Carefree
This morning I woke to the sound of birds chirping, the sun peeking through the blinds, and a mild breeze through the window. That combination triggers a brain pathway that automatically transports me to my childhood and the carefree days of summer. They were the best. Long, lazy days filled with simple pleasures. The sound of the Good Humor truck that made us drop whatever we were doing and run. My August birthday party where I was queen for a day at Par King, the local mini golf course. The endless days spent in the forest preserve behind our house playing “Lost Girl Scouts” or re-enacting scenes from Little Women. We would set up camp sites in the brush with pots from our kitchen set hanging by ropes from the branches and the plastic corn cobs and baked potatoes stuck in the ground ready to harvest. Then there were the carnivals my sister and cousins and I would put on for the neighborhood. We spent more time designing, coloring and distributing the flyers than on the carnival itself. And the annual, anxiously awaited, visit from my summer buddy. Our neighbor two doors down who was like a pseudo grandma to me had a grandson, Gary, who was my age. He came to visit her for a week each summer. We were best buddies for one week each year. Feasting on crunchy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (we only had creamy peanut butter in our house) and playing for hours with Nikki, the black poodle as Gary’s grandpa played "Give My Regards to Broadway" on the organ. Such carefree days. What happened to those? I can’t quite pin point when, but things changed. Life lost it’s carefree-ness. Everything got complicated. The Good Humor truck became obsolete. Birthday parties and mini golf became babyish. Playing in the woods all day seemed a bit dangerous as did Gary! Once we realized we were a boy and a girl, everything seemed to change. And crunchy peanut butter showed up on the high cholesterol list. I want it back. I find myself longing to feel that freedom again. To feel totally absorbed in the moment like when I was back in my childhood. When I didn’t have enough of a past to get stuck in and didn’t really think about what tomorrow would bring. That’s why I love being with my grandchildren. It’s where I can live each moment as the gift...
The Horizon
“We stay on the positive path by shifting our gaze a little at a time, until all we see is the horizon.” That is a quote from ABC’s Good Morning America anchor, Robin Roberts, in her book Brighter By The Day. A good friend gave the book to me last week. She texted me that she keeps going back to her favorite parts so she can be continually thankful and maintain a positive outlook. The last few weeks I have been unable to shift my gaze from the here and now. I have been laser focused on sad facts and paralyzing hopelessness with the state of our world. I was in a funk and far from the positive path. This quote really spoke to me. It was a funk buster so to speak. I realized that each day we can choose to slightly shift our gaze from the things that weigh us down to the bigger picture. Little by little. When the heaviness of the here and now tries to flatten us, we can shift our gaze ever so slightly to the unknown yet unrelenting horizon of goodness and hope and God. But we need help to shift our gaze. I have felt that help this week. I could sense it in my spiritual bones. I was being attended to. I think God read my blog last week and used people and situations in my life to comfort me and soothe me and help me shift my gaze. In addition to the book I received, another friend sent me a link to a Matthew Kelly video reflection on John 7:37-39. “Out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water.” “Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink.” He went on to encourage listeners to imagine streams of living water washing away our pain, heartache, fears, doubts, resistance, and resentments and filling us with hope, possibility, peace, and tranquility. He reminded us that in the midst of this moral, ethical, and spiritual desert that we find ourselves in these days, God will refill and refresh. Then he challenged us to take the time to visualize those streams of living water every day for a week. A gaze shifter. Then to top it all off, yesterday was Pentecost Sunday and our granddaughter, Maggie, made her First Communion. Pentecost Sunday is a celebration of the coming of the indwelling Holy Spirit, a powerful show of God’s incredible...
Life Goes On?
Life goes on, they say. I’m having a hard time adopting that motto these days. I’m finding it hard to go on with my usual daily routine in light of the tragedy we once again were faced with in the deaths of innocent children and their teachers in a school in Texas this week. I’m mired in sadness and a fiery anger in my belly that I don’t know what to do with. I can’t just pray and move on this time. Uncharacteristically, I emailed my Wisconsin senators. I don’t usually do that because I really don’t think it makes any difference, but it was a concrete thing I could do to release some anger. I’m not well versed in the history of gun control legislation or the state of mental health facilities across the nation, so I couldn’t argue real intelligently, but I could argue emotionally. I begged that they would take the time to see how the collective spirit of the American people is in pain and the helpless feeling we all have when these tragedies occur and life goes on. I can’t say I felt any better after pressing the send button. I forced myself to watch the national news and look at the faces of those sweet children and their teachers. I cried and my belly burned. As I prayed, I couldn’t look God in the face. I was a bit miffed to be honest. This morning as I was pondering it all, the refrain of a church song popped into my head. The song is called We Remember and the last line of the refrain is “We remember, we celebrate, we believe.” I felt those words as God’s olive branch. A help for me and my belly. The prescription for how to move forward. Take the time throughout this Memorial Day weekend to remember not only those who lost their lives in service to our country but those who lost their lives just being children or teachers. Remember the faces. Remember the families. Celebrate the ten-year-olds and the teachers you know. I have a front row seat in the lives of both. Our grandson, James just turned ten. The age of most of the children we lost this week. With those double digits comes a double life. By day, they are feisty, opinionated, seemingly self-confident, and brutally honest (James told me I should brush my hair as we were Face Timing yesterday.) But...
Just Rest
These two regal gentlemen were strutting around in the parking lot behind our condo last week. Their lady friends were focused and hard at work in the woods, foraging for food, and looking for the best place to call home for their impending gang. I guess we should cut these toms some slack and realize that they are protecting their better halves, but it sure looks like the females bear the brunt of the work. Funny how nature mirrors life. I was listening to a podcast a couple days ago called We Can do Hard Things with author Glennon Doyle and her sister, Amanda. They were addressing the emotional burn out that many are experiencing due to the pandemic and other worldly catastrophes that we are witness to because of the global reach that our modern technology affords us. In the podcast they said that we were only made to handle the stress in our own worlds, not the stress of the whole world. There is enough stress as a result of life’s challenges in our families, workplaces, schools, and neighborhoods, our villages so to speak. We weren’t wired to take on the stresses of the whole world. But that is exactly what we do. And women tend to do it more than men. Studies have shown that women are suffering from emotional burn out at a much higher rate than men. They cited a theory in Kate Manne’s book, Down Girl, that posits what is called the Human Giver Theory. It is based on the assumption that humanity is divided into Human Givers and Human Be-ers. Human Givers feel it is their responsibility to make sure the Human Be-ers needs are met. Human Givers see that role as their moral obligation. Women tend to be Human Givers. The caregiving role often falls to us women. We see it as our moral obligation, especially as we grow in our discipleship and our desire to really be God’s hands, feet, and heart in this world that is hurting everywhere you turn. When we feel it is our moral obligation to give, give, give and not receive, it’s no wonder we become emotionally exhausted. We can become exhausted from caring too much for too long. But are we really called to care SO much for SO many for SO long? Could our caring be out of whack? Maybe we need to listen more carefully to God’s whispers of just...
The Secret Conversation
It’s June in May! No, I haven’t lost my mind. Grandbaby number seven arrived safe and sound this week. June Barbara introduced herself with much fanfare and a little scare. But all is well and her cousins can’t wait to initiate her into the clan with lots of hugs and kisses and dance moves. Witnessing the simultaneous joy and pain of birth and the transforming power of motherhood up close has brought me to my knees. Being at a bedside for a birth is one of the closest encounters of the presence of God this side of heaven. Lost in the chaos that our bodies go through to bring life into the world is the power and the tenderness of the Creator. The first time I hold each of my grandchildren I have a secret conversation with them. I ask them to tell me about Jesus. Tell me about heaven. Because I believe we are born with a keen sense of the Divine. A closeness and an intimate knowledge of the place and the reality that we wonder about as adults. We lose those memories as the years pile on and this world and its trappings dull our sense of where we came from. I get various responses from my query. Mostly quiet unfocused stares and muffled grunts. But in them all, there is a reassurance to me that there really is more to life than what we can see now and babies are the angels sent with that message. Happy Mother’s Day to all of us who have birthed a baby, lost a baby, are waiting on a baby, or have played a significant role in a baby’s life. The definition of motherhood is broad and varied. The tasks of motherhood are hard, sacrificial, and stinky! But the blessings of motherhood always include a glimpse of heaven. No matter how old your baby is. Take a peek, Joan...
The Roller Coaster
Do you ever max out your worry bank? It’s like a credit card account; you get a worry limit and at times life throws you so much to worry about that you max out. You can’t worry anymore, it’s just not possible. You are forced to surrender. That happened to me last week. Can you guess where I was last week? (See the pic) I had the privilege of accompanying my daughter and her family on a trip to Disney World. That’s the last place to be fraught with worry you say? It’s where smiles are born. It’s where otherwise mature adults don mouse ears and matching t-shirts and spin around in tea cups. Which is exactly what made me realize my tendency to worry is deeply rooted. Not even the Magic Kingdom could completely extinguish it. I worried about getting Covid. I worried about the plane going down. I worried about renting a car by myself for the first time. I worried about navigating the route to where I was staying. I worried about losing one of the grandkids in the crowds, and mostly I worried about my other daughter, who is due with their first baby this week, going into labor while I was gone. It seems to be how I am wired. It is a weakness I have that I know God is working on with me. I pray on it but the evil one preys on it. We are learning about discernment of spirits at Firstfruits as we study Fr. Timothy Gallagher’s book, Discernment of Sprits, An Ignatian Guide for Everyday Living. In it he explains how the spiritual life is like a roller coaster ride through times of consolation and desolation. One minute we are soaring high, arms waving in the air from feelings of deep joy, peace, and connection with God and around the next corner we plunge into more of a restless, confused, and anxiety ridden time when we doubt God’s presence and nearness. The key is to be aware that what we are experiencing is truly a normal part of the spiritual life. To understand what is going on and to take action to either embrace it when we are in consolation or rebuke and fight it when we are in desolation. My propensity to worry is fertile ground for the enemy to plant the seeds of spiritual doubt. I really have to be on guard when I find myself...
Is It Too Much To Ask?
We are about to enter Holy Week, the culmination of our Lenten journey. The time when we should look back on our Lenten resolves and see how we have done. How are we different then we were six weeks ago? If you remember, my resolve wasn’t to give up something that is difficult, it was to do something difficult. I set out on this journey to ”Love and let God do the rest.“ It started out well, but then as with a lot of spiritual practices, life got in the way, my own lack of discipline got in the way, and people I just couldn’t love got in the way. After a few less than stellar performances on my part, I got a bit discouraged and lax in my resolve. As I realized this week that time was running out, I decided to ramp it up a bit. I was on a frenetic pace to find opportunities to “Love and let God do the rest.” To not sweat the small stuff, just love. Just then, I spotted an opportunity right in my own kitchen. Next to the kitchen sink is a rack where I keep a dishtowel. A neatly placed, right-side-out fully extended dishtowel. Quite often, much to my dismay, that same towel ends up looking very different. (See the picture above.) Is it too much to ask? Instead of straightening it every time I walk by as I roll my eyes and rehearse a very angry conversation in my head with the perpetrator, I just leave it as is. I use that rumpled up dishtowel as a reminder to just keep loving and let God straighten things out. It also prompts me to ask myself how many times have I disappointed God. How many times have I not done things quite as he would like? How many times has He thought to himself, “Is it too much to ask?” This week as we try once more to wrap our minds around Jesus’ incomprehensible act of merciful love, we need to search for the ways we can spread that same merciful love to those around us. We need to let Jesus’ merciful love for us sink so deeply into our being that it is no longer difficult to love others. It just flows. Is it too much to ask? Joan...
Buds of Hope
Spring is in the air and none too soon. The sight of my tulip and daffodil bulbs breaking ground is just what the doctor ordered. I love flowers. A friend gave me a tee shirt that says “Easily distracted by flowers.” So true. I find myself hovering over them daily for signs of growth and to just marvel at the awesomeness of their internal clocks. How do they know when it’s time to move into action? To push themselves into the light. This budding patch of earth brings me great joy which is what this past week in Lent has been about. Last Sunday was Laetare Sunday which is about celebrating hope and joy in the midst of our Lenten fasts and penances. Hope and joy in the midst of hardship … sounds like a good thing to strive towards. Something we should celebrate every day, not just one Sunday in Lent. I was listening to a podcast of an interview with Anne Lamott. She is one of my very favorite authors, speakers, and human beings. As is true of many of the people I have been blessed to know over the years who are in recovery from addictions, she is beautifully real, has unrivaled self-awareness, and as she said “uses her mistakes and imperfections as medicine for others.” All the hardships and learning curves we go through in life can become medicine for others when we share them. “Bread for their journeys.” Anne was asked the question, “What gives you hope?” Her answer was “almost everything.” In fact, she wrote a book about hope entitled Almost Everything. Does almost everything give you hope? I think it can with a little help. She went on to stress the importance of gratitude in the search for hope and joy. She calls gratitude “a mysterious magnetic energy. It draws goodness to you, people to you, and new life. Whatever you focus on, you get more of, so if you are grateful, you become even more grateful and more blown away by the beauty of it all.” She also said that “God’s grace is spiritual WD40.” I love that. God’s grace is the little help we need to become unstuck when we find ourselves fixated on negativity and mired in the heaviness of life. With God’s grace we can be loosened up. We can slide right into a life of gratitude. A life where hope abounds. Time to move into action?...
Let It Begin With Me
My husband and I got married in 1980. Sorry to say, as most brides and grooms, we were focused on the reception so I can’t say I remember a lot of the details of the mass. I do remember that we included a very popular song at the time called “Let There Be Peace on Earth” at the offertory. As I am thinking about it now, it’s kind of a weird song at a wedding. Maybe I was prophetic in my choice. Anticipating a need for divine help in keeping the peace in my marriage! (See the picture above.) I have been thinking a lot about peace lately since there seems to be a lack of it everywhere I turn. In foreign lands and in our own backyards there seems to be so much dissent, distrust, fear, anxiety, hatred, and war. It can become overwhelming. So, what can we do? It sounds so trite and inane, but I really think the first step to world peace is taken in our own shoes. It really does begin with us. I have started to live by that song’s lyrics; trusting and believing that I can make a difference. If I can relate to others from a place of peace, it will have a ripple effect. Peace begets peace. So how do we find peace, lasting peace, so that we can live from that place? Not just an hour in a quiet house peace, or a biopsy negative peace, or a teen’s car pulling in the driveway peace. A peace that doesn’t depend on externals. A powerful peace. I have been reading a book called The Art of Lent. It is a compilation of famous works of art with commentary by Sister Wendy Beckett. Each day of Lent there is a work of art to contemplate with a theme connected to it. This whole week the theme has been peace. Sister Wendy says: “Peace is never imposed; it cannot be. It is a deliberate choice, an ordering of priorities in a moral context.” We have a choice to be in a place of peace or not. We need to look at our priorities. Do I want to be right, or do I want to be in relationship? “Peace rests upon the decision always to struggle towards goodness, whatever our condition.” When faced with a decision to either act out in anger or step back and calm down, peace calls us to choose what...
A Mom and Her Baby
I have been in a bit of a funk lately. I cry very easily and I just feel a heaviness on my heart. The daily snapshots from the tragedy in the Ukraine have a lot to do with it. I decided not to watch anymore but then I feel guilty that I am denying the reality of what is going on in the world. Wouldn’t all those displaced women and children love to just turn off the sights and the sounds of war? Wouldn’t those brave men fighting like to change the channel? This love that we are called to and that I am working on for Lent gets even trickier when it reaches beyond our family and friends and starts to encompass strangers across the globe. The advances in technology make the world a smaller place and enable us to feel a deeper solidarity with our brothers and sisters all around the world. At the same time, however, it involves us, whether we want to or not, in the struggles, tragedies, and pain also. It calls us to a broader love. As I feel a love for these men, women and children, expressed in deep compassion and empathy, I try to remember my Lenten mantra, “Just love and let God do the rest.” I want to shout to God, “Are you doing the rest?” I feel like I am trying to hold up my end as best I can from so far away but I don’t see God holding up His end. I guess that is the mystery of suffering. We have to go by faith, and not by sight that God is “doing the rest.” There was one image in particular that I can’t erase. It was a picture of a very pregnant woman being carried on a stretcher from the Children’s and Maternity Hospital that was bombed. I learned later that she and the baby didn’t make it. I can’t stop thinking about her. We have a lot of babies on the way in our family. My nephew’s wife due any day, my cousin’s daughter, a few days overdue, and our youngest daughter due in early May. I think that is why this hit so hard. I made a diaper cake decoration for our daughter’s baby shower. (See picture above) It’s really the only kind of cake I’m any good at making. Every time I look at it, I am reminded to be...