It's all in the noticing

Gratitude. A deep-down sense that God is good and that life is a gift. It's there for the taking. Sometimes, though it's all in the noticing. I can't notice when life is whizzing by. I can't notice when I'm so tired my eyes don't focus. Noticing happens best in the slow time.

I have to stop. Be still. And notice. 

It helps to wake up in my own room in the "kids' wing," the one with the beautiful blue walls and the ceiling fan. In the house where I'm not the most grown up grown-up of all.

There is a winding country drive, early Sunday morning, to monastery quiet nestled in the hills.

The sky is so blue and the hills so green.

The church bells ring out when Mass begins and again when Our Lord is present. Bells ring, echoing off the hills, filling an early Sunday morning with the sound of pure joy.

I am sitting outside this church with a squirmy Sarah Annie. We notice a bird with a hollyberry in his beak, a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, weeds in the garden (she wants to pull - "to help the sisters). We are stilled, heads bowed at the sound of the bells.
 

Breakfast after church. The Mudhouse Cafe. Fair trade, local, organic, friendly, cozy, small town perfect.

A soy mocha latte that tastes more like coffee than chocolate--mocha perfection.

 

Art for breakfast.

And then on to the orchard.

Yep. She'll ask Grandpa for peach ice cream at 10 in the morning. And yep, she'll get it.

 

It's a beautiful day. She's styling her shades. Let's get out and pick.

Precious cargo.

{Dear, sweet man.}

Nothing says Virginia morning like the smell of fresh peaches and the sight of crepe myrtles in the sun.

To Mint Springs Lake, where there little girls can lie on their bellies in the sun and run their fingers through the sand.

Just sit on the shore, toes in the water, and inhale. 

This friendly competition did NOT end in screaming and shouting the revisiting of game rules. Mountain miracle, no doubt.

Just a day. One day. Not a fancy vacation in a far-off land. Not a two week reservation and a ticket to ride. Just a day. Surrounded by people I love and people who love me.

In a place that never fails to remind me how loved we are by the Master Artist who created it.

Joining Ann to count blessings, except I've again lost count..

Yarn Along: Praying As We Go

Hi there! I'm still knitting along with lots of friends, stitching a Baby Surprise Jacket.

Surprise! It's too big for my "baby." Looks like Karoline will wear this jacket before Sarah Annie does.  That's just fine with me; I was sort of sad that when Sarah outgrew it, it would be relegated to the giveaways or to my hope chest. Now, two little girls will wear it (unless Karoline wears it out). Still investigating exactly what this means in terms of adapting the pattern. And trying not to hyperventilate.

I'm reading Mysteries of the Jesus Prayer, by Norris Chumley. This has been a bit of a serendipitous read. Before the book arrived, I was looking to settle into a rhythm of knitting and praying when I am away from my audio Bible. A little digression: when I was being treated for cancer, I discovered that I had just enough time while they zapped me with radiation to pray three Hail Marys, followed by imploring St. Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, to pray with me that I would be able to conceive, carry, bear, and raise healthy, happy, holy children. My third child born after those treatments, and first daughter, was named Mary Elizabeth. Ever since, I've keyed prayers to certain activities. For instance, I had different repetitious extamporaneous prayers for each of my labors.

My girls have all repeated the words, "in, around, through, off" as they've learned to knit--words that match the actions, marking motion with meaning. I have discovered that in exactly the time it takes me to knit a stitch, I can pray the ancient Jesus Prayer: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God,have mercy on me, a sinner." It fits just perfectly. It's rhythmic and contemplative and meaningful.There is an inner peace to be found in the rhythm of the prayers and the needles.

Chumley's book is a bit of a documentary in print, taking the reader to visits hermits and monks and nuns who share how the prayer is lived in their lives. The rich layers of the ancient prayer are revealed to the reader as they draw us into the practice of simple, simple prayer. Chumley writes, "The point is to try to maintain connection with God at all times, remembering that God is here with us at every moment. The practice of prayer and meditation helps us do that, uniting the inner core of our being, our soul, with God and with all the scattered parts of us."

Knitting and prayer. So simple.

Be sure to stop by and visit Ginny and see what other folks are knitting and reading.

Random Thoughts and an Urgent Prayer

~I haven't forgotten about our Small Steps Together Study. Look for a post on Thursday. I'm giving a talk tomorrow and dedicated my writing time to that in recent days. Also, there has been a flurry of knitting and writing about knitting as the Knit Along casts on. I do promise you that this won't be an all-knitting, all the time blog;-).

~There is still time to join the Knit Along. Just leave a comment after any of the Knit Along posts. You have to have told us you are in to qualify for the prizes. I saw a sneak peek at the prizes and, really, you want to qualify.

~The weather is so beautiful here that I'm really glad we homeschool. We're down to the basics this time of year. We'll ramp up to a fullblown course of studies when it 95 and dripping humid.

~I sort of miss Lent. Actually, I miss the discipline of Lent. The longer I live the litrugical seasons, the more I am certain that we need to guard against feast seasons becoming a pass for gluttony (or sloth or any number of other vices). Those lenten disciplines bore great fruit. Back to that plan. Oh, and, I can do without sugar forever. Truly.

~Finally, and with all heartfelt sincerity, please pray for Elizabeth DeHority today. This is the first day of a new chemotherapy regime.

Please God, wrap her in your Grace. Comfort her; hold her; console her. Give her family the strength and grace and courage they need to face the challenges of this season. And God, let us help her to carry this cross, to remember that we are knit together in love, to have all the riches of assured understanding and the knowledge of God's mystery, of Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures or wisdom and knowledge. (Col 2:2)

Celebrating Papa

~Because this letter, written four years ago, is on my heart as we look towards Sunday's beatification. Of course, there was a baby after this one, too. God's generosity exceeds our most fervent prayers.~

 

April 1, 2007

Dear Papa,

I had planned to write a long column this weekend, in time for tomorrow. But the baby was sick and my hands were full, so all the writing I did was in my head.  I planned to write about that sobbing prayer two years ago, when I begged you to intercede for me. And then I'd write about all the little miracles strewn like roses in the days and weeks and months that followed.

Instead, I stayed up all night, dancing with my daughter.  She was feeling poorly and whimpering to be held. I gathered her up out of my bed and swayed with her in the darkness. For hours.  I sang my full repertoire of musicals.  I moved on to old Raffi tunes. I added a little Glory and Praise. And then, I switched to "You Light up my Life."  Her tears ceased and mine fell freely. I settled into the big chair, her head heavy against my chest and I remembered.

I remembered a time two years ago that was dark and sad. I was struggling with depression and so was Mike. Together, we were fumbling in confusion. Recovery from childbirth had been difficult. Recovery from a miscarriage more difficult. A year of infertility following that miscarriage was a year of pain like none I'd ever known. No light. Only darkness.  And on that Friday night, I held an eerie vigil in front of the muted television.

Please God, I don't know what I'll do without my Papa. And yet I know, I know that he is yours; he always was. Morning dawned and the day moved forward and then you were gone. And as naturally as the sobs escaped my throat, my soul begged your intercession. Tell Him, Papa! Please tell Him how sad I am, how much I want a baby, how much Mike needs him. Tell Him, Papa--I know you can.

And you did. Within an hour of that prayer, the answers began to become so clear.  You led us to a different parish. You put people in my path who would insist that I get to know the Little Flower you loved so well, the dear Saint you called a Doctor and by whom you trusted that the fullness of faith could be taught. She and you taught me about Love--Love incarnate, a good and gentle God who understood my pain and stooped to bind my wounds. I re-read all your letters to me. I read her words. Light dawned, love flickered.

Looking back, I should not be surprised that in the months following your death, I pushed by forces greater than me to travel. You were never afraid to travel. I had not been on an airplane in fifteen years. But I flew three times that year. The first time, I went Chicago and visited the shrine of St. Therese and left my petitions there. The last time, I went to Florida at my husband's insistence. We were there for an art gallery opening but we took a day trip to St. Augustine and the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche.  I had a long talk with Our Lady that day. She already knew.I'm sure you told her.

One night, nine months after you died, my husband lit a candle in a church where you once celebrated Mass, in the presence of your relics. And then, our wait for a baby was over and yet it had begun. For nine more months, I was still, love growing inside of me.  I learned to love your favorite prayer and I prayed the rosary with St. Therese, sometimes twenty decades a day, including the five new decades that were your gift to me. All the time, I was almost afraid to believe, almost afraid to think that the light had returned and darkness was dispelled.

Then she was here.  A glorious, beautiful, darling little girl. We call her Karoline Rose. She is a shower of roses, a basket of blessings. She is sweetness and she is light.  As she grows, I will tell her.  I will tell her about her Papa. She will know you and she will be grateful to share your name.

But now, she calls again. Enough remembering. I am living in the present, embracing every moment. I know you're here. I know you see her dear, dimpled chin. I know you watch me kiss her fat little cheeks and I know you smile.

Thank you!

Good Friday

~~~~~

Jesus was beaten until He bled. And He was given a crown of thorns.

~~~

Jesus was given a heavy cross to carry.

~~~

He carried His very heavy cross up a steep hill.

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He was crucified.

~~~

The Seven Last Words:

1 "Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are doing" (Lk 23:34)

2 "I assure you: this day you will be with Me in paradise" (Lk 23:43)

3 "Woman, there is your Son" (Jn 19:26)

4 "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?" (Mt 27:46

5 "I am thirsty" (Jn 19:30)

6 "Now it is finished" (Jn 19:30)

7 "Father, into Your hands I commend My spirit" (Lk 23:46)
~~~

  Jesus died.

~~~

He was taken down from the cross and He was wrapped in linen.

~~~

And was placed in a tomb.

~~~

With a stone rolled across it.

And now we wait.

{wooden figures available at Worship Woodworks}