beholding, wonder, recollection and quiet.

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THINK

Any kind of hectic activity, even in religious affairs, is utterly alien to the New Testament picture of man. We always overestimate ourselves when we imagine we are completely indispensable and that the world or the Church depends on our frantic activity. Often it will be an act of real humility and creaturely honesty to stop what we are doing, to acknowledge our limits, to take time to draw breath and rest—as the creature, man, is designed to do. I am not suggesting that sloth is a good thing, but I do want to suggest that we revise our catalog of virtue, as it has developed in the Western world, where activity alone is regarded as valid and where the attitudes of beholding, wonder, recollection and quiet are of no account, or at least are felt to need some justification. This causes the atrophy of certain essential human faculties“ 
Pope Benedict XVI Co-Workers of the Truth: Meditations for Every Day of the Year.

 

PRAY

Lord, let me see where my activity is actually keeping me from you. Help me to move against the current of the culture and to step out in faith and fully embrace the attitudes of beholding, wonder, recollection and quiet.

ACT

When we push ourselves to our limits and imagine that we are indispensable to our work or even to our families, are we indulging in pride? Is the real act of humility to acknowledge that we are not limitless and to stop moving so quickly through a busy, busy world? Is the humble act the one where we breathe deeply and rest? Let's try that today. Let's step off the busy freight train barreling through life at breakneck speed and let's step into nature. Change the scene. Leave the blinding lights, the screens, the car on its way to yet another obligation, and instead draw a breath in the natural world . Stretch your legs, fill your lungs, empty your mind. 

Activity in and of itself is not a virtue. Sloth is not a good thing, but there is real value in purposeful leisure. Make time for that leisure today. 

It's snowing here today. The will be no run outdoors, but I promise you, there will be time to get out in the world of white and inhale the peace that is a snow day in March. I'm looking forward to it!

What is keeping you from the embracing an attitude of beholding, wonder, recollection, and quiet? Are those elusive states of being for some of us? Or is there a way to build them into the day, no matter what the vocation?

What I Learned in February

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In case you haven't noticed, I've been struggling to find my voice here lately outside of #morningrun. I'm not sure why, though I do have some hunches. I love my blog, so I'm tying to push through and find my voice again, or perhaps, to find a new voice. Emily, at Chatting at the Sky, has invited readers to share what they learned in February.

That seems like a great way to begin chatting again.

1. I learned that I am happier when I begin my day outdoors. (Apparently this is a lesson I need to learn over and over again.) I really, really  miss my summer walks and runs. I've tried to be good about getting to the gym, but it's a lot more complicated than rolling out of bed and hitting the trails right outside my door. It's trickier when I need to figure in transit time and traffic and such and it's also not nearly as motivating to run on a treadmill. I love the outdoors and I thought that I could walk or run outside as much as I had in the summer. But ice. And subzero wind chills. So, no. When I do get out there, I've been listening to The Fringe Hours. It's good to be given permission for self-care and this book definitely does that! I hope to chat with you more about it when the needle & thREAD feature makes its return. 

2. Mike has been traveling a lot lately. We sat down Sunday afternoon, as the ice did its thing outside and we mapped out the spring. I learned it looks daunting.  I think I heard him hyperventilating. We have lots of kids at an active stage of life and he is highly sought after in Connecticut and DC and Florida. Much juggling of the calendar and some frequent flier miles to bank. Ours was a long distance relationship when we were in college. Little did I know that some of those relationship skills would be refined over the course of our lifetime. I'm still learning.

3. I have a real life friend who will sit with my girls while they throw up. That is one "for real" friend! Her presence in my very messy house with my very messy girls early on a Sunday was necessitated by the fact that I also have a friend who will scoop my son off a soccer field (which he has made a bloody mess) and hurry him to the ER so that a plastic surgeon can stitch his cheek back together. Thirty-seven stitches later, we learned that Stephen's soccer team is made of people who don't flinch and don't turn the other way; they gather and support. That was a hard, hard week. Mike was gone. All the girls were extremely sick. Stephen was a bit of a mess. I also learned that...

4. My orthodontist and pediatrician are pretty much the best. My orthodontist saw pictures of Stephen on social media and texted me immediately to tell me he wanted to see him. Upon close (and very gentle) inspection, we learned that the permanent retainer cemented to the back of his teeth saved his teeth. It's definitely taken a good knock but it held and though the teeth were knocked around, they were braced. So, yay! My pediatrician also wanted to see Stephen right away. He hung with us closely through the weeks of concussion evaluation, alternating between concern for Stephen and concern for Mary Beth, who has caught one nasty infection after another. Lesson there: the first year of teaching in an early childhood setting will yield all kinds of germ exposure, especially if you've never gone to school. Poor girl. When I'm flying solo, and everyone seems to be super needy at the same time, it's good to know that the people we've chosen for health care are invested in us. (<--absolutely NOT a paid promotion.)

5. One skill that Mike and I have gotten much better at in the last couple years is making time for focused attention with each other. We really, really benefit from one-on-one, totally uninterrupted time. And we are learning to look for the small pocket of time, call in our resources, and seize the opportunity. We launched February by practicing this strategy really well. Through some ridiculous logistical gymnastics, Mike and I were able to get away for about 24 hours. We went to Charlottesville to see the soccer team honored for their NCAA championship at a UVa basketball game. We stopped at JMU to pick up Christian on our way, so that he could hang out with Paddy. The game was so much fun--crazy electric atmosphere of ESPN Game Day in a place filled with students fired up about an unbeaten season. 

We left at halftime. It wasn't that we don't both love college basketball. It was more about the fact that we hadn't seen each other in over a week and we were staying at my folks' house and they weren't home. The thought of an entire evening with no interruptions and no obligations other than each other? Opportunity seized. Such a great night and so nice to wake early on Sunday, go to Mass alone together, and gather the boys so that we could prop them up and feed them breakfast. (They'd clearly enjoyed their Saturday night, too.)

6. I learned that Liberty University offers an excellent online education. Mary Beth is fully enrolled this semester. It's been a challenge for both of us as she learns to navigate the demands of college and the nuances of online education (and a couple of jobs). What she is being offered is so much better than the dual enrollment experiences the boys had at community college for their senior years in high school that I'm peaceful about the higher price tag. 

7. My teen boys have pretty good taste in music. I let them man the radio buttons to and from soccer and I've added to my repertoire lately. Upon their recommendation, I've become a fan of Ed Sheeran and Andy Grammer. It's a little disconcerting when my six-year-old belts out "Honey, I'm Good" on endless repeat, but I've learned that the the culture infiltrates the childhoods of kids #7, #8, and #9 and we kind of have to roll with that. The video is pretty darn cute, by the way.

8. Soccer can and will be played year 'round, regardless of the weather. I have now witnessed soccer when the real temperature is 7 degrees and the wind chill is hovering around zero. I've watched how the artificial turf reacts to an inch or so of sleet and how 14-year-old boys think playing in that is about the most fun you can have in February. And I've seriously considered one of these. And a space heater. 

~*~

I've talked about some of these things and some more significant life lessons over at Mercy Found Me. Jacque Watkins is such a good listener! And her blog is just so great--indulge in a little reading over there if you have a few moments. 

What have you learned lately?

 

A new year, without any mistakes...

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“Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” L.M. Montgomery

 

I love this Anne of Green Gables quote. It is nice to awaken to a new day, fresh without any mistakes yet in it. The celebration of the new year is a little like that, too. All shiny, unblemished calendar pages—nothing crossed out, nothing forgotten, nothing regrettable.

 

And then we put our feet on the floor. And inevitably, we mess up.

 

The mistakes make us humble; they drive us to our knees and they inspire fervent prayers. I’ve made such a mess of this God; please fix it. Please, please fix it.

 

He always does. He always offers the opportunity to begin again. He always extends forgiveness and mercy. And then, He fixes it, if only we let Him.  Often, His “fix” doesn’t look the way we thought it should be fixed. Sometimes, we are disappointed in the short-term. But always, always, God’s will is for our good. He wants only and always the best for us and for our children.

 

We have to get out of the way. In our pride and in our fear, we can think God needs us to make good things happen.  St. Isaac Jogues wrote, “My confidence is placed in God who does not need our help for accomplishing his designs. Our single endeavor should be to give ourselves to the work and to be faithful to him, and not to spoil his work by our shortcomings.”

 

When children are little, mothers can fix most of the hurts. They cultivate a habit of creating opportunities, of arranging successes, of healing hurts. It’s fairly easy, in most cases. The challenge for a mom is not to grow to complacent in the role of “she who makes it all better.”  One day, she can’t make it better. Indeed, she can spoil it by her shortcomings. It’s humbling for the mother and it’s necessary for the child, to let God be God.

 

As a child grows, he has to develop for himself a relationship with God--who is not a magic fairy, not the granter of wishes--but an unfailing, unchanging Savior. God is better than Mom. God loves unconditionally and He is faithful and unchanging. He always knows best and never makes mistakes.

 

With maturity on the part of our children (and ourselves), it becomes more and more apparent that we need God and they need God. We will never be big enough to fill that role. We’ll never be able to manage all the details, to soothe all the hurts, even to make all the right decisions. But God’s got this. And our job is to believe that for ourselves and then to show our children that it’s true.

 

It is four days into the new year as I write. I’ve already messed up that blank slate in ways I couldn’t have imagined when the New Year’s horns were trumpeting. I’ve begged forgiveness. I’ve been brought to my knees. I’ve learned lessons in humility. Now, there is more to learn. Tomorrow is a new day, with no mistakes yet in it. Can I learn to let God accomplish His designs in the life of my children?

 

It’s my prayer for the new year that I can.

 

There are No Do-Overs

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The day started off well enough, if a little early. Ten or so teenaged girls had slept in tents in the backyard, a noisy gaggle that kept me wondering all night long if our neighbors were fuming. But with the coming dawn, it didn’t seem to matter so much. They were quiet at last. My husband got up for an early flight, and I laced running shoes and went out into the still-dark morning to get in 5 miles as the sun rose. Since I was ahead of schedule, five miles stretched to eight, and I arrived home just as the girls were stirring in the backyard. I was peaceful and ready to seize the summer day. 

But that's not how the day played out. 


His dark eyes met mine over his laptop. Storm clouds were brewing in those eyes; I was all too familiar with the storms.


“What’s wrong?” I chirped cheerfully, trying desperately to hold on to the morning calm.

“It’s stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. No one is listening at either school. These credits won’t transfer, and I am going to be in college forever.”

They say mothers are only as happy as their unhappiest child.

“Don’t mope. We’ll figure it out. Just don’t mope.” I cannot stand one more tense conversation about academic advising and college transferring, I thought. I’ve devoted more than a lifetime’s share of time to this transfer and this pair of schools. Enough. Just stop talking about it. And quit moping.

“Please can we cut the watermelon? Puhleeze?”

Blue eyes this time, begging cheerfully but begging just the same, my little girl interrupting my internal rant to the academic advisors of two institutions of higher learning.

“No!” I snapped, trying not to notice the shock in her eyes or the tears pooling there. “No, watermelon. For the tenth time this morning, no watermelon and no moping.”

I gathered keys and my youngest son and headed to the gym. My cellphone tucked into a locker, Nick and I went about our gym routine. I didn’t need to be there; I’d already exceeded my workout goals for the day, but I’d promised Nick we’d go, and I was trying to be kind, despite my cranky beginning. After a couple hours, I retrieved my phone and saw that I’d missed 12 text messages.

The first one I read was from my friend and neighbor, “Really bad accident out in front near your house. Silver car and a minivan. Tell me you are all OK.”

I have both a silver car and a minivan. And those kids I left at home after my snappish outburst? My heart raced. They had plans to go to the pool in the silver car by way of that intersection.

I thought about the sharp words.

Please don’t let those words hang heavy forever …

Thankfully, the next few texts were from my daughter. She told me about the accident, said they’d been delayed leaving the house because she’d sent Katie back inside to empty the dishwasher, and they arrived immediately after the crash. She was worried that the little girls had seen way too much. And then she texted again to let me know the road was still closed and to go home the back way because a helicopter had landed across the street.

A do-over, I thought. I get a do-over. I can go home and be kind and gentle. I can erase the ugliness of the morning and begin again. Better this time.

And then I can write a column about how sometimes we see how precious life is and we are lucky enough to get a do-over. That was how I thought this essay would end. But that’s not how it happened.

I returned home to find a very somber group gathered in my kitchen. Lots of kids trying to make sense of the senseless. Names had been assigned to once nameless accident victims. Four teenaged boys. People they all knew. Somebody’s son. News came quickly, the way it is wont to do in a small town. Some rumors, some facts. Some tales ahead of their time. Four boys in very serious condition. Life in the balance.

There is no do-over. Not really. Not ever. That morning was set in stone. Some lives forever changed.

My 7-year-old talked for what seemed like hours that day and the next about the sounds. “There was a crash. A really loud crash and then a boom and another boom. I think that was the van flipping over onto its roof. And then there were sirens; for probably hours there were sirens. And then the helicopter. So many noises. So many scary noises.” You can’t un-hear the noises. And you can’t un-live the moments, any moments.

The sounds. The sights. The sorrow of the people involved and the people who love them. There’s no do-over.

We get one chance to live any given moment. One chance to bless. One chance to choose the better. One chance to love. And then that moment is gone.

There is redemption. There is grace. There is a God in heaven offering hope.

But there are no do-overs. Not really. There is only a choice to make in each moment.

Will we wish we had the moment back?


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