Cherubic cheeks

Her cherubic cheeks were smeared with chocolate. I huffed at the sight of her, wondering if there was ever a moment when that girl’s face was not a mess. But then I recalled how she got that way – by delighting in the chocolate chocolate-chip muffins I’d baked this morning. The ones I had made to make up for being a grumpy mommy the past few days.
I sprinkled water on a washcloth from the kitchen faucet and wrung it out. Kneeling down, I began to wipe her face. Stray strands of hair covered over her sparkling blue eyes, gazing patiently at me. In those eyes, I remembered the baby I rejoiced over, the toddler I delighted in, the preschooler who this very morning had asked when I would make her favorite muffins again.
She smiled at me sweetly as my fingers pressed the cloth across her cheeks and I knew that this was how I wanted to remember my daughter. Not because her cheeks were spotless and rosy. But because her eyes gazed upon me lovingly while enduring my swabs.
So often lately, she had been one more person who needed to be clothed, and reminded that shoes need to go on the fireplace, and told to buckle up as soon as you sit in your car seat so we can go. Go, go, always going. Always distracted even when I’m home. The days go by and this girl’s hair needs brushing every hour, her shoes are never together in a pair, she talks too much, she sings too loud, she does everything but keep quiet and stay out of the way.
I love her. I forget sometimes to take a moment from scrubbing the dishes just to study her face, absorb the admiration she has for me. It’s a struggle to forget my own embarrassment over how poorly I’ve behaved. I want to hide my face, but instead I catch my breath and turn toward my daughter, humbled by the lovely violets she picked for me.

Feast of the Immaculate Conception

I'm up incredibly early today, inspired -- yes, finally inspired once again! -- to center my life on the Lord, to focus, to live for Him at least for today. For today is all I can manage to wrap my mind around. I can focus on eternity this minute, this hour, this day. I can't worry about tomorrow. That might burden me too much. Too overwhelming. Too much to do. Too much work and sacrifice which requires more energy than I have at this moment. But today -- I can handle that.
Lord give me the graces to do what I need to do right now. Oh most Immaculate Heart of Mary, pray for us who have recourse to thee.

Andrew Paul -- redemption

Andrew is the name of a coward I knew in 8th grade. Typical of most cowards, he was also a brooding bully – one that tormented me daily throughout that last junior high year. Even when my insightful 14-year-old self confronted him about how he picked on me merely as a way of making himself look good in front of his friends, he scoffed, deflecting the remark with, “Oh, and you know everything. Ha.”
I pitied the boy because not only was he never honest with me, but he also was never honest with himself.
Andrew is also the name of a brave young man I knew in college. Like many brave souls, he was jovial, with a hearty laugh which resounded through the hallways. I last spoke to him when visiting campus after I’d graduated. He gave me a huge smile, said it was great to see me, and congratulated me on my recent engagement to his dorm buddy. I last saw him less than a year later at my fiancé’s graduation. Andy arrived for the ceremony, bald, swollen, assisted by a walker, dying from a brain tumor. He was greeting and congratulating his graduating class, a class he was simply witnessing, due to his illness.
Later that same year, I was married, pregnant, and kneeling beside Andy’s body in a casket, asking for his prayers that I might be a good mother.
Even though his life was cut short at age 22, his was the most beautiful funeral I’d ever attended, mostly because he had led a beautiful life.
I believe a name can be redeemed. What once was a sound of scorn in my ears became a lift of delight. We all have our weaknesses, our faults, our dark hidden corners of the soul. Some of us flagrantly display inadequacies; some of us painstakingly mask them. But we all have them. Every one of us is in some way wanting strength, healing, light.
For a select few, the answer greets them with a knock to the ground, a blinding flash, and a reprimanding voice from heaven. So it was for Paul, “Persecutor of Christians” turned “Pillar of Faith.” Yet for most of us, direction, wisdom, and redemption are found through a long winding road. And as long as we continue on the journey, we maintain hope.

Love is messy.

Love is not a crisp linen sheet to be folded into neat creases and stored on a shelf, awaiting a special occasion to be laid out and displayed. No. Love is messy. Meant for daily use. Acquiring stains and wrinkles, fraying edges. Regular shaking out, washing and pressing required.

how much I've fallen short

All day yesterday I didn’t feel pregnant. I wasn’t waddling or aching or sighing from exhaustion. I was simply me again. And I felt good for a while. But I felt guilt too.

A friend of mine has a two year old daughter, comatose in the hospital. The family found her a few days ago at the bottom of their pool and she hasn’t woken since.

I prayed for the family during my morning walk, before school lessons, at lunch time, while grocery shopping, and all through the hour it took me to prepare a meal for them. I was happy to offer up all that I could. Yet my frustration with myself crept up all around me, reminding me of how much I’ve fallen short of my own ideal of motherhood. I wanted to do better and yet I was still not ready to completely let go of myself – to surrender — once again.

wisdom

"I suddenly saw...that you could want something your whole life but realize in the moment of achieving your desire that it couldn't save you the way you always thought it could, that it could in fact change you irrevocably into someone you didn't know and would not want to be."
-- John Tilden speaking in "Shame" by Greg Garrett

Billy Rimmer asked me out once. Well, he suggested “we give it a try sometime.” This is a boy I’d had a crush on for the past five years since 5th grade. He was a blond haired blue eyed boy, outgoing, athletic. I had known every girl he’d ever dated and I knew too that I wasn’t like any of them. They were much more cute, athletic, and well, just plain popular. Yet here he was on the phone with me – it was probably me that called him – suggesting that “who knows, it might work out." I chuckled, hesitated, then declined, saying, “If I went out with you now, it would only be because I’ve always wanted to, not because I really care about you. I’d be doing it only because it’s something I’ve always wanted to do, not really because I think there would be any chance of it working between us.” I’m not sure he understood my reasoning. I’m not even sure I knew how it was that I was able to pass up such an opportunity at age 15. But I did. I was wise back then, very wise.

park day

I went to the park yesterday. I go once a month, and for those few hours, I get to escape all the petty annoyances of my life and just immerse myself in nature. I get to be surrounded by children’s laughter and women asking me, “How are you doing?” rather than, “How do you do it?” They don’t view me as extraordinary or unusual because they have a daily routine just as challenging as my own.

We know each other well, we know each other’s kids, we’ve held each other’s babies. It’s a nice group of moms. Whenever I consider giving up on my “profession” I continue because of them. There were about fifteen families at the park yesterday. I conversed with various clusters of individuals. The topics centered around quality healthcare which takes a minimalist approach on medications and vaccinations, proper ways to receive the sacraments, the difficulties encountered when ensuring the moral upbringing of our children, ways to be charitable toward neighbors while still warding off their negative influences on our families.

This unique group of mine, so conservative and quaint, concerns themselves with topic most people never consider. Yet I admire them because these women are thoughtful, passionate, and authentic. I’ve never received a scoff or stare or snide remark from any one of them. They are all friendly, even if I don’t quite know some of them well enough to call them friends.

There were at least fifty kids on the playground yesterday. Not a single skirmish occurred. It rarely does. Sometimes sand gets thrown on a little tot’s head. But there’s hardly ever pushing or shoving, name calling or teasing. I can expect my kids to enjoy themselves while we’re there.
And I can expect to enjoy myself too.