five favorites

Linking up with Heather for Five Favorites.


I like to keep my seven readers on their toes and post in random bursts and then disappear for months at a time. It gives y'all an exercise in spirituality - in learning patience. I think St. Ignatius had the same method outlined in his exercises (or I made that up, I've heard it both ways), and seeing as how today is his feast day, I thought I would tip my hat in his general direction.

One

House blessings. We got one. And there is now a blessed-salted line of doom that demons will meet when trying to come across our property line. It's like a spiritual electrical fence, a la Jurassic Park.

Two

This pool. Oh, the summer hours we have spent there. It's shallow enough where my paranoid little heart doesn't jump out of my chest when I can't see my children for .245 seconds and it's deep enough where it challenges the girls to learn how to swim. So far it's slow-going, bless their little own paranoid hearts. I look forward to the day when public school goes back into session so we have the pool to ourselves and I can stop hearing, "Mommy, why is that lady wearing her underwear? It's not very modest and that hurts Holy God's Heart." It's tiresome explaining the ways of the natives when you're trying to relax and work on your Catholic Mommy tan (see above for an example of tan lines). 

Three

Package sent from a dear friend  that contains a slew of veils scored at an estate sale (holla - that's where I've gotten most of my veils). And because we share the same whacked sense of humor, she included a book that makes me ugly snort and laugh whenever I open it. A friendship built on the sturdiest of grounds.

Four

Because the protector of the family will be out of town on business tonight and there is no rest for the weary and terrified, so I'll be furthering the ugly snort and laugh with this theatrical gem until about 3am.

Five

On a less stupid note, this academic gem. We've signed eighteen Fridays over the powers that be of CCM North. Fortunately, the lady in charge is a homeschooling boss and has her stuff together. Everything is planned and ready and wonderful. Unfortunately, I grace the homeschooling loser table and have nothing ready and nothing together (including emails to this poor, patient lady that were answered about a month after she sent them. I will take my bow and pat on the back....now.). It sounds like a recipe for an incredible year for me and a miserable year for her. Should be great. 

edelightful time

I see what I did there.

So, background. I don't really talk much, unless I've had a chat or two with Sailor Jerry or Deep Eddy and then I'll heart-to-heart your sweet little ears right off your head and into a giant hole in the ground where they will hide forever and ever, amen, because do I really know that much about homeschooling and fashion and Creighton and that latest library book I loved and for the love of goodness, woman, just shut it already.

So lo and behold, I strangely find myself, on Friday night, in downtown Austin, walking up to a woman wearing crazy shoes, and asking if she was going to Edel. She wasn't and why was I looking at her feet? Next group. Thankfully the slew of babes strapped to their mama's fancy dresses were a dead giveaway and I didn't implode from embarrassment a second-go-around. I joined the herd and made intros all around. Mamas from Florida, Ohio, California. Mamas with a first child blessedly on the way, with two, seven, eleven missing them at home. Mamas who are only mamas in their hearts and in their souls and pray for a child to bless their families.

I found myself in a room, dressed to the nines (sans crazy shoes because this summer. Y'all.) and small-talking with lovely Catholic mamas from all over the country. The thing is, I'm awkward and I can't small-talk very well. My husband and I lament our time at social gatherings because we just can't small-talk. We have been blessed with some, dear, dear, dear friends, with whom we feel like family rather than friends, but beyond that, acquaintances? They aren't many and crowding a room.

I think I've mentioned a time or two hundred on here that we recently moved to Austin. What I haven't mentioned is that it's hard and we're isolated and we're still looking to plug into the Catholic homeschooling community in the area. We have a background of some great places and communities that we've lived in and moving here wasn't at the top of our list. But it was God's Will - oh, the story behind that! It was Our Good Lord's Will, beyond a doubt.

But meeting people for me is like....well, if it were a cocktail, it'd be called a Michael Scott with a twist of Dwight Schrute, shaken, not stirred, extra cherries for that moment you trip and fall and spill it all over your white dress. It just ain't pretty, y'all. I'm naturally shy and unless you fall into the age group of 0-6 years or 75+, you can't drag a decent conversation out of me.

So I rallied with Deep Eddy and walked into the room and did my best at small talk. It was awkward and painful and I wondered if I should even go back the next day, but for the money, yeah, I was going back the next day. I packed a book in my purse, though, in case I decided to run away and find a coffee shop and hide out and just tell my husband I went and loved it and thank you for spending that much on me.

Darling Miss Hallie Lord intro-ed our day with a delightful welcome and she said words that reverberated with more than just me, judging from the sniffles and elbow injuries caused from whipping out Kleenex too quickly from our purses. She said that when she prayed about her talk, only seven words burrowed deeply into her heart and wouldn't leave.

It is good that you are here. 

I wasn't alone in feeling overwhelmed with life, of looking at the vastness of all that my life is and should be and could be and feeling like I needed to take a nap because of the utter exhaustion of holding it all up on my shoulders.

As with any good that is about to happen, the devil tries to find a foothold to prevent grace and holiness from encouraging our souls toward sanctity. And this summer was one in which he tried so very hard and so often succeeded. Death touched our lives seven times this summer. Seven. times. And these deaths have spanned from precious newborns to precious elderly; from natural death to brutal murder. And it's been hard to bear. The enormity and constancy of the crosses given to me and to my family over the last few weeks were truly ones I felt I couldn't carry another day.

And when I feel that isolated, I want to hole up. There were so many times in recent weeks that I thought I would just peace out on and I'd cut my losses. Because another life change! Another hurdle! I just needed sleep. And probably some chocolate.

And it was good I didn't listen to his whisperings to not go. It was good that I was there.

The snapshots of life that I see on social media didn't match the faces of the women I met that day. There were no perfect crafts or impeccable schoolrooms; no organic meals or fresh goat's milk. I didn't see any mother wondering why I only have two children and still feel like I'm drowning most days. I saw a medley of women brought together for one reason - we were as lonely and isolated and lost as the women sitting next to us.

It was stressed throughout the weekend the the world is not friendly toward Catholic motherhood. And it's not. I get heart palpitations when I have to tell our neighbors that no, our daughter won't be joining your daughter down the street in school next year. And no, we don't let our girls watch that TV show because I don't fancy a millstone around my neck (holla Matthew 18:6). And absolutely no, we do not believe in contraception. I verbally stumble when I answer where I work and why there's a giant statue of Our Blessed Mother outside our home. And when I try to explain why my children are shouting "get behind me, Satan" as we peruse the HEB and a, ahem, less than conservatively-dressed person walks by - hey, we live in Austin, at least my kids aren't chanting it regularly, as they could be.

It ain't easy, but then again, it never was. We just had armies of us in neighborhoods back in the day, rather than isolated bases spread across the battlefield. Culture has regressed with the progression of technology and luxury and we, as Catholic parents, are feeling the fallout.

It is heavy on our hearts and souls that we are not called to raise the next generations of bankers, lawyers, or stockbrokers, but the future generation of the Church Militant and Triumphant. And we will do and sacrifice whatever it takes for us to do that. And oftentimes, that means that we mamas are privileged to stay at home, but too oftentimes, it means that we mamas are privileged to stay at home, without a car, or the means to find and join groups of other Catholic mothers. And this aside from the fact that there aren't many folks who welcome the vast number of little ones that accompany mothers wherever they go.

Marion shared St. Augustine's prayer from Confessions with us after Hallie's talk.

Lord, do not let the darkness speak to me.

That prayer, aside from friendship, was the reason I think God blessed me with Edel.

I, along with, what? 90% of other mothers in this world, struggle with anxiety.

It's mah Facebook pic.

And all that is, is letting the darkness speak to me. That I will fail, that my kids will fail, that we will all just implode in a giant puddle of failure. What are we failing at? I don't know, but we're failing.

I went to hear that I cannot let the darkness speak to me and I cannot stop it myself, so I have to beg God for the grace. And that grace will oftentimes come in the form of a friend. Or many friends, even if they live afar.

Jen said this weekend was about throwing open the doors of the famed cathedral, in which we, as mothers, are the invisible workers. That God has answered the silent groans of our hearts and has flooded the cathedral with workers.

The reason we feel isolated here in this grand ole liberal mecca of Texas known as Austin isn't because we stick out like a throbbing thumb in the culture here, but because we weren't opening the doors of our domestic church and inviting people in. We were waiting for knocks (after which we would happily invite you in for some stale chips and lukewarm water because we are, after all, being honest). But guess what, Melanie? The giant statue of Our Most Blessed Mother standing guard at our front door wasn't a signal to the Catholic Homeschooling Families of The Great Austin Metro Area that we're new and Catholic and please be our friends; it was a sign to our neighbors that we're the crazy Catholics next door, so maybe they should stay away.

I had to learn to be brave and honest and open. There is a time to ponder events and thoughts in our hearts (the side on which I always err) and a time to open up and dance with the stranger next to you (the side on which I erred this weekend). And it was fun and needed and only took one glass of red.

And the best part of the weekend? The jumbo screen with live feeds of the tweets the Edel Widowers were sending in. Apologies to Marion, Haley, and Jenny. The husbands were just too funny and I did, indeed, get distracted by the hilarity ensuing on Twitter.

#edelwidower gold right here.

It wasn't all heady and serious and tears, just...a lot of it. Saturday night was filled with laughter and dancing and fun. Things got started after Kelly did her now famous karaoke and sweet robot dance moves that shocked the nation. Or just the DJ's who thought we were all boring Catholic moms.

This wasn't the Lyceum.

Think again guys. These mamas were cool before we had kids (or, rather, some of us were, some of us prefer coolness to heat, which is almost the same thing, so it still counts.).

I believe the DJ on his Facebook page entitled a similar photo as, "I love my job. Nothing but cougars." Confused? I was, too. 

Wrecking 'em, in the midst of the Aggie fight song..

Heather and I kept running into each other in awkward places, like the bathroom, so we decided to be friends instead of awkward acquaintances. Open the cathedral doors, ladies.

"Mama knows you're awkward, honey child" is what I'm pretty sure she was whispering to me at the time.

I ran into Abby J Saturday night, too. She immediately asked me why my Assistant AG husband hadn't contacted her so they could put him to work on the legal side of the pro-life movement. I nervously laughed and asked her to take a picture with me instead of answering.

Austin Catholic mamas really DO exist!

I met Rebecca, the nicest lady ever, who has the strangest tale about her precious ten-year old daughter being unable to walk anymore. Of course I ran home and I looked up her blog and read all about it on Friday night. We discovered that we both have German husbands who have similar physical qualities. It was an immediate bond and many discussions ensued about the pros and cons of plastic surgery on a six-year old to prevent the cycle from continuing.

Wives of German husbands club. And why did I pull back and give myself a double-chin? This is why I don't do selfies. 

Then there was this lady. I'm pretty sure there isn't an atheist or Catholic breathing who don't know of her (side note: I seriously took about four attempts at spelling atheist. Good or bad thing that I can't spell that word? Go jury it up for me, please.).  She's sweet enough to introduce me as her friend and I'm sweet enough to ask for photographic evidence that we've cross paths a few times.

She bent her knees and I stood on my tiptoes. We already understand each other.

So there's this darling gal and her name is Hallie. And she loves Holy Mother Church, her teachings on marriage, fashion, and all things vintage. And I'm a fan. And I took a fangirl photo with her. I'm not ashamed (okay, I kind of am, but I wasn't above it).

Again with the self-imposed terrible selfie chin. Gah.

The lady, the legend, Nicole. I've heard her name for years and she knows fifty percent of people I know, but we've. never. met. And then I finally awkwardly tapped her shoulder on Friday night and said, "Um, are you Nicole?" And proceeded to mispronounce her last name and have a great heart-to-heart about fertility and Creighton and mutual friends. And turns out, she knew who I was, too, so it was exponentially less awkward.

#opendemcathedraldoors

And last, but certainly not least, was the two-fold awkward moments I had with this lovely lady. I read her blog, but not really consistently because I gave up reading blogs for Lent and then my computer didn't work and I lost my very technologically-advanced bookmark at the top of the Safari screen. So - I didn't recognize her. But I did swoon over her adorable baby girl with a FULL head of gorgeous hair and stopped to chat about her wee one (it's what Catholic mothers do, y'all). I realize later, after she's, I don't know, emceeing the event, who she is and then casually mentioned to her that, oh hey, sorry I didn't recognize you, but you have a cute baby and a funny blog!

After dancing awkwardly (on my part) next to her to some ridiculous rap song (thanks DJ A-Wall), I tell her that I haven't ever danced outside a two-step before and that my husband would absolutely not believe me. She then shared that it's a genetic trait in her family to raise the roof, white person-style. So then I share that we kind of "pick potatoes" awkwardly because that's all we Irish folks are good at. So then we broke it down again, sweet little Genevieve strapped to her mama's chest and sweet little Melanie, dancing like a crazy potato-picking white person. It was a moment to behold and ask for all present to destroy any evidence of.

So nice to have met a fellow Irish white dancer.

And everything kind of just laid low until Ylvis started asking all these homeschooling mothers questions about foxes and Heather just broke it down completely for him:

And finally the ladies of the hour got to celebrate all their hard work, hilly-downtown-Austin induced sweat, and hormonal tears by busting out some sweet moves.

It truly was good that we were there.

to the beasts of burden in my life

Myles Connolly wrote this a century ago and how much more fitting it is today:

"Today fatherhood is an heroic calling. The father of olden times was in may ways an idyllic character, living serenely in the bosom of his family, planning and saving for the future. But today he lives in turmoil and toils in vain. If he is industrious, if he is competent, he does not work for his family and the future but for the lazy and incompetent everywhere. No longer has his home the peace of the old homestead. His children ride in engines of death and destruction, and the jangling of the telephone in the depth of the night may mean tragedy in the air or on the highway. Disease of the mind born of the madness and artificiality of those modern environment, derange and sometimes destroy those he loves.

"More menacing is the increased threat against faith and morals endlessly made by an increasingly arrogant and unbelieving world. More dangerous by far are the soul's diseases (with skepticism and apathy predominating), present always like a plague. Life outside of the monastic walls is perilous, fiercely competitive, often brutal. The dedicated father today is a hero, and if you ask why he faces his burdens so bravely, I can answer only because in him is the stuff of saints. Not for him is the consolation of applause. The mother is praised in song and extolled in story. But the father walks the common way without bugles, without drums, with no flags flying. He, truly, has given hostage to fortune.

"Those holy men and women who have given up the world are glorious children of God, but if there were no harassed, slaving poor fathers, there would be none of those glorious children, if for no other reason than they would never have been born. Peace of mind and peace of soul are lovely possessions but they are not for the dedicated father. The particular saint in him demands that he go out and meet the challenge of the day, that he be concerned not with his own serenity and well-being but with those in his care, that he venture forth into the world and there, thick in the masses of men, seek the opportunity to love his neighbor and to love his enemy, so that, in advance and not in retreat, in battle and not in seclusion, he may prove himself worthy of Him who has shared with him the divine power of creation.

"The priest may offer his Mass and the nun her sacrifices, and the contemplatives may send up their unceasing assault of prayer and mortification – all may cry out for succor, may plead to stay the hand of Eternal Justice – but it is the father, that undistinguished, yawning man you see in the the early morning leaving home for the shop, the office, the factory, the mine – that tired, troubled person you see returning home at night, often with a smile that is false and a cheerfulness without foundation – it is he who is the first warrior and the first guardian of the Faith. For he is the captain of the home, the citadel on which the Christian civilization is built. There is no order or organization to record his heroism or promote his beatification. He is the common, oftentimes inglorious beast of burden, his greatest distinction being the resemblance he bears the the ass that carried Christ."

To the men who have shaped my life - 

Beginning with the first man I loved:

My dad's classic faraway-stare when he's saying something funny and my classic weird unphotogenic laugh. 

He's passed down more than money, hand over fist, to me. He, along with my mother, have given me a strong foundation in the Faith, a sense of diligence, and appreciation for humility and simplicity, and an incredible wit that keeps us laughing, mostly by ourselves, at what we say.

To my father-in-law:

Unplanned faces. It sums up our relationship.

I ignore the legal sense of his relationship to me - he is simply a father to this daughter-in-law. He passes along wisdom and has taught me that no matter how much arguing one can do with another person, one can share a glass of wine and a good laugh with her opponent five minutes later and hold absolutely no guile. Not that we've been there before. :)

To the second man I ever loved:

Love.

He's taught me an appreciation of good food, a good laugh, and all things Irish. His life story is inspiring and a sliver of it could teach these man-boys of today what hard work means. To him I toast this piece of blueberry pie.

I've been shaped spiritually by some incredible priests and spiritual fathers.

To the spiritual father who ushered me into falling in love with the Faith as an adult:

Fr. Terra at Molly's baptism

He scared, literally, the hell out of me by asking why we had books that encourage things to go bump in the night. He's played guitar with my husband, baptized our oldest, and graciously accepted week-old lasagna as a meal from a bed-ridden mother. We continue to pray for him.

To the spiritual father who challenges me with his sermons and counsel in confession.

Fr. Wolfe at Pentecost, 2013. Aka, Fr. Mozzie #1.

He's taught me far too much about shepherding and to snarkily thank Adam for every single bad thing in this world ("thanks, Adam" is a favorite phrase in these parts). He's caused waves on the internet for his sermons regarding difficult Catholic teaching - and my hat is tipped to him for that because so many priests don't have the courage that this man has. And he's made me bawl like a baby in the confessional without ever being mean or making me feel shame or guilt, but simply by a honest and gentle reminders of how to overcome temptations and live a life of holiness.

To the spiritual father who puts up with my phone calls and emails and fears and anxiety about everything, always with a laugh, a joke, and calming advice:

Fr. Longua wearing his priestly garb at a social function.

He's taught me more than I could possibly type here and so loved by our family. I was determined to hate him when he took Fr. Terra's place at our parish, but he won us over. He's taken care of our family while we were in his parish and has continued to care for our spiritual welfare four years after we've left it. Plus, his commentary during our spiritual directions (over the phone) about the traffic he's in could fill a book. 

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my girls' godfathers:

Teaching his goddaughter the love of Texas Tech from her early years.

They love this guy!

And last, but certainly not least, is the man I love more than any other person I've ever met. The man who lays down his life daily for the comfort of his family. The man who wakes at 5am, rides a train for an hour, and does the same work every single day, and rides an hour back home to us....just for us. The man who does this all with no recognition, little thanks, and without thinking of himself. The man that, with every decision he makes, teaches me humility, charity, patience, and fortitude. The man who comes home tired from a long day and still musters the energy to play with our girls and love their mother. The man who makes his feet talk just to see his girls giggle. The man who lets me sleep in so he can take the kids to Burger King on Saturday mornings. The man who quietly perseveres in the Faith in a career that isn't known for its acceptance of God. The man who puts up with the moods and tantrums of his girls...ahem, me included...with dignity and grace and love. The man who sacrifices more than I'll ever know for his family.

I love you, Joseph. Thank you for being the beast of burden that carries our family.

prayer requests

Instead of a Quick Takes, I need to ask for prayers for some loved ones.



We were gone last week helping some very close and dear friends of ours with the loss of the wife's mother. Remember the baptism we had for our new godson, Thomas? This was his grandmother. She had been suffering from cancer for two years and Our Lord called her home. She died a peaceful death, just two weeks after her newest grandbaby was born. So our dear friends were trying to figure out how to make life work with three little ones, a taxing job, and the loss of a loved one. We stayed with them for a few days to help out and I wish I could do so much more. Tuesday was the funeral and the girls and I, along with their wonderful neighbors, did all we could to make things easier. All those Lubbock BBQ's came in handy, as I pulled a Pat (and Rachel, because I've seen her do this, too) and streamlined the buffet.

Please pray for the repose of Rosie. She was a beloved wife, mother, grandmother, and sister. She and her husband were neighbors and met when they were only eight years old. They were best friends who fell in love and married. They celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary not long before Rosie passed away. Her daughter said that the funeral was packed and included people who had only met her once.

***

Wednesday night, a tragedy happened in Phoenix that hit so close to home, as we are close with one of the people involved. Two priests were attacked in their home and one was killed. Fr. Ken Walker, a young priest of just two years, a young 29 years, was shot and killed. Fr. Joseph Terra, our dear friend from his days at Mater Dei in Dallas, was brutally beaten, and I'm sure left for dead.

Joseph and I discussed the tragedy all day. Even if Fr. Walker was the victim of a botched burglary and no motive against the Faith was held, this story holds so much grace in it. Joseph recently quoted that "the blood of martyrs is the seed of the Faith." How true this is.

Y'all. Fr. Terra was found, in his own critical condition, giving Last Rites and praying over his dying friend. He was able to give absolution and parting sacraments to this young man. Reporters and police described the scene as emotional. I get choked up even writing this out.

To hold one's friend, who has just been brutally murdered. To know he's not going to live. To know that the most important thing to do is help usher his soul into Eternal Life. And all this, despite one's own terrible suffering.

Surely this story will convert some souls. Even if Father's murder isn't a targeted attack (and hence his death being a martyrdom), his death will surely be used to bring greater glory to God and His Holy Church.


This story shocked the world of Catholics, but particularly those in the traditional rite. I try to explain to folks who aren't involved in traditional circles the tightness of our parishes. All the priests know each other or of each other, and most laity are separated by only a few degrees - from other laity and most of the priests. Catholic circles are close-knit as it is, but (and this is probably because I'm in them) but the traditional circles are very, very close-knit. This attack truly left us all in shock. It's hard hearing about the loss of a priest, but when it's one of the priests in one of the few orders devoted to the Latin Mass, it hits particularly hard. It feels like losing a family member.

Both these wonderful priests belong to the Priestly Fraternity of Saint Peter (FSSP), a religious order devoted to preserving and restoring the sacred traditions of the Faith. Joseph and I fell in love with this order through our introduction to it through Fr. Terra. We picked a parish to try out in the DFW area when we moved there, and it was his. The Motu Proprio had just been released and Fr. Terra gave a flooring sermon about it and the impact that this would have on the lives of all Catholics. After his sermon, Joseph looked at me and said, "We found our home."

And home it was. Fr. Terra was a wonderful spiritual father. He came weekly to bring me Holy Communion while I was on bed rest with my first pregnancy. He had no problems telling us if there were books on our bookshelf we shouldn't have (albeit, we figured them innocent and he never made us feel guilty). He shepherded our souls from the faith of two children into the faith of two adults. He baptized our Molly.

We were so sad when Fr. Terra was transferred to Phoenix.

Joseph and I wonder if this public notice of the FSSP will bring others into a deeper understanding and love of the Faith, through the Latin Mass, particularly through the love this order has for Holy Mother Church and the Mass of the Ages.


I didn't know Fr. Walker, but I haven't met a Fraternity priest that I didn't respect and admire, so I'm sure I would have liked him. Here is a wonderful sermon given by him about a year ago on the topic of Mercy and Justice. My heart aches watching it.

You can read more about Fr. Walker here.

We were talking with our priest, Fr. Moses, a couple of weeks ago, lamenting the loss of so many children lately (again, in the Traddie community - three families lost their full-term children in recent months and we all know them or know of them and have been praying for them. Fr. Moses asked us how they were doing...even though we don't personally know them.). I said that I know God has a plan in everything, but I just don't see it. He grimaced and said that Satan also tries to force his way into things. He said that Old Scratch will stop at nothing to stop the Faith from growing. And these precious babes were being born into faithful, devout, loving Catholic families. I think that's what's at work in Phoenix, too. These priests were saving souls, and a lot of them.



Please pray for the repose of Rosie, Fr. Walker, and for the complete healing of Fr. Terra.

one quick take

I have a baptism, a house blessing, an anniversary, sick kids, out-of-town visitors due, and a very-lived in house.

You can do the math.

I'd tell you I'll be back next week, but I like to keep my readers on their toes with my sporadic posts. Yeah, that's my story.

seven quick takes: in which I forego reclusiveness and had to look up that word to make sure it existed

Uno. Biggest news is that our newest godson was born yesterday, during Austin rush-hour traffic. And we were honored to be able to watch his two older siblings, but because our godson made his plans of debuting known at the veeeeery last minute, his siblings had to go to the hospital with their parents. After some stressful standstills and a few befuddled moments of falling prey to poor city planning and begging the intercession of the sweet babe's patron saints, all was good.

Dos. Yesterday our neighbor called us recluse. I call us hermits, it has a holier sound to it. But seriously, how does one socialize with neighbors? This is so foreign to me since we just moved from a house that had no houses at all within half a street of us. We say hi to them! We small talk when we run into them! What is proper etiquette on this??? Are we supposed to invite them over? Help!

Tres. This! I get to go! Thanks, Hallie, for the heads up on the returned ticket. Get your name on a waitlist, because you might be able to go, too! So, speaking of social etiquette, this will be awkward for the resident introvert manning this blog.

Four (my high school Spanish has worn itself out. How do you spell quatro? Why does that look weird. I don't want to look it up.). Mine and Joseph's seventh wedding anniversary is coming up. I looked up the anniversary gift list and the traditional gift is wool or copper and the modern is a desk set. The suggested gift list I found isn't really....up to par. I'm not thinking that a copper mailbox isn't feasible since we have community mailboxes and a wool sweater doesn't scream June 2nd anniversary. So I'm thinking a steel wool scrubber brush for our pots and pans. It's a win-win-win since it would be a gift for me for him to do dishes all the time, too. I'll even get it in a copper color. I'm a genius.

Five. I committed to a homeschool co-op for next fall and spring. Classically Catholic Memory is a really neat curriculum written by homeschoolers here in Austin. There's a co-op not far from our house. I bought the curriculum for next year and then discovered that there are co-ops, too, so we've joined the ranks of CCM'ers. I also found another group that is more focused on field trips and socialization, so watch out, world, the Behnkes are coming out of the hermitage.

Six. This weekend, those who serve, particularly those who have died serving, will be remembered in my prayers. My family is a long line of military - army and air force, in particular - and I have a special place in my heart for them. I really love offering up my plenary indulgences for souls in purgatory I don't know; there are times when I offer them for souls that I don't know, but have heard of and wondered if anyone has offered indulgences and prayers for the repose of his or her soul. The two souls that I'm going to offer any plenary indulgence that I may earn are this incredible man and this incredible man. Their quiet lives inspire me and I pray for their eventual sainthood. And if you haven't read The Shadow of His Wings by Fr. Goldmann, please do yourself a favor and buy it yesterday. It moved me more than any book I've read in recent memory. I lent it out and I'm getting hives not having immediate access to it. I kid, Dad. I'll just steal it back. I've done it before and I have no shame in doing it again.

Anyway - point being, maybe try to get a plenary indulgence this weekend on behalf of a holy soul in Purgatory who served his or her country in a particularly holy way. Good citizenship is a virtue (so long as that good citizenship doesn't include breaking moral or natural law!). And did you know you can get a plenary indulgence, under the usual conditions, by saying a family Rosary? And since this is the month of May - the month of Mary - break out the beads or fingers and say a Rosary for a fallen soldier! :)

And a special hat tip to those we know and love that serve our country - My grandfathers, my father, Uncle Captain Nick, Molly's godfather, and some dear, dear friends. We continually pray for their safety and ask blessings upon their sacrifice. Working for the government is no great reward, this we, the family of a state employee, know to be true (ahem, drone reading this....).

Seven. I have nothing else to write about. I was seriously squeezing each ounce of interesting out of my week.

Weekends with Chesterton, first post!

I'd say this is my inaugural Weekends With Chesterton but that'd set my pants on fire, because 1. it's not the weekend (to be fair to myself...in mom time, Wednesday is totally kind of sort of like a weekend because time...it just keeps slipping away) and 2. I've been hanging with GK for years. Just not on the blog. Or in a book written by him. Just with books written about the books written by him. Because GK is more along the lines of:

And I'm more like....hmm...how would I put this gently?

So, I read books and blogs and articles about GK because the one time I tried to listen to an audiobook of Heretics or Orthodoxy (see, I don't even remember which one it was), by the third chapter, it was so far beyond my understanding that I had to ask Joseph what the original point of the book was. 

Hat tip to Mr. C, so long as the hat is not donning my head because the hot air inside of it won't hold it up (jk, I tip my hat toward him time and time again because the man was brilliant and should be canonized, in my outspoken but humble opinion.) 

So, here's my quote for the week:

"The business done in the home is nothing less than the shaping of the bodies and souls of humanity." 

-GKC-

It baffles me when a certain argument is made against Catholicism, particularly in a very open-minded, tolerant, nonjudgmental, loving rant against the male population in our Holy Mother Church - the one that women are suppressed and hated and treated as lower-class citizens.

Let's pause and think about this.

When you're finished laughing and wiping the ensuing tears caused by said hilarity, continue reading.

Au contraire, my friend. GK embraces the Church's understanding about the sacred nature of women and the work that women have been assigned. I'd venture to say that he's the most prolific and poetic writer in our century regarding this discussion, though there are piles of books I haven't read, so make your arguments and recommendations. 

In this sermon,  Father Mozzie discusses this very belief taught by Holy Mother Church (side note: how DARE THE CHURCH HATE WOMEN, SO MUCH SO THAT....wait, the Church calls the institution created by Christ Himself while on earth....a....wait for iiiiiiit....a mother.  Also, listen to the whole thing to get to the point. You're welcome.) - that God has shared with women His creative power, a gift not given to men or angels. And that gift is sacred. Men are entrusted with the spiritual lives of those in their care and women are entrusted to bring new souls into being. It's not a design of one job being better or harder, but a design where each complements and balances the other. 

CS Lewis writes that, "The homemaker has the ultimate career; all other careers exist for one purpose only - and that is to support the ultimate career." 

Tooooootttaaaalllly me, as I calmly and peacefully put my two cherubs to bed.

And the reason that homemaking is the ultimate career is because it is the vocation that is always, always, aaalllllways surrounded by little ones, soaking up the big, brand new world for the first time. And it's what we surround them with that they soak up and live out for the rest of their lives. 

In rare moments of inspiration, I thank the Good Lord for allowing me to partake in the vocation where the only thing He asks of me is to love. I don't have the burden of feeding my family, of providing for a roof over our heads, of bringing sacraments to the dying, or listening to confessions for hours on end. I'm commanded to love. My salvation depends on how well I love and teach love. 

The beauty of homeschooling lies less with the elasticity in schedules, learning philosophies, and curriculum choices and more with the lessons taught through the constant sacrificial love that I, as a mother, have been called to. My little sponges get to see me from the moment they wake up until the moment their little eyes fall shut at the end of the day. Every moment is an opportunity - a calling - for me to show them sacrificial love, through housework, through cooking, through schooling. They get their lessons from no one else. 

My lessons are based around the knowledge that homeschooling isn't tasking me with the job of raising financially successful citizens, but citizens of Heaven.

The Behnke brood. Or those from whom we ask constant help. I've heard it both ways.

I strive for an orderly home not because of pintrest, but because God created an order to all things and it falls into natural law that humans strive toward order. That doesn't mean perfectly scrubbed surfaces and flowers adorning tabletops, but order. And with order comes peace. And with peace comes a greater understanding of the presence of Our Lord. I strive for my home to be open and welcoming to all those that pass through our front door. I may be shoving a pile of books to the side with my foot as I welcome you in, but I've been tasked to welcome you in with love, and that I will do.

I strive for simple, healthy meals because cooking meals for my family isn't simply to nourish their bodies, but to nourish their souls. I treasure the (again, rare) moments when I'm cooking in a peaceful, clean kitchen, and reflect that 2000 years ago, another Mother cooked a simple meal for her Son as He finished up a long day working alongside his earthly father. It helps me have a connection with this Mother with whom I so often feel I have so little in common.

I need this.

I'd settle for this, too.

I dream of quietly living out our days learning about the world God created. 

And in all of these attempts at living out a quiet, simple live, I pray and hope that my children learn that it's not easy being a mother, particularly one who surrounds herself, without break, by her children. I pray and hope that they see that I actively choose to educate at home because their father and I firmly believe that they will get no better lessons in love and faith anywhere else, by anyone else. I pray that they see the sacrifice that their parents give; that when we (ahem, I) fail at loving them in moments of selfishness and fatigue and overwhelmedness, that I do my best to reach out to my own Mother and Heavenly Father and beg them to teach me the same lessons that I'm doing my best to teach my own children. 

William Ross Wallace refrained that "the hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world." My rose-colored naiveté tells me that mothers all do the best they can, but I know that's not true. With the revolution decades ago, the world has been telling mothers that they can do bigger! better! things with their life if they don't stay home with their children. I cringe for the babies that are left alone; for the toddler who begs for nothing more than a cuddle from his mother; for the preschooler, terrified of entering into the big world without her mommy, and forced to do so anyway; for the middle-schooler bullied every single day in his classes because he's a little different; for the high-schooler who has been raised so distant for his parents that he makes choices based on the experience of his peers, rather than the counsel of a wiser authority. My heart hurts for them. Those children will one day rule the world and their cradles were hurriedly rocked by a foot, because their mothers' hands were too busy becoming successful in the world.

This is what my cradle looks like. Peaceful, I know.

I'm not perfect. I'm learning, over and over and over again. There was a point in my life, not too long ago, that my children pretended to be me by falling onto the floor in a sobbing heap. I understand and ache for those mothers who have no choice but to work. I get angry at the fathers who put them in those positions. 

What I'm trying to say is that GK was spot on when he says that we, as mothers, particularly as homeschooling mothers, are shaping humanity. Not only are our children the future of society, but the future of The Church, as well. And that's a pretty big task that we've been entrusted with.  But if we stay faithful in these little tasks, then the reward shall be great.

"His lord said to him: Well done, good and faithful servant: because thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will place thee over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord." Matthew 25:23

We're not convincing our neighbors of our sanity when my children ask to pose with a statue of Our Blessed Mother for a photo on Mother's Day. If this is crazy, I don't want to be sane.