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My birthday baby

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 21:32:50 -0400

Chiara turned three years old today. Hard to believe. That’s her up there in her princess outfit and tiara, looking very birthday girl-ish. This photo captures the moment she was waiting for. Earlier this morning, when her godfather called to sing “Happy Birthday,” she told him, “It’s not happening yet.” She was referring to the arrival of the “Happy Birthday Party Cake.” As far as Chiara is concerned, it’s not a birthday or a party until there’s cake. She has a point.

Every once in a while since late last night she would say, “After I wake up will it be time for cake...After I get dressed will it be time for cake...After my nap will it be time for cake.” By the time dinner rolled around and the cake was sitting on the counter taunting her, it was all she could do to maintain control. She could barely eat dinner because she was so focused on that cake.

Now she’s in bed, talking about her new birthday toys (the biggest of which is a “recycled” doll house of Olivia’s that we took down from the attic and dusted off). But still, dancing through her head, is a vision of the Blue’s Clues birthday cake that I have promised to make for our Friday family reunion with my sister and her family. It’s going to be a long few days between now and the arrival of the big paw print cake.

Here’s one more birthday photo of Chiara in yet another princess outfit that Olivia helped her put on. There’s something about this photo that I just love:

There’s no place like home...

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 13:35:48 -0400

Well, we arrived home from vacation last night, and despite the fact that the house is a mess and there is laundry to do and groceries to buy and bills to pay, it's good to be back. I enjoy going away, but I enjoy coming home even more.

This morning we hit the 10:30 a.m. Mass at our parish. The stifling humidity in our un-air conditioned church could have made for a very unpleasant experience, but our pastor gave a homily so brief it must have broken some sort of preaching record. It wasn't just brief; it was really good. That's pretty hard to do. He was able to say in one minute what many other priests can't seem to say in 15 minutes. Reflecting on the parable of the weeds sown among good seeds, he talked about how God allows good and bad to co-exist alongside each other, open always to the possibility that change could come about at any point along the way. God always sees the potential in all of us, even when we don't see it in ourselves -- or in others.

If you read my previous post about discovering our true selves, then you know I like this idea that we all have the potential to become what God intended us to be, no matter how young or old we may be. But I especially like the notion that the weeds in today's parable are there on purpose, or that they may even have a purpose other than the typical destruction we attribute to weeds. After all, look at dandelions. To the person with the perfectly trimmed lawn, they are are a blight, but to a child, they are beautiful flowers, and to the gourmet, they are delicate salad. It's all in the eye of the beholder, and, fortunately, our Beholder sees all of us with very generous eyes, as if we, too, are all flowers in the making.

There's one more reason I like this weed parable translation: It gives me the perfect excuse for letting my garden grow wild for at least another day or two.

Come with me to a parallel universe

Tue, 8 Jul 2008 19:51:28 -0400

For the next ten days -- and maybe beyond that, depending how I’m feeling -- I will be blogging from an alternate location at blogspot. Why am I doing this? Well, partly because the idea of bi-locating is incredibly cool, but mostly because it allows me to take this show on the road, specifically the Garden State Parkway. All the way to the southern tip of New Jersey.

Not Strictly Spiritual: The Sequel will be the exact same blog, except with a different look and a different address. In fact, the past few entries already have been duplicated there. You can find me at www.notstrictlyspiritual.blogspot.com or by clicking HERE. Visit. Bookmark it. Comment. Email. Just don’t skip out on me.

We didn’t sleep much, but we had fun

Sun, 6 Jul 2008 20:48:39 -0400

Well, we survived Olivia’s birthday sleep over. The weather held out and the girls were able to do the water slide, which was way more popular than I expected it to be. We didn’t have too much excitement before dinner, except for a small inchworm found crawling across one of the baby carrots on the vegetable platter. Needless to say, the rest of the carrots went uneaten -- at least by the girls.

We had lots of giggling and screaming and little girl politics, which can rival anything going on in the presidential campaign these days. People often think that girls are so much easier than boys. The reality is that girls are just different than boys but certainly no less challenging. When it comes to boys, what you see is what you get. There are no hidden agendas, no whispering, no hurt feelings. Girls may not be as loud -- although these girls certainly held their own -- but they are just as active in their own ways.

Between splashing on the slide and eating pizza and cake and watching movies and eating popcorn (lots and lots of eating), you would think that our five slumber party girls would have crashed on their sleeping bags in 10 seconds flat, but, as is often the case with sleep overs of any kind, sleeping wasn’t really the point. As midnight approached and one girl was cold and one was hungry and one was hot and one wanted her mom, Dennis and I had to take off our fun party faces and put on our serious parent faces. Eventually we just had to tell them, No more talking! Or whistling. Or humming. Or singing. Period. They slept until sunrise and then were right back where they left off while I made pancakes and smoothies.

I think it was a good birthday weekend for Olivia, though. Hopefully these are memories that are going to stay with her for a very long time. I know I won’t soon forget this weekend, especially when Chiara turns eight and asks for the same.

Countdown to the slumber party

Sat, 5 Jul 2008 14:09:33 -0400

In just two hours -- TWO!! -- five little girls will descend upon my house to join Olivia for her big birthday sleep over blowout. What was I thinking when I said yes to a slumber party for that many 7- and 8-year-olds?!? It sounded like a good idea at the time, but now, as the bewitching hour approaches, I’m starting to wonder. Our plans to set up the big backyard water slide are on the rocks as the clouds settle in. We’ll see what we do instead. Crafts? Games? Singing? Tune in tomorrow to see how things worked out, how many girls had to get picked up by parents in the middle of the night, and how many of us get any sleep at all.

A word of caution...

Thu, 3 Jul 2008 13:38:01 -0400

In case any of you have taken my advice and have started downloading daily podcasts from Pray-as-You-Go, I feel the need to print what I hope is only a temporary disclaimer. Back when I first mentioned my new obsession with the 10-minute podcasts that offer reflections on daily Scripture readings set to an eclectic mix of music, I mentioned that as soon as I heard the soothing female voice with the British accent, I could feel my tense shoulders starting to relax. Well, I don’t know what they’ve done with that woman, but they’ve replaced her with Eliza Doolittle -- before Henry Higgins set out to turn her into a proper English lady.

For the past two nights, I have found my jaw tensing up as I try to understand the high-speed Scripture readings in an accent that I cannot place other than to say that it’s from the British Isles. Last night I actually had to take out the printed version of the reading from the Book of Amos because I had no idea what the woman was saying. There was no reflecting, no letting go of stress, no spiritual moment because I was so distracted by the accent. Today’s reading in honor of the Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle is a little better, but I think that’s only because I know the reading so well I’m not hanging on her every word.

So, if you do decide to give Pray-As-You-Go a try, and I recommend that you do, please just bear with them until they locate the lady with the soothing voice and calm demeanor. Click HERE if you want to pray, or if you think you can tell me what kind of accent this is. You will hear a musical selection, an introduction by a male voice, and then Eliza. And, for the record, I love Pygmalion and Eliza Doolittle. I just don’t like them mixed with my Scripture.

What’s all the fuss about St. Paul?

Tue, 1 Jul 2008 13:06:14 -0400

We have just begun the Jubilee Year to the Apostle Paul, which, I have to be honest, really didn’t mean that much to me at the outset, but now, with every priest I know talking about it, I figure maybe I should educate myself and see what it’s all about.

This past weekend was the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul, and my pastor began his thoughtful homily with 10 words that have stuck with me:

“Believe as Peter. Preach as Paul. Love as the Master.”

It was an inscription someone wrote to him when he was ordained a deacon in Rome. I really like it though -- so succinct and yet so full of clarity and challenge. In fact, I jotted it down in a journal so I wouldn’t forget it, seeing as these days I’m so forgetful that yesterday I almost returned my own books to the public library by mistake. Yes, it’s been that kind of week, and it’s only Tuesday.

Earlier this spring I did experience a kind of connection with Paul’s story in the readings of the Acts of the Apostles. The “Pray-as-You-Go” podcasts I frequently download were focusing on Acts, and I was really struck (so to speak) by Paul (then Saul) and his role in the stoning death of Stephen (Acts 8:1), the brazenness of his attacks on the Church, the courage of the people who continued to preach despite the threats to their lives, and then Paul’s eventual and stunning conversion.

And while I love the “many parts, one body” aspect of his letter to the Romans and, of course, his treatise on faith, hope and love in his First Letter to the Corinthians, I’ve kind of always been hung up on the “wives be subordinate to your husbands” thing in his Letter to the Ephesians. I know, I know, you’re going to tell me I need to look beyond the literal meaning or the time he was living in or the people he was preaching to. Doesn’t matter. That’s a pretty tough line to get past, especially when you have to sit through it in a church filled with all those smiling husbands.

But, in keeping with the theme of this Jubilee Year, I will open my mind to the possibility that I could learn a lot from Paul, although subordination will not be high up on my list.

“Believe as Peter. Preach as Paul. Love as the Master.” A tall order, but our ultimate calling nonetheless.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary...

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 15:07:02 -0400

How does my garden grow? With hydrangea and spirea and lupine and zinnias and lamb’s ear all in a row. So the flower garden above is a new addition since Our Lady of Guadalupe arrived on the scene here a month or so ago. I worked really hard one weekend to dig it out and plant it. Pay no attention to the bare spot in front of the garden. By next year at this time, that will be a stone walkway. One thing at a time...

Things are really blooming here with all the rain and warm weather. Below you can see my slightly overgrown back bed, which will not get a trim until the spirea are finished flowering. I’ve got lady’s mantel and a sand cherry and lilacs that have yet to bloom in three years and lots of yellow lilies. There’s a delphinium back there, but the bloom is spent and I hear these plants are very temperamental, so I’m not expecting much next year in this sandy soil.

I’ve got lots of hydrangeas around my yard. They love it here, especially the annabelle type that I plant. Problem is, once the next big thunderstorm comes along -- like any minute now -- the hydrangea will all bow their big flower heads to the ground from the weight of the water and go flat for the rest of the summer. I will stand at the window, watching helplessly. Before the rain does a number on things, here’s how the yard looks. This is our front yard. That little clay figure to the left is St. Francis of Assisi, standing watch over the perennial bed:

Here’s the new backyard perennial garden from a different angle. (Again, ignore the dirt spot.) I’ve got more hydrangea, spirea, yarrow, salvia, purple coneflowers, lupines and zinnias (an annual, I know):

Here’s the Our Lady of Guadalupe section, which right now has buds ready to bloom on the tiger lilies and hostas, as well as bright red feathery tips coming up from the astilbes that I split from the batch in the front yard.

My herbs, which are in containers on my back deck, are growing like wildfire too. In fact, I’ve got so much cilantro that I’d need to throw a Cinco de Mayo festival to use it all. I’ve also got tons of basil for the pesto I make in big batches to see us through winter (my version of “canning”), as well as parsley, sage, rosemary and....oregano. Don’t ask me why I didn’t go all Simon & Garfunkel and just do thyme. Guess it goes back to that contrary thing.

One more review...

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 20:08:39 -0400

The Denver Catholic Register ran a story about my book, “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Catholic Catechism,” in this week’s edition. You can check it out by clicking HERE.

And in case you missed it a couple of weeks ago, Archbishop Charles Chaput of Denver endorsed my book, saying that it is a “wonderfully clear, readable, absorbing and very enjoyable resource for exploring and understanding what Catholics believe.”

Lots of good stuff coming from Denver, and it isn’t even ski season.

Surprise! Jesus wasn’t a formula baby

Thu, 26 Jun 2008 14:45:37 -0400

It’s a rare moment when the Vatican can reaffirm the Incarnation and at the same time appease earth mothers everywhere, but Church officials pulled off that amazing feat recently when they declared that artistic images of Mary nursing the infant Jesus should be “rehabilitated.” It seems the images, which were quite common back in the day, were banned around the 16th or 17th century when breasts became taboo and were seen as either medical or erotic but, as is always confounding -- at least to me, not for the natural, God-given purposes for which they were created. The painting above, “Nursing Madonna” by the Italian Renaissance artist Andrea Solari, is one of the shocking depictions in question. Aren’t we humans too funny?

Of course Mary nursed Jesus. Back before the medical community convinced the world -- at least the industrialized world -- that a man-made made powder full of artificial ingredients with names too long to pronounce was better than the absolutely perfect nutritional make-up of mother’s milk, everyone nursed. Can you imagine Mary, during the flight to Egypt, trying to find a Wal-Mart so she could pick up a case of Similac?

Perhaps we can forgive the fact that our Medieval counterparts were uncomfortable with the visual image of the Mother of God nursing the Son of God. After all, they were Medieval, for goodness sake. They didn’t get that reputation for nothing, you know. But what is not so easy to forgive is the modern-day discomfort with breast-feeding in a society where breasts are used to sell beer and cars and just about everything else you can imagine and probably a few things you can’t.

I would not go so far as to call myself a nursing zealot, but I’m pretty close to it. I have an incredibly hard time understanding how women choose not to nurse -- some don’t even attempt it -- when even the American Academy of Pediatrics has come around, urging women to breast-feed their babies for the first year of life. It is a normal, natural, nutritious, and beautiful thing, even if it is not always an easy thing to figure out at the outset.

And I, like the nursing Mary of early artistic depictions, also have been whisked away and hidden under cover by those who could not bear the presence of a nursing mother in their midst. I was one of the most discreet nursers ever, using overcoats and blankets to prevent anyone from witnessing the horror of a baby doing what a baby is supposed to do. In addition, Dennis would typically stand guard right in front of me. Didn’t matter. People often recoil at the notion of nursing, as if it is a dirty word. Ironically, that seems to be especially true here in liberal New York State, unlike the open-minded attitude toward nursing that I found in the very red State of Texas that was once my home. Once I was even escorted to an upstairs room at a N.Y. friend’s house, where the blinds were drawn and the door locked, as if I had just announced I was going to smoke crack.

We need to get our priorities in order, and I, for one, am thankful that the Vatican is recognizing the value of bringing those artistic depictions of the nursing madonna out of the back room at the museum. As one priest reportedly wrote, seeing Jesus nursing from his mother’s breast, is “one of the most eloquent signs that the word of God truly and undoubtedly became flesh.”

Click HERE to read the full Catholic News Service story.

And the next time you see a mom trying to nurse her baby in a public place, remember that she’s probably a lot more uncomfortable than you’ll ever be, given the fact that she knows that passersby are watching and shaking their heads in disgust, probably as they head on over to Hooters for lunch.

Just call me Pocahantas

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 13:03:15 -0400

I recently happened upon an Internet quiz that allowed me to figure out which Disney princess I would be if I suddenly morphed into an animated character and started speaking to and singing with cuddly woodland creatures. At the outset, my fear was that I’d turn out to be Snow White, or, even worse, Cinderella, but I guess I should have known that if that was my attitude going in, chances are I was not going to score one of the Big Three sweet and charming princesses of the fairy tale world. Instead I came up as Pocahantas (see details below), which I think is pretty cool. She wasn’t even on my princess radar screen, which makes sense since I don’t have a princess radar screen.

When you check your results you can even see what percentages you scored in other princess divisions. I am pleased to say that I scored a zero in Cinderella and Snow White, although I did manage an 11 percent in Aurora (AKA Sleeping Beauty). I also scored respectably well in the Mulan category. Another of the warrior princesses. What I think all of this means is that no one had better mess with me or my Prince Charming or our little royals, or I will kick his or her butt -- princess style, of course.

Check out your princess personality, by clicking HERE.

Feeling like I don’t belong

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 16:52:45 -0400

So I’ve been experiencing something I can’t really explain lately, something I can’t quite put my finger on, but it’s there and it’s real. I’ve gone to two meetings of our Cornerstone Retreat core team -- we will be the ones who plan and present the retreat to the women of our parish next year -- and for some inexplicable reason, I just don’t feel like I belong in the group. Now, this is not me being humble or me looking for encouragement or me doing anything except sitting in our spiritual formation meetings feeling totally and utterly disconnected. I have had nothing to say at these meetings -- nada, zip, zilch, zero -- and if you know me at all, then you know that this is serious. I can make conversation with a post, so to suddenly find myself with nothing to say leaves me, well, speechless.

The group is supposed to go through six weeks of spiritual formation together before we get down to the nitty gritty of physical planning. It’s a great idea and a wonderful way to build community within our small group before we attempt to build community on a grander scale. I was the one pushing the group not to skip the first week of reflections that focused on “Jesus Who Calls” because I thought it was too critical to skim over quickly. So what’s my deal? I keep waiting for the Holy Spirit to give me a clue, but nothing so far. The other women in the group are thoughtful and inspiring and full of insights on the Scripture readings and reflection questions. But twice I came home feeling completely out of sorts -- once in tears.

Maybe I’m not ready. Maybe I need to get to a deeper spiritual place on my own before I can have anything to offer a group. Maybe my spiritual place is in written words not in spoken words. After all, I can write a prayer at the drop of a hat, but ask me to say a spontaneous prayer in front of a group and I can’t come up with anything more creative than the Our Father. Maybe I have more work to do as a participant before I am ready to be a leader. I’m still plugging away at reading the materials and planning to go to the meeting next week, but I’m still not sure if this is where I am called to be. We’ll see...