Welcome to our crazy family, Jake!

On May 17, 2014 our Megan (who decided on a whim to go to college) graduated with honors from Belmont Abbey College. We are so proud of her! And if that didn't provide enough excitement for all of us, directly following the ceremony her boyfriend asked her to spend the rest of her life with him! And she said YES! We couldn't be happier for them. You would be hard-pressed to find another couple more in love than these two! 

Here are a few captured moments from that very special day.

Best wishes, Megan! And Congratulations, Jake! 

Love you both so much!

Carpets of Blue

Jim and I have been in the habit of taking our wee hound, Holly, out on a weekly excursion to a regional or state park in our area. It provides an opportunity for all of us to enjoy being out of the house, to get some exercise and to experience the many lovely trails northern Virginia has to offer. Once winter set in for the long haul, our walks were relegated to the paths and sidewalks in our neighborhood when weather permitted.

Well, spring has finally sprung and yesterday we were blessed with a simply scrumptious afternoon. This time we hiked the Virginia Bluebell trail at Bull Run Park. Although we're fairly acquainted with the park, I'm truly astonished that we haven't visited this particular site before now. Over the years, I've enjoyed the photographs and stories of family hikes through this park that friends and acquaintances have shared on social media. I'm really not quite sure why we never thought to go ourselves. Katie and Sam took their two (three if you count the little one 'in the oven') on Saturday and were blown away by the beauty of the bluebells. Katie encouraged us to go and I'm so glad she did!

Saint John Paul, the Great

On Sunday, April 27, the worldwide Church will be celebrating the canonization of two much beloved, holy men: Pope John XXIII and Pope John Paul II. Not to take anything away from our dear John XXIII, I have to admit I'm super excited especially by the elevation of John Paul II. Having been elected Pope in October 1978 while I was a freshman in college, he is the Holy Father of my journey through young adulthood. A journey spent questioning, doubting, rebelling, (i.e. searching) and finally accepting, understanding and growing in my faith and love for the Church and for God.

I cannot adequately express my love for Saint John Paul II.  He changed my life. Through him I've learned so much.

 Here are just a few of my favorite John Paul II quotes:

"The theme of beauty is decisive for a discourse on art. It was already present when I stressed God's delighted gaze upon creation. In perceiving that all he had created was good, God saw that it was beautiful as well.(4) The link between good and beautiful stirs fruitful reflection. In a certain sense, beauty is the visible form of the good, just as the good is the metaphysical condition of beauty. This was well understood by the Greeks who, by fusing the two concepts, coined a term which embraces both: kalokagathía, or beauty-goodness. On this point Plato writes: “The power of the Good has taken refuge in the nature of the Beautiful”.(5)

It is in living and acting that man establishes his relationship with being, with the truth and with the good. The artist has a special relationship to beauty. In a very true sense it can be said that beauty is the vocation bestowed on him by the Creator in the gift of “artistic talent”. And, certainly, this too is a talent which ought to be made to bear fruit, in keeping with the sense of the Gospel parable of the talents (cf. Mt 25:14-30).

Here we touch on an essential point. Those who perceive in themselves this kind of divine spark which is the artistic vocation—as poet, writer, sculptor, architect, musician, actor and so on—feel at the same time the obligation not to waste this talent but to develop it, in order to put it at the service of their neighbour and of humanity as a whole." Letter to Artists, 1999

“We are not the sum of our weaknesses and failures, we are the sum of the Father's love for us and our real capacity to become the image of His Son Jesus.” WYD 2002, Toronto

“It is Jesus that you seek when you dream of happiness; He is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; He is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is He who provoked you with that thirst for fullness that will not let you settle for compromise; it is He who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is He who reads in your heart your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle.

It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives, the will to follow an ideal, the refusal to allow yourselves to be ground down by mediocrity, the courage to commit yourselves humbly and patiently to improving yourselves and society, making the world more human and more fraternal.” WYD 2000, Rome

"Prayer is a search for God, but it is also a revelation of God. Through prayer God reveals Himself as Creator and Father, as Redeemer and Savior, as the Spirit who "scrutinizes everything, even the depths of God" (1 Cor 2:10), and above all "the secrets of human hearts" (cf. Ps 43[44]:22). Through prayer God reveals Himself above all as Mercy - that is, Love that goes out to those who are suffering, Love that sustains, uplifts, and invites us to trust. The victory of good in the world is united organically with this truth. A person who prays possesses such a truth and in a certain sense makes God, who is merciful Love, present in the world." - Crossing the Threshold of Hope

I started browsing through my heavily highlighted copies of  Mulieris Dignitatem and Evangelium Vitae to find quotes to share here. There are just too many excellent choices so, I've decided to suggest you read these works for yourself or reread them if you haven't in awhile. Also, my daughter, Megan, is currently borrowing two monumental works that have had a profound influence on my view of love, relationships, sex and marriage: Of Love and Responsibility and The Theology of the Body. These works took what was distorted in my mind, shedding light on what was 'broken' if you will, and then restored my understanding of true femininity; of what it means to be a woman, wife and mother. 

Pope John Paul II taught me how to hope, to forgive and to embrace mercy.

He taught me that I'm beautiful.

Saint John Paul, the Great, pray for us.

Prayer to St. John Paul II

O, St. John Paul, from the window of heaven, grant us your blessing! 

 Bless the church that you loved and served and guided, courageously leading it along the paths of the world in order to bring Jesus to everyone and everyone to Jesus. 

Bless the young, who were your great passion. Help them dream again, help them look up high again to find the light that illuminates the paths of life here on earth.

May you bless families, bless each family! You warned of Satan’s assault against this precious and indispensable divine spark that God lit on earth. St. John Paul, with your prayer, may you protect the family and every life that blossoms from the family.

Pray for the whole world, which is still marked by tensions, wars and injustice. 

You tackled war by invoking dialogue and planting the seeds of love: pray for us so that we may be tireless sowers of peace.

O, St. John Paul, from heaven’s window, where we see you next to Mary, 

send God’s blessing down upon us all. Amen.

You gotta Love with all you got

Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD alone! Therefore, you shall love the LORD, your God, with your whole heart, and with your whole being, and with your whole strength. Take to heart these words which I command you today. Keep repeating them to your children. Recite them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up. Bind them on your arm as a sign and let them be as a pendant on your forehead. Write them on the doorposts of your houses and on your gates. Deuteronomy 6:4-9

Do I love God beyond all else?

This has been a life-long question/challenge for me. And it's not something I like to admit. Sure, I love God, but is it the way He commanded us to love him? As a teen, I even penned a cringe-worthy poem about it. It read in part something akin to, "Ya know you gotta love with all you got, or you won't find your place in heaven child."

Is it that we love the gifts and forget the giver?

I once remarked to a friend how the intensity of my love for my children almost seemed sinful sometimes. My friend, a fellow mom seemed to have no trouble understanding where I was coming from, however, another friend overheard my comment and protested sharply. How could loving someone, especially a child, be sinful? I explained to him (a single male), that the love for my family was so strong that it made me wonder how my love for anyone else including God could surpass it. It troubled me deeply, because I wanted to love God more, but how?

Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him,“You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.” Matthew 22:36-40

I was thinking about this problem again recently and realized how much my love for God has grown since my earlier parenting days. What had transpired over the years to bring me to this greater sense of love? One afternoon, I turned on EWTN to see and hear this AWESOME reflection by the late Father Leo Clifford, OFM, who hits the nail on the head:

 

How do I love God profoundly, above and beyond the gifts He has given me?  By knowing I cannot love him with my own fickle, "puny love," but rather with His own Love! That supernatural Love that He has given me through the Holy Spirit. It is that Love that I breathe in, soak up and give back to the Father in deep gratitude for everything.

It is that same supernatural Love that makes it possible to love my neighbor. And myself, especially when the very thought seems impossible.

Thank you, Jesus, for loving me and for giving me the grace to Love you.

Holiness in the ordinary

O, how everything that is suffered in love is healed again. Saint Teresa of Avila

 Over the years as I was raising my family I often wondered how I could ever possibly attain holiness amidst runny noses, surly children, broken appliances, mountains of dirty dishes, my own crankiness, cabin fever and loneliness? How is holiness possible, after barking at your spouse because he failed to read your mind (again)? How is holiness even possible when all you want to do is run away, even though you absolutely haven't the energy to do so? 

Not to run from them so much as to flee from your own failure to make everyone happy, to keep from pulling out your hair, or to keep up with the laundry, and the cooking, and the driving hither and yon, or simply to scrub the sparkle back into your sinks and shower walls? 

Especially when you know, more than anything, that you really need to scrub that sparkle back into your soul?

You know, HE loves us in those difficult moments (in all moments), more than anyone else does or is even capable. He loves us - you - infinitely and eternally. Despite yourself, just the way you are. Right here and now, where you are, knee-deep in struggle or maybe even over-your-head.

He invites you to holiness despite, and especially in, the ordinary, every day. In those up-hill battles you wage with your loved ones, but mostly with yourself. In your failure to love your family and yourself perfectly.

He invites you to offer yourself and not only all that is good - when you easily find joy and life runs smoothly, but all that seems bad, too, - the hardship that you may experience on any given day and in any moment. All of your ennui, frustration, disappointment, discomfort, pain and sorrow. He never refuses the suffering you pour out to Him to unite with His own. 

He invites you to Love in the ordinary

 and in so doing, you will become holy. 

Jesus remind me that your most important work took place 

during your passion and death. 

Draw me to your Holy Cross, so that I may enter into your salvific work. 

Hide me within your wounds.

Remind me that I am made holy as I feed my hungry family and give drink to the thirsty toddler.

Remind me that I am made holy by washing and drying and ironing their clothing 

so that they don't go naked. 

Because sometimes I forget.

 

Remind me that I am made holy by providing them shelter 

and caring for them when they are not well, even when they're all grown up. 

Remind me that I am made holy when I do my best to instruct them in the faith 

and counsel them when they are doubtful. 

Because sometimes it's hard. Very hard.

 

Remind me that I am made holy when I comfort them in their sorrow 

and when I forgive them for hurting me.

Remind me that I am made holy when I offer prayers for them - multiple times a day. 

Remind me when I whisper those prayers to you with a heart that is still

and when I shout them to you in tears full of exasperation.

 Because sometimes I am way too hard on myself. 

Remind me, dear Jesus, of your infinite Mercy and your forgiveness when I do fail.

Because sometimes I have difficulty believing it.

 Remind me of your enduring Love.

And let me never forget your invitation, your call, to conversion.

And remind me, dear Jesus, to always answer that call.

Because sometimes I forget.

He waits

"He has entered our history; he has shared our journey. He came to free us from darkness and to grant us light. In him was revealed the grace, the mercy, and the tender love of the Father: Jesus is Love incarnate." ~ Pope Francis

 

Through nights grown long we waited. 

With our hope and our longing carried by prayers that we whispered into the frosty air, 

we journeyed toward stars ancient and wise. 

Toward the promised glory. 

We waited for the light to come, to dispel the darkness, to set us free. 

To offer mercy and forgiveness.

And He did come. Love eternal came down to fill our souls grown weary, 

to take all our burdens as his own, to show us a way out.

The way.

A tiny babe born hungry, hoping we turn to glance, to see him there waiting.

Waiting with nothing - no armies, no material wealth, no crib adorned with jewels - just his arms outstretched, waiting. 

For us.

Our savior. Our king and our God. 

Still he comes.

Still he waits.

 

October camping on the James River: my survival story

Last Friday afternoon Jim and I embarked on a three hour drive south to the James River State Park for a two night camping trip. It was our first time camping in several years and the first trip without our kids. Our menu was planned, supplies purchased and our old camping gear - plus a brand new tent - was packed carefully in the back of our van. We were ready and excited! Having never been to the James River State Park, we weren't quite sure what to expect, but from the description on the Virginia State Park website it promised to be the perfect spot for turning life down a notch or two; an opportunity to truly relax and enjoy communing with nature. Jim even considered doing a little fishing.

Our campsite looking up toward the parking area from the bank of the river

I had reserved our spot a few months earlier based on our availability to get away and the availability of campsites at the park. For about 10 days prior to our weekend, I had been eying the weather forecast, wondering about how cold it was going to get at night. Based on the reports, there was no doubt that it was going to be cold. So we prepared for it by packing warm clothes, including extra socks, long johns, scarves, hats, gloves and winter jackets. We had very warm sleeping bags and an extra quilt. We stocked up on coffee, tea and hot cocoa. We would stay warm and toasty no matter what - no problem! Even Holly donned a new sweater and we packed her fleece doggy jacket. She had lots of blankets to snuggle up in, as dachshunds do not like to be cold.

Well. 

Man, oh man. Boy, oh boy. Did it get cold! Freezing, cold.

We arrived at the campground around 5:00 as the sun was going down over the James. A truly gorgeous sight. It was nice to have daylight to set up camp, but by the time we built a fire and sat around eating our soup supper it was dark and quite chilly. I switched my down vest for my winter jacket, and put on my hat and gloves. As we were sipping hot beverages later that evening and inching closer and closer to the fire, we decided to call it a night. 

Sunset over the James River

Here is what I ended up wearing to bed that night: two pairs of socks, long johns and fleece sweat pants, a long sleeved t-shirt, a pull-over sweat shirt, a wool scarf, gloves, a fleece hat, and my winter jacket. And I was still COLD. I was in my 30 lb sleeping bag (which happens to be way too warm in the summer, by the way) and I had a comforter on top of that. Holly, in her sweater, was snuggled up against my belly. I ended up putting one of those hand warmer packets that are designed to go inside your gloves or mittens inside my underwear. You may laugh, but it helped A LOT! I think it actually saved my life. Kuddos to whomever invented those little treasures. I figured out that the cold air was traveling down into my sleeping bag from the top, so I tried to close it up around me. What I need is a cocoon style bag - like my husband has. He claims he was warm enough except for his feet. And he attributes that to 'old age'.

I finally dozed off - only to be awakened a few times by the passing of a freight train on the railroad tracks situated across the river, then lulled back to sleep again by the baying of country dogs off in the distance. I prayed I didn't have to get up in the middle of the night to go potty. Thankfully, I did not. 

Around 7 a.m. a few of the campers in the neighboring site began stirring and woke me up. Then I really did have to go potty. The latrine was just up the road a piece - not really far - but not really close either. I slipped on my sneakers and unzipped the tent. The door of the tent crackled. Oh.my.gosh. A fairyland of frost and ice greeted me. Everything was frozen. The water in Holly's dog dish, our dish washing soap, our hand soap. Everything. 

I dragged Holly up to the latrine with me. She took care of her business on our way up and back. As soon as we arrived back at our tent, she made a b-line for Jim's sleeping bag to hunker down and snuggle up. Smart dog. She didn't emerge until she smelled the Canadian bacon and eggs cooking and the sun had inched a little higher in the sky. 

Holly goes back to bed

 

Saturday morning fire

There are small rapids up river producing little puffs of foam that float along the current. On Saturday morning the foam was frozen.

An early morning mist

The view from the campsite was gorgeous

After breakfast we hiked a few of the beautiful trails that meander through the park. Our five mile trek warmed us up nicely, but somewhere along the way, I convinced Jim that we should break camp and head back home that afternoon. 

Sun streaming down on the frost-covered trail

Canadian geese enjoying the chilly waters of the James

A beaver habitat along the trail

Jim and Holly taking in the view

Gorgeous. The James River State Park is beautiful.

 

By the time we got back to our site, the wind had picked up significantly and although the sun was higher in the sky and invitingly warm, the windchill made it seem much colder. After lunch we packed it all up and headed for home. I guess I wimped out. I just couldn't stand the thought of another night of trying to keep from freezing to death. Kind of takes the fun out of it, you know?

Before exiting, Jim and I explored other areas of the park. It really is a lovely place. There are campgrounds for folks with horses, RV's, and another primitive tent site tucked way back in the woods (where I would definitely consider camping for purposes of more privacy and for the distance away from the train tracks). There is a loop of very nice looking cabins perched on high ground. The westerly facing cabins have a gorgeous view across the mountains. In the summer months, the park purportedly is a great place for tubing on the river and for canoeing and kayaking at any time.

I would definitely go back. Perhaps in May or June. Although a cabin in the fall or winter would suit me just fine!

He was there

Last Sunday, Jim and I rose before sunrise; we showered, shaved and dressed. After taking care of a few last minute chores and packing, we grabbed our coffee to go and hit the road. It was a beautiful autumn morning and we chose to drive a little out of our way to avoid a reported detour along I-95 (that we learned later turned out to be misinformation). Our more westerly route through the country turned out to be very pleasant with no traffic hassles. It dumped us onto I-95 in Fredericksburg. From there we sped south heading for North Carolina. It's a familiar road as we've traveled it well over the years and one that normally causes us much angst, particularly during the summer months when traffic back-ups are an all too common occurrence. Sunday mornings in mid-October are a different story (at least the further away you are from northern Virginia!) and it was smooth sailing for us this time. Somewhere near the state line, I had begun to grow weary, apparently my caffeine fix had worn off. I pulled off the highway and into a gas station where we switched drivers.

Back on the road, the highway was soon flanked on either side by stately rows of tall pines like sentries guarding our way. Peeking through and beyond the trees, I spied miles of snow-white fields of cotton, most certainly ready for harvesting. Little Blue (our Honda Fit) carried us across bridges spanning brackish swamps and rivers named Neuse and Tar. I knew then that we were closer to our destination and before long we were exiting the interstate, driving through the quaint, small southern town of Benson making our way west passed farmland and country homes toward Buies Creek.

Shortly before one o'clock we arrived at Campbell University where Erin is enrolled in the School of Osteopathic Medicine. Students and family members were already entering the convocation center to await the start of the class of 2017's White Coat ceremony, scheduled to begin at two o'clock.

Having never experienced a White Coat ceremony, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. It turned out to be a beautiful, moving experience. The presentations and the keynote address were interesting and truly inspiring, but the ceremony itself was the most poignant. The student doctors lined up with their advisers, waiting for their names to be called. As his name was called, the student walked across the stage, handed his coat to his adviser and he/she and the dean of the medical school "coated" him. If a student happened to have a relative or mentor who was a physician he or she was invited to "coat" the student doctor. After some time, it occurred to me that if Jim's dad had still been alive he could possibly have been there to "coat" Erin. 

Grandpa Fred was a pediatrician and a great inspiration to Erin. He was the kind of doctor one rarely meets these days; the kind of doctor Erin hopes to be one day. He devoted generous chunks of time to his patients and really got to know them and their families. He did not define his patients by their various ailments or illnesses; he recognized each patient's inherent dignity and treated them with compassion and love. He was gentle and fun.

Sitting there in Campbell University's convocation center Sunday afternoon, I thought about how proud Grandpa would have been of Erin, and my missing him at that moment caused tears to pool and my chin to quiver a bit. When I was able, I leaned over and whispered my thoughts to Jim. He smiled, shook his head in agreement and his eyes, too, brimmed with tears. It was a raw, beautiful moment. 

It was a truly joyful moment as well; we couldn't be more proud of Erin. We knew, too, that Grandpa was there. I could feel him there. I could see him, smiling broadly (he had the best smile), "coating" Erin and drawing her to him with those marvelous hands of his; those hands that had healed so many and so often offered comfort and an invitation to trust.

Yep. He was there.

Misty Morning :: Daybook

Outside my window ::

Low flying geese lift an early morning mist as they pass overhead, giving way to blue skies and delightful sunshine by midday. A lovely breeze sends the fallen leaves tumbling across the yard. The accompanying chill, though slight, warns of coming November gales. Soon and welcome.

I am wearing ::

Black yoga pants (although I do not do yoga), a kelly-green t-shirt, gray zip-up sweatshirt and my old Nike sneakers.

On Pandora ::

George Winston Radio

Around the house ::

Work on our basement resumes. J installed a very nice looking french door to replace the slider. 

I'm not sure I can live with the wall color. It definitely did not turn out as I had hoped. It hums violet or mauve under the influence of the basement lighting. Hmm.

From the kitchen and garden ::

I've been making lots of soup lately. We're still harvesting tomatoes, so I made Ina Garten's cream of tomato soup. Very yummy! The recipe is on the Food Network website. I also recently made an acorn squash soup that was to die for and a beef, Italian sausage vegetable soup that was also very good. I have my eye on a beautiful butternut squash currently taking up residence in a large, wooden salad bowl on the kitchen counter.

J made pickles on Labor Day weekend, as he does every late summer. This year, however, he had to buy a bushel of cukes from a lady at the local farmer's market as tragedy struck our garden mid-summer. His poor cucumber plants fizzled out. Over-watering is our guess.

Resting by the front door are two very large pumpkins plucked from our vegetable garden a few weeks ago. A smaller one, that grew up between the bushes in front of our porch, went home with two happy tykes - Isaac and Margaret - late last week.

I am hearing ::

Holly tittering about. Little doggie nails, click-clacking along the wood floor. I suppose she wants to eat as I have yet to feed her.

I am reading ::

 I just started a book by Joel Salatin - Holy Cows and Hog Heaven: The Food Buyer's Guide to Farm Friendly Food

I've only read the Foreward (by Michael Pollan), the Introduction and Chapter One.

I will share my thoughts as I go along. For now here's only one of the many striking thoughts from Pollan's Foreward:

"Why should local - rather than, say, organic - be the linchpin to this revolution? Because a farmer dependent on a local market is far more likely to raise a variety of crops, rather than specialize in the one or two plants or animals that the national market demands. That system wants all its apples from Washington State, all its lettuce from California (and make that Iceberg, please) and its corn from Iowa. Well it turns out the people who live in Iowa can only eat so much corn and soybeans; if Iowans were eating locally, rather than from the supermarket, their farmers would soon learn how to grow a few other things besides. And as soon as they gave up on their monocultures of corn and soy, they would quickly discover they could also give up on their pesticides and chemical fertilizers, because a diversified farm will produce its own fertility and its own pest control.

Almost all of the problems of our industrial food system flow from the original sin of monoculture. Monoculture may be a powerful industrial idea - it produces economies of scale and all sorts of other efficiencies - but it runs diametrically counter to the way nature works, which nothing in this world can do indefinitely. Insect resistance, agricultural pollution, food-borne illness, and antibiotic resistance are what happens when the logic of monoculture runs up against the logic of nature. Monoculture can't survive this encounter without one industrial Band-Aid after another - beginning with chemicals and ending (well, one can hope) with genetically modified crops and irradiation. The answer to the problems of monoculture is polyculture, and, to get back to where we started, the way to support polyculture is by buying food from local farms that practice it."

I am hoping and praying ::

For safety, spiritual and physical, for Megan as she travels far and wide beginning tomorrow.

I am pondering ::

When big government fails (as is currently the case) and (extra)ordinary citizens and state and local jurisdictions jump in to right the wrongs, it gives me a glimmer of hope and restores my faith in humanity. Neighbor helping neighbor, as Christ teaches - that's what will save this country not piling on more and more federally funded and sponsored entitlements.

I am grateful ::

For God's love and mercy.

A few plans ::

J and I are driving down Sunday to witness Erin's and her fellow medical students' white coat ceremony at Campbell University. So very proud of Erin and we're looking forward to being a part of the festivities.

saturday morning

It seems all at once,

the Saturday morning that bustled full

with ferrying kids here then there

has quieted,

yielding to a measure of time more generous than before

granting careful inspection of sinewy oak branches,

casting long, hoary shadows

like beggar's hands outstretched.

And when there is little work, 

allowing dreams to linger late 

as geese cut silently through 

an early autumn mist.

And riverside rambling, hand-in-hand, at noon.