Busy and Blessed

I really thought I would post more once the baby came, but now I'm so busy getting back into my routine that I hardly sit down at the computer anymore. My evenings are mostly dedicated to nursing de bebe and trying to keep the house somewhat habitable, while my mornings are much shortened now that I can go to Daily Mass again (YAY), plus the kids have morning activities two days a week. So I'm always on the go and blogging is pretty much one of the last things I have time for. Still, it's nice to be back in my life again!

Also, I have nothing very inspiring to say. I really don't know what God is trying to tell me with this anxiety. It doesn't matter how much I tell myself that there's nothing I can do by worrying about it, and that no matter what, I know God will be with me. I still am just constantly terrified that something bad is going to happen. Mostly I'm concerned about the baby; she's only 2 months old and still at risk for all sorts of random things like SIDS, meningitis, pneumococcal fever, etc.

The irony is that she is the healthiest, easiest baby ever. She sleeps well, eats well, poops well and is growing by leaps and bounds. She's smiley and content when awake and enjoys being on her own on her activity mat or in her stroller. She has sometimes put herself to sleep just by cooing, without any rocking or feeding or singing on my part. She charms everyone wherever I take her and I've had more than one person marvel that she's so perfect, she almost looks more like a doll than a live baby.

And yet I am constantly concerned about every hiccup and sniffle. Much more than is normal or necessary. I've talked with my husband about whether I need to get on medication for this, but as long as I'm able to function I don't think it's worth it. Most anti-anxiety meds enter the breastmilk, and though the studies show that the large majority of babies aren't affected by it, it seems sort of ironic that in order to alleviate my deep concerns about the baby's health, I have to do something that might compromise...the baby's health. Also, given my history, the chances are that I'll get every single last side effect possible. I'm functioning well and not having any violent thoughts of any kind. I'm just really scared all the time.

And I feel like such an idiot about it. I have been blessed to an extent most people in this world never experience. What am I concerned about? That some strife might enter my perfect, charmed little life? At the doctor's office the other day I read an article in National Geographic about Child Brides in India that broke my heart. The worst thing that could possibly happen in my life wouldn't even begin to approach being married off against my will at age 11. Even if my daughter were kidnapped like Elizabeth Smart, at least in this country I would have the police looking for her, and there would always be the hope of her return. In many countries around the world, girls and women are abused their whole lives and it's a complete non-issue.

I don't even want to ask for prayers because it's SO stupid. I personally know people who have suffered real tragedies, or who have actual mental illnesses that need medication. Better to pray for them than for me. I've been offering it up for friends who are going through infertility, and for those without medical care. In poor countries, child mortality is twenty times higher than in wealthy countries.

The unexpected positive of being so anxious is that I am truly treasuring each moment with my baby. I don't mind anything I need to do to take care of her, even diapers or waking up in the middle of the night or holding her for hours and hours because she doesn't want to be put down. If the worst does happen, I will know that I loved and rejoiced in her every minute of her life. That in itself is a beautiful gift God has given me to sustain me through this time.

Luckily, I am much too busy to dwell on it. But I thought I'd post simply because it is one of the foremost things on my mind. I'm looking for any good book recommendations on trust or managing anxiety, if anyone has them!

In the meantime, I am trusting that whatever comes, God will be with me. And I am thanking Him for all my wonderful blessings. Praise God with heart and soul and voice!

She's Here!

I apologize for the missing post! I tried to use the iPad and was only able to post the title.

Our precious baby girl arrived on Monday morning at last! I am so happy and relieved to finally meet her face to face, and to be done with the nausea of this pregnancy. I don't have the brain power for much of a post, except to say that God is abundantly generous and we are all so very grateful for the blessing of our new family member.

Labor was very fast and the birth went as perfectly as it could. My mom and husband helped me every step of the way and I'm so thankful for their presence and their love.

7 Quick Takes Friday, Thankfulness Edition

I'm not going to go into my current state of body or mind except to say I am very pregnant, very hormonal, very exhausted, and still nauseous most of the day. In an attempt to cultivate a spirit of gratitude rather than one of complaints, I want to focus on the 7 top things I'm thankful for right now.

7. Grocery Stores and Restaurants
It is just so nice to be able to walk into a store stuffed with choices and say, "Yep, this looks good to me," buy it, and eat it. Were I a true pioneer wife, I'd have to be grinding the corn for my cornbread, and that's WAY too much effort. I am so thankful for quick, easy, available food, and money to buy it.

6. My Honda Odyssey
In addition to driving well on snowy roads, my new minivan has its driver's seat at a height that doesn't require me either to climb or to bend in order to get in and out. Every little thing that helps keep my pelvic cradle at an even level is a source of great relief to me!

5. My Chiropractor and my Meds
I love modern medicine and I love alternative medicine, too. When they work in tandem, it's a beautiful thing.

4. My kids
I've read about women falling deeper in love with their children while expecting, but I can't remember whether I did last time around. All I know is that my kids are so awesome. I love watching them play together, love listening to what they've learned, love looking at them and marveling that these independent people are part me and part my husband. It's such a miracle, and I'm struck by it anew every day.

3. My husband
Never once this whole pregnancy has he said anything like, "I cannot WAIT for this to be over." or "Geez, are you still feeling too sick to clean the bathrooms?" or "This better be the last time we do this." He has, instead, totally stepped up to the plate and taken full child care duties after 6 pm as well as cleaned the kitchen every single night and gone to the grocery store whenever I've asked, despite knowing that he will come home with something and I will complain that it wasn't the brand/type/flavor I wanted. No man would put up with what he's put up with if it weren't for a heart full of love.

2. My baby
Every kick and roll and jab reminds me that there's a person inside, waiting for her time to come out into the world. I am so excited to meet her, and so grateful for the blessing of this life within me. And despite its difficulties, I am thankful for this time with her, just the two of us, hearts and systems joined in perfect harmony.

1. My Jesus
He loves me, helpless and hopeless as I am. He loves me when I'm too irritated and exhausted to pray. He loves me when I sin and He forgives me for it. He's with me, always beside me, even if I can't feel His presence. He is God, He is perfect, He is Love.

More Quick Takes at Jen's Blog

Merry Christmas!

It's here! HE'S here! There is so much joy in my home and my heart today that I want to extend it to all of you as well.

We went to Mass last night at 4 pm, which I was able to do thanks to some wonderful tea my Traditional Chinese Medicine doctor has given me (I say wonderful because it works, not because of how it tastes.) And a very kind family who has obviously taken the Christmas message to heart squeezed in so I could sit down, because "A pregnant woman should always have a seat at Christmas Mass." I said thank you a hundred times and knew I wasn't properly conveying just how INCREDIBLY grateful I was for that beautiful gesture. We got to Mass 1/2 an hour early and it was already standing-room only, if that helps put the little miracle into perspective!

Mass was beautiful, and here's another little miracle: My husband came! While getting my daughter ready she asked me, "Can Dedah come?" and I said, "Go ask him!" He willingly put on his nice clothes and a tie to match the one my son was wearing, and we all got to sit together for Christmas Mass. How beautiful!!

I thought I'd start a little meme, if anyone is interested in joining, as a way to celebrate the coming of this blessed, joyous day! I will try to figure out how to do the trackback linky thing, but don't anyone get your hopes up, okay? If there's nothing to link to, you can just comment and I'll track down your post that way.

Favorite Christmas Ornaments

It's very easy! Just take a picture (or a few) of your favorite Christmas ornaments/decorations and add a brief description of why they mean something to you.

I have four ornaments to share with you:

This one is a University of Michigan themed nutcracker. Watching the Nutcracker ballet with my sister and mom is one of my favorite Christmas traditions, and having this little guy all decked out in Maize and Blue (a gift from my MIL) melds my two families delightfully!



This one is an old, old ornament from my childhood. We lived in Indonesia in the 1980's when I was between 5 and 7 years old, and this was a gift from our maid/cook/babysitter. I believe she made it herself. It's not fancy, but it's so Christmasy. I remember her and our time there every year when I put it on the tree.


Each member of our family has a stylized initial ornament just like this one. In February, soon after I lost Elizabeth, I went to do my weekly volunteering in Denver. The woman I'm working with likes a particular food bank, which also has a thrift store, and I was wandering the aisles, not looking for anything in particular, when I saw this "E." It exactly matches the initial ornaments the rest of us have. I cried, and bought it to put on our tree every year, so that Elizabeth is always with us, always remembered. I put her ornament right up top, next to the star, because it's closest to heaven up there.



This is probably the nicest ornament we own. The picture doesn't do it ANY justice at all. It's porcelain, made in Italy, and depicts the Madonna kneeling in prayer by the infant Jesus in the manger. The star overhead forms a ray of light connecting with Jesus' halo, and that's how the ornament hangs, by the star. It is such a beautiful ornament with such lovely symbolism.

I hope that your Christmases are very merry, filled with the joy of His birth and the warmth of family and friends to share it with. All my love and wishes for a very Happy New Year, too!

Unexpected Blessings

I am still here. Still very sick. Still unable to read without becoming very dizzy, thus the lack of posts. I literally have nothing to say, too, since my days are just spent surviving the nausea and being grateful that my mom is helping me out.

God is very good to me. The nausea is controlled and I really only suffer between 4 and 5 hours a day. The rest of the time I'm just very uncomfortable, which doesn't even count as suffering because I watch TV or talk to my mom or listen to a book on tape. Given that I suffered with my other two every waking hour, this is practically heaven. Not that I'm enjoying it. Though I am grateful to have something to offer up in the evenings.

And it's amazing how it brings my family together. My mom has been living with us for 6 weeks now (BLESS HER!) and running the house like a whiz. My kids are enjoying a special relationship with her because of this, and she and I have had the chance for many long talks and companionable hours.

Best of all, it's brought about a reconciliation with my father. Our relationship was never easy, and in the past year I decided that I was going to put my foot down and no longer allow myself to be forced into the role of "dutiful daughter" when inside I was anything but. I broached the subject with him over email and didn't make much progress, so I thought to myself, okay...time to put my money where my mouth is. I decided I was going to stop allowing him to visit whenever he wanted to.

Then I got pregnant. And next week, my mom will be taking a break from caring for me. I'll be on my own for 6 days, with no one to drive the kids to school and activities, clean and cook, and bring me soy milk while I throw up. She needs (and deserves) the break, and I don't begrudge it to her, but I literally cannot do anything but sit on the couch and eat with occasional good moments where I can check email and a couple blogs or make a phone call to a friend. I can't cook. I can't drive. I can't take care of my family. I need help.

Knowing this, my dad offered to come for the week my mom is gone. And immediately, my old feelings rose to the surface. Hadn't I decided I was going to put my foot down? Hadn't I decided it was time to stop giving in, so that our relationship could finally move past the unhealthy dynamic we've always had?

When I told him the reason I didn't want him to visit, we had a long conversation. We addressed many of our old issues head on, which I usually shy away from. In the end, we made significant progress.

As I hung up, it occurred to me that this was the moment where I had to decide what type of person I was going to be. If I was truly going to put my money where my mouth is, then I would have to completely forgive everything and begin anew as St. Elizabeth Ann Seton did, as described in this lovely post from Abigail. Or I could hold on to the person I was, my hurts and my judgments, and we'd never be able to move forward.

I have to say, Abigail's post has been rolling around in my heart for a few months now, and St. Elizabeth Ann Seton's example has inspired me. I'm going to pray to my little Elizabeth, named for this wonderful Saint, to give me the strength I need to completely erase my past relationship with my dad and greet him when he comes with the sort of love and open heart that is necessary for true growth and relationship.

God has made me sick and dependent for a reason. Perhaps it's to build my humility. Whatever the reason, I can't make unilateral decisions about my life course. For someone like me, who struggles with wanting to control everything, being forced into a position of utter dependence is a huge challenge for my spiritual growth. I am encouraged, though, that I will receive from it the lessons God wants to write on my heart, and emerge a more faithful and devoted servant to Him whom I love above all.

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Embracing the Good Samaritan

While waiting for my son's catechism class to end the other day, I picked up the latest copy of Catholic Update, and read the article on the works of mercy. It had a perspective on the parable of the Good Samaritan that really struck me. Apparently this is a well-known analysis: that the parable is not about how we are all called to help others, but rather is meant to help us recognize the mercy Christ has shown us. It is a parable of God's salvation -- Jesus is the neighbor, the Good Samaritan. He comes to us, who are hurt and broken, and provides us with everything we need. He heals our wounds, takes us to a resting place, pays our debt, and promises to return for us.

Naturally, we are called to help others. Scripture is clear in many other passages, most notably last Sunday's reading from John 21 which I have at the bottom of this webpage. "Feed my lambs, tend my sheep," says Jesus, calling His disciples to provide spiritually and materially for all His children. But what strikes me is the focus of the most famous passage of Scripture. Even non-believers are aware of the parable of the Good Samaritan. In some states there are Good Samaritan laws that hold bystanders accountable for failing to render aid.

Yet I think most of us fail to understand it properly. Jesus is not telling us what we should do. He is showing us what God has done. The parable of the Good Samaritan is not a set of instructions. It's a song of praise for God's goodness.

It echoes what I've been feeling these past few months. There has been a great deal of upheaval in my life, starting with the ectopic pregnancy and progressing right through discerning school options for next year, determining the relationship I will have with certain family members, and making decisions on future children. All the questions I've had about what God wants me to do, I have taken to Him in Adoration, and all I keep hearing in my heart is "Don't worry," and "This is My work."

It IS His work. Nothing I do is my own doing. Nothing I achieve is the product of my labors. All the effort and anxiety I put into trying to do the Lord's will doesn't draw me nearer to Him. It just increases my worry.

I took such comfort from that article, almost as though God was saying to me, "Calm down and leave things in My hands." My job is not to go out there and save all the poor and downtrodden; it's simply to embrace God's salvation and allow it to work within me. When I find opportunities to perform the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, I should respond with the same spirit and outpouring of love Christ has shown me.

That's it. That's the sum of my job on this earth. No need to control things and work myself into a lather about timing and persuading those around me to join in my efforts. Just quiet love and a joyful spirit of giving.

As Paul has said:

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

-- Phillipians 4: 11-13

Content in every situation, and do all through Him who gives me strength. The peace and happiness I've felt from letting this truth fill my heart has enabled me to takes steps I've never been able to before, and which I plan to post about in the future. It has also, I hope, made me a better wife and mother, which is my primary vocation and deepest desire of my heart.

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Trust and Obedience

I had a great post planned about trusting in God and the intercession of the Saints. It was awesome. I'd been very stressed about an upcoming wedding where I'd have to make a speech, and decided I needed supernatural assistance. So I said a novena to St. Dymphna and immediately experienced an increase in confidence that God would take care of things and the speech would go well. When it went better than well, I was all prepared to sit down and crow about the power of God and how praying to the Saints really works. A success story! What a great post!

Then my life took a surprising turn. I found out I was pregnant. And just as quickly, found out I was miscarrying. Yesterday morning I had a dizzy spell while driving my daughter to preschool and had to pull over and get out of the car. It triggered a massive panic attack which led the kind stranger who found me hunched over on his porch to call an ambulance to take me to the ER. It all turned out to be nothing, just some cramps and nausea associated with the miscarriage. Everything was fine.

So much for trusting in God and overcoming my anxieties. Why is it that whenever I'm confronted with a situation that's out of my control, I completely lose it? I spent a large part of yesterday beating myself up for not being able to handle that dizzy spell. I had a long list of "if onlys." If only I'd lain on the sidewalk until it passed...if only I'd called my husband instead of the ambulance...if only I'd waited five minutes to leave the house, or left 10 minutes earlier...if only I'd had my cell phone with me...

What bothered me most about it was that it was the panic attack which sent me to the ER, not the miscarriage. As sad as I am to be saying goodbye to my Little Acorn, healthwise, there's really no problem. My bleeding is light, and aside from that one big cramp while driving, I've hardly had any pain at all. If only I weren't such an Nervous Nellie...Why can't I just trust in God?

Finally last night, while meditating on the fifth Joyful mystery, God hit me over the head with the sanity stick. Jesus is lost in Jerusalem, the Son of God entrusted to Mary and Joseph is missing, and they are FRANTIC while they search for him. Doesn't Joseph say, "Son, why have you done this to us? Can't you see how worried your mother and I have been?" Jesus gently chides them. "Why were you worried? Didn't you know I must be about my Father's business?" And God asks me, "Do you think Mary's emotional response to losing her son means that she doesn't trust Me?"

Mary, who said yes to a plan that must have seemed wildly impossible, surely trusted God. She must have known that God, who sent an angel to warn them of Herod's soldiers and kept them safe on the trip to Egypt, would not let any harm come to His son until He had fulfilled His mission. She must have known, even before Jesus reminded her, that He not only had the power to take care of Himself, but also to guide and save others. Yet she was worried and upset, searching for Jesus everywhere.

It's okay for me to be anxious and experience panic attacks. They are the natural, human response to stressful situations. Their presence is not an indictment of my ability to trust God. What matters is not how I feel about a given situation, but what I do. If I allow my panic and anxiousness to keep me from doing the Lord's work, then I am not trusting God. But if I go ahead along the path He's made clear to me, even if I am nervous and frightened and stressed, as long as I keep on doing what I'm meant to do, He will take care of things.

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Seeing Things Clearly

I had LASIK eye surgery a couple weeks ago. My mother gifted it to me on my 30th birthday, but since I was a brand new mother (my youngest was only a week old at that time!) I wanted to wait until I didn't have a tiny being completely dependent upon me for sustenance before I went through the surgery. Two years went by, and my mom finally got on my case to get the surgery done, even offering to come stay with me for a week and help me out as I convalesced. (Not that it takes a week, but hey, if she's making the trip she may as well stick around and spend some quality time with the kids.)
Before I scheduled the surgery, I read up on the procedure and the center where I was having it done. I felt very confident in my doctor and his skills (he's probably the best LASIK surgeon in Colorado and has even developed a laser of his own design.) Everyone I spoke with was both kind and knowledgeable, allaying any concerns I had about the procedure itself or my suitability for it.

That didn't stop me from having nightmares as the surgery loomed, or lying awake with vague fears of losing my sight all together and never seeing my daughter in her prom dress, developing an infection that might cause me to lose an eye, or some other equally rare and unlikely disaster.

I turned to my husband for support one night, as we were getting ready for bed, asking him how he felt about my upcoming surgery. He admitted that he was nervous about the procedure and had some trepidation about how it would all turn out. I was like...ummmm...are you not aware you are supposed to be a rock upon which I can build a fortress of emotional security? You are not allowed to feel nervousness about this!

Which brought me to the realization I should have had from the start: I need to rely on God alone. My husband, amazing man though he is, cannot save me from fears or suffering. Only God can turn my tears into dancing.

That night I had a dream where I died. It's the way of dreams that you don't know at the time that things aren't real. Everything feels real, feels as though it's truly happening. When my group discovered that the Enterprise wasn't going to rescue us and the planet we were on was about to explode, I truly in that moment felt the overpowering panic that I would have in any situation where there was no escape. (Yes, yes, I know. Star Trek dreams belie a deep and abiding nerdiness that can't be disguised. Anyway.) I clearly remember standing there, watching the sky-high ball of flame rushing toward me and knowing it was beyond impossible to survive what was coming. So I didn't bother with fear. I just accepted it and turned my thoughts to Jesus. The flames rushed in and bright light blinded me. I reached out my arms, smiling, peace enfolding me, and looked for my Savior.

I opened my eyes to darkness and crushing disappointment. I wasn't dead, after all. I was just dreaming.

Turns out, the surgery wasn't easy for me at all. I prayed the Hail Mary over and over to get through it, and spent three times as long in recovery as everyone else that day. But it all turned out well: my vision is 20/18 and my eyes are healing nicely. I didn't even really think about the dream while I was on the table or in recovery, but I've put the two together since then. What I struggle with most in this life is trust. Trust in God, in others, in myself, too. The dream was showing me that whenever I am faced with a problem, while the outcome may not be what I wanted, if I turn to God I will find happiness in it.

I've been pondering how this relates to my attempts to discern God's will for my life. In a profound way, it brings me comfort. The details of my future aren't important. What's important is that I turn to God and make Him the center of anything I do. Most importantly, though, it reminds me that things are not all up to me. I didn't want to be blind any more than I wanted to be on an exploding planet, but either way, it's God alone in whom I should place my trust. No one else has the power to save me.

When I think about the dream now, I don't feel any of the lingering fear a nightmare usually evokes. What I most remember is the joy and expectation I felt peering through the white light trying to see God. John writes of heaven:

Nothing accursed will be found there anymore. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him.

They will look upon his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.

Night will be no more, nor will they need light from lamp or sun, for the Lord God shall give them light, and they shall reign forever and ever. --Revelation 22:3-5

Amen, Lord Jesus!

Picture credit.

I'm writing from my vacation up north in Michigan. My in-laws have a house right on the lake in a little village that used to be a thriving lumber town before the turn of the century. It's just south of Sleeping Bear Dunes and part of the National Lakeshore, which makes it a truly remarkable place with views that bring peace into your soul. Today the lake is extremely windy and agitated. From inside, through a window and while sitting in a patch of sunlight, the lake is lovely. Trying to sit on the beach, though, would be totally miserable.

If I thought about it long enough, I feel like I could come up with some cool metaphor linking the beauty of a windy lake from inside the security of a warm log house with the beneficence of faith sheltering me from the winds of circumstance or something, but you know what? I am on vacation and I just don't have the brainpower! Sorry...

Since I am away from home (and on vacation, have I mentioned that?) I am relaxing my Rule in terms of keeping on schedule. I do have several guidelines for my month up here, though.

(Those of you with kids can read these like the Genie from Aladdin)
Rule #1! I can't completely let go of my prayer life. At a minimum, I want to drag the kids to Mass on Sunday for one hour of absolutely hellish aggravation that makes me question my decision to raise my children as Catholics, pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy daily for my parents, say one decade of the Rosary for the intentions of the Rosary Crusade each night, and offer each morning to Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

Rule #2! I can't overindulge myself. I can have pie, ONCE a day. I can have ice cream, on a day I DON'T eat pie. Just because my in-laws are generous, fun-loving people does not mean I can take advantage of their munificence and get a new outfit every time we walk around the downtown. It's not a bad idea to keep some level of discipline going with the kids, too. One new toy per outing is PLENTY.

Rule #3! I can't pawn off my children entirely on their grandparents and spend the day blogging...oops. No, seriously. Doob Time and Gin Time need to be preserved. 1/2 an hour a day for each child, concrete, one-on-one activities that they choose. It really is too easy up here to let Grandma and Grandpa entertain them all day. Especially because all four of them enjoy that time so much.

So there you have it. Minimum standards for vacation. I have additional goals of setting out my curriculum plan to begin Homeschooling the Doob when we return, and possibly finishing Pope Benedict XVI's latest encyclical, of which I am 1/2 way through. There's also a book on the 1967 Arab-Israeli war that's caught my attention, and possibly something on Northern Michigan flora and fauna...but more likely I will spend my evenings chatting with my in-laws and watching what passes for news up here. Last night's Top Story: the weather forecast. I kid you not. We are all on vacation up here, I guess!

God Bless you all.

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Pizza Night

I love pizza. L.O.V.E. love it, and I don't care if it's full of carbs, or fat, or whatever, I like it and I want to eat it often. However, I do not like bad pizza...the greasy, limp, cardboard kind with tangy sauce and canned toppings and way too much salt. So I'm constantly on the quest for good pizza. We've found a place here in Denver that might have the awesomest pizza known to man. Beau Jos. They're historic, green, community minded, and about as healthy as pizza can get, plus their pies are heavenly.

However, their prices are just not at a level that allows us to eat there once a week, which is what we'd do if I had my druthers.

So I've been working on perfecting pizza night at our house. The kids get really into it, and I am blessed with a husband who eats whatever I put in front of him, so I don't have to worry too much about experimenting.

Tonight I made a pesto pizza with feta, tomato, Kalamata olives and red onion, a regular pizza with mushrooms and spinach, and individual cheese pizzas for the kids. At Christmas last year I bought my son a set of 4 individual pizza trays and a kid-sized rolling pin (isn't Montessori great?) Now he rolls out his dough, slops on the sauce and cheese, and gets to feel the pride of a master chef when he sees his creation come browned and bubbling out of the oven. My bread maker spits out PERFECT pizza dough, and the large size splits exactly into 4 mini pizzas and two medium ones for us adults. I even use 1/2 whole wheat flour and the dough is still stretchy and pliable. Plus, with the bread maker, I only need to spend about an hour in the kitchen, comparable to my normal cooking routine.

I've calculated it out, and even ignoring the benefits of making the kids ridiculously happy and avoiding for one night the dinner-table struggle to get the kids to eat, and the fun of preparing the pizzas as a family, and the satisfaction of being able to choose exactly what toppings go on it, pizza night at our house costs less than $15 (and that's with exotic ingredients like feta cheese and Kalamata olives. Without those it'd be under $10.)

I love finding the perfect spot between saving money and creating happiness. Pizza night does both.

What I Need Most

I am on my second round of antibiotics for a sore throat that has been with me on and off for three weeks now. The whole family has been sick with it, but even so the tenacity and virulence of this bug is pretty amazing.

The first round did its job well, or so I thought, but while visiting my mom last week the soreness came back with a vengeance. My parents' good friend, who is staying with them, suggested we pray over my throat and I happily agreed. I believe in healing. I know if God wanted to, He could have rid me of that sore throat in that very instant.

But for some reason He never wants to. I remember when I was suffering a severe case of hyperemesis with my second pregnancy and another family friend with the gift of healing laid hands on me and prayed that God would cure me of the debilitating nausea. As he prayed with confidence that I would be healed, I asked him, "Why are you so sure that God wants to take this away?"

He looked surprised, and answered, "Because God doesn't like people to suffer."

Except me, I guess. Needless to say, my hyperemesis continued unabated another 10 weeks until I was fully into my 5th month of pregnancy. Which leaves me wondering, "Why doesn't God ever want to heal me of physical suffering?"

I think it's partly because I don't need the miracle. It wouldn't help my faith to be healed, and it wouldn't help my husband find faith, either. I read somewhere that God worked miracles to help people believe. Well, I already believe. In fact, it might negatively impact my faith, given how tied I am to the more physical aspects of faith like almsgiving and public worship. Perhaps God wants me to continue on in my faith without any miracles. Is that a lesson I need to learn?

Or could it be that I need the suffering? It's hard to imagine how I (or my family) could NEED 20 weeks of torture. My hyperemesis was hard on everyone -- on my mother who nursed me full time and took care of my son as well, on my husband who lived alone in our home and saw me only for 10 minutes a day, on my son who had very little interaction with me while I was ill, and on me, too. Throwing up multiple times a day, enduring IVs for deyhdration every three days, intense and constant nausea and the sheer boredom of being able to do nothing but lay in bed and watch bad daytime TV certainly qualifies as torture in my book.

I needed all that? Really? I needed a trip to the emergency room last Friday at 3 am after I almost passed out while trying to take some medicine for my throat? What greater good is being served here?

But I know that one is. Perhaps God wants to show me the importance of family. I complain about them too much, really. My attitude could use a good adjustment. Sometimes I don't want to be around them, and I'm sure they sometimes feel the same way about me. But none of that matters. I am still called by God to love them, L.O.V.E love them and honor them and keep them close to me, no matter what. Perhaps God was using the hyperemesis to teach me unconditional love. My family showed me unconditional love by taking care of me even when at my worst, emotionally, physically and spiritually. Can I do less than return that to them? God loves me with all my faults. Should I do less for my family?

And, too, perhaps it's not all about me. I offered up my sore throat for those without medical care. When I had to go to the ER in the middle of the night, my mom was there to drive me. We had three hospitals to choose from, all less than 20 minutes away. I had my antibiotics within 6 hours, with almost everything paid for by insurance. With all that available, did I really need healing? I also offered up my hyperemesis, but I didn't do a very good job of bearing it cheerfully for those mothers in poor countries who have no maternity care at all. I tried. Somewhat...

God could heal everyone. He has that power. If I am willing to bear a little bit of suffering for someone who truly needs God's healing, isn't the humility, perspective and empathy I gain for others worth more than the joy of being healed? God knows which I need more.

I haven't been posting much lately because I'm still in a holding pattern, still praying and trying to do small things for the poor like keep my grocery bills down, be nice to my children, and refrain from eating meat at restaurants.

My husband and I had a wonderful date-night dinner at a local Moroccan restaurant where everything was organic, cooked from scratch and delicious. Ethnic food is always the best bet for eating healthy at a good price. Your average chain restaurant is loaded with fat and meat...at one point on the road a few years ago my husband and I tried to eat at your friendly neighborhood chain restaurant and there wasn't a single item on the menu that wasn't either deep fried or meat-based. We like to support local businesses as much as we can, and happily we like Indian, Asian, African and Middle Eastern cuisine, so it works out well for us. For some reason, eating local, ethnic food often means the restaurant is in a strip mall. So much for atmosphere!

I may have inadvertently caused a scandal at my parish by writing an article that did not comply with Church teaching. Pray for me, if you will, as I discern what to do.

Both kids are sick with ear infections that are draining through their eyes and nose. (Yes, the image is as lovely in person as I'm sure it is in your head!) So I've got both of them home with me this week and nothing planned. I can't go to the gym because I don't want them to infect the other kids in day care. My son can't go to school, we can't have anyone over and we can't go to anyone's house. The words stir-crazy definitely apply, and it's only day 2!

We got our sewer line fixed at 1/3 the cost and no damage whatsoever to our lawn, porch or basement. Praise God! The method they used feeds the new pipe through the old one, so all they need to do is brace their machine against a foundational wall (which they did by cutting into the cement floor of our storeroom) and dig a small hole down to the pipe where it joins with the main city sewer line. In all, it wasn't anywhere near the cost or trouble we thought it would be. I even got the chance to practice my Spanish with one of the guys who did the work, and they company sent someone the next day to repair our storeroom floor, remove the extra dirt from our front yard and sweep the street clear of dust. God really took care of us.

So that's it. Nothing profound. Nothing inspiring. I did just finish a nice chapter on the importance of suffering in The Truth Of Catholicism by George Weigel, but I can't seem to get my brain to function enough to write meaningfully about it. Maybe the virus the kids have is draining my brain, too.

Good night, dear friends. I think I should get some rest.

Backseat Driving in God's Limousine

I had a thought during my nightly Rosary the other night: I'm not letting God work any miracles for me.


I'm reminded of that little poem by Lauretta Burns that I'm sure we've all seen before.

Broken Dreams
by Lauretta Burns
As children bring their broken toys
With tears for us to mend,
I brought my broken dreams to God
Because He was my Friend

But instead of leaving Him
In peace to work alone,
I hung around and tried to help
With ways that were my own.

At last I snatched them back and cried, "How can You be so slow?"
"My child," He said, "what could I do?
You never let them go."

I thought, too, of St. Therese of the Little Flower. If you haven't read The Story of a Soul please find some time do so. I've never known its match for beauty, and the profound truths of her little way are beyond my ability to translate here. There were two main things I remembered from the book that struck me the other night. I thought first of how deeply and utterly she trusted God. At one point she wrote how elated she was when her father confessor told her she ought to take Communion every day. It had been a strong desire of hers to do so, but she didn't speak of it to anyone or ask to be given permission (I'm not sure why she needed permission; perhaps someone with a better historical understanding of her time or her convent can enlighten me.) She simply let that desire well in her heart and waited for God to grant it. How pure was that trust! To not even ask for something that surely would have been granted her easily, but instead to hope for it and allow God to reveal his glory...It's something I can hardly imagine, Type-A control-freak that I am.

The second thing that came to mind during my meditation was how St. Therese liked to consider herself the bride of Jesus. When a sister of hers married and spoke lovingly of all the little things she did to please her husband, St. Therese vowed that she would not let her sister do more for her earthly husband than she herself would do for God. She took the relationship literally, even amusing herself by writing out an invitation to the reception that celebrated her union with the son of God and the Queen of Heaven, to be held at a time unannounced -- Hold yourselves ready, for we do not know the hour of His coming!

I thought about how I let my husband clean the kitchen for me every night. Some of you might be smirking at that statement, but that's how controlling I am. Early in our marriage I used to look at the job he did -- crumbs on the floor, knives in the sink, tomato sauce on the counter, a precarious tower of hand-washed dishes piled high in the drying rack -- and compose conversations in my head where I taught him how to do it properly. Praise God, the Holy Spirit kept me from saying much at the time, because this kitchen cleaning thing happens to be the number one way Dan shows his love for me. He's not demonstrative, he's not verbal, he doesn't buy gifts and we're kind of busy for quality time together. His love language is acts of service and this is a service he performs every single day. Even when I make him one of my infamous eight pot dinners and he can't even see the sink to get started, he still does it.

If I insisted on doing it my way, I'd be missing out on this gift from my husband. There's a humility in accepting gifts, I've found. It's often not exactly what you'd get yourself, or what you wanted. Sometimes it's a total miss. Sometimes it's better than you could have dreamed of, or so unexpected that the joy of it takes your breath away. Whichever scenario it is, the truly loving giftee will take it, thank the giver with a grateful heart, and use the gift.

I have a coat I hate. My mom bought it for me and it's cherry red, not my style, with a huge, flat collar. I wear it every Christmas because I'm lucky enough to have a loving mother and a nice coat. Who cares if it's not my style?

If I'm trying at every opportunity to win Dan over to my way of thinking on this adoption thing, I'm not letting God do any work. I'm trying to do it myself. I'm not bringing it up, mind you, but whenever he sends me an article that bemoans the difficulty of large families or mentions a conversation with someone who's overwhelmed by their kids' schedule, I yammer on and on about how great I think large families are and how wonderful it would be to have another child and detail all the ways we could make things work if we had more.

Maybe God is looking for an opportunity to do something for me, here.

I should just let Him.

Christmas Preparations

Happy and Blessed First Week of Advent to everyone! I love this time of year. I love lighting the candles on my Advent wreath and decorating the house, baking cookies (and eating them), singing Christmas carols, finding gifts for friends and family and the general smells, sights, sounds and sensations of the season.

We try to be as Catholic as we can during the season. We don't put up the tree till Gaudette Sunday, and we refrain from Christmas carols till Christmas itself (though I make an exception for the kids: we sing one Christmas song every night as part of our nighttime routine.) St. Nicholas comes with a small present for the kids on December 6th, and Christmas itself is dedicated to Christ and family. I'm pondering ways to truly embrace the spirit of the season, though. I want to prepare for Christmas with sacrifice and prayer much like Lent prepares us for Easter.

I've contemplated a Buy Nothing Christmas, but I'm not sold on the idea for a couple reasons. First of all, I think the urge to celebrate by giving gifts is a nice idea. If it's being taken to extremes by marketing agencies and shopping malls, well, they're free to try and convince me to buy more if they want to. It doesn't mean I have to buy nothing in response. The main problem, though, is that it requires EVERYONE you know to buy into it. Otherwise, you receive an abundance of love but don't communicate your goodwill in a language your friends and family understand.

I do, however, like the idea of homemade gifts, simplifying the holiday, and cutting through the propaganda to unearth the true spirit of the season: Christ's love.

So I've made a pledge: I will not buy a single Christmas decoration this year. I've already stopped buying Christmas lights, though I did pick up some used coils at a garage sale last June. I'm also going to try and say a prayer for the persecuted Christians in China whenever we pass any decorated trees/homes/lightpoles/signs, etc. Lights are everywhere, so the prayer has to be short! "Lord, please strengthen and bless those who suffer for You." We have four whole boxes of decorations in the storeroom already, so I really shouldn't need any more this year. I know I'll want some, though. We've moved to a new house and I'm already at a loss for what to put on my front doors, since we now own two instead of one. Still, I'm going to try and resist. Even if I find things on sale! This includes fresh evergreen wreaths, of which I'm particularly fond. Maybe I'll hunt through my decor and see if I can find a pine scented candle tucked away somewhere, or maybe I'll see what I can cobble together from the overgrown juniper bushes in the backyard.

I've been lax lately about my prayer life. I need to return to saying the Rosary every day, to start. I've also found this wonderful site with a guide to Advent prayers for each day of the season, something which I hope can help me focus my thoughts and energies on the magnificent gift God sent us in His son.

As always, though, I'm seeking ways to remember the poor in my every day life. This season, I'm particularly conscious of those who don't know our Lord loves them, or who reject him for whatever reason. I'm mindful, too, of those who live under the oppression of a hostile government and aren't free to share their wonder and joy at Jesus' birth. And I think of those unfortunate families who are so caught up in the stress and materialism of the season that they mostly just feel pressure to keep up with the Joneses. For all these, and for the poor souls in Purgatory who are waiting to be reunited with Christ, I will dedicate my daily Rosary.

Best wishes to everyone at the start of this marvelous season! How blessed we are to have this opportunity for reflection and anticipation!

Advent Prayer

Come, long-expected Jesus. Excite in me a wonder at the wisdom and power of Your Father and ours. Receive my prayer as part of my service of the Lord who enlists me in God's own work for justice.

Come, long-expected Jesus. Excite in me a hunger for peace: peace in the world, peace in my home, peace in myself.

Come, long-expected Jesus. Excite in me a joy responsive to the Father's joy. I seek His will so I can serve with gladness, singing and love.

Come, long-expected Jesus. Excite in me the joy and love and peace it is right to bring to the manger of my Lord. Raise in me, too, sober reverence for the God who acted there, hearty gratitude for the life begun there, and spirited resolution to serve the Father and Son.

I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, whose advent I hail. Amen.

There but for the grace of God...

We tried to go see the Titanic exhibit at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science last weekend. It didn't quite work out. I checked online and they had plenty of spaces left for several shows in the afternoon, but by the time we got there it was all sold out.

No biggie. We saw the dinosaurs and browsed the planetarium (they had some cool stuff, including a very Total Recall recreation of the surface of Mars and a table with moving rings that simulated orbits) saw the mummies (my favorite) and marveled at the dioramas in the Wildlife Exhibits.

One of the wildlife rooms was also the waiting area for the next Titanic exhibition, and they had devoted a wall to the impact the Titanic (and other ships of that sort) had on the Denver area. Between the mines, the railroads and the open west, thousands of immigrants had reason to buy passage across the Atlantic and come here to make a new life for themselves. The museum had a picture of a family (or two) standing in front of a couple tents pitched in the snow on a mountain slope, hard-faced men and plain-faced women dressed in dark, drab clothes. One woman had a baby in her arms wrapped up in a blanket and a younger child at her feet.

I found the photo online and this explanation by historian Eric Margolis:

In an interview with Emma Zanetell, an eighty-nine-year-old woman who lived at Forbes, I learned a different meaning from this photograph. "That's my tent," she exclaimed, "I'm there sick in bed." The story emerged that, a day or two before the picture was made, she had given birth to twins who died. Her husband and relatives had gone to Trinidad to bury the babies, leaving the tent colony undefended. While they were gone, the militia tore down the tents and burned them. Two soldiers came into Emma's tent; one told her to get up so they could set fire to her tent. Too sick to move, she overheard the other soldier threaten to kill his companion if he harmed her.

I stared at that picture for a good five minutes, wondering to myself how -- HOW -- these people made life work in that kind of situation. I moved to Denver in May and it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Everything was in boxes. I knew no one. I had to look up grocery stores on the internet and map my way around. I got lost every time I tried to go anywhere. My son was a miserable, emotional mess, missing his friends and needing my attention every second. I had a house wrecked with packing paper and cardboard, nothing in its right place and no respite from caring for my two kids (new to me, as I'd always lived near family.)

Compared to the settlers in 1890, my move was a breeze.

The poster went on to talk about the labor strikes and the ease with which mine bosses found scabs to work for minimum pay in hazardous conditions. The US sent soldiers to clear out strikers on several occasions, and sometimes wives and children got caught in the crossfire.

It makes me marvel at the strength and resilience of the human condition. These people left their homeland for opportunity, spent all they had crossing the ocean and then begged or borrowed their way out west only to be used like slaves and discarded like cattle.

I can imagine my reaction in that situation. Bitter, violent complaining at all hours of the day. Whining, fussing, pouting, sulking. Lying in bed while the kids cry and climb all over me. Cursing God. Crying.

Not them. No time for that. They were too buy fighting to stay alive, improve their working conditions, educate their children and ensure that everyone in America had access to real freedoms and opportunities. They scrimped and suffered and soldiered on. And they won. They built our country.

It brings home to me, yet again, the spoiled, self-centered nature of my existence. I can hardly even imagine how I'd survive that sort of life, though I pray that with God's grace and the motivation of necessity, I could do it. I'd probably still do a lot of complaining, though. I really don't like the cold.

I wonder if would be courageous in fighting for my husband's right to an 8-hour day, or if I'd keep my head down because work meant food and we didn't dare risk what little we had. What if fighting meant his life, or my life, or the lives of our children? Would I be generous with our meager possessions? If a friend's husband died in the mines, would I invite her into my home and share everything I had, or would I think to myself: I just don't have enough right now. I can't help her.

My blessings are not just monetary or material. Nor have the freedoms we enjoy in this country always been a part of our society. Even now, much of the manual labor done in America is done by people with no rights, little pay, no medical care and no job security.

Would I be courageous if, instead of this free, prosperous country, I lived in Afghanistan? There are women there whose lives are so miserable that they'd rather set themselves on fire. Or in Indonesia, where Christians are persecuted and political prisoners routinely disappear? Or Pakistan, or Liberia, or anywhere else that women are only considered more valuable than sheep because sheep can't bear sons to carry on the family name? Or if, instead of shopping at Wal-Mart and watching my children play with Disney toys, we lived in China where they were actually making them in unsafe conditions?

It makes me very, very aware of how lucky I am. But in all honesty, it also scares me. Because the dichotomy between the torment and misery that exists in this world and my joy-filled life is as great as the chasm between heaven and hell. And I wonder...if God has said "To those whom more is given, more will be expected" (Luke 12: 48) what does He expect of me in light of all my blessings?

Picture credit