easter.  I always have been.  But fifteen years ago, my appreciation of Easter reached a new high when I discovered the Easter Vigil.  Why?  

The Easter Vigil--at any Roman Catholic church throughout the world--is always started with a bonfire.

Bonfires are one of my favorite things.  

Bonfire + Easter celebration?  I was sold.  

This bonfire is a New Fire--a symbolism of how we´re all reborn, how life starts again, and Christ´s resurrection makes a fresh start possible for each of us.  Then, throughout the service, Father Gustavo kept mentioning this new beginning, the freedom we have to start over.  The readings reiterated how God wants us to return to him and start over.  

All these fresh starts kept smacking me in the face.  

Renuevame Señor, con tu Espiritú

Renuevame Señor, con tu Espiritú

Renuevame Señor, con tu Espiritú

 Renuevame, renuevame, Señor. 

//Y dejame sentir

 el fuego de tu amor

aquí en mi corazón, Señor//

 Renew me, Lord with your Spirit

 Renew me, Lord with your Spirit

                           Renew me, Lord with your Spirit
                               
                           Renew me, renew me, O Lord

                                 //And let me feel
                                 the fire of your love
                                 here in my heart, O Lord// 

OK, I guess I needed a new beginning more than I realized.  

I´ll work on enjoying this season and savoring every day--not just racing to the finish line that is this school year.  

An InLinkz Link-up

Free to Live Life--Not Worry About It

-The Catholic Women Bloggers Network decided that their blog hop for April would answer "How My Faith Helps Me Worry Less."

Oh, man--this topic was made for me!

When I was a kid, I was anxiety-riddled.  Had they diagnosed kids with anxiety disorders back in the day, I might have qualified.

OK, maybe.  I was still able to function.  Most days.  But I do remember that we had gym class twice a week in 6th grade, and toward the end of the year, I would regularly get early symptoms to panic attacks--shortness of breath, increased heart rate--while standing in line, waiting to go into that dreaded gym.

Or, when I was 10, I was so traumatized by the thought of getting a shot that I spent many sleepless nights worrying about it.  That, and decided to start plucking my eyebrows to get myself used to the pain of that dreaded tetanus booster--despite the fact that I knew I didn´t need the booster for another 5 years!  "Only 5 more years, and I´ll have to get that shot . . . only five more years" . . . as the tears rolled down my face.

Or the summer I spent the entire summer flat on my back, reading on the couch.  Partly, it was because I liked to read.  Partly, it was because I was afraid of going outside as one of the neighbor boys would ride past on his moped a few times a day.  Whenever he saw me, he felt compelled to honk and shout at me--not complementary honking and shouting, of course.  

Worry and insecurity.  Those symptoms dominated my childhood.

I was confirmed when I was thirteen, and went through most of the confirmation process believing Conformation to be a personal acceptance of the faith I was brought up to believe.  Taking the faith I was raised in and professing it as my own.  A Protestant Bat Mitzvah, if you will.  I took it seriously, agreed that "yes, I believe this" and, more importantly, "yes, I WANT to believe this."  As an adult, I was relieved to know that there is a bit more to Confirmation than that.  Nonetheless, it was an important step in my faith development.

Like I said earlier, I liked to read.  When I was fifteen, I decided that I was going to read through the entire Bible.  And I did.

Now, most people get stuck not long after Exodus.  The books of Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy are pretty much a list of rules and regulations.  While I didn´t read those books avidly, they changed my life.  Reading about all the sacrifices that the Isrealites had to make for every single sin they could possibly commit, Christianity--and most importantly, Jesus--began to make sense to me.

Now, don´t get me wrong.  I thought I had it all figured out.  I had been confirmed, after all.  But, after reading all those rules and regulations, it suddenly became clear why Jesus was necessary, why exactly he died, and why it is that we don´t have to make those sacrifices to be made right with God anymore.

Jesus did it all already.  All those sins that are recorded in those books--and so many of them are so off-the-wall it wouldn´t occur to most of us to think of anyone committing those acts--are wiped clean by Jesus dying on the cross.  And all we have to do in return is to believe and follow him.

Or, as Mary said to the servers at the wedding in Cana, "just do what he says."

In comparison to what he did for us, that isn´t much to ask of us.

While this revelation made my faith more profound and more understandable, It had a tremendous impact on my anxiety and insecurity issues.  Understanding my faith better liberated me--all of a sudden, I wasn´t plagued by worry, or consumed by anxiety.

Of course, I was in high school, and still cared what others thought of me, but not near to the extent that I did earlier.  More importantly, this revelation helped me accept that certain issues are out of my control.  Accepting this, I was able to live my life instead of worry about it.

Knowing better who God is and who Jesus is made it possible to accept that I am not in control.  And, knowing them, I realized that that´s OK.

Now, more than twenty years later, people who know me remark about how laid-back I am.  I joke that I barely have a pulse.  But that wasn´t always the case.  I used to be a high-strung, Type A.  Some think that moving to Mexico mellowed me.  There may be a lot of truth to that.

But if I hadn´t realized who God is and why Jesus died, Mexico would have broken me instead of mellowing me.

Every day is another step of faith.  I can take those days and trust.  Or I can pretend that I have control of my universe and unnecessarily stress myself out.

Trust seems harder.  But it really is so much easier.


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For those reading this, who are still stuck being a big ball of worry, I wish I could explain this better.  Pray.  And if you comment, I´d love to pray with you.  (Even if you don´t comment, I´ll pray with you.)  It sounds simplistic, and maybe it is, slowly but surely, those worries that turn into prayers do get resolved.  We put those worries into hands more capable than ours.  And when we give away those worries to God, we don´t have to hang onto them ourselves.

Trusting those hands is tough.  But God has proven time and again that He is trustworthy.  (Even thought he´s God and he certainly doesn´t have to prove anything to anybody.)  But because he wants us to trust him, he´ll continue to prove himself trustworthy.

God lets us live life instead of worry about it.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

Other reflections on "How My Faith Helps Me Worry Less" are on the Catholic Women Bloggers Network blog hop for the month of April.

Mid-Lent Confession

Now that we´re smack in the middle of Lent, the Catholic Women Bloggers Network themed their monthly blog hop around "My Real Feelings About Confession".  Appropriate for the season.


Does anybody really like confession?  In theory, I do honestly like it.  But in reality, it seems I only drag myself into a confessional once every few years.  And the main reason for that is that whole "all Catholics in good standing should go to confession at least once a year."  Ugh.  As I´ve mentioned before, if anyone wants to drive me crazy, keep telling me how I "have to" do something.

But, like I said, I like the sacrament, at least in theory.  For starters, it is a sacrament, which means we draw close to God and He draws close to us--what´s not to love about that?  Furthermore, I completely believe it can be a much more enjoyable experience than the chore we´ve turned it into.

When I was barely beginning to explore Catholicism, I had my first, albeit very informal, experience with confession.  I was fresh out of college, spending a year volunteering full-time in New Mexico with the Border Servant Corps.  As part of the program, we set aside one evening a week to intentionally spend with our fellow volunteers.  At one point in the year, we got into a regular habit of going around the group and honestly letting the group know how we were doing--emotionally, physically, spiritually, professionally, etc.

Looking back as I´m writing this, that sounds terribly tedious.  Eight people talking in-depth about four different aspects of what makes them tick every week?  We were a tight group, and I look back on those times as some of the most edifying of my life.

We were close enough that we could be absolutely honest with each other.  Frequently, it was an excellent opportunity to open up with struggles we were having as to ask our friends to pray for us.  Together, we celebrated mundane accomplishments like celebrating that we could finally run for 20 minutes at a stretch.  On the other extreme, it gave us an opportunity to reflect or admit openly if we were struggling with our faith or depression.  As we got in a habit of "checking in" every week, it became routine to follow up on each other, asking questions or encouraging each other through the week, as we really knew what was truly going on in each others´ lives.

Maybe it would help to take down the wall.

As I was beginning to explore Catholicism at the time, this experience gave me ample food for thought to consider the sacrament of reconciliation.  Given my religious background, I had a knee-slap reaction to confession--"well, of course I don´t have to confess my sins to a priest--I can go straight to God!"

While that certainly may be true, this weekly examination with my volunteer group opened my eyes to how beneficial it is to admit some things out loud, particularly to someone with an understanding ear.  And--let´s face it--it´s great to hear that we´re forgiven in the end.

Ideally, I believe this is how confession should be--like this experience my group had, of closeness and frequent contact, so we know what´s going on with others on a weekly (or daily) basis, so we know each others´ struggles and successes, celebrating and praying together.  Unfortunately, if a priest has hundreds of people in his parish, it is rather difficult for him to get to know all parishioners on that kind of level.

However, I´m pretty confident that most Catholics are much like me, and it wouldn´t take much effort to get to know our priests a bit better.  If we were better able to count our priests as our friends, time in the confessional would be less or a chore and more of an opportunity to simply sit back and be completely honest with a trusted friend.

And that would make confession the liberating experience that it´s meant to be.

Come on in!

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Anyone itching for more reflections on confession?

Check out the other posts from the Catholic Women Bloggers Network--it´s an excellent, varied, and thought-provoking assortment, I promise!

Or, read chapter 28 in Matthew Kelly´s Resisting Happiness.  Even before this blog hop, that chapter recently got me off my butt and into a confessional--it´s that convicting!  Even better, the whole book is pretty good.


(If you´re like me, and read Matthew Kelly´s Rediscovering Catholicism and didn´t like it, give Resisting Happiness a try--it´s the book that I was hoping Rediscovering Catholicism would be!  I was pleasantly shocked that this was a genuinely good book.)

Father Dan´s "New Friend for 2017" Idea

Flashback to Sunday, January 1st, 2017:

I headed off to mass, all ready to start the new year on a bright, sunny Sunday in northern Indiana.

During the sermon, Father Dan mentioned that everybody in the parish was going to make a new friend for the year.  In the entryway to the church, there were baskets filled with strips of paper, listing a saint´s name and a few facts about that saint.  Whichever saint we picked would be our new friend for the year.

Or, as Father Dan put it, "I like to think that the saint picks us, instead of us picking the saint."

Admittedly, I was intrigued, and liked the idea of getting to research the life of some obscure, little-known saint.  A year or two ago, I had read a memoir, My Sisters, the Saints by Colleen Carroll Campbell.  Colleen paralleled trying times in her faith journey with the life stories of three saints whose examples had helped her in those moments.

All ready to meet my new "friend", someone who I expected to never have heard of before, I plunged my hand into one of those paper-filled baskets after mass.  Unfolding the paper, I read . . .

Our Lady of Guadalupe.

You´ve got to be kidding me.

Out of all the thousands and thousands of names I could have picked, I´m quite confident that I know Guadalupe better than any other.

However, thanks to growing up Protestant, I´ve got a rather strained relationship with Mary, regardless which other name may be applied to her (Guadalupe, Fatima, Lourdes, etc).  Yes, I get the whole "she´s your spiritual mother" deal.  But I´ve been happy to keep her at arm´s length.  And I was absolutely sure she was OK with that, too.

Up until now.

I´m not quite sure what to do with this.  I feel like I´ve got Guadalupe sitting in my lap, waiting for me to do something with her.  But what?

I´ve asked my husband, what the deal with Guadalupe is, and he just responds that he likes having a mother to talk with.  Unfortunately for me for that argument, I was raised in a fairly liberal church.  One day in fourth-grade Sunday school, the pastor was visiting our class, and we must have had something like "Pick Pastor Ron´s Brain" Day.  One of the girls asked him if we could refer to God as  a She.

This was one of the more fundamental moments of my faith formation.  Without betting an eye, Pastor Ron said, "sure."  So, for the rest of that year, I took great delight in shocking my more conservative friends by regularly referring to God as She.

I can´t explain how grateful I am for that answer.  But it also means that I have no need to pray to Mary, taking refuge in a mother-figure, as God Herself is that Mother figure for me.  Let´s face it--no matter one´s opinion of God, for those of us willing to admit that God exists, I´m sure we can all agree that (S)He is too big to get tripped up by gender labels.

I pray the rosary occasionally, and I enjoy it.  But it seems like a waste of time (if not downright idolatrous) to pray to Mary, instead of going directly to God.

I realize I sound rather defensive.  That´s really not my intention!  At this point for me, pulling that name out of that basket was like opening a door.  It feels like I´m opening an investigation into Mary and her manifestations in order to find out what impact she may have on my life.  This is where I need you, dear reader.  For those of you out there, who are more into Mary than I currently am, please explain this to me!  (If you don´t count yourself among that group, feel free to tune out here.)

I´m not asking this to criticize or judge anyone else´s faith.  I genuinely want to know.  How do you relate to Mary?  What does she mean to you?  Your story is your story and whatever your story is, it´s important.  I love learning from others.  So please, share your story with me!  For those not comfortable posting in the comment section, (or if you´ve got more to say than fits in a comment) write me at jilldouglas01@hotmail.com.

Thanks!

Advent Photo Challenge--Hope

I´ve been wanting to do something different with this blog, to shake things up a bit.  Or just blog more.  That would be shaking things up a bit.

Reading others´ blogs through the years, I´ve liked the idea of month-long photo challenges.  So when I came across the Catholic Sistas´ 2016 Advent Photo Challenge, it seemed like a great idea.

Maybe just because I caught it early in the first week of Advent.

But, then again, I love me some Advent, so this just seemed right up my alley.

Instead of posting one photo every day (because we all know that isn´t going to happen), I´ll post my 7 photos from the week once a week.

So--here´s this week!



November 27th:  wreath

For the first few Christmases we spent in Mexico, I was a little lost by not spending Christmas in a snowy wonderland.  That, and I was becoming aware that the Christmas we celebrate (even in Mexico) is morphing into a celebration of the idyllic winter wonderland, and not the birth of Jesus.  Let´s face it, Bethlehem in December probably faces the same chilly weather as much of Mexico--and probably the same severe lack of snow.

Our first year in Mexico, we lived in Metepec, in the state of Mexico, that is famous for clay pottery (arboles de vida, in particular).  After searching high and low, this Advent wreath seemed like the perfect souvenir of our year there.

I love that there are no flocked pine needles anywhere to be found on this wreath.



November 28:  violet

         Right before Advent begins, a lot of the daily Bible readings came from the book of Revelations.  Yikes.  That book always reminds me of advice that my neighbor, Gloria, gave me.  "When things seem like they are getting scary, when you need to run away, head into the mountains."

Here´s hoping that I never have to use her advice.  However, when the light hits them right, the mountains that surround Saltillo do turn a bit purple.



November 29:  pray

On Tuesday, a friend of mine shared that someone who had been influential in her life had a comforting habit of praying verses straight out of the Bible.  That idea has been simmering in my mind a bit all week.

On Thursday, I came across this verse, which I just love.

So, for anybody out there in anguish--it´s worth a try!










November 30:  martyr      

          OK, no pictures for this one.  But in thinking about what to show for "martyr day", it reminded me of a story I heard from Nigeria.  Boko Haram has been running loose, making lots of martyrs of both Christians and Muslims.  I´ve heard that in some cities, on Fridays, when the Muslims attend mosque, the Christians stand guard outside.  Then on Sundays, when the Christians go to church, their Muslim neighbors stand guard--both groups doing their best to make sure that there are fewer martyrs overall.

          If that isn´t an excellent example of trying to make peace on earth as we await Christmas a reality, I don´t know what is.  May we follow their example.


December 1:  prepare

Photo my daily planner.  It got hijacked a few weeks ago, and most of November got covered in angry dinosaurs.

But it still keeps me on top of things.

Mostly because those angry dinosaurs are breathing down my neck.





December 2:  Sacred Heart of Jesus

The Gospel reading for Friday was of Jesus healing a blind person.  I don´t know as much as I´d like to about Jesus, but I know that he wants us all to be healed--physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally.  Whatever ails us, I´m confident that Jesus wants it to be fixed.

Also on Friday, my choir went on our Christmas tour to a hospital and rehabilitation center.  Clearly, we didn´t heal anybody.  But lots of people do get healed in those places.  However, we just sang.  But we had a nice time, and I hope that those who heard us enjoyed it, too.  



December 3:  Immaculate Heart of Mary

Confession:  I am not a cradle Catholic.  I was raised Methodist, and while I certainly respect Mary, I´m not much of a Marianist.  I´m pretty sure she´s OK with that.

That being said, thinking about a photo to represent the Immaculate Heart of Mary threw me for a loop.  Fortunately for me, I began writing this post while sitting in a rehearsal of the opera Suor Angelica, where Mary is invoked more or less constantly.  The opera also deals with themes of children born out of wedlock, penance, forgiveness, and suicide.

As a background note, Suor Angelica (set in the 1600s) had a baby out of wedlock, and was sent to the convent immediately after the baby was born.  Seven years later, the aunt who sent her away still has not forgiven her.  Suor Angelica´s life is consumed with penance for having a baby out of wedlock and prays to Mary pretty constantly.  Who else had a baby out of wedlock?  Yes--Mary!  Oh, the irony! Had Joseph not believed her, Mary and Jesus could have lived with the shame and discrimination that other unwed mothers and illegitimate children of that era faced.  (Way to go, Joe!)  

Thanks goodness we live in an age and society where [almost] no one bats an eye at unwed mothers and their children.  May we remember Mary and Jesus´s example and stand in solidarity with those families, families who may have very young parents, families who may have only one parent.  

Boy, there´s a reflection that I didn´t expect today!


What other strange connections will this photo challenge unearth?  We´ll find out next week!

Multitasking While Breastfeeding

As the mother of a newborn, I  spend roughly sixteen hours a day on the couch.  Just sitting there.  Hands held hostage, because I´m holding someone whose life depends on my ability to hold him to my chest for those sixteen hours a day.

In some ways, this is the toughest part of having a baby.  While the boob and the baby may be working, the rest of me is idle.

Sure, there are ways to work around this.  For instance, I am starting to be an expert at one-handed internet surfing.  For the second and third week of Little Boy´s life, I locked myself in my room, reading my way through the War of the Roses (thank you, Philippa Gregory).

But once I polished off The White Princess for the second time, I was all read out.  And while I love the kid, there´s only so long I can stare at him in wonder.  Mostly, I just found myself thinking about all the other things I could have been doing, things I could have been doing if my hands were free.

As I kept ruminating on all those things that needed to be done, I was reminded of Philippians 4:6.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." 

Instead of worrying about those things that I couldn´t do anything about, I could pray about those things.

That, in turn, reminded me to pray for my baby, for my older children, and for the rest of my family.

With so much time almost literally on my hands, I have been reminded to pray for all kinds of people and situations I would have otherwise overlooked during my regularly-scheduled busy life.

Maybe that is the hardest thing about having a new baby--that abrupt halt of all the activities and routines that dominated our days up to the moment of the baby´s birth.  Then--BAM--life comes to a halt.  We´re forced to slow down dramatically.  We´re stuck on the couch for sixteen hours a day, feeding this new little person.

Stepping back and reflecting, it´s a huge job.  It´s an awesome responsibility--both the small person whose survival is dependant on my holding him steady, keeping me hostage on the couch, and the fact that I can simultaneously lift up numerous people, situations, needs, joys, and hurts and interceed on behalf of those directly to the God who has control over it all.

Up until recently, I haven´t been much of a "pray-er".  I like doing better.

But maybe prayer is just another form of doing.  Even though it doesn´t feel like I´m doing anything, I have faith that it is doing someone, somewhere, some good.  After all, that´s what faith is all about--the belief that prayers do work, even when there is no physical evidence to support that belief.

No Cheese for You!

We haven't been grocery shopping in at least a week. Maybe two. There's no real reason for this, but it's getting pretty exciting to figure out how to plan meals when we're relying on what we've had laying around for far too long. Who knew we still had those cans of tuna? That bag of chilorio we bought at least a month ago? There's two meals in that!

Friday I had a hankering for quesadillas, and as I can get all the ingredients just down the street from me, I figured this would be the easiest meal ever. Tortillas--we've got 'em! Cheese--

What do you mean the butcher is closed?!?

We live right across the street from the butcher. We couldn't have found a more awesome location for our house had we tried. Our tireless and very friendly neighbor butchers (composed of two families, the men being brothers) work every day of the year from 9am to 4pm. Except for Ash Wednesday and the Fridays during Lent.

D'oh!

Now, sure I am Catholic, but being that meat isn't generally a staple of my diet, I don't often remember the whole mealtess-Friday deal. (As I told Mario a few years ago, it's really more of a sacrifice for me to eat meat than to give it up . . . explained on a Friday evening while I was chowing away on some juicy tacos while he meekly ate his "Lenten special" meal.) As I mentioned already, I frequent the butcher more for cheese than for meat.

But now I need to plan ahead.

Welcome to the real world, Jill.

*sigh*

Ash Wednesday

[Sorry for the vagueness of this post. Perhaps I'll add specifics at some point, but right now it's not quite appropriate.]



You know how things often get uglier before they get better?

True story.

But then they do get better . . . or at least our attitudes change, which makes things considerably better.

For a number of reasons, I was up all night on Tuesday, worrying and upset about a number of things I had no control over. Tears were shed for the first time in a very long time. And it kind of felt good. Except that deep down, everything seemed really, really awful. I just couldn't shake the worries and sorrow that were plaguing me.

Oh, and my back really hurt.

Then Mario got up, went to work, and the sun came out. Literally and figuratively.

On his way out, he mentioned that he left me some money so I could head across town and meet up with my friends. While I thought that this was the least of my issues, I was able to roll over and finally get some sleep.

An hour and a half later, I woke up, and all was right with the world again. Go figure--such a little act, giving me money enough to get across town--was enough to restore order and balance to my world. Whew. For the first time in 12 hours, I was able to shake off that elephant that had been sitting on my chest.

Not coincidentally, this happened on Ash Wednesday. It wasn't the extra pesos in my pocket that made me realize that the sun could still shine. (Geez, I hope I'm not THAT materialistic!) It had been hinted to me for weeks, and now came home to roost, that I hadn't been placing my trust in God.

Had you asked me, I wouldn't have batted an eye when I responded, "well, of course I trust God!" But my mini-crisis told me otherwise. I still want to control every aspect of my life. While I thought I had relinquished control somewhere along the way, little by little I had clearly took back control of my life (yes, in some ways, taking control of one's life is a good thing . . . but thinking I can be in control of everything? Not so much. Not going to go into that, as I'm sure there are people out there who spend years devoting their doctoral theses to the subject).

I'm not a big fan of giving things up for Lent, but this year it's time I did. I'll give up control in exchange for a lot more trust. Certainly, it's not an achievement that I'll do in one day (or month, or year, and then I'll probably have to start all over again), but I'm committed to the process.

Already it's feeling like Easter.

That Odd Chore

Much like last year, and every year since the dawn of time, the neighborhood ladies are making their rounds with the Virgin of Guadalupe and 46 day's worth of daily rosaries. Like last year, I signed up our home for a rosary, but for two reasons I haven't been able to attend any of the previous rosaries.

1) Mario has been working fairly late and I don't want to go with Clara when it's teetering on bedtime.

2) I had been under the impression that they'd be at 7pm every night, just as they were last year. I was about to go on Friday, as I knew it would be at the house of my friend, Rosy, and I know where she lives (unlike last year, I have not received a schedule, so I have no idea where they'll be praying any day except for the 6th of November when they were scheduled at my house). So I was all planning on going on Friday to Rosy's house, when I got a phone call at about 11am. This was my friend, Panchita, who coordinates the rosary tour every year, calling to confirm that we'd host the following day, as they had just finished praying at Rosy's house. What?!? Yes, this year they're praying almost daily at 10am--NOT 7pm. Did they tell anybody else about this change? No idea. So we'll see if I get to another one. We managed to schedule last night's at 6pm, as I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of doing it at 10am.

So last night they did come to our house. At first I saw it as a chore, an obligation that I had signed myself up for as an attempt to integrate myself in this community. Dutifully, I made tea and cookies to serve the ladies, arranged the furniture so there would be enough seats for whoever might show up, and we waited.

Punctually, they came, and my mood lifted. They arrived singing, and once they deposited Guadalupe in her place, they asked if we had any special requests or thanks to give before they started in on the rosary. I had forgotten that this was part of the procedure, and as Mario didn't pipe up, I stammered out thanks to God for these lovely ladies, Mario's job, and our health. After a few unison prayers, Panchita motioned that it was my duty, as the lady of the house, to begin the rosary.

Dear heavens! It had been about a year since I've prayed that! While I sometimes think I can spit it out in my sleep, that was not the case. After tripping over the Lord's Prayer, I then drew a blank "Holy Mary, full of grace . . . " WHAT ON EARTH COMES NEXT?!?

Thankfully, Panchita is my friend, saw my distress and guided me along the rest of it until I became confident. After every mystery, someone else takes the lead on reciting the rosary, and after the third, Mario stood up to lead it. Now, last year I don't remember any man praying with us, let alone leading one. But that's my man!

In the end, I really did appreciate the church ladies coming to pray with us. The fact that we hosted it on a weekend, meant that Mario was able and happy to join us (as he said he'd do tonight when the ladies come to move Guadalupe to Panchita's house). Plus it was nice that it was early enough that Clara was there to wander around as well. While she clearly didn't know what was going on and, let's be honest, I don't quite understand the whys and wherefores about praying the rosary, I loved that all three of us were there together. In some small, odd way, I felt that we were taking a step to be even more connected as a family.

In general, that's how I feel about the rosary. In small, odd ways I feel that I've gleaned some insight, some inspiration after I've prayed it. While at the beginning it may feel like a chore, and a chore that doesn't really seem to have a purpose, in the end I'm always glad I did it.

So thanks, church ladies! I look forward to joining you again this afternoon.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Last year I did try to explain exactly why I join the neighbors in this tradition, for those non-Catholic friends and family who may be thoroughly confused about why I even let them in my home.

Meaty Fridays

Mario, my husband, loves meat. He would happily eat it for all three meals a day in disturbing quantities. He loves living in northern Mexico, where the "nortenitos" are famous for sitting by a grill, beer in hand, consuming vast quantities of charred cow for hours at a time. Whenever Mario finds himself at a parrillada, he finds that he has to quit far too early. Despite being a rancher's grandson, he just isn't able to ingest quite as much beef as a true norteno.

I, however, could happily be a vegetarian if it weren't for tacos, Thanksgiving turkey and barbecued ribs. Therefore, the custom of giving up meat for Fridays in Lent is really just wasted on me. In fact, when we were dating, Mario suggested that would be more of a sacrifice for me to eat meat on Fridays during Lent than to abstain from it. Good point.

So I do try to cut decadence from my diet on Fridays (no alcohol, gooey desserts, etc). When a huge chocolate craving strikes, it's just a reminder that Jill does not live on chocolate alone. And that's what the whole "giving up something for Lent" is all about, right? After all, God doesn't really care whether we give up something or not. It doesn't benefit God in any way. But if doing so helps me grow, that's great. Like any parent, I'm sure God likes it when I grow. So that's really just my intent.

However, last week I went to a baby shower. It was one of the most fabulous, over-the-top events I've been to in a long time. We were each asked to bring food to share, and there had to be at least 30 women there. Spinach artichoke dip, pumpernickel bread, blueberries, blackberries, deviled eggs, cupcakes, peanut butter chocolate chip cookies--these women outdid themselves. It was delicious.

And I totally forgot that it was Friday.

Now, as I mentioned before, I don't really think that God cares whether I pig out at a baby shower held on a Friday during Lent. However, I knew that I failed myself. But as soon as I thought that, I could hear that little voice of God in my head say, "that's OK. It's all forgiven."

And that really IS the point, isn't it?

Sure, overeating isn't really a bit deal. There are far worse things I could do and have done. But it's all forgiven. Like my pastor said a few weeks ago, Lent should be a time of joy and celebration, not a sad, mournful time. During Lent we tend to get all hung up in the whole "I'm not worthy" attitude, completely forgetting the fact that Good Friday and Easter happened just because God said, "yes, you ARE worthy. I made you worthy." It's during this season that we can better reflect on the mercy and forgiveness demonstrated once and forever on Good Friday and Easter. Isn't that the best thing ever? If that doesn't make you happy, what can?

So thanks, God.

El Camino de Dolor y Encuentro

My personal history with the season of Lent tends to fly in the face of the reasons behind this time of fasting and repentance. Maybe it's because I've spent so many Lents in Mexico, where spring is making some significant gains. When the sun is shining and the temperature turns warmer, I'm compelled to celebrate life, leaving the reflection of my own/humanity's fickleness to another time of the year.

However, despite the sunshine, this is the time of year devoted to that reflection.

I remember one Ash Wednesday at Valpo when spring broke forth in bloom early that year, and on my way to the chapel my soul was singing with the birds in the trees. "From ashes you came and to ashes you will return" clashed horribly with the song of my soul that day.

Again this year, Ash Wednesday was misplaced on my personal calendar. Last week I found another gringa married to a Mexican, living in Saltillo, and she's connected with a church full of other expatriates living in Saltillo. They have a women's group that meets on Wednesday mornings (and provides childcare!). I showed up with wings on my feet, hovering just off the ground, so happy was I to have a gaggle of other adults to talk with.

Again, not excatly a somber day of reflection.

But maybe Lent will start to click with me after all. This morning Clara and I walked through the stations of the cross with about 20 other people from my neighborhood church. I hadn't ever done that before, and thought it might be a good discipline and help to get me in the "right" frame of mind.

As we were finishing, the seminarian who led the group mentioned that the Stations of the Cross is "un camino de dolor y encuentro." (a path of pain and . . . finding?) [if anyone has a better translation, please leave a comment.] By carrying my one-year-old on my hip the entire time, I completely agreed about the "road of pain". Oh, my poor back.

And, halfway through the stations, the husband of one of the women there brought in her little boy, roughly around Clara's age. They flirted with each other for the last few stations. I did, too, of course. And so did the boy's mom. So, through this experience I found one more potential friend in my own church, my own "encuentro".

It might not be exactly what the seminarian meant, but I do think God may have been smiling at me a little.

So thanks for that little bit of sunshine, God, at the end of that "path".

46 Evenings

This month, I've found myself turning into a middle-aged Mexican woman. Why? We'll need to rewind a few weeks to answer that one.

Remember how I was all excited about being invited to join a Bible study with the ladies from my church. It's still fairly exciting (or a good opportunity to get to know other women). A week or two into the class, Panchita (the woman who invited me) busted out a list for the Great Rosario Host, for lack of a better name.

What is the Great Rosario Host? For 46 days before the Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, women in neighborhoods all over Mexico get together to pray the rosary. Every night. For 46 nights. Yikes.

Why 46? Because the Virgin of Guadalupe has 46 stars on her robe. Of course.

Panchita asked me if I wouldn't want to host a night. While I still don't know quite what to make of the rosary, and the thought of praying it for nearly two months every night was a bit daunting, I added my name to the list with relish. After all, it gave me the potential to meet 46 more neighbors! Sweet!

I meant to attend quite a few of the rosaries, but what with Mario working second/third shift during November and Clara deciding that bedtime was sometime around 7, I wasn't often able to make it, as the rosary ladies met up at 7:30. Regardless, Panchita took me out last week a few times, and then I hosted it at my house on Monday night. I loved opening up my house for my neighbors and I truly did feel blessed as they prayed for any number of good things for our home and family.

But, as mentioned above, I'm conflicted about how I feel about praying the rosary. I do it because it is a great meditation tool. All those Hail Marys give the distracted part of my brain something to do while the rest of my brain can reflect on various stages of Jesus Christ's life and ministry. The times I've prayed it, it's been a positive and powerful experience. However, as one who grew up Protestant, it does pose a few sticking points for me.

1. I realize that we only pray to Mary to ask her to interceede for us. It's just like asking any friend to pray for us, and that's totally accepted in any Christian circle. I'm down with that. Were I simply sending Mary a shout out to keep a certain situation in mind as she hangs on the ear of God, that would be fine in my mind. However, it takes roughly a half hour to pray the rosary. Isn't it a better use of time to spend that time talking directly to God?
2. In Matthew 6:7, Jesus instructed his disciples, "when you are praying, do not use meaningless repetition as the Gentiles do, for they suppose that they will be heard for their many words." What do we do when we pray the rosary? Say the same thing over and over and over and over. Yes, it's a great tool for meditation, but if Jesus said not do, why do we do it?

If anyone has any good answers to my hang-ups, please comment.

When all is said and done, it has been nice to get to know a few more people in this neighborhood and I've enjoyed being included in a community again. After moving around as often as I have, it's that sense of community that I miss the most, and I thank mine for including the "new girl" in their prayers this year.

Here and Now

Having a baby has been eye-opening in many ways. The revelation I have enjoyed the most is the fact that Clara focuses me to live in the present, every moment of every day.

For much of my life, I was a big reminisce-er, obsessed with re-living the past. Then around high school, college, and beyond, I became fascinated with my future. "What will I do next year?" And those of you that know me, know that after college I never did the same job or lived in the same place for more than a year at a time. I was terrible at focusing on where I was and what I was doing at any given moment.

I know I'm not alone with this. Many, many people have mentioned that they, too, have trouble living in the present. This focus we have on the past or the future serves to enhance the fundamental discontent that we have as a culture. And this fundamental discontent encourages us to chase after things that don't matter: entertainment, materialism, etc.

When I hang out with Clara, I appreciate her for who she is--not she adorable preschooler she may be in a few years or the sweet, 6-lb rag doll she used to be--but the 18 pounds of squirmy 7-month-old that she is right now. She and I communicate fairly well, despite the fact that she can't talk. She's Clara. She can't talk. That's just part of who she is. This will all change in a few months, so I appreciate who she is right now.

Furthermore, she doesn't concern herself about what happened last week (or even an hour ago) or what will happen this evening. She is always fully absorbed in her surroundings or her wants or needs as they happen. When she's tired, she lets me know that she's tired NOW!

By focusing on who she is now, I'm more in tune with where I am and what I'm doing. Sure, I wouldn't mind having a job and being a bit more independent. But this stage isn't forever, so I'll appreciate it for as long as it lasts. At other points in my life, I've spent periods of time (usually a day at most) focused 100% on being fully aware of the present. Those days were some of the most peaceful moments I've experienced. Now, thanks to my dramatically slower lifestyle (due to staying at home with the child), I experience this peace a lot more often. Originally, I was a bit afraid that staying at home would be mind-numbingly boring. While it hasn't been among the most stimulating of experiences, it certainly is one of the most peaceful. I believe that is because I've been more focused on living in the present that ever before.

This connection between living in the present and being at peace is not coincidental. One of my favorite names for God (and, I believe the only name He gave Himself) is I AM. Not I was, or I will be, but I AM. So if God is the God of the present moment, clearly that's where I should be living, too. In this land of the mindful present, life is good.

Insomniac Musings

Squeak squeak . . . squeak-squeak-squeak.

Dragging myself out of blissful unconsciousness, I immediately recognize that squeak. It's the bassinet in the other room. It means one of two things.

1) The child is moving around in her sleep.

2) The child is waking up.

At 2am, I fervently hope the first option is true.

[quietly from the next room]: "awr . . . awr . . . awr."
[picking up intensity]: "Awr . . . eh? AWR!"

Instinctively I pray, "Dear God, please help her go back to sleep again."

Blast. Now I've ensured that she will be fully awake. These three months of having a baby have taught me many things, one of them being that, while I know God hears that prayer, He generally prefers to sit back and giggle to Himself instead of sprinkling my semi-conscious baby with a healthy dose of sand from the Sandman. I do believe that prayer works. However, while He answers many other prayers, every time I pray that Little Girl would just drift off to sleep without parental intervention, God prefers to turn a deaf ear. Or He just sits back and giggles to himself.

Now, I realize that God doesn't really work this way. But at 2 in the morning, my theology reverts to the theology of an 8-year-old . . . with a little 30-year-old cynicism. In my head, I just can't help imagining God (as Matt Groening draws him, huge, with a long, flowing beard, walking hand in hand with a tiny Homer Simpson) sitting back in his rocking chair in the sky, eating a doughnut (probably with Homer), watching us through His celestial closed circuit TV as I groggily rock the baby back to sleep. As He and I both know, Little Girl normally sleeps very well, so He figures a night of waking up every two hours is good for me and I'll have more compassion on other parents who deal with this every night.

Trust me, I do feel for them. But come on, God--make her go back to sleep!

This then reminds me of Baptist friends I've had. When mentioning a nagging cold, they claim that they can pray all sickness away. They'd ask me, "you believe God's all-powerful, right?" Right. "So OF COURSE He can make that cold go away! Ask ANYTHING in Jesus's name with complete confidence and it WILL happen."

Excellent. "Dear God--I believe with every fiber of my being that you can make Little Girl go back to sleep."

The trouble is, she's still talking to herself.

Yes, I know God doesn't work like this. And I don't at all claim to know what God is thinking. After all, I barely understand what goes on in my own head (but believe God's got mine all figured out). God isn't just a big Santa Claus, giving treats or breaks to the good kids (or sleepy mommies) who deserve them. I do not believe that God denies blessings to anyone. I believe that God is more concerned with helping us through trying circumstances, be them cancer, imprisonment, torture, grief, or just a sleepless night. Yes, God is all powerful, and I do believe that blessings do come from Him. But, believing that, is the next logical step to think that the denial of a blessing is judgement from God? Or, more to the point, as everyone wonders at some point or another, why doesn't this all-powerful God stop tragedies from happening?

Like most people, I have no answer to this. Or, better put, no satisfactory answer. After all, I am not God, nor have I been allowed privileged access to His thought process. Believing that God is love, all I know is that God cries with us when tragedy strikes. Perhaps He allows these tragedies only to avoid larger ones. Small comfort to those grieving, I'm sure. But I do believe that when we're all hanging out in heaven, sometime over the course of eternity we'll have the opportunity to ask God why He lets tragedies happen. And He'll have all the time in the world to explain it to us. And as our brains will be so much more open, only then will we be able to understand.

Perhaps some people find this too simplistic or unsatisfactory. But it works for me. For now.

And now that I've muddled through the mysteries of the universe in the middle of the night, I notice something. Silence.

Thanks God. I'll take divine intervention over parental intervention any night.

Now, please God, help ME go back to sleep.