The Best Wine

As I was going into Mass Sunday morning, I saw a young mom struggling with a preschooler, a toddler, and a bulky, heavy infant seat. I helped her with the door and pushed away a now familiar pang. I know it is a struggle; that stage of parenting is super hard. But I liked it. No, I really, really loved it. Revelled in it. I miss it.

Last September, Mike and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary with a trip to northern California. It was Mike's idea--completely, totally, and 100% Mike's idea. He's been many times for business and he was certain I'd love it there. I was certain that I have a fear of airplanes and earthquakes and being very far from my children. I was certain that Sarah Annie was not going to be thrilled about weaning (despite the fact that she was absolutely old enough).  I was certain it was imprudent to plan any sort of trip out of town during the first week of the school year. He was gently insistent.

I was nervous, too. We'd never been away from our children for a whole week. Come to think of it, we'd never really spent a week together without him working since 1996. And that was the one vacation we'd taken in all our married life.  What if we got bored with each other? I knew that this season--the one begun when Michael's engagement coincided with the obvious fact that our baby days are over--was not the season I'd always lived in my dreams. That was the season just ending. What if I hated this season?

He wanted to start in Napa, in wine country. I didn't drink wine. What in the world was he thinking? I am the child who saw alcoholism up close and personal. Wine sets off buzzers and beepers and PTSD. Wine? Seriously?  He was thinking that I love agriculture, that I throw myself headlong into the land and I want to see it and smell it and touch it and taste it and... well, frankly winemaking is the total package. I was dubious.

But I said yes. One morning, under a deadline, I emailed him this column to proofread. And at the very end, I wrote "Let's go to San Francisco. I trust you."

So we did.

I know he worried as we drove away from the San Francisco airport. I tried to look cheerful, but my heart sunk. It was pretty ugly. But then, as we drew near to Sausalito,the cloud lifted and my soul soared. From that moment on, the trip was absolutely everything he'd hoped and so much more than I imagined. 

First, the whole wine thing was a huge success. I loved Napa valley. Just absolutely loved it. And, now, I kind of like wine, too. It's a hobby we share. From there, the trip just kept surprising me with joy. 

One night, in Monterey, after I'd skipped down Cannery Row (yes, really, skipped), and flitted through a Ghirardelli shop, and inhaled the beach at sunset (the first time I'd ever seen the sun set over the water), we had dinner outdoors. Actually, we ate outdoors almost every night, but on this night, I remember revelling in the idea that no matter how empty our house became, the "us"--Mike and me together--would be so full. And I think I was a little surprised.

So, last Sunday at Mass, when that familiar wave of want washed over me, I remembered sharing wine and conversation on the water in Monterey. I remembered that we did this, but I had a growing sense that there is true renewal in this season of life. The end of childbearing isn't the end; it's the beginning of something even deeper.

I nearly cried when Father began his homily by saying that the wine in the wedding at Cana is a symbol of joy and the wedding is analagous to marriage itself. He went on to explain that everyone expects the good wine at the beginning and so, too, everyone focuses on the giddy joy of the newly married years. For us, those were good years. And "giddy" is an excellent word for them. We worked super hard. We also giggled. A lot. 

Father went on to say that the bridal couple doesn't even notice as the joy begins to run out. It's the Blessed Mother who watches over the pair and it's she who points to the solution to the problem of lack. Do whatever he tells you. And then, everyone is surprised by the abundant excellent wine later in the wedding celebration. Later in marriage. There is this growing sense of forever joy. Forever.

Joy.

Fine, miraculous, consecrated, holy. Joy. 

We can drink deep and give thanks.

Wedding Day: Lord, Hear Our Prayer

Twenty-five years ago today, a new life began. It grew from the love of a brand-new marriage. Nine months later, on September 29, 1988, a son was born. My firstborn. The baby who made me Mama, who made us family.

Today, that boy--now grown to a man--will take a wife. In many ways, he's grown up here in this space and in the pages of books and newspapers. We've stumbled along together, he and I, learning as we go, and sharing those lessons with all of you.

I'm at a loss for words. I have been all month.

I tend to take a while to process big things and this is a very big thing. We head to church this morning to meet both the same priest who baptized Michael and our dear pastor, who will concelebrate the marriage. My heart is full--very, very full. I'm eager to encircle Kristin, to call her daughter-in-love, and to fully celebrate this new beginning. But as I said, I'm at a loss for words. So, I beg your prayers for us this weekend and for Michael and Kristin as they begin their new life together.  And I leave you with Mike's words from last night, when he welcomed family and friends after the rehearsal.

I thought a fair-amount about what I might be able to share this evening….something that would capture what Elizabeth and I are feeling this weekend.  Coupled with that, I also considered the amount of time I would be allowed to speak before my sons would begin shouting me down.  I think I have about 30-seconds left.

Mark and Terumi, distinguished grandparents, family and friends, thank you for accepting our invitation tonight and for sharing this evening with us.  Elizabeth and I are very grateful.

In spite of what anyone might tell you (and by anyone I suppose I mean our current culture), this life is about relationships.

What we share and what others are willing to share with us.

What we do for others and what we allow others to do for us.

About half of this room is filled with people who have supported Elizabeth and me for at least 30 years and in many cases, closer to 50.  They were there to help us through school, help us through cancer, to help us change the diapers of nine children and help to drive to so many soccer games and ballet rehearsals that it would be impossible to count.

I know the other half of the room is filled with those who have supported Mark and Terumi in a similar fashion.  And while I may not know the specifics of their actions, I do know something about life…..and this outward demonstration, their attendance here tonight, is life.

As I look around this room tonight, each and every person can claim a special relationship with Kristin and Michael.  Grandparents, aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers, and many friends.  As you both consider the weekend ahead, I hope you will take time to reflect on the love and the support which surrounds you tonight, which will surround you tomorrow and which will surround you for years to come.

Kristin and Michael, as you have learned, marriage in the Catholic Church is a grace-filled sacrament.   As the early 20^th century Belgian Priest and theologian, Jacques Leclercq wrote:

The sacrament of marriage is the imprint of God on the souls of the married couple, not merely in order to deify their life in general, but in order to deify their union . . . The sacrament of marriage is thus not merely a religious act sanctifying a human one, it is a seed sown in the soul and bearing fruit through the whole of married life, giving life to all its acts and sentiments . . . it is a predisposition to holiness placed in their souls by God on the day of their wedding.

As you celebrate the powerful and grace-filled sacrament of marriage and enjoy the events of this weekend,  I pray that you will find time to reflect upon the many blessings God has bestowed upon you.  Particularly the blessings of your family and your friends who have gathered with you tonight.

May God grant you many years and may He bless your marriage forever.  We love you both.

video credit: Mary Beth Foss, with help from Kristin's sister, Cherise.

Homecoming

Yesterday, the painter found this picture. It made me smile and then, unexpectedly, cry (this may or may not have to do with lack of sleep and the influence of paint fumes). This picture was taken October 31, 1982. Homecoming, my senior year of high school.

It's Homecoming Week in our small town. My children don't go to the local high school, but Patrick is going to the dance with Hilary and Mary Beth is going with Hilary's younger brother, Jack (I know, too cute, right?). I told Hilary earlier this week that I remember the homecoming dance my senior year as the absolute best night of high school. 

I remember sitting with Mike late into the night and planning our future. Never mind that this night came after the world's rockiest high school "romance" (if it was even that). And never mind there were still plenty of tears yet to shed. In that moment of time, we were perfect. I don't really remember the details, but I do remember him saying something about a big family-- four kids sounded good to him. I also remember we planned to open a day care center and school, firmly rooted in Montessori. I detailed for him every nuance of educational philosophy and prepared environment. He was totally on board. We were going to change the world, beginning with the children.

So, that all worked out, right? We have our own little cottage school. (And exactly 26 years after that perfect date, we welcomed our ninth baby into the world.)

Sally Clarkson writes, "As a younger woman, I struggled with many of the scriptures referring to a woman's role in life. But the more I have lived, the more I have come to appreciate the beauty and wisdom of my God-given assignment. As a free-spirted person who generally thinks outside the box, I have found deep fulfillment and satisfaction in exercising my gifts, strengths,and personality to bless my family, neighbors, and friends from the strength of my home. Establishing my household as a place in which the greatness of God and a devotion to him is lived out each day has given me focus. Loving my children and nurturing their hearts and minds while training their characters and leading them to know the Lord and his purposes has satisfied my soul's need for purpose. The Mission of Motherhood,

I wish I could show you how my home looks this morning. The contractor who promised we'd do one room at a time has successfully put every single room on the main floor and my bedroom and bathroom out of commission at the same time. There is no shower available to anyone at this moment. No room is untouched by this process of transformation. Mike was up until 2:00 this morning re-wiring the bathroom. I'm bone tired. But these words--this one paragraph of Sally's-- is propelling me through this day.

Tonight, my teenagers and their friends will come here for brunch after the dance. I have a vision. It's not a business and a school and a few advanced degrees. It's a home and a handmade meal. And by golly, it's going to be warm and welcoming and beautiful. As I move about my space, putting things back in order (even bettter than before), I am so grateful for a soul overflowing with a sense of His purpose. I am grateful for a life of love lived in out in the strength of my home. I am ever so grateful for homecomings.

~~~

This post is part of 31 Days To Remind Myself of the Mission. I'd love to hear your thoughts about mission and vocation in the comment box. Find all the posts in the series here. And please, help yourself to a button if you want one for your blog. I'd love to read what you say there. 

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Forever In the Forest

He took my hand as we started down the path and I couldn't help but think how strange it felt. Try as I might, I could not think of any other time within the last quarter century that I had walked a wooded trail without a baby within, or strapped to my chest, or holding my hand. Or all three.

And still, it felt really right. If I were asked to pick a moment when I first knew--really knew--that I was in love with this man, it was on a wooded trail. The man was a boy back then. Those woods, those dear, familiar east coast woods, were so very young compared to the woods we were about to walk that day in California. 

How fitting then, that this clear September day found us in the woods again. The grown-up woods. Even the grown-old woods. For nearly half the Septembers of our marriage I have been round with child. But not this September, or the three just past. It's been a process of letting go. I was the mom with the baby for so long and I loved being that mom so much. The letting go has not been quick or easy. I am painfully aware that the seasons of autumn babies are no more. Slowly, I see glimpses of what lies ahead, in these years after babies. More than anything I am struck by how full they can be of that first love, the one that set the rest in motion.

He's still here. My heart still skips a beat every single time I encounter him again after he's been away. It's not that young, green love of the forest by the lake in the town where we were children. It's a big, grown up love, the kind you find in a forest with scarred trunks and soaring treetops. So we set off down the path, just us, beginning a new season of our lives together.

The trees were breathtaking. They are massive, old trees, trees with a history that stretches back a full 2,000 years. My camera was no match for their immense presence. I could not begin to capture the essence of that forest. 

I stood and stared long and hard inside the burned out redwood. Trees created to last forever? Truly made of resilient stuff. The fire burned within, but it didn't kill the tree. Instead, the tree grew anew. I thought of the grave realities we met so early, the really scary stuff, the heated words, the tired anger, the every day hard work of figuring it all out. The fires of us. And there he was. Still. Tall and strong against the sky. New life, new love growing still, reaching heavenward. Always reaching heavenward.

He delighted in my awe, watching me dance along the shaded path as if I were a character in an Elsa Beskow book. I could tell he was well pleased with himself for insisting we go all that way to see the trees. I told him I could stay there forever. He suggested we send for the children. The children! They would love the giant forest we discovered. We'll bring them back there, I promised myself. And we'll get them out in their own eastern woods more often. 

I left with great reluctance, inhaling deep the scent of that rich forest as if I could keep the big wonder of it inside of me even as we went. Trees. Trees put there by the Creator around the time the Son walked the same earth. Forever trees. It's a mystery, really, how anything can last forever in this disposable world. Some things do, though.

Forever.

A mystery.

And a grace. 

With my Heart in San Francisco

If you're growing weary of my travelogue, I do apologize. I think my parents are enjoying it and I know Mike is loving it, so I plan to continue to work my way through my pictures and add words as I go.

We reluctantly left Napa and headed back into San Francisco. This is a city that MIke knows well. It occurred to me more than once how his frequent traveling was blessing our time together. Beyond the obvious frequent flyer, car, and hotel points (and those were huge), he knows how to travel well. I just followed his lead. 

On our way in, we wound up a mountain and then pulled over. Mike wanted me to look from that height across to the Golden Gate Bridge. And I did. That might not be a big deal to some people, but I have a serious fear of heights and this trip was all about conquering that impediment. Pretty amazing view. I'm glad we stopped. I'm really glad I got out of the car. 

We went to lunch at The Slanted Door, a Vietnamese restaurant that overlooks San Francisco Bay. What a view! Just an aside, we had an interesting conversation about gray hair. We'd noticed that many of our servers were our age or older and all of the women had naturally gray hair. And all of them were really very pretty. So, I extended my people-watching on the topic of gray and looked around. I think leaving one's hair gray is more acceptable in the west? Am I wrong here? I notice new grays every day and I'm not inclined to color. Mike and I made a deal that if he gets to thinking it looks like steel wool, he'll let me know pronto.

After lunch, we walked around a bit and headed to our hotel. There, I changed into some serious athletic walking shoes. They were a last minute gift from Patrick--our resident Mr. Nike-- and I'm so glad I tossed them in my suitcase. We walked. And walked. And walked. It was glorious. I'm not a city person at all, but a city like this could change my mind. Walking it was the perfect way to experience it. And all those significantly steep hills? The better to work up an appetite for amazing food.

We walked from the hotel down to the wharf where the sea lions bask in the sun. The sea lion picture was a must for Nicky, but it's the worst of the trip (sorry). We meandered a little around the shops at the pier and then looked up towards a steeple. Then, we just started walking that way. Straight up, it seemed. Mike kept asking if I wanted to take a cab. I most definitely did not. I had been working out and eating Paleo for months to get ready for this trip. Bring on the hills!

The church was St. Peter and Paul. It was open and we went in to admire its majesty. There was a group there and I felt out of place and awkward, so we didn't stay long. We started walking again.

This time, we walked through Chinatown and into the financial district and to Old St. Mary's. We arrived at 6:00. Just in time for Vespers. Only the church was locked up tight. 

So we walked again. I thought it would be fun to visit St. Francis parish in San Francisco. It looked nice from the outside. Locked up, too. What's up with the locked up churches in California?

From there, we walked Nob Hill, stopped at a sushi restaurant to buy takeout for dinner and then threaded our way back from whence we came. Downhill. Awesome.

The next morning, I got up and out early, by myself no less-- in the big city. I found Starbucks using the app on my phone and walked a whole block alone:-).  Then we took a little spin around Lombard Street. Oh, my!

We left the city pretty early in the day. Mike had big plans. Big, big, gigantic plans. 

More later.