The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: a bit more of Habit 1

We're discussing The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity. The first two conversations are 

Part 1(discussing Habit 1)

Part 2 (still discussing Habit 1)

Before we move on, I wanted to pick up a comment from last week and offer some encouragement. Someone left an anonymous comment and wrote, "What does one do who does not feel she has any real talents or gifts? Or any that would have any use to the world?"

I think we all go through periods where we feel  as if we have nothing of value to offer the world. The opening assertion of this book is that we have value in our homes. Great value. While talents and gifts that are of use to the world aren't readily apparent, it is my prayer for you that you start small and you see the value--the gift, the treasure, the unmatched jewel--you are to you husband and children.

God knows your value in your home. You are mother to the very children for whom you were created. He intentionally put those children in your life and entrusted you with mothering them. He knows the gifts you bring to the job and He is certain they are exactly what is needed.

The first suggestion Dr. Meeker makes towards making this habit stick is to make a list. Think of the things you do well and write them on paper. Pretty paper, I think would be best;-) You do have talents. What are the things you do that make your husband smile? How do you bring comfort to a child? What do your friends value in your friendship? What makes you happy, brings you peace, offers you the sense of a job well done at the end of the day? 

Write it down.

And then begin to replace the negative thoughts with positive ones. Dr. Meeker writes, "Start being the kind of friend you want to be and stop thinking about how your friends let you down, Tremendous amounts of energy leave us daily because we exhaust it in trying what not to be rather than embracing what we want to do."

The second way to make this habit stick is live to impress no one. It may seem as if the girl next door has endless gifts and talents that she pours like golden light over the whole world. Thank God for her and then, quietly, without comparing, light a candle in your own home. I think that blogs, for all their good and for all the community they foster, are particularly detrimental to helping women stop comparing. It's so easy to compare when it pops up right in front of you day after day.

Here's the thing: most bloggers sweep some powder across their noses and put on a little lipstick before they open their virtual doors. Even when we're honest about our bad days, most of us are conscious about how appropriate it is to put things in print. If the blogger comes from a print journalism background, even  more so. She understands the power of the written word and she's inclined to be prudent. We put on our company manners so to speak.

This summer, I lived one of my most challenging parenting weeks ever while I had a house full of company. I assure you that I would have moved about my house and carried myself differently if there had not been people other than family members in my home. Maybe that timing was providential. It brought a certain reserve to my demeanor 24/7. That's the reserve most bloggers bring to their writing and pictures. It's well-intentioned. It's not about impressing as much as it's about good manners. There is a time and a place for everything. The blogs I most like to visit, like the women in person around whom I'm most comfortable, are the ones where women accept themselves for who they are and live their lives authentically and graciously. 

In order to make the habit stick, we have to be women who are comfortable in our own skin, who live to answer God's call on our lives, and no one else's. "Women who have a healthy sense of their own value are delightful to be around because they never play games, put on airs or try to impress anyone. They don’t need to because they have   a sense that they lack very little. It isn’t that they are enamored with [sic] themselves—quite the opposite. They are humble. They are so comfortable with who they are that they are free to elevate others. Mothers who constantly badmouth others are profoundly insecure but mothers who feel secure speak with an ease and joy that lets the hearer see their confidence. One of the best ways to feel better about who we are as mothers is to push ourselves to accept who we are.   We do this by refusing to pretend with anyone."

Also from last week, Cheryl left a comment drawing attention to a Toolbox prepared to help focus study of the Habits. You find that here. Thanks, Cheryl!

Comments are open, but moderated, so it might take a moment or two (or three or an hour) to see yours appear. Please do share your thoughts. We all benefit from the discussion.

Lord willing, I'll have some thoughts on Habit 2 for you later today.

The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Joy, Peace, and Contentment

{The second post in a book study series on The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}

Last week, as our discussion of  The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers began, I was struck by something Andrea wrote in the comments. I sort of carried it around with me all week and let it run around in my head and bounce off my heart. She wrote:

Elizabeth it is very helpful to have your perspective, as the homeschooling mother of many, to add to this book.
I just finished reading this first habit and came away feeling as if I can actually give myself permission to investigate my other gifts. I was married at 20 with a baby along 9 months later, I have been nothing except a stay-at-home mama for my entire adult life, the children have come steadily since then and I see no end in sight now - I'm not even 30 yet. Immediately I had to stuff down all of my personal talents, goals, & things that I enjoyed to give myself to my children and husband at 100%. Now that I'm in the legitimate throes of homeschooling as well, it's become even harder to remember the gifts and talents that God gave to define me as a human being. It's really something to pray about.

 
I don't find competitive thinking toward other women or moms that challenging, I am actually not a very competitive person. But I loved her thoughts on humility, it has encouraged me to have peace with the kind of mom that I am, verses the kind that I think that I should be (perfect in all ways, of course). 

To Andrea, I replied:

Andrea, I've been thinking about this comment pretty much nonstop since you first posted it. I think that for me, my gifts outside of motherhood collided with motherhood pretty neatly. I was a kindergarten teacher before having children and then I quit to stay home and homeschool. Now, I'm on the brink of not having a kindergartner in my home in just a few years. I'm feeling a wee bit of panic. I won't go back to teaching any time soon--I still have lots of children left to raise and educate. But I can see that it's time to begin to explore other gifts or other venues for my passions. And I can see that my passion for early childhood may have to be put on hold for a season (until I return to the classroom or have grandchildren;-).

It's not that I suddenly have oodles of free time because my "baby" is nearly three, but there has been a significant shift and I'm trying to find the grace in the shift. I think for you the challenge is finding ways to utilize your personal talents within your home and mothering, not to stuff them. Don't stuff them! We are warned not to bury our gifts.

I think the other point this brings to light is that everyone's mothering and everyone's homemaking and the crafting of each family will look different--should look different--because we do bring different and unique gifts to the task. So, now matter where you are in your mothering, the challenge is to find the you God created and bring it to your home.

The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that this notion of bringing our unique gifts to our mothering and homemaking experience--whether we are working fulltime outside the home or homeschooling ten children--is necessary and vital to our peace and contentment within ourselves. If we take the time to understand our unique gifts for what they are--God's instruments for us to use for His glory--and then we pour that into the daily round of our loves, we will be content. He will bless that faithfulness. Furthermore, we won't compare and we won't compete. How could we compete? Understanding that we are each uniquely gifted and that we are mothers of children who are each uniquely gifted, we embrace the diversity in our friendships and learn from one another.

At the end of the first chapter, Dr. Meeker shares the wisdom of an older woman. I am learning to see the value of such wisdom more and more. I truly appreciate a mom who has seen this job of childrearing through to full adulthood and who can honestly help me to see my current stage of life from her perspective. When asked how she has the energy to serve cheerfully, Carol, Dr. Meeker's example, says, "It isn't about age. It's not about ability, talent, or even personality. Doing what I do--and I've been doing this for a number of years now--is about attitude. I'm good at helping these folks. I fit here. I was born to help and to love these people. And they need me. I believe that when you love the life you're supposed to be living and you happen on the deep meaning of your life, it works. The energy comes, you get bolder, and you live less fearfully. Knowing who you are and living what you were born to do, that's the good stuff. This is it, right here, right now, and I'm not going to miss it."

Here's the thing: what is the life you're supposed to be living? What is the big picture? To what vocation does He call you? But what are the little pictures, too? What are the things that happen every day that God allows in our lives for our good? Joy--deep down, peaceful joy--comes when we stop struggling against God's will. It comes when we see that though we may be hit over the head with crushing adversity, with things like illness and death and poverty, He is there. It's not that we don't feel disappointment and sorrow. We aren't called to be plastic people with no depth or dimension. We do feel it. We do sorrow. We are empathetic.

But we are faithful. We know, because we have been open to seeing it again and again, that He is always and only good. And that He always and only brings great good out of a bad situation.

I got in the car yesterday and it was literally 100 degrees outside. I can't imagine what it was in the car. And the car stunk. It stunk like cleats, and sweaty shirts, and dirty socks. And McDonald's trash. I had a little pity party. Why am I always surrounded by stink? Why was I  35 minutes late getting into the car to run errands that would certainly require me to stand in lines with grouchy people in ridiculous heat? I reached over to hurl (yes, I'm sure I was going to hurl) a shinguard into the back seat. And there, God had left me a love note:

 

{Patrick's shinguard.

9/1 was the day Bryce Mitchell died. And it was the day God reached down and made Himself known very personally to Patrick.}

He has a plan and we are at peace when we trust that plan and seek to know His will. Even in the little moments. Even in the car that broke down and threw off the schedule for the whole day. Even in the bad news on the job front. Even in the lost passport that means you can't catch that flight. All grace. The difference between living a life of bitterness and anger and a life of quiet, genuine joy is being receptive to the abundant grace that He pours out to those who trust in His plan. As women, we are uniquely gifted and exquisitely created to be receptive. Can we open ourselves to the Creator himself?

Can we allow Him to truly make of our lives what He intends?

~*~*~~*~*~

Feel free to chat below (comments are moderated, so it might take some time before you see yours appear), either adding your thoughts here directly or linking to a post on your own blog. Do take a moment to thoughtfully consider the comments on last week's post. There's much to think about there and several links to more food for though.  Now it's time for me to go about the rest of my day, peaceful in the knowledge that God created me for these children and this good man. And that's enough. Really.

The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Let's Begin to Cultivate them Now

{The first post in a books study series on The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}

I've been reading parenting books for 23 years (more if you count the ones I read in college). It's pretty rare for a book to come along that offers anything new and transformative these days. The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity is transformative. I firmly believe that. Dr. Meg Meeker makes a pretty bold promise at the book's beginning:

If every mother in the United States could wrap her mind around her true value as a woman and mother, her life would never be the same. We would wake up every morning excited for the day rather than feeling as though we'd been hit by a truck during the night. We would talk differently to our kids, fret less about our husbands' annoying habits, and speak with greter tenderness and clarity. We would find more contentment in our relationships, let mean remarks roll off our backs, and leave work feeling confident in the job we perfermed. And best of all--we wouldn't obsess about our weight (can you imagine?), physical fitness, or what kind of home we live in. We would live a life free from superficial needs because we would know deep in our hearts what we need and,  more importantly, what we don't need. Each of us would live a life of extraordinary freedom.

And peace. These are 10 habits towards peace deep within ourselves, the kind of peace that radiates into every sphere of our lives, that spills out into the ordinary everyday and colors our world a beautiful hue.

Sound good?

Dr. Meeker implores women to wrap their brains around the fact that they have enormous value.  She writes about the higher calling to which women are called and muses that she doesn't think most women have a sense of this greater purpose. In Christian terms, she is referring to vocation--the reality that God created us for a specific purpose and that living according to that purpose and embracing that mission is why we are here. That's pretty heady stuff. Many of the moms I know have a pretty good grip on the theology of vocation. But they get tripped up in the humility department.

Humility is not self-effacement. Indeed, if we embrace the very real truth that we are created by our Lord in His image, we are humble and confident. Dr. Meeker uses an extraordinary example to point out just how readily women are able to see the good and accept with love the faults in other people, but cannot extend that same grace to themselves. She writes that "we are supercritical of ourselves because we heap unreasonable expectations on ourselves...No matter how well we do in one area, we always feel that we're falling short in another. [And] we continually look to the wrong places to feel valuable. We look at how well we perform at various functions rather than accepting that we are valuable simply because we are our kids' moms and we are loved and needed because of that."

How do you judge yourself? How do you determine your worth?What is the yardstick against which you measure yourself? Do you ever feel like you measure up?

I think that in the community of mothers who are primarily committed to being mothers at home and often, to home education, we can lose sight of the fact that "in addition to fulfilling our purpose as good moms, we were born to do more, in time. ....we have lost this sense of being because we are afraid (my emphasis) of what lies beneath the superficial in us. If we set aside the energy we put into fitness, dieting,[creating the perfect homeschool?], trying to be a better mom tha the next mom, what is left? we wonder. What we find below the dieting, working, running around in the car, and exercising is a deepness that has been undiscovered." To that, I would definitely add that we can bury our authentic selves for a very long time if we are mothering a large family. We can throw ourselves into our work--far more work than a mother of two can begin to imagine--and we can tell ourselves for years and years that we are dying to self in service to our families. There is, however, a real possibility that we are not dying to self at all. Instead, we are failing to look self in the eye and get to know her. We are running from her in the running we do all day (and night). One day, maybe far into the future, we will still be moms, but we will not have the intensity of day-to-day child care and nurturing that we do now. We will be called to utilize our gifts in other ways. Will we be such strangers to ourselves and our talents that we cannot even recognize what it is He wants us to use?

Are we afraid? If we believe that we are created in God's very image, why are we afraid? Why do we keep so busy that we don't allow ourselves time to catch up with ourselves? Is it possible that there are talents yet discovered, plans He has for us that we are ignoring because we won't still ourselves long enough to have a frank conversation with our Maker about why He made us?

Dr. Meeker is not by any means saying that we shouldn't throw ourselves wholeheartedly into mothering. Indeed, the example of Julianne illustrates contentment in a role that is primarily and perhaps solely that of wife and mother. Of Julianne, she writes, "When a mother really understand her value, she has more self-confidence. She sets boundaries with her kids, her husband and herself and this makes life more palatable. She is less anxious and feels less inclined to compete with other women, because beneathe everything she likes who she is."

Competition is a running thread throughout the book. I think Dr. Meeker really nails the biggest detriment to genuine friendships and to to genuine contentment within when she looks competition squarely in the eye and calls it out for what it is. It's a cancer.

Enough words for today. We're only on page 15:-). Please do join me in reading and thinking. Please offer your perspective and bless us all with your voice.

Feel free to chat below (comments are moderated, so it might take some time before you see yours appear), either adding your thoughts her directly or linking to a post on your own blog.  Now it's time for me to go about the rest of my day, peaceful in the knowledge that God created me for these children and this good man. And that's enough. Really.

Small Steps Together: Cocooning and Flying Free

I have long loved early childhood. From the time I was very little, I have invested much thought and prayer into the mother of young children I feel called to be. Much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone except my husband, I even majored in early childhood in college. (Just an aside: I had enough nursing and anatomy/physiology credits to also be certified to teach health and PE. God had a plan. I grew up to educate children who, when asked to name their school, inform the general public that they attend the Foss Academy for the Athletically Inclined. But I digress.)

 

I have held tightly to the promise that it's never too late to have a happy childhood. And since mine was not childish or carefree, I've set out very deliberately to create for my children what I think I might have missed and to enjoy it alongside them. Deep in my heart, my fondest wish was to be the very good mother of young children. You might say that I've dedicated my adult  life to that task.

Not too long ago, I can't remember where, I read about a woman around my age who said that she was too busy with her grown kids and teenagers to mourn the fact that her babies were growing up and there would soon be no wee ones in her house. I'm not. I'm not too busy. There are still small children in my house and they slow me, still me. I still stay with them at night as they drift off to sleep. I still sit with them at the table as they eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, ever so slowly. I bathe them and brush their hair and braid it up before bed. I sit and rock and hold and read. I still thank God for them with every breath, much like I did the day they were born. I have plenty of time in the course of my day to be still and know that these are precious moments that will not be a part of my days in the not too distant future. 

In a way, I envy those women who blithely move along to the next stage of life and smile brightly and say, "There! That's finished. Wasn't it grand? Now what's next?" I'm not one of them. Perhaps I'm just not good at transitions. I sobbed at my high school graduation. I remember how reluctantly I traded my wedding gown for my "going away" clothes. I cried so hard when Michael left for college that I had to pull over because I couldn't see to drive. I held more tightly to each newborn than the one before. And this last one? I don't think I put her down at all for the first twelve weeks. My intimate relationships are deep and rooted and meaningful. When I live something, I feel it. 

I know it's time.

I know because my environment cries out that it is so. My house is full to overflowing with people. Several of them are more than twice the size they were when we moved in here. Some have left and come back and brought with them more of their own stuff. We are bursting at the seams. It is time to acknowledge that we are in a new season of life and to allow my house to reflect that.

And so. I cocoon. Somehow I know that this is intense, deeply personal business and at the end I will be the same and yet, forever different. I spin a silken thread tightly around my home. My cell phone goes dead. I don't recharge it. I don't touch my laptop. I don't carry the house phone with me. I don't leave for several days. It is time to conquer all those recesses of my home that I neglected while I held babies. It is time to let go.

We need space. We no longer need a co-sleeper. Or the sheets to go with it. We don't need a swing. I begin in the basement.

We don't need three neatly labeled boxes of beautiful thick, pink, cotton clothes -- 0-3 months, 6-9 months, 9-18 months. I carefully save the christening gown, the sweet baptism booties, the first dress Karoline wore to match Katie and Mary Beth. The rest I fold into giveaway bags.  Michael takes the baby "things" to the Salvation Army on Friday.The clothes remain until Saturday morning. The Children's Center truck is due to arrive at 8 AM. After I've finished with the clothes, I cannot  stay here in this basement on Friday. I've done what I know will be the most difficult task. I also know I'm nearly suffocating.  I need to go upstairs and get some air. 

I begin in Mike's office. This isn't really my mess or my stuff or even the stuff of children who haven't been carefully supervised. It is just the overflow of two busy adults who pile and stuff a bit too much. He doesn't use this room. It's a lovely room in the middle of the house with a bright window. I put a new sewing machine on the desk. I rearrange shelves, discarding things he no longer needs. I spend an hour or so carefully dusting his youth trophies and 25 years of sports paraphernalia. I think about this post and I know that we can (and should) share this space. I move some baskets in. My yarn, my knitting and sewing books, a few carefully folded lengths of fabric, holding place for a stash to come.

I stitch a few things in that room. And I am happy there. I am no longer knitting in my womb. But I am still creating. And it makes me happy. My arms are ever more often empty, but my hands are increasingly free for other pursuits. Still, a small voice whispers, knitting and sewing are nothing like the co-creation you've done for the last 22 years. I hush the voice. I have no idea where this is going. He is the Creator. He has written a beautiful pattern for my life. All He asks is that I knit according to His plan. Trust the pattern.

On Saturday morning, that truck comes. I can't even watch as they load my dear boxes. My stomach clenches and my eyes fill with tears. Things. They are only things. The girls who wore those things are safe in my arms. Another mother will be blessed to hold a sweet pink cotton bundle close and nuzzle her cheeks. I descend to the basement.

Here. Here is where I must force myself to cocoon. Here is where ten years of "put this carefully in the craft room" will come back to haunt me. They have tossed at will every single time. It never recovered from the great flooring shuffle. I do pretty well with the rest of the house, but I dislike coming down to the basement and Mike rarely comes down here. So, here is where the disorder has collected. The "craft room" is a jumble of stored clothes, curriculum, craft supplies, and 25 years of family photos. It is a mess.

I am humbled by the mess. Quite literally driven to my knees. But I have spun myself into this small space and here I will stay until I can emerge beautifully.

I have banished all outside interruptions, but I have brought with me the Audible version of this book. Good thing, too, because I will benefit greatly from the message within and, frankly, I will need to hear the narrator say "You are a good mom" as often as she does. 

I see the abandoned half-finished projects, the still shrinkwrapped books, the long lingering fabric and lace. Did I miss it? Did I miss the opportunity to do the meaningful things? To be the good mom I want to be? I am nearly crushed by the weight of the money I've spent on these things and the remanants of my poor stewardship.What was I doing when this mess was being made? To be sure some of the time was sadly wasted. It is easy to berate myself for time slipped through my fingers. Cocoons are really rather nasty things.

Determined, I clear out the clutter. I tell myself that life is not black and white. It's not all bad or all good.  I fold fabric and recognize that what I have here is the beginning of some new projects. I gather acorn caps and felt and label them and tuck them away for the fall. I make a very large stack of books to sell secondhand. I sort and sweep and remember. I see picture after picture of smiling children. I see, in those color images, time well spent. Time well filled.  Their mama always looks tired. I recognize in  those pictures that my children were happy--are happy. And I also recognize that it's been a little while now since I felt that tired. It is true that much of my time in the last twenty years, I have been filling well. I have been holding and rocking and nursing and coloring and listening and reading and giving and giving...I have been cherishing childhood. And it is a true that in a household this size, it is darn near impossible for every corner of the house to remain clean and every lesson to be carried out according to plan ,while caring well for babies and toddlers.  Messes happen.

The season just passed? The very long season? It was good and full and messy and cluttered. It was bursting-at-the-seams joyful in a way nothing ever will be again. It was also very hard work. Very, very hard work.There were utter failures and big mistakes. And there was a whole lot of good. 

This new season? I don't know yet. It's not nearly as cluttered. I have stayed in this cocoon until every corner of my home, every nook and every cranny, has been cleared of the clutter of the last season. Every poor choice, every undisciplined mess has been repurposed. Every single one. I can see my way clear to do the meaningful things. And the blessing is that there are still plenty of children in this house to do them with me.

As I sweep the room for the last time before considering this a job well done, I see a picture that has slid under a bookshelf. It is Mike and me at our wedding rehearsal. I stare long and hard at that girl. But I stare longer at him. He is still every bit as happy as he was that night. Happier, really. Really happier. These days in this cocoon, I have been brutally honest with myself. I've held myself accountable for every transgression. I have humbled myself before God and I have confessed my sins.  I look at his image and then back at mine and I realize something very important. Whatever my failings, I have consistently been a good wife. I wonder at the ease with which this recognition comes to me. I am certain that much of it is born of his frequent words of affirmation. I know it is so because he has told me it is so. But why is it so?

Grace. 

Ours is a gracious God. It is only by His grace that I am the wife I am. And it is by His grace that I have this sense of peace about the most important relationship in my life. These children willl grow in the safe home he and I have created together. And then they will fly. Mike and I? We will be us. Always us.

I carefully put away the very last picture, turn out the light, and climb the stairs.

I've cleared out the clutter, made peace with the past. I've learned a very valuable lesson that I'm long going to be pondering in my heart. It's time to fly free.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Small Steps focuses on humility this month. Would you share your thoughts with us, let us find you and walk with you? I'd be so grateful and so honored to have you as a companion. Please leave a link to your blog post below and then send your readers back here to see what others have said.You're welcome to post the Small Steps Together banner button also.

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!