Star of Faith

2006-08-13T13:51:00.000-05:00

Dear Lukas

Two years ago, your wonderful parents brought you to INSTEP because Dad needed to work and Mom needed to go to school. You cried -- long, loud, wailing cries -- for the first two weeks, wearing yourself out as I pushed your stroller in circles around the parking lot. You didn't do too much else. But I knew something was brewing in those beautiful blue eyes; that there was an ocean of joy and adventure and possibility hidden somewhere just below the surface. Indeed, you were walking before we knew it. As soon as you could take a step, you learned to climb, and climb you did: on chairs, on tables, on the playground equipment, anywhere you could put your feet and some places you couldn't. Falling didn't stop you; bumps and bruises were rights of passage that only made you stronger and more willing. And your mind grew just as your body -- in leaps and bounds. What a privilege, to finally see those thoughts of yours take shape in the form of words. Everything you saw and experienced, at home and at INSTEP, was a source of such wonder and joy and perplexity and excitement. You spoke in exclamation points, chasing away any dullness or monotony. (Life for you was anything but.) Your new bike! Grandma's house! A worm in the dirt! Annie coming to pick you up! With you, life was always loud and colorful and real and joyful and worth shouting about.

You were - and are - a beautiful boy. Beautiful inside and out. A boy in every sense of the word. And a child that we at INSTEP were so, so blessed to have known. You left on Friday the way you first came: with little fanfare but obvious contentment to be in Mom's arms (your favorite place to be). She was sad, and we were all holding back tears. She wanted to carry you out the car sleeping, but you woke up and managed a final "Bye everyone!". And we will never forget those words you spoke to us earlier that day, just before naptime: "Guys, it's my last day today, and I'm going to miss you." A moment of stillness, of seriousness; a flickering glimpse into a reality none of us want to face. In your three-year-old simplicity and wisdom, you say the words we want to say, in a way we never could.

Lukas, I wish for you a continued life full of joy and wonder and adventure, wherever you go and whatever you do. Keep laughing, keep climbing, keep chasing, keep asking questions. As much as we'd like to keep you here with us forever, we know we can't. You have your own life to lead -- and lead it you will. But when you're not jumping from jungle gyms or chasing girls or digging up worms, I hope you'll stop back in and say hi.

After all, we'll miss you, too.

2006-07-10T16:32:00.000-05:00

Boys and Bugs

This month is "bug month" at INSTEP. That means we are talking about all things creepy and crawly -- caterpillars, butterflies (including our soon-to-be-butterfly class pet named Nicholas, who is currently transforming inside his crysallis), bees, spiders, ants, grasshoppers, ladybugs, worms, you name it. We are reading books about bugs, doing art projects such as making caterpillars on popsicle sticks, and otherwise going all-out bug crazy. The boys find this topic especially fascinating. Take Lukas for instance, who will turn three tomorrow. As he and Tom were painting bugs this afternoon, I asked him a question, which went as follows:

Me: Lukas, what's your favorite kind of bug?

*thoughtful pause*

Lukas: The really icky ones.

2006-06-28T21:51:00.000-05:00

Why I love This Website

I just came across this beautiful gem of wisdom from one of Danielle Bean's readers:

The kids have taught me so much about God. My 5 year old insisted on giving me a toonie ($2 Cdn. coin) for my birthday. I knew this was half of her entire savings. At first I didn’t want to take it from her but she insisted. I took it and said to myself, I’ll just find a way to give it back to her. And since she was so generous I would give her back $5. It took a while to sink in but I realized this is how God takes care of us. What father would not repay his generous child? Since that day I no longer worry. If we generously turn everything over to God, He will provide for us in abundance.

How much do we give to God? Or rather, how much do we hold back? Money is one tangible way of measuring generosity, to be sure; but how about other "gifts" in our lives -- friendships, family, leisure activities, work, home, and all the joys and sorrows that accompany our journey. Since everything we have comes from our Father to begin with -- namely, our very lives -- is it too much to give Him back our lives in return?

2006-06-24T20:03:00.000-05:00

Summer is Here!!!

Spring being a tough act to follow, God created June, remarked the American actor Al Bernstein. And the kids know how to celebrate... by just being kids. Shorts, sundresses, sunshine, and smiles; giggling girls and boisterous boys; digging for worms and chasing after each other with shouts and laughter. With Summer comes more bumps and bruises, to be sure: already I've applied more than a few bandaids, an ice pack, and water to a tearful eye rubbed with sunscreen. But pain is hardly an obstacle to childhood's blissful freedom. More often than not, I've discovered, bandaids are just for show: a kiss to a child's "owwie" works equally well. (Never underestimate the power of a kiss. They will be screaming one minute, and fine the next.) Such is life in a world where time is measured in activities rather than minutes. Summers, I have decided (at least, Summers in Minnesota where the weather is deliciously warm rather than scorchingly hot) are God's way of saying that sometimes, we take life far too seriously. Life is meant to be enjoyed. Owwies and all. So get out there! Dig in the mud, chase a toddler, jump in the pool, laugh until it hurts. Enjoy God's beautiful gifts. Summer is here, and life is good.

2006-06-13T22:52:00.000-05:00

All Grown Up

The youngest member of my favorite band is married. To a Georgia girl, just like his brother... (oh the irony.) :) Life is strange. Good...but strange. So much has changed since '97, and yet it sometimes seems like just yesterday.

And I'll tell you again like I did nine years ago: Hanson's music is authentic, fun, beautiful and made to last. I wish the same for their marriages.

2006-06-01T18:34:00.000-05:00

Congratulations!!!

To two of my best friends, now husband and wife, and a beautiful couple at that -- Seth and Elizabeth Patrich. Here's to a long and blessed life together, surrounded by family and friends and filled with love and joy.

2006-05-23T21:16:00.000-05:00

Be Idealistic

The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried. ~G.K. Chesterton

I have a vivid memory of a particular game my sister and I would play together as children; a game sparked perhaps by boredom or inclement weather, but always incredibly fun and silly and infused with endless possibility. We called the game Flying Lessons. It consisted of nothing but our energetic selves, a few blankets, and (did Mom know about this?? Sorry, Mom!) the fascinating ledge formed by the back of the couch. One of us would be the "teacher" and the other the "student", the latter of whom would be carefully outfitted in a magical super-cape (a doll's blanket or two) and guided up to the Take-Off ledge, first balancing precariously with the Teacher's aid, and later solo, arms extented and fingers spread, absorbing words of steady encouragement: "now bend your knees and on the count of three jump as high as you can... keep your arms out! Think of the sky!" The daring Student would inevitably plunge straight to the floor (a fall softened by a makeshift landing pad of couch pillows), only to rise again for another try. The lessons went on with determination for what seemed like hours, until dinner beckoned or a friend came over to play.

I am thankful, looking back on it, that no one stepped in to tell us we couldn't fly. Perhaps we got a "girls, stop jumping off the couch" from Mom once or twice; memory fails me. But we never once heard: you crazy kids, flying is impossible, just give it up. There is something inside us as adults that prevents us from "spoiling the fun" for children, however ridiculous that fun might seem. We remember the days of our own childhood when the impossible seemed anything but, and deep inside we can't fully let go of such longings. We know in our hearts that there is something beyond this world, because our hearts were made for that something: a place of dreams fulfilled and imagination realized. Eternity with God. Heaven.

Don't ever let anyone tell you are being too idealistic; that the real world doesn't work that way, so get a grip and don't set your standards so high. If there's one thing that annoys me more than anything else, it's this attitude, so prevalent in the world: the idea of "settling" for something because you just couldn't "reach" that something else -- something you know deep inside is better. I can understand where this perspective comes from...most people, myself included, have gotten their hopes up at some point in their life only to have those hopes dashed, and with that disappointment a new resolve never to "get my hopes up" again. The difference is this: people and their promises will always disappoint, and we should never put all our hope in them. But we should put our hope in God, always. The things we hope for now may not all be granted to us in this lifetime. But one day, every single dream and hope and desire we have will be fulfilled by our Father, who knows our hearts and wishes only our good.

This is why I seek to live by God's standards, given to us so beautifully in the Church. To me, they are not strict rules which are outdated and impossibly difficult to follow; nor are they simply guidelines to be jotted down in the back of your head and followed when convenient. They are the Loving Arms of our Papa in Heaven, encircling us His children. They are the gates of His amazing Playground -- why should we want so desparately to escape the great palaces of the inner court for the dingy sidewalks and dangerous streets outside? Yet even if we should run away (for the gate is never locked), He will always welcome us back with open arms.

So don't settle. Ever. For anything.
Strive, grow, dance, climb, fly.

Children know this simple truth: (and it is, indeed, a truth): super powers exist. God is the ultimate Superhero, and we are made to share in His amazing power... we'll never fully grasp that reality here on earth, but we should always keep trying; we should spread our wings and limber up for that glorious day when flying will be a reality.

Is this just wild imagination? Maybe. Optimism? Sure. Being unrealistic? That depends on which world is more real to you: this one, or the spiritual. Don't eat from the dumpster -- lift your eyes -- we have a Banquet! It is not too good to be true... it IS true, and it is beyond good.

2006-05-21T22:05:00.000-05:00

Mi Hermanita y Yo

Today I took my little sister to the airport to board a plane for Europe -- first to France, then on to Madrid, Spain, where she will end up in Valencia to study for two months. As I am writing, she is thousands of feet in the air over the Atlantic, watching a movie on a private television screen and enjoying a fine dinner. (Okay, so the movie is probably bad and the food likely consists of dry chicken and a celephane-wrapped brownie, but whatever...I am jealous!!) :)

We only had two days together this week before she took off, three hours of which took place in the car to or from the airport, but I am glad for that time nonetheless. As I am glad for all the many years (twenty-one!) and memories we've shared. May the months and years ahead be filled with many more to come.

Querida Kris, la mejor hermanita del mundo: Que disfrutes muchisimo tu tiempo en españa, y te escribe a nosotros. Ahora eres una mujer del mundo, pero siempre una hija de Dios. Gracias por tu amistad y espíritu de goza. ¡Te amo!

~Tu hermana, Nic

2006-05-10T21:25:00.000-05:00

The Vision

by Peter Greig, www.24-7prayer.com

So this guy comes up to me and says, “What’s the vision? What’s the big idea?” I open my mouth and words come out like this…

The vision? The vision is JESUS - obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus. The vision is an army of young people. You see bones? I see an army.
And they are FREE from materialism. They laugh at 9-5 little prisons.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday. They wouldn’t even notice.
They know the meaning of the Matrix, the way the West was won.
They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations. They need no passport. People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.
They are free, yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.

What is the vision? The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars.
It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure.
Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation.
It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.
This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause.
A million times a day its soldiers choose to loose that they might one day win the great “Well done” of faithful sons and daughters.
Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night.
They don’t need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: “COME ON!”

And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history in the making
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is scheming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing…

This is the sound of the underground
And the army is discipl(in)ed.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms.
The tattoo on their back boasts “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners. Martyrs. Who can stop them ? Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them?
And the generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and with great barrow loads of laughter!

Waiting. Watching: 24 - 7 - 365.
Whatever it takes they will give: Breaking the rules. Shaking mediocrity from its cosy little hide. Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The advertisers cannot mold them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.

They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive inside.
On the outside? They hardly care. They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate, but never to hide.
Would they surrender their image or their popularity?
They would lay down their very lives - swap seats with the man on death row - guilty as hell. A throne for an electric chair.

With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.

Their DNA chooses JESUS. (He breathes out, they breathe in.)
Their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.
Their words make demons scream in shopping centres.
Don’t you hear them coming?

Herald the weirdos! Summon the losers and the freaks. Here come the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes. They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension. Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.

And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come easily; it will come soon.

How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself, the groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God. My tomorrow is his today. My distant hope is his 3D. And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great “Amen!” from countless angels, from hero’s of the faith, from Christ himself. And he is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.

Guaranteed.

2006-05-10T20:05:00.000-05:00

Be Thankful

When you lock your keys in your car for the second time in three months, and have no one to blame but yourself (this time -- you're off the hook, Frassati;)...BE THANKFUL you are only two miles away from your house, and your dear roommate kindly rushes out the door with your spare keys in hand to rescue you.

When you get to work and already feel like going back to bed... BE THANKFUL you have a paying job that you enjoy and clients who would miss you and ask for you by name if you were gone.

When the number of said clients reaches twenty-one (five more than we technically have capacity for) and you are frantically supervising eight of them in a painting project (washable, thank goodness), attempting unsuccessfully to keep two curious toddlers away from the paint, to keep the paint off their clothes, their bodies, and the walls, trying to help wash little red and green and blue hands... and all this to the wonderful background music of Darling Baby screaming at the top of her lungs... BE THANKFUL... for Just. Being. Alive. One step at a time.

When you come home after work and promptly burst into tears because of all the stress... BE THANKFUL you have a warm bed to fall asleep in, friends to confide in, a Bible to read, and a whole nine hours of sleep to recharge.

When, the very next morning, your car won't start on the way to work (because of a broken ignition and not just a dead battery)...BE THANKFUL you are parked right across the street from a service station, right next to a coffee shop, and a phone call away from your generous coworker who gives you a ride both to and from work.

When "The Tornado" (a precious toddler who will go unnamed) dumps over the huge container of bristle blocks and sprawls them out across the floor for the tenth time (leaving you to pick them up)...BE THANKFUL for this cheerful, energetic bundle of joy, whose smile lights up the entire room and whose laugh makes us all feel better.

It is much easier to be thankful when you realize that every minute of our lives is nothing but a gift: our time, our money, our family and friends... not ours, but God's, given to us out of love. Consider these simple but deeply profound words of one of the 20th century's greatest writers (and quite possibly the most grateful person I have encountered):

"Here lies another day
During which I have had eyes, ears, hands
And the great world round me;
And tomorrow begins another.

Why am I allowed two?"

2006-05-01T20:50:00.000-05:00

Feast Day of Saint Joseph the Worker

Joseph, by the work of your hands

and the sweat of your brow,

you supported Jesus and Mary,

and had the Son of God as your fellow worker.

Teach me to work as you did,

with patience and perseverance, for God and

for those whom God has given me to support.

Teach me to see in my fellow workers

the Christ who desires to be in them,

that I may always be charitable and forbearing

towards all.

Grant me to look upon work

with the eyes of faith,

so that I shall recognize in it

my share in God's own creative activity

and in Christ's work of our redemption,

and so take pride in it.

When it is pleasant and productive,

remind me to give thanks to God for it.

And when it is burdensome,

teach me to offer it to God,

in reparation for my sins

and the sins of the world.

*********************************************

Please keep all workers in your prayers, especially those who work to support a family (often tirelessly, with little pay and at the expense of time with children). Pray for all immigrants and their relationship with our government, that justice would be served in recognizing these people for their sacrifices and contributions to our communities. Pray for those who do the "dirty work" we so easily turn our eyes from; the sweepers and baggers and trash collectors and countless, nameless others without whom our castles would crumble. Pray for those who are without work for whatever reason. May we see never become so entrenched in politics that we neglect to see each person we encounter, every day, as a unique soul created in God's image.

2006-04-18T17:08:00.000-05:00

Speechless

I just spent the last several minutes looking for a poem or quote that would best fit with this picture. I'm giving up now. It's cliche but it's true: a picture speaks a thousand words. (And a baby who can't yet talk speaks millions...)

2006-04-16T23:09:00.000-05:00

Some More Memorable Moments

...from the past three days...

The conclusion of the Holy Thursday Mass, having just celebrated the Eucharist in memory of Christ's Last Supper, watching in silence and stillness as the altar was stripped, the candles extinguished and the Host moved to the Altar of Repose. The priests left the sanctuary in silence, heads bowed. The feeling was reminiscent of a hospital emergency room being cleared after the death of a patient...in this case, a dramatic foreshadowing of Jesus' death.

Attending my first prayer vigil outside the Planned Parenthood in St. Paul, alongside hundreds of people: babies, children, teenagers, young adults, adults, elderly, priests, brothers, and nuns (is that everyone?) I have heard the common perception that pro-lifers are rude, sometimes violent, selfish, hypocritical, loud and otherwise unforgiving. From my experience, nothing could be further from the truth. For two hours on a sunny Good Friday morning I was surrounded by a deep sense of peace, prayer, sadness, forgiveness and hope. I hope the counter-protesters felt it, too.

Witnessing my first live Stations of the Cross on Good Friday with a group of friends from Nativity.

Walking through the streets of Saint Michael, MN, following "Jesus" (from the live Stations, crown of thorns and all) carrying his Cross with the help of "Simon", a couple "Roman centurians" and twenty or so "disciples".

Praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet with said crew on the way to McDonalds for fish sandwiches, and getting this indescribably WEIRD feeling that comes when two-thousand years of Catholic history crashes head on with the epitome of 21st century secular America.

Seeing the look of complete joy on the faces of the RCIA candidates and catechumens as they were confirmed and received their first Holy Communion at the Easter Vigil.

The baptisms of three children, an infant and two adults, also at the Vigil. To witness a soul being reborn into Christ must be one of God's greatest priviledges on earth: to witness six is a blessing beyond words.

Being invited to the house of a Nativity family for Easter lunch and feeling for the first time a true connection to the Catholic Church as Family.

God is good! Christ is Risen! Happy Easter, everyone!

2006-04-08T01:26:00.000-05:00

A Simple Message

(...and one that has ironically become too simple, somehow, for us to comprehend.)

This Is My Body, from a brochure by Fr. Frank A. Pavone of Priests for Life

Did you ever realize that the same four words that were used by the Lord Jesus to save the world are also used by some to promote abortion? "This is my body." The same simple words are spoken from opposite ends of the universe, with meanings that are directly contrary to each other.

Scripture tells us that on the night before He died to save all people, the Lord Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to His disciples, saying, "This is My Body, which is given up for you." He was pointing to what would happen the next day, when He would give that same Body on the cross. He sacrifices Himself so that we may live. He gives up His Body so that He can destroy the power of sin and death. As a result, He welcomes us into His life, into His Kingdom. He makes us members of His Body!

On the other hand, abortion supporters say, "This is my body. So don't interfere with it! It's mine, so I can do what I want, even to the point of killing the life within it. All is secondary to my dominion over my body." In fact one abortion supporter has written, "I say their (pro-lifers') God is worth nothing compared to my body" (Michelle Goldberg, "Rant for Choice," in University of Buffalo student newspaper, 1995).

"This is my body." Same words, different results. Christ gives His body away so others might live; abortion supporters cling to their own bodies so others might die. In giving His Body, Christ teaches the meaning of love: I sacrifice myself for the good of the other person. Abortion teaches the opposite of love: I sacrifice the other person for the good of myself!

"This is my body." If, indeed, our body is ours, then let's ask the next question: Why? The answer is so that we can give our body, our life, ourself, away in love to one another and to God. Christ declares, "Do this in memory of me." He calls us to do what He did, and that is precisely how we reverse the dynamic of abortion. Mom and Dad must say to their child, "This is my body, my life, given for you," rather than, "This is my body, my life, so go away!"

Human happiness and fulfillment are never found by pushing other people out of the way. They are found when we push ourselves out of the way. Pope John Paul II says as much in Evangelium Vitae #51: He who had come "not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mk. 10:45), attains on the cross the heights of love: "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (Jn. 15:13). And he died for us while we were yet sinners (cf. Rom. 5:8).

In this way Jesus proclaims that life finds its center, its meaning and its fulfillment when it is given up.

At this point our meditation becomes praise and thanksgiving, and at the same time urges us to imitate Christ and follow in his footsteps (cf. 1 Pt. 2:21).

We too are called to give our lives for our brothers and sisters, and thus to realize in the fullness of truth the meaning and destiny of our existence.

"This is my body." It is no accident that the same words are used for such different purposes. A spiritual conflict rages here. We win, in our own lives and in the world, by living these words in self-giving, life-giving love.

2006-04-03T16:43:00.000-05:00

Happy Monday!!

2006-03-31T21:43:00.000-06:00

A Beautiful Life

One year ago today, a forty-one year old disabled woman by the name of Terri Schiavo lost her thirteen-day struggle against starvation and dehydration -- a withholding of food and water deemed "merciful" and "peaceful" by a corrupt legal system, a brainwashed media, and a hardened heart. Merciful for Michael Schiavo, who would no longer be bound by his wedding promises: "Till Death Do Us Part"... even though he'd already broken those promises by having children with another woman while his bride lay helpless in bed. Peaceful for all those who simply washed their hands of this crime and turned in the other direction; modern Pilates too cowardly to look Terri in the eyes as she writhed and attempted in vain to speak, quite obviously in pain, dying a death no compassionate human being would dare call "peaceful".

Go here to read An Open Letter to Michael Schiavo

And this is today's Old Testament reading. Coincidence? God-incidence, more like...

Wisdom 2: 1a, 12-22

The wicked said among themselves, thinking not aright:
“Let us beset the just one, because he is obnoxious to us;
he sets himself against our doings,
Reproaches us for transgressions of the law
and charges us with violations of our training.
He professes to have knowledge of God
and styles himself a child of the LORD.
To us he is the censure of our thoughts;
merely to see him is a hardship for us,
Because his life is not like that of others,
and different are his ways.
He judges us debased;
he holds aloof from our paths as from things impure.
He calls blest the destiny of the just
and boasts that God is his Father.
Let us see whether his words be true;
let us find out what will happen to him.
For if the just one be the son of God, he will defend him
and deliver him from the hand of his foes.
With revilement and torture let us put him to the test
that we may have proof of his gentleness
and try his patience.
Let us condemn him to a shameful death;
for according to his own words, God will take care of him.”
These were their thoughts, but they erred;
for their wickedness blinded them,
and they knew not the hidden counsels of God;
neither did they count on a recompense of holiness
nor discern the innocent souls’ reward.

May you rest in peace with Christ, Terri; may your soul be filled with all the glorious riches of Heaven.

2006-03-28T17:39:00.000-06:00

Some Words of Wisdom

I have been thinking and praying a lot about what the "next step" in my life will be. As much as I love working at INSTEP (and am totally in love with the children there) I know I won't have this job five years down the road...or even two years, most likely. The biggest challenge is trying to find the balance between living life in the present moment (not too difficult thanks to the kids, who have no sense of time...a beautiful quality I could write a whole essay about) and being open to answering whatever call God has for me next (a little more challenging because it's easy for me to get complacent.) I don't think there's a simple answer, and mostly it's about trusting in God and growing in faith. God wants us to be happy but not complacent. That said, here are some words that have really inspired me lately:

From Tristen, a dear friend and cool Catholic:

We have to remember that Jesus didn't start his public ministry until he was 30, so that's what my idea is...to try and have something figured out by 30. :) Just kidding. In this day and age, it seems like the possibilities are endless, but we just have to focus on what's most important - living out the will of God and living a life that will help others be led to Him, so we can reach heaven with those we love!

From Thomas Merton, spiritual writer and Trappist monk:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me
Nor do I really know myself,
And the fact that I think I am following your will
Does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you
Does in fact please you.
And I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this,
You will lead me by the right road
Though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always, though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
And you will never leave me to face my struggles alone.

From Mother Angelica, founder of EWTN and...well what you can say...I could write a book. (oh, someone already did! Read it!!!)

He expects me to operate, if I don't have the money, if I don't have the brains, if I don't have the talent -- in faith. You know what faith is? Faith is one foot on the ground, one foot in the air, and a queasy feeling in the stomach.

2006-03-25T16:40:00.000-06:00

Prada and Poverty in New York City

The book leapt out at me from the shelf the moment I laid eyes on it – The Nanny Diaries, proclaimed its cover in bold letters, above a modern, slender Mary Poppins figure carrying an umbrella. I hesitated for several months before finally giving in – the blurb on the back cover seemed interesting enough but slightly, well, childish. And indeed, after reading the book in its entirety, it’s not exactly top notch literature. The authors take their liberty with bad language and morally compromising behavior and I wondered in certain parts why in the world I kept reading.

But then again...maybe that was the point. In the novel (written by Nicola Kraus and Emma McLaughlin, two young former-nannies who have worked, collectively, for over thirty NYC families), the protagonist, Nanny, often wonders why she keeps her job as a nanny for Mrs. X, a snobbish, wealthy mother who cares more for her china than her child. Grayer, the little boy, becomes like a son to Nanny, who is indeed more a mother to him than his biological one. Her love for Grayer keeps her there, anchored to his side despite being walked all over and "thrown up on, figuratively and literally, by everyone in the family".

The novel is quite clearly a satire of upper-class Manhattan child rearing...meant to be funny, and indeed on multiple occasions it had me laughing out loud. But in the end, it left me desperately hoping – for every child’s sake – that a family such as the Xes is the extreme and not the norm. I don’t doubt that families exist in which the child, or children, are literally treated as particularly expensive (and burdensome) commodities. The images that we traditionally associate with poverty – starving, emaciated children in third-world countries with protruding ribs, forced to dig through garbage dumps for their next meal – are but one kind of poverty: terrible, to be sure, but no worse than the poverty found within the pages of The Nanny Diaries.

How can this be? Grayer is not starving (though he often claims he is); he has drawers full of clothing, an apartment bigger than most peoples houses, and beautiful and expensive toys and videos. His preschool is one of the best in the City, and he’s set to begin kindergarten at the prestigious St. Bernard School for Boys where he’ll undoubtedly be on the fast-track to Harvard. He’s earning French and how to swim. He has numerous little friends with whom he attends regularly scheduled "play dates". The one thing his egocentric parents have somehow neglected to give their little boy is the one thing he most desperately needs: love. They are simply never there for him. Nanny is able to fill this need at least in part, but it becomes clear that as much as she loves Grayer she will never be able to fill his mother’s ($400) shoes – he still cries for his mom when he gets sick at three in the morning, even though Nanny is the one there to hold him. And Nanny cries for him.

Grayer and his family are not real, but I cry for him too – at least, for children like him – deprived not of food or clothing or shelter or school, but of human love. Of hugs and kisses and time spent with parents. Grayer may not be in immediate or obvious danger like other children in poverty: he may not suffer from disease or malnourishment or crowded living conditions or lack of education. But the poverty he lives in is just as real, and will take its toll on him just the same. A child cannot live without love, any more than he can live without food or water. His body may thrive, but his soul will wither and die. Maybe the healing has to begin with his parents. Is it too late for them? Is their neglect of their child, their aversion to the touch and the cries of their own flesh and blood, a sign that this death has already occurred? I hope not. If it has, only God – who brings the dead back to life – can heal them now. We can help by acting as his Hands and Feet.

So then, if there are real Grayers and real Mr and Mrs. Xes in this world (as I believe there are), what can we do to help? What would a campaign look like for making the poverty of love history? It is much easier to develop strategies for reducing material poverty – we, who are rich, can send checks in white envelopes addressed to any number of charities, check "almsgiving" off our to-do list, and go about our lives. We can write letters to our politicians urging them to set aside more money for starving countries. If we are really ambitious we could even plan a trip to visit one of these countries and bring along supplies to donate.

I am not saying doing these things is worthless – far from it, donating money and writing letters is an essential step to reducing material poverty in the world, a goal that is praiseworthy. But all the monetary assistance in the world will do nothing – NOTHING – in the eternal scheme of things, if it is not motivated and driven by love. Love begins with each human life created by God, and it is watered and fed by that child’s parents, biological or otherwise. Without love, we are nothing but overgrown, dehydrated flowers attempting to inspire others with our sad beauty. Or dying candles trying in vain to light the wicks of the fireless. We must go first to the Source of Love, be filled, and then take that Love into the world. We must love our children – one Grayer at a time. Maybe we won’t see the difference right away, but in ten years...twenty years...forty years... God willing, the world will be a little more colorful and a little bit brighter.

2006-03-24T20:27:00.000-06:00

Redemption

by Rita A. Flansburg-Simmonds

Ashes on the forehead
falling through lashes
make dusty tears
that hope to cry
to set things right,
like old and rusty errors
no effort
can affect
to forever
take from sight.

Nails will always bend
when struck
from any angle
but head-on,
and still we hammer
without light
and hope to hit
directly
correcting
darkness
with more night.

Come candle,
let hope
be not hypnotized
but heightened
in the blaze
of purest
light.

2006-03-18T16:23:00.000-06:00

Real Patience (Or, What I’ve Learned From Kids)

Real Patience is keeping your cool when your half-eaten bowl of pasta is sneezed on (directly) by the three year old you’re sitting next to at lunch. And gently reminding her (for the tenth time) to cover her nose next time.

Real Patience is not crying over spilled milk... when it’s the third cup and breakfast isn’t even over.

Real Patience is devoting your wholehearted attention to seven (comparatively) calm children during Circle Time, while Eighth Child is screaming his head off in the time-out corner.

Real Patience is carrying Eight Child, kicking and screaming, into the other room so as not to upset Calm Children. This is done with the outside appearance of perfect self-collected composure, though you are screaming right along with the kid on the inside.

Real Patience is knowing it’s okay to leave the room for five minutes when you feel that otherwise, you would quite possibly transform into Maestra Loca (crazy teacher) in front of the children.

Real Patience is letting the children make their own craft projects even when the sight of glue all over the table and tiny pieces of cut-up construction paper on the floor make something inside your perfectionistic self recoil in protest.

Real Patience is coming to terms with the fact that Tired Little Boy just isn’t going to sleep at naptime today, no matter how you rub his back or position his body or adjust the music. (So much for your "magic touch")

Real Patience is smiling instead of shouting, laughing instead of crying, and dancing instead of sitting it out, even on those difficult days when you’d rather do the latter.

Real Patience is not taking it personally when the mother of Everyone’s Favorite Baby turns into Mama Bear and attacks you when she finds out her child went without solid food for six hours during the day (even though said child seemed perfectly content to everyone observing her at the time).

Real Patience is also not taking it personally when Everyone’s Favorite Baby decides to exhibit her phenomenal lung power while in your arms.

Real Patience is indulging (with enthusiasm) a four-year-old bundle of energy when she asks you to sing the Barney Song with her "again!". At the top of your lungs.

Real Patience is letting Future Gymnast Baby use you as a human jungle gym while attempting to carry on an actual conversation with a coworker, supervise ten other children at play, and keep Barney Lover from clobbering you with her attempts to usurp Gymnast’s position of honor.

Real Patience is cheerfully greeting Wild, Off-the-Wall, Crazy Brothers at the door when you’d secretly hoped they might not come in today. And attempting to entertain them (without exploding) for half an hour after work while trying to contact their Nowhere-to-be-found mother.

Real Patience is not giving said Mother a piece of your mind when she finally shows up.

Real Patience is calmly and assertively giving any variety of commands, reminders and reprimands (wash your hands, clean up, time for lunch, no hitting, don’t throw the toys, etc. etc.) all throughout the day when needed and without exasperation in both English and Spanish.

Real Patience is difficult and tiring and a constant challenge. But it is also well worth the effort. It always leads to love – substantial, enduring, transcendant love – because it requires looking completely outside of yourself, not to your own comfort or well-being but to the comfort and well-being of the children in your care. Young children are naturally self-centered, requiring of us our time, energy and attention, demanding us to become better people, so that one day, with God’s grace, they will learn to imitate our example. Do I always succeed at such a high calling? No way. In fact, if I were to grade myself on the above tasks, I would probably fail most of the time. But like the children, I too am learning. They – the children themselves – are my teachers, and I couldn’t ask for anyone more qualified.

A final note, lest my reflections make it seem as though working at a daycare is all work and no play: the joy I experience by being around children on a daily basis far compensates any frustrations. For trying to be even just a little patient, I am rewarded ten times over in bear hugs, sloppy kisses and beaming smiles. After all is said and done, Real Patience is a gift from God; a blessing beyond words.

2006-03-16T20:01:00.000-06:00

Why I Am Pro-Life

Check out this beautiful letter, written by a young woman to Glamour magazine in defense of being pro-life. Thank you, Kate, for such a heartfelt and honest response.

Image: 11 week old fetus, courtesy of www.priestsforlife.com

2006-03-13T18:10:00.000-06:00

Not in Georgia Anymore

I awoke this morning to a steady, heavy snowfall. Though we'd been warned of snow last night on the airplane, I didn't know just how steady, or how heavy, apparantly. I jumped in the shower, got dressed for work, and proceeded to check my cell phone quickly (a smart move) before rushing out the door to scrape snow off my car before heading out. "One new voice message" my phone alerted: it was Polly, foundress and fill-in director of INSTEP, telling me to call before doing anything. I did, and was told to stay at home. I then got a better look out the window and saw why: a solid cloud of whiteness through which you could barely see some snow-covered trees and cars and...is that a brave soul in eskimo gear making his way slowly down the sidewalk? (Um... did I tell my friends just the other day that the movie Fargo is an exaggerated statement of midwestern winter? I take that back...)

So began my first official Minnesota Snow Day. It was spent sleeping, reading, browsing the internet and watching bad daytime television, not unlike a sick day only without feeling crappy. (Oh, and half an hour was devoted to getting the snow off my car.) Rest assured, everything will be back up and running first thing tomorrow, unlike our Southern snow days where anything over two inches will shut down the town for a good week. Actually, believe it or not, spring is just around the corner...they are saying the snow will be gone by next week. Meanwhile, I keep out the snowboots and winter coat to wait out the extended winter. This is Minnesota, after all.

2006-03-11T17:16:00.000-06:00

We Are Seven

While I'm on the topic of Wordsworth, the following is one of my favorite poems of his. To me, it is awesome on so many levels, but I'll let you think about that. :) (To me, poetry is like music or art in that it is often deeply personal and the interpretations vary depending on who is reading/listening/viewing.)

--A Simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;--
Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me."

And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side."

My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them."

And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there."

The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away."

So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I."

And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"'
Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

2006-03-11T17:07:00.000-06:00

God's Playground
Last July in England, on our way into the hills of the Lake District for four days of exhilirating backpacking (and strenous, the rookie hiker that I am -- right, Dad?), we visited Dove Cottage, the little house where the poet William Wordsworth spent eight years of his life and produced his (arguably) greatest poems. I was taken aback by how tiny it was; how few rooms there were, how little space, food and comfort was afforded these people. And yet, crammed inside the small kitchen with twelve other tour guests, I peered out the window and was struck by the wealth of beauty surrounding the little cottage - rolling green hills giving way to breathtaking mountains, a natural paradise just miles outside of what was once the Industrial Capital of the World. Later while hiking, it came as no surprise that Wordsworth was fascinated by nature; taken in like a child at Disneyworld.

Here in 21st century America, we have so much to satisfy our material needs -- plenty of food and water, more clothes than we know what to do with, huge houses and big buildings and lots of space. But with more stuff comes less time for nature. When was the last time you went outside just to go outside? Not to walk to your car, or go to a friend's house or to work -- not to GO anywhere, but just to BE? All four seasons (especially if you are blessed as I am to live where such things exist), all types of weather: snow, sun, wind, rain and warmth; each offers a beauty unparalleled by anything created by man. Sometime today or in the next few days, spend some quality time in God's magnificent playground: the great outdoors.

Oh, but first, check out this nifty little website where you can take a virtual tour of Dove Cottage. (click on the link at the upper lefthand corner)

2006-03-05T17:29:00.000-06:00

Wake Up and Rise From Death...

...And Christ will shine upon you. These are the words we sang this afternoon at the Cathedral of St. Paul -- hundreds of sponsors and Godparents (such as myself) with hundreds (thousands?) more candidates and catechumens awaiting entry into the Catholic Church. We were there as pilgrims just setting out on our Lenten journey toward Easter. We were there for words of acceptance and encouragement; for grace to strengthen each other and walk together in joy. We were there to celebrate the Rite of Election and Call to Continuing Conversion, the next step of the journey toward the Easter Sacraments. This was my third time at the Cathedral for this event, and yet again I was touched in a profound way. After nearly six months of meeting weekly with a group of about thirty people at Nativity (my parish), we gathered for this first glimpse into the blessings that lie just around the corner. We saw that the Church is so much bigger than our little group, or Nativity parish. We heard that at the Basilica in Minneapolis, the same ceremony was taking place for thousands more. And all over the country today, in cathedrals and parishes and domes and meeting halls, people were celebrating along with us: families, children, adults, single people, elderly, people of all races and cultures. We may not know the other people we saw today at the Cathedral, but in a very real way they are our family -- our very own brothers and sisters and soon-to-be brothers and sisters in Christ.

We hear so much negativity about the Catholic Church today, on TV and in the paper and from the grocer and the neighbors down the street. Father So-and-So is in jail for child abuse, the Pope is too strict, the rules are too rigid, the Church is mean to women, and the list goes on. But what about the love of Christ, pursuing us even today amidst suffering and criticism, today as He has for two thousand years? What about the beauty and truth and richness and depth that lies hidden in the Church like an untapped treasure? What about the thousands of souls (more every year) that journey each Lent toward Easter and the Catholic Church, thirsty pilgrims answering God's unending call of joy and refreshment? Today filled me and countless others with hope. I am blessed to be a sponsor this year, and I am inspired to pray even more for my candidate Alyssa. At Easter, along with the entire Church, I will share with her in the joy of Confirmation and Eucharist, and once again be reminded of my own journey.

"Wake up, sleeper, and rise from death, and Christ will shine upon you." ~Eph 5:14

2006-02-26T14:44:00.000-06:00

Preparing Our Hearts for Lent

"Lent is a time of interior pilgrimage towards him who is the fount of mercy. It is pilgrimage in which he himself accompanies us through the desert of our poverty, sustaining us on our way towards the intense joy of Easter."

Click here for the rest of Pope Benedict's Lenten Message.

2006-02-25T16:39:00.000-06:00

What I Watched Last Night

Looking for a fun, lighthearted, not-too-much-thinking-involved, yet morally sound romantic comedy (with a couple of super-cute actors to boot)? Try this one:

Just Like Heaven

2006-02-25T15:37:00.000-06:00

And if tonight my soul may find her peace

in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,

and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower

then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.

~D. H. Lawrence

2006-02-12T15:17:00.000-06:00

Children are not blank CD ROMs!

Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. ~Proverbs 22:6

Our moment in history is located at the end of a historical process that began when the Reformation, the Renaissance, and Scientific Revolution and the rise of Capitalism began to decouple the natural world from the sacred. In large portions of the West, Eucharist stopped being Eucharist and started being "mere bread and wine". Nature likewise ceased to be regarded as our sister and fellow creature and came to be seen more and more as simply a source of "raw materials." Holy places such as Mount Sinai or Jerusalem or the sanctuary of a cathedral ceased to be holy and became mere spatial coordinates. In the same way, living things came increasingly to be regarded as peculiarly complex mechanisms and, following this lead, human beings themselves came to be seen as unusually clever pieces of meat. Given this, it is not surprising that we formed ideas of child rearing (thanks especially to B.F. Skinner) which regarded children as blank CD-ROMs upon which to write behavioral "instructions." Today's verse gives the biblical reply to such nonsense. Children are persons to be trained, not machines to be programmed. Education is the sharing of our lives with our children, not the downloading of mere data. Lives shared in love, not information or manipulation, are what keep our children on the way they should go. For life shared in the love of Christ is the way.

~From "A Word of Encouragement", by Mark Shea and Jeff Cavins, www.catholicexchange.com

2006-02-09T14:30:00.000-06:00

So Where Does Soymilk Come From?

Working with small children provides an almost constant dose of comic relief...you just have to know how to ask the right questions. Anyone who lived or worked with me several months ago will recall the story about three-year-old Indigo who, when asked where soymilk comes from, responded quite adamantly "chickens". So when I asked Lukas the same question two days ago, I figured the question was old and didn't expect to get another clever answer. I should have known better. (If anyone will surprise you with unexpected humor it's this precocious tow headed two-year-old.) "...so if cow's milk comes from cows, where does soymilk come from?" I asked, once again. His answer? Butterflies.

Go ahead: Laugh. I did. It is funny, after all. But then look closer -- there is more than just the humor there, in so simple an answer. How fascinating, the world seen through the eyes of child. Once again I am challenged and inspired by the wisdom of someone decades younger than myself. Someone who knows almost nothing of the world as we know it, but almost everything of a world we have long forgotten. How blessed I am to have this glimpse, however miniscule, into the secret kingdom of a toddler; a kingdom where snowmen talk and dinosours battle, where a visit from Winnie the Pooh consitutes a holiday, where we gather for decadent feasts of playground-gravel popcorn and icecream and drink butterfly milk to our hearts' content. Thank you, Lukas, for letting me visit you here.

2005-10-02T18:27:00.000-05:00

From the letter of St. Paul to the Phillipians

Brothers and sisters: Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing what you have learned and received and heard and seen in me. Then the God of peace will be with you. ~Phil 4:6-9

2005-09-30T18:31:00.000-05:00

An Excerpt From Dr. James Dobson's _Bringing Up Boys_

Our dog Mindy was neither a purebred nor a champion. Her daddy had been a travelin' man, so we didn't know much about her ancestry. She was just a scared pup who showed up at the front door late one night after being abused by her owners and thrown out of a car. We didn't really need another dog, but what could we do?

We took Mindy in, and she quickly grew to become one of the finest dogs we had ever owned. But she never lost the emotional fragility that had been brought on by abuse. She couldn't stand to be criticized or scolded when she accidentally did something wrong. She would actually jump in your lap and hide her eyes. One summer, we went away for a two-week vacation and left her in the backyard. The neighbor boy gave her food and water, but otherwise, Mindy was alone during that time. We obviously underestimated what this isolation would do to her. When we returned, we found her lying next to the house on a blanket. Surrounding her were about seven of our daughter's old stuffed animals, which she had found stored in the garage. Mindy had carried them one by one to her bed and ringed herself with these little friends.

If an old dog needs love and friendship in this way, how much more true is it of every child who walks the earth? It is our job as adults to see that each one of them finds the security he or she needs. We must never forget the difficulties of trying to grow up in the competitive world in which a child lives. Take a moment to listen, to care, and to direct such a youngster. That may be the best investment of your life.

*************************************************************************************
Just a little plug for this book... if you are involved in any way in the lives of boys, check it out. I find it highly interesting and informative. The passage quoted above applies to any child; indeed all children, boys or girls, need to be surrounded by love and protection. Mainly, however, Dobson focuses on boys and what makes them unique. So many times already, I've observed some of the behaviors he talks about in the little boys at INSTEP, and come to understand just a little better why "boys will be boys". Certain books strike me as being a breath of fresh air in a stuffy world crowded with weird ideas (to say the least), and this is one. I don't claim to know too much about Dr. Dobson, not having read any other books of his, but don't dismiss this one because of any preconceived notions.

2005-09-17T15:42:00.000-05:00

Payday, Happiness and True Wealth

I have to admit it: when they are not being obnoxious or loud, kids can be pretty darn cute. Take Tom for example, who will turn 3 in two days. Just the other day at work, I caught him reaching into his pocket as though looking for something. "What’s in there, Tom?" I asked, genuinely interested. (It is a little known fact that you never know what you will find in a toddler’s pocket; anything that can fit is fair game). After another second of searching, he pulled out an empty hand, held it face up, and exclaimed with the most disappointment I’ve ever heard in such a statement, "Oh maaaan. No money!"

A few days ago I received my first paycheck for working at INSTEP. Upon opening the envelope and glancing at the check, my heart jumped in my chest and my eyes got about 50 watts lighter. Now, I work as a Teacher’s Aide at a struggling, grassroots, non-profit daycare center for low-income families...given the circumstances I’ll leave it to you to imagine the number on the check. But this was my first ever real paycheck for a full-time job (in fact, not counting babysitting, the only other paying job I’ve had was a part-time stint in high school as a secretary’s helper at my gymnastics center). I felt like I did when I was eight and got two dollars a week to spend however I wanted. Two whole dollars! Oh, the possibilities!! And if two dollars can thrill an eight-year-old, imagine what it takes to satisfy Tom or another money-savvy toddler. Hand him a dime and he’ll feel rich.

I know that this "huge" amount of money I’ve just earned will most likely not seem so huge several years from now. I know that I have to be careful and wise about how I spend it, lest I end up like Tom with nothing in my pockets, or my bank account. And I also know that every dime I am given, even if earned through hard work, is indeed a gift and something to be grateful for and dealt with responsibly. In a society driven by money and in many ways dependent upon it, it is often hard to remember that for Christians the "bottom line" is not the bottom line; despite what Wall Street says true wealth cannot be found in anything we own. Everything in this world – our houses, jobs, computers, phones, clothes, and countless other material possessions, are fleeting and temporary. Compared to the riches that await us in Heaven, they are but a fraction of a penny. The moment they become more important than our relationships, which are by contrast eternal, there is a grave problem.

Two seconds after the pocket search, Tom had all but forgotten about his financial woes and was back to crashing trucks into each other and building Lego towers. My mind flashed ahead twenty years, and I pictured Tom in an office building somewhere, on the twentieth floor of a real tower, managing a company’s accounts and making his mother proud. I said a silent prayer for such a success story; but even more, I prayed that regardless of his future career – whether a CEO or a truck driver – he would be filled with the joy that only God can give.

After work I drove to the bank and deposited my check into my account. I smiled a little as I thought of the pair of jeans I could afford now, the money I could finally donate to hurricane relief, and the food shopping I’d been waiting to do. But that night as I was falling asleep, it was not money that came to mind. I thought of naptime at INSTEP, the kids laying on their miniature cots, lights low and eyes droopy, little bodies worn out from so much play. I thought of rubbing Lukas’s back and rocking Serenity to sleep. I thought of the gift these children are to me, and how no amount of money in the world could compare to the lives I am touching, or the lives that are touching me. No, I thought, I am not rich. But I am wealthy.

2005-09-11T15:14:00.000-05:00

Silly Songs and Scary Storms: Rejoicing in God’s Blessings

"This is the day (this is the day) that the Lord has made (that the Lord has made)!" I led the kids in a half-hearted round of the Sunday School sing-along classic, doing my best to fake energy and happiness. This was not entirely true – I was more than happy to be with the children I’d missed all summer, and after a long vacation I had plenty of energy. But at that particular moment I was nearing my rope’s end. Baby Julian was getting fussy. Noemi, a beautiful nine-month-old who’d been all smiles just seconds before was now crying (or rather, screaming) relentlessly, a discordant accompaniment to our joyful music. Tom, who prefers to shriek to rather than sing, was doing so now with particular intensity. Evelyn was pulling at my shirt to be held, while Rubi and Sherlyn wandered around as though challenging me to keep them at the table. And on we sang, ever louder (and perhaps if you listened closely, a bit angrier): "Let us rejoice! (Let us rejoice!) and be glad in it! (and be glad in it!)"

When the day, which was otherwise quite peaceful, came to a close, I had time to reflect. Today in America, because of Katrina, hundreds of crying babies have no mommies to pick them up anymore. Thousands of mothers and fathers will never see their children on earth again. Millions of ordinary people no longer have houses, cars or jobs; many are still fighting just to stay alive. Here at INSTEP we may have struggles of own: lack of funding to provide for the families who need us, computer problems, stressful days and difficult parent-child separations to name a few. And without a doubt, I know that God is just as concerned with our plight as He is with anyone else’s. He cares deeply and listens intently to our prayers of supplication.

But today, as on that trying day at work, mine is a prayer of thanksgiving. I thank God for the tears and the screams that teach me to be a more patient person. I thank Him for hugs of consolation and smiles of friendship, and joyful two-year-old laughter that penetrates even the hardest of hearts. I thank Him for silly songs and cake with sprinkles. I thank Him for digital cameras and computer games and mechanical puppy dogs and plastic dollhouse people; for all of these things and more I thank Him. But mostly, I thank God for His love. The Love that persists even in tired children and grumpy teachers, even in sickness and in death.

How strange to speak of death in the same context as giggles and goofy songs. Yet it is a reality that has touched millions of lives this past week and will indeed touch each one of us, even the precious INSTEP children now so full of life. Some may despair at such a thought, but today I will cling to joy with intensity of a toddler in his mother’s embrace. I will delight in the Hope that is Christ, our passionate Lover and perfect Father, who has died and is risen and will come again. I will smile at the lingering sun, and dance to the VeggieTales with little Rubi, and praise God that I have arms for hugging and legs for dancing. Today, I will do these things no matter how tired I feel or how annoyed I get or how desperate the situation in the world around me. Some may call this idealism at best, or more likely escape. But I call it Life. I call it Truth.

This is the day, O Lord, that you have made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.