Happy Feast of St. Francis!

The kids in your life might enjoy this:

St. Francis

Rediscovering the Love

     I wrote this awhile ago and have not published it, because, well, it bares all, and that is hard.  I keep coming back to it though, and some of the recent comments made by Pope Francis during an interview speak so loudly to me on this issue.  Many of his words deeply touched my soul and instilled in me an even greater desire for a stronger conversion in love and compassion.  Like our Holy Father, I stand firmly with Holy Mother Church and embrace all that She teaches, but my approach to living out the faith and sharing it with others is in desperate need of change.  My Papa is speaking and I am trying to listen.

     When I came into the Church I was attracted to the love.  I witnessed a love in people that I had never seen before.  It was so intense that at first I thought it was fake.  There was a woman at my RCIA classes, who was overflowing with the love of Jesus.  Her eyes were shining with His love.  She gave her testimony one night, speaking of her love not only for Jesus, but also for His mother.  I had never before heard anyone speak about God in the way she spoke, filled with so much emotion and love. I was intrigued by her, but highly skeptical.  On the way home, I decided it was time to call the bluff.  I shared my suspicions with my husband, telling him that I really didn't think anyone actually LOVED Jesus like THAT.  His response was silence.  I continued, "I mean, YOU don't love Him like that, do you?"  His reply was soft.  He nodded and whispered, "Yeah, I do."  I can pinpoint that exact moment as one of the most pivotal moments of my conversion.  It was the moment when I realized I was missing something hugely essential in my life.  I began taking my RCIA classes much more seriously.  I listened when the lead catechist advised us to "pray for a desire to love Him."  I listened and began doing everything she suggested.  I prayed, I opened my heart, and He poured Himself in.  After a few months I knew first hand that the woman with love in her eyes was 100% sincere, and I was completely amazed at what God had done in my own heart in following the advice of the lead catechist.  I am forever grateful for the witness both of these women gave me as I was coming into the Church.

     I am also thankful for the warm welcome I received not only after my conversion and during my conversion, but most importantly before my conversion.  I had been in plenty of Catholic churches pre-conversion and always felt like I didn't belong, like I wasn't welcome.  I felt ashamed of who I was, not because I realized all the things I was doing that were against Church Teaching (I had no clue), but because I got the feeling that I was not welcome there simply because I was not Catholic/different.  I felt like this in every single Catholic church I had been in, with the exception of the one in which I eventually ended up receiving my first Sacraments in.  No one gave me a sour look when I remained in my pew at Holy Communion.  People smiled at me, even though I fumbled through most of the Catholic gestures of the Mass.  People were welcoming.  To top it off I went to the mail box one afternoon and found a card addressed to me.  It was an invitation to check out the RCIA.  An invitation sent out to all the non-Catholic spouses in the parish.  Wow, not only did they not dislike me because I wasn't Catholic, they actually WANTED me to consider joining them in their faith.  I took the bait, and here I am!

     At first the same love that attracted me to the faith, filled my own heart, and I wanted to share.  Unfortunately, as time went on my faith sharing transformed from "I'm telling you this because I love you, and want you to experience what I am experiencing (God's love)" to "if you aren't practicing the Catholic faith in the way that I think you should be, than I am not going to hang around you."  I began to think of my little circle of friends as "the ones who had it", and forgot about where I had come from.  I didn't take the time to remember all the warmth given to me in those welcoming smiles.  Smiles freely given in His love, even though they knew I was breaking so many rules.  They had patience with me and waited for Him to change my heart.  We are blessed to belong to a very, very, solid parish, and I would venture to guess that the majority of the parishioners there are daily striving to follow every single teaching of Holy Mother Church to the best of their ability.  We are also blessed with a group of friends outside of our parish community who do the same.  All of this made it fairly easy for me to cut ties with most of my "outside of Church" connections.  Everything worked well for quite a few years.  The problem reared its ugly head when I couldn't live up to my own standards.  When I started asking more out of myself than even God, Himself, was asking.  I had forgotten that He is not asking me to be perfect. What He IS asking for is permission to perfect me Himself. I had forgotten that all I need to do is open my heart, and HE will do the work.  All I could see was my sinfulness and an illusion of perfection in all those surrounding me.  I had forgotten that we are ALL sinners, and began to believe I was the only sinner in the midst of holy perfection.

     It took hitting rock bottom spiritually for me to be awakened to this monster that my own pride had created.  I was in despair.  I found myself on the verge of throwing in the towel, spiritually.  The devil constantly whispered in my ear, "You're not going to make it."  "Who are YOU trying to be?"  "You aren't going to make it, you are going to hell."  Why was I entertaining this conversation?  Well, let's see.  At the time I thought I was failing because I wasn't doing all the "super holy" things I had done in the past.  I wasn't going to daily Mass anymore (by the way there is nothing better than daily Mass, but I just can't manage it right now).  I was very frequently skipping my daily rosary.  I wasn't "feeling" it.  This went on until I one day last fall when I entered the church where I had received my first Confession.  Upon entering the church I experienced the most wonderful thing.  I was immersed in that feeling of love that I had been missing for so long. It hit me in a powerful way and I was so saddened because I had not felt it in so long, and it brought back so many wonderful memories of my conversion.  I went to Confession there and was reminded that our faith is not about completing a checklist of daily devotions, but rather praying with our whole heart.   One really, really well prayed rosary is much better than a half-hearted daily rosary prayed just to check it off the list.  I have held these words in my heart for almost a year now.  What those words have done for me is remind me of why I started praying the rosary in the first place.  Out of love.  I knew it was pleasing to Our Lord and His Mother, and I wanted to do it for that reason.  What my devotion developed into was one not out of love, but out of fear.  I began to fear that if I didn't pray that rosary, I was not going to make it.  After my confession experience I slowly began to find glimpses of joy in praying that rosary again.  I no longer had this huge weight of guilt and fear on my shoulders.  I was doing it out of love again, not out of a fear of going to hell if I didn't.

     I also began to see clearly just how toxic my expectations for myself and those around me were.  I desperately longed for those early days of my conversion when I felt joy and love in my heart, rather than fear, shame, and disappointment.  I knew something was missing, but I couldn't figure out what.  I went back through my memories of those early days and asked myself what was different.  What did I have then, that I don't have now?  The first response was love. The fire of love in my heart was gone.  Fear had smothered it.  The second was humility.  When I entered the Church I knew I was a HUGE sinner, and guess what, I still felt loved.  I felt so, so, so loved.  I could lay in bed at night and literally feel God's love as I drifted off to sleep.  I owned, and in a way embraced my sinfulness, because it made me dependent upon His great Mercy for me.  I knew how much I needed Him and I appreciated all He had done, and was continuing to do, for me.  I knew He loved me.   As I grew in my faith, my pride grew with me. I began to believe that because I was still inclined to a large number of sins, that God did not love me anymore.  I told myself I did not deserve His mercy, and He wouldn't want to give it to me anyway.  Lies, piled upon lies, in my head.

     The blinders are slowly being removed.  I am once again rejoicing in His mercy and am much easier on myself.  I have also spent a good deal of time thinking about how my expectations may have affected those around me.  How many people who were lost did I send a warm smile to during those years?  Not many.  How many felt judged by me, even if I had no intentions of judging?  Probably countless. How many times did people see me and think, "Wow, I should really check out the Catholic faith?"  Zero.   I was so consumed with reaching some unattainable level of holiness (on my own), that I forgot to reach out to myself, and to others, with that same warmth and love that brought me to Him in the first place.  I forgot that the only thing I needed to do to start moving in the right direction is depend on Him, rather than myself to move me.

     Following all the rules and devotions, means nothing without the love.  I wanted everyone to be Catholic, but did not give anyone any reason to want to be Catholic.  In a crowd of non-practicing Catholics you might find me sitting with a frown of discomfort on my face, because maybe someone might use the Lord's name in vain.  Or maybe they might mention what contraceptive they were using.  I was a crab.  No one frowned at me or pouted around me when I was coming into the Church as a contracepting, Lord's name in vain using, big, fat, gigantic sinner.  So why on earth was I not reaching out to people with the same love and patience I was shown?  As the love returns to my heart I am finding a love growing for myself as well as for those who are not in that same little box as me.  People already know where I stand on the issues of the Church.  I no longer feel the need to shove it down their throats, or pout when they don't do back flips (like my heart did) when they hear the Good News.  None of this is going to show them His love.  They need what I needed (and still need), and that is simply to SEE HIS love.
 
      I think Casting Crowns is on to something.  This song is not saying that we should adopt an attitude of moral relativism, or that Jesus doesn't mind our sins as the title might suggest.  Instead, it argues that we should live the faith showing His love to those who don't know Him, rather than closing our doors to them. Check out another powerful song from Casting Crowns . The message of being open to those who aren't exactly on the same page as us, is speaking so loudly to my heart.  I was that girl, and I THANK GOD really, really, holy people reached out to me and allowed my ugly sinfulness into their presence.  I have also been those who ignore the girl or even the woman who pulls her daughter closer to protect her from just walking past the girl.  I am much more ashamed for having been the woman, than I am for having been the girl.  Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine.  Fill me with your love so I can give it to others, in the same way it was given to me!

Eating Crow

     Ehem.  I have an announcement to make.  That's right folks, sometimes you've gotta eat crow, and I cannot allow this post to remain on my blog without eating a little crow.  Entering into my fourth year of homeschooling I am officially proclaiming that I am indeed a little concerned about socialization.  Whew. There.  I said it.  

     Now, to be clear, Webster defines socialization as:

  "the process by which a human being beginning at infancy acquires the habits, beliefs, and accumulated knowledge of society through education and training for adult status."  

So technically speaking I am still not overly concerned about socialization as defined by Webster. I think my kids are doing okay in that department, and technically speaking I suppose I can still stand behind my original post.  BUT, and it's an enormous but, what I have become concerned about is the lack of frequency of consistent, good quality time spent with their peers.  

The Problem

     We've done, and continue to do, quite a few activities outside of the home, but I have found a longing in my children for something more.  Something with more depth.  Something more "Anne of Green Gables Bosom Buddy-ish."  I am not at all implying, nor am I convinced that school outside the home is a necessity for developing deep lasting friendships, but it certainly creates a multitude of opportunities on a daily basis to find that lifelong bosom buddy.  This is something that I failed to admit in my first couple of years of homeschooling, and for that reason, I'm eating crow.  

     

     I love homeschooling and this year, more than ever, thank God everyday for the opportunity to do it, but I think sometimes the cons can be heavily glossed over in an attempt to convince society that it really isn't crazy.  It's not crazy.  It's really, really good, and there are plenty of stats to back that up (maybe in another post), BUT it can also be really, really hard, and I think sometimes I have been afraid to admit the challenges.  In assessing our successes and failures at the end of every school year, I try to figure out ways to fix what I perceive to be our problem areas.  I was pretty disheartened and embarrassed this year when I had to admit our biggest problem area was in the friendship department.  After all, I have been pretty vocal about the fact that that particular department was of no concern to me. My voice echoed in my head, "We have loads of activities, blah, blah, blah." 

What We're Doing About It

     God takes care of all things.  I am so grateful for His attention to every detail.  He has opened new doors for our family through our parish school this year.  Our children are now enrolled as part-time students at the school and are having a wonderful experience.  I see the light of joy in their faces not just after picking them up from school, but spread throughout the rest of the week at home.  I feel like I have the best of both worlds.  I love, love, love teaching my own children, but I also love, love, love the environment of the school.  I love greeting the other parents and teachers.  I love the idea of helping to support an excellent school in whatever little way we can.  What I love most of all is knowing that this experience is helping to fill a void in our lives.  I use the word "our" because I needed this too.  Perhaps even more than the kids. 

     So there, I am finished eating crow...until next time.  I still believe homeschoolers are properly socialized, but in light of my annoying repetition implying it couldn't possibly EVER be an issue for ANY family, and then discovering an offshoot of it to be a bit of an issue under my own roof, I felt the need to do this! 

     

    

Our Journey to Homeschooling

     Our oldest child was in her second year of preschool when I first began entertaining the idea of homeschooling.  My heart was leaping at the possibility of embarking on this radical journey.  I began presenting all my pros of homeschooling to my husband (totally downplaying the cons), trying desperately to win him over.  He entertained my litany of lists for awhile before finally confessing to me that in theory it was a good idea, but it just wasn't for us.  He continued, saying, "I just don't think YOU can handle it."  Ouch. Okay, what I really mean is, "OOOOUUUUUCH!"  My degrees are in early childhood and elementary education.  I was so embarrassed.  My own husband did not think I could teach our child.  My homeschool push was officially over.  I shed a few tears and buried my homeschool dreams.  My husband chose a fantastic local school and we promptly enrolled. 

   Kindergarten drop off definitely makes my top ten list of hardest days of my life.  I was eight months pregnant dropping off my firstborn child in a new school where we knew no one (we enrolled in a closer parish school, not our own).  To top it all off the day before school started she had been diagnosed with allergies to corn and eggs in addition to her previous diagnosis of celiac disease.  If you have ever dealt with food allergies you know it takes weeks to figure out a base of safe foods for your child to eat.  I was in a complete state of panic leaving her there with perfect strangers in charge of feeding her.  I dropped her off and headed straight to the Adoration Chapel to bawl.  I returned at the end of the day to pick up my tired, but smiling girl.  She loved it, and no one messed up her food!  Drop off became much easier and even I eventually adjusted to the routine.

     We loved our daughter's school and homeschooling became a vague memory of something that I thought was great, but could not do.  It no longer existed in my mind as an option for our family, and I was pretty comfortable with our life in school.  However, God had different plans.  He always does, and my happy little comfortable world was about to change.

    Halfway through our daughter's first grade year, the school system began sharing a possible model for a tuition change.  God knows exactly what will get our attention, and now He had successfully gathered the attention of my husband.  The change being discussed would have been a very expensive change for our family, and one evening my husband came home from work announcing that he did not know what we would do if this option was chosen.  I was shocked.  I loved her school and could not imagine having to leave.  I didn't say anything, but prayed.  As I was praying, God placed a word on my heart, that I had not allowed for two years...homeschool.  Homeschool?!!!!  Are you kidding me, God?  I was a little miffed.  I argued with God in my head.  My mind voice, remembering my humiliation after our last homeschool discussion, shouted, "Okay, God.  If YOU want us to homeschool, YOU tell him, but I am not going to!"  

     THE VERY NEXT DAY my husband came home from work and presented me with three options.  The first of the options was homeschool.  I broke into tears.  I was REALLY comfortable with what we were already doing and I was REALLY NOT looking forward to getting my hopes up again for something that was not going to happen.  We spent the next few months researching, and this time I let my husband lead the way.  He researched the pros and cons, he looked at the different options for curricula, and he was left to make the final decision.  By the time he announced that we would be homeschooling, the proposed tuition change was no longer even on the table.  Staying in the school would no longer have been a financial burden, but we now knew God was calling us to something different.  

     We began homeschooling the next August and now have three years under our belts.  In general it seems to fit our family well.  There are definitely challenges, and this year in particular, summer break couldn't come soon enough, but in the end we feel like it is worth it.  I am now very thankful that we did not originally homeschool.  I cannot stress enough the importance of having the support of my husband.  There are days when I want to throw in the towel and quit, and on those days, it is he who encourages me and reminds me of all we are accomplishing.  I would not have had this support if I had succeeded in pushing him into homeschooling as I had originally tried.  In addition, and more importantly, God made it perfectly clear to me that this was His will for our family.  He could not have been more clear, or prompt, in responding to my snarky challenge to "tell him yourself if you want us to homeschool."  So, for now, we are here, homeschooling.  We intend to do this all the way through.  However, I always say we are taking it year by year, because as we have learned, you never know what plans God has up His sleeve!!!

The moral of the story:  When making any big decision, first and foremost, seek the will of God, and don't be afraid to ask Him to show you the way (sometimes He does so, very clearly)!!!  Secondly, talk with your husband, pray with your husband, and then step back and allow him to make the final decision.  I have found an indescribable peace in making decisions in this way.  You will not always get what you want using this formula, but you will have peace in knowing that even when you don't understand it, God's plan is always what is best, and you can trust that He is guiding your husband in his decision making process (assuming your husband is consulting with Him)!

     

  

     

       

Nature's Treasures

      When I was a little girl, I spent a great deal of time playing in the woods.  I loved the peacefulness.  The quiet noises and earthy smell delighted my soul.  I was at home in the woods.  The trees transformed into houses, stones were placed in just the right places for my "tile" floors, exposed roots winding up the hillside became the steps inside my home, leading me and my imaginary guests from my downstairs living areas to my upstairs quarters. It was from the bounty of God's great gifts in nature, that my dad provided for our family.  He did commercial fishing in the summer months, hunted and sold ginseng, trapped, skinned, and sold furs through the winter, and for a few years, dove the muddy waters of the Mississippi in search of clams to sell.  Despite my mother's strong disliking for the taste of wild game, most of our meals consisted of things my dad and brother had brought home from hunting or fishing.  From a very early age, two of my favorite things to hunt in the woods were morel mushrooms and those little red berries connected to the roots that were like gold to my father (ginseng).   Unfortunately when I was old enough for my "real" hunting adventures to begin, I did not do so well.  I am sure Dad was more than slightly disappointed when he took me on my first hunting trip, that involved more than just picking something growing from the ground.  When my moment of glory came I could not pull the trigger and shoot the cute little squirrel.  Oh, I would be glad to eat him for dinner, but I quickly discovered that I was not going to be able to be the one who was MAKING him dinner!!!  Dad never took me hunting again, and I never asked to go again.  My years of practicing my aim at the little pop can (which I thoroughly enjoyed) were over too.

     Dad had given up on making me a hunter, but my love for nature and the woods remained.  Seven years ago when my husband and I looked at the lot we built our house on, he stood picturing where the house would sit, where the garage would be, etc.  I, on the other hand, headed straight for the woods.  I stepped out of the real world and into the quiet peacefulness of the woods.  "Sold!," I announced.  Immediately I began picturing our children making the same kinds of memories I had made myself as a child in the woods, and I very much wanted that for our children.  But, what really sealed the deal???  A few weeks later we came back again.  It was morel season.  There were quite a few dead elms on the edge of woods.  I had to know.  It was raining, and I think I even had on my church clothes, but I didn't care, and off I went into the woods.  I didn't have to look long before finding a handful of morels!  My husband called the owner (who probably thought we were INSANE) and asked if I could pick them (he said yes, btw).  We enjoyed those mushrooms for dinner that night, and were now certain this land was for us.  I mean, SERIOUSLY, who would pass up land that has morels right there, right off of where the yard would be????!!!!

     So now every year I go down to the woods in April and May wondering what treasures we might find.  Some years we find quite a few, and others we find only one or two, but we are always grateful for whatever we find.  This year I have had no success.  I have gone down daily to find absolutely nothing.  Today was the same.  Except for this time I did find what looked to me like a morel which had already been found by someone else:


                                    




I also found some other things that interested me.  So after coming back inside I decided to venture out once more, only this time with the camera to take some pictures of those interesting things.

Like this:

By the way, I am TOTALLY afraid of wolf spiders and look who snuck into the picture without me knowing!  I had a slight increase in risk of heart attack after I stood up, saw it, and realized just how close we were.



this:

 and this:

AND...because God is great...ALL THE TIME...out of the corner of my eye...I also saw THIS:

We are not a greedy family and this sole little guy (split into tiny pieces to share) is going to be a delight to our six mouths tonight!

Yum, yum!!!!

 

A pretty great article on gluten free myths.

Long Lost Summer Found

    When I think of summer I remember long days of swimming with my friends, chasing fireflies, and wishing it would never end.  Every summer I try to find those days with my own children, but they are lost.  They are buried in the busyness of our lives.  Baseball, soccer, play practice, piano, AHG, Cub Scouts, basketball, lego club, art class, swimming...it never ends.  SUMMER!!!!  Where are you????  I miss you!!!  Perhaps I just need a different perspective.  In fact, if I look out my window right now I know I will see two boys having the time of their lives, sliding down the Slip and Slide, enjoying the freedom of  "no school", and awaiting their next big game or practice with great anticipation.  I also know that there is a sweet little girl bathing herself after her own adventures outside left her covered in grass clippings.  And the chubby-cheeked boy, who desperately wants to be bigger than he is, has finally surrendered after a valiant battle against his afternoon nap.  Now he is resting his busy little feet, perhaps dreaming of the fun he will have when he wakes up.  Maybe, just maybe,  if I take time to look at life through their eyes, rather than my crabby, pessimistic  "how am I ever going to do all that I need to do" eyes, I will see that my summer has not been lost at all.