bursting heart

It is not uncommon to hear from a new mom that she never quite new how much she was capable of loving until she held and locked eyes with her newborn baby.  I get this.  The love I have for my children is truly unlike any other.  I have been infatuated...I have lusted...I have been obsessed with...I have really liked...I have even thought I have loved.  But those feelings were just that...feelings.  They were never love.

I had a meeting at my 9 year old sons school last week.  The end of the year is hard for him.  Hard for me.  Hard for all of is.  Lots of emotions take over.  As I was leaving the building, who should be walking by, but my sweet son.  Without hesitation, he ran over and in for a hug, and I kissed him on the top of his head, and he smiled big at me as he continued on his way down the hall, and I tell you...my heart....

it was ready to burst.

I read this morning in John Bartunek's The Better Part, that a dead body doesn't bleed.  More specifically, when they pierced the side of Jesus, who was already hanging dead on the cross, immediately there came out blood and water.  Scientists tell us that this may be explained by Jesus having died, literally, of a broken heart.  Because if he had suffocated, he would not have been able to speak, as he did.  And if he had died of blood loss, there most likely would not have been enough blood in the chambers of his heart to flow out as it did.  Bartunek goes on to say, it is "as if he willingly ended things at that moment, letting his divine love for sinful man burst his human heart."

Loving Father, who gushed water and  blood to cleanse my own sins, I pray to always have a heart like yours; a heart that is so full, it literally bursts out of love for others.

why kindness isn't enough

I have a friend, a fallen away Catholic, who has chosen to dismiss God and religion and raise her children in "kindness" instead.  And I have a problem with that.

You see, I have four kids.
They have the same two parents.
We all live under the same roof.
And not all of them are kind.
In fact, with mood swings and stress and hormones and life, we can all admit that at one point or another in life, we are unkind.

Am I raising my children to be kind?
Yes. Of course.
Do I teach them how to treat others?
Absolutely.
Is my marriage a witness to how we should love one another and put another persons needs first?
I believe so. On the good days, at least.

But there are these people in my house.  These ... teenagers....
and the vision and mind of a typical teen seems to narrow in on one thing and one thing only....
themselves.
And when one comes down with this thing called teenager...selfishness is likely, and it has been my experience, both as a former teen, and now a 45 year old woman wrangling two teens of her own, rarely, if in fact never, is kindness ever a result of being selfish.

So great.  Now what?
16 years of teaching kindness, and now what?
How did my plan to raise kind people fail?
And more importantly, what is plan B?
What is there to fall back on when kindness fails?

We are moving in two weeks, and winding down four schools with full schedules of end of the year activities.  This also happens to be my husbands heavy travel time of the year.  And this is typical of everyone, not just me, right?  Down to the wire, end of the rope, limping to the finish line, whatever it is, it is stretched and pulled to the limit.  And when the sink is full, and the house needs to be emptied,  and your 16 year old tries to print a class paper at 6am and there is no more paper, and the 14 year old can not find her jeans that you know are in the dryer because you put them there, but for some reason only mom's eyes can spot them, and final exam stress is building, and you have found your hand deep inside the bag of those darn multi grain pita chips again...
where then does your strength come from??
really...where???
What well are you capable of digging?
How do you manage?
When seemingly ungrateful children and physically not present husbands are your present reality, all before 6:30am, who do you have to turn to?
Better yet, when you are the last thing your children feel comfortable sharing with, and they are running in all the wrong directions in search of purpose and meaning, two whom do they turn?
Do they call on kindness to step in and help?
Does kindness swoop on in, pick them up, dust them off, and send them on their merry way?
Will kindness comfort the teen who feels left out, an outcast? Stressed and stumbling? Will kindness put to rest the anxiety that adults may not see, but is slowly chipping away at their insides?

With my own early morning despair moving in at a rapid speed, I scrubbed furiously at the dishes, adding more soap then needed, while staring out the window feeling like there was no end in sight...like these dishes would never get clean and the teenagers, who let me add, I love fiercely and madly, would stay stuck in themselves, never to break free.  And truly, if you dumped the box of my life out on the table and labeled my problems, it would not be the lack of  money, or stress, or surly kids or even dishes piled high that hurt me the most, but rather...it would be the unkindness.  It would be the echoing of the "you are so annoying" or "I hate him" "or the indifferent "whatever"  or "I just don't care" thrown my way, or towards a sibling, that hurts me the most. Because this family of mine...I have raised them to be kind.  Just like my friend, I too want to raise kind people.  And yet, the way they live out their lives under this roof lately, feels like anything but kind.  And I am not excluded from this mess.  I have had daggers roll off of my own tongue that I am not proud of.  And this is not even scratching the surface of how unkind we can all be to ourselves; how quick we are to compare our bodies and lives to those around us, how easily we hate our own reflection.  We struggle with being kind to our ourselves, and so how on earth do we learn to be good to others? The better question really is WHY on earth should we would be kind to others?

The last decorative mug to be washed rested in my hands, and I turned it over to read the inscription.  It was Scripture. His Word.  A love letter emerging from the swampy mess in the sink, an anchor of hope in just the right spot. It reeled me in.

"So let us not grow tired of doing what is good.  For at the right time, we will reap a harvest of blessings.  If we do not give up."  Galatians 6:9

I read it and read it again until I nearly washed it off of the cup, and wrote it in my mind.

Raising children to be kind?  Yes, that is good.  That is doing what is good.  My friend is doing a good thing.  But parenting is not for the weak.  It is tiring.  And when we grow tired, we are tempted by many evils, one of which is to give up.  At least that is how I feel.  Or have felt.  But if I root my parenting, not in my own teaching, but in Christ's teaching...well then that is a game changer.  We are taught to be kind, and we teach to be kind,  because we belong to God, not ourselves.  We are made in His image.  And if we are to mirror Him, then what we do and what we say matters a whole lot.  You see, when I put Christ in the middle of my parenting, the accountability of all of our actions is suddenly raised pretty darn high.  Like up to heaven high.  For the reality of our short time on earth is exactly that; a short time.  I don't want my children to be kind so that they can live a peaceful life on earth.  I want them to be kind so that they can live a peaceful eternity with God.  And at the end of the day, these growing kids of ours?? They are going to stumble and fall, waver and bend, no matter what we teach them.  The only way to ground them is to give them solid roots; plant them in faith.  They may wrestle with kindness or the lack there of as they journey, but I trust that if I continue to do what is good, the harvest will be abundant, and the blessings are sure to bloom.  Will these blessings blossom here on earth?  Well, that, I do not know.  But I am grateful for his Word that encourages me to persevere in doing what is good.  You can raise your children in kindness, but that is not enough.  Raise them in faith, for kindness flows freely from a life lived for God.

WE

They sit in front of me at the 9am Mass. They are elderly, and have not been attending as often; I know he has cancer.  Recently out of the hospital, they came back to Mass last week.  He looked sick.  He never did before.  But this time, he did.  Less hair.  White skin. Fragile.  Coughing.  And she held onto his hand.

But she always holds onto his hand.  And they are always both smiling.  They are always together. And I know this might sound morbid, but I have pictured her alone.  I have imagined what the day will be like when she walks into the church on the left side, and takes her seat in the third pew, stopping to give hugs and kisses and chat with her neighbors...and he is not by her side.   This is a place I can not linger in for too long, because it inevitably leads me to myself and the reality that I, too, may one day be alone.

It was right before getting up to receive the Eucharist, that he leaned in towards his wife, and whispered, "Will you bring your purse up to Communion with you?"  I did not hear why, because he never said why...but I knew it meant he needed to leave immediately.  These are not the "receive and run" type of people.  Something was wrong.  And she paused, and then looking at him said, "Okay, of course."  While slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder he whispered, "Thank you very much."  She turned to him and said, "We will call the Doctor", unto which he replied, "There is nothing we can do."

And it was in that brief witness of the absolute beauty in the vocation of marriage that caused the tears to swell up and spill out of my eyes.  Everything needed to build a lasting, strong, faithful marriage, was right there in front of me.  Her sacrifice for him without needing an explanation, his gratefulness for her and his verbally expressing that, and perhaps what got me the most: the fact that whatever it was he was facing, he was not facing it alone, because they are not a he and a she, a you and a me, but they are a WE.  "There is nothing WE can do", he said.

He could have said, "There is nothing the Doctor can do."
He could have said, "There is nothing you can do,"
He could have said, "There is nothing I can do."
But he didn't.
He said, "There is nothing we can do."

In this world today, where the "what's in it for me" mentality seems to be the road most taken in relationships, what a gift it was for me to be reminded of the true beauty in marriage.  In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, til death do we part.  There's that we again.  And I think it is in that split second moment when husbands and wives are so frustrated, so hurt, so depressed and so stressed, that they turn their focus completely on themselves, only able to see their own joy, their own pain, their own desires, their own life.  They start to look at their lives as separate islands, losing all compassion and respect for the one they once promised their life to. THIS is the fracture that opens the door to the Devil; this is his way in to destroy and demolish all that is life giving, fruit bearing, and good; his opportunity to kill your WE.

I spent the entire day praying and weeping for all married couples.  Marriage is not easy.  Marriage can be painful. Marriage can feel like a death.  But I have also seen how wonderful it can be, and not in the middle of the good times, but right in the midst of the deepest suffering.  And why it has taken me so long to open my eyes to this vocation of mine is beyond me, but they are opening none the less, and for that, I sing praises of joy and sing great songs of gratitude.

Marriage is not about me.  It is about we.
And I wouldn't want it any other way.

everything

Mark 12:13-17, today's Gospel

If there is one thing you can be sure of, it’s that you can’t trick Jesus. And oh, how the Pharisees tried. Resentful of the presence of Roman power on their land, they thought they could test Jesus by saying, “You do not regard a person’s status but teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?”

Jesus sees through their deceit, and by showing them the imprint of Caesar on a denarius (a coin worth about a day’s wage), tells them, “Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.”

I know that many argue that the church should not be involved with matters of the state, but as a Catholic, I cannot conceive of making any decision, moral or social, without deeply considering God. From the moment I wake each day, until I go to bed at night, my single prayer is that, whatever this day holds, I give it all to God. And so this is how we should approach everything. As Catholics, we can’t afford to remove God from our daily decisions. In fact, whatever the issue, large or small, should we not first consult with our Creator, the one who has the right answers? The answer is absolutely. We must present to Him what belongs to Him. And what exactly belongs to God?

Everything.

no matter the cost

So I picked up Copper, my "free dog", from his third heart worm treatment yesterday.  My husband had always said to me that with pets, we go by the "$500 rule."  What does that mean? Basically, if treatment for an illness for a pet costs more than $500, we forgo treatment, and pray for a miracle.

Heart worm treatment costs more than $500. A lot more.

And I can tell you the exact moment that the $500 rule went straight out the window.  The receptionist handed me Copper's treatment papers, and on the top of the paper it read..."Copper Phelps."
This dog has my name.  He belongs to me.  And I will fight to keep him alive, no matter the cost.

To be honest, the money is not the worst part. Money is money. I can live with it or without it and it comes and goes so darn quickly that how anybody has the time to worship it, or the stupidity to depend on it,  is beyond me.  The worst part of this crazy heart worm treatment is looking at this sad pup, uncomfortable and afraid, and not being able to explain to him the WHY...why I, the one who cares for him and loves him, is putting him through this suffering.  To him, it makes no sense.

I pet his head gently, pulling on his soft brown ears, kissing his sweet freckled spot just beneath his eyes, as his body shivers and shakes.  He pants, and I can feel his heart racing, and I hold him tight to myself whispering, "I have got you, Copper.  You are safe.  I am with you."  He does not understand that he is sick.  He does not know that there is something living in his heart, that will inevitably kill him.  He is completely unaware that there could be up to 250 worms, as long as spaghetti, occupying his heart.  There is no way he will ever know that the pain I am allowing him to go through is because I love him to no end, and it is the only way to save his life.

Ironically, Copper has the cutest brown spot on his back, shaped like a heart.  And it is in that exact spot that the vet has had to shave to give him his painful injections.  She has had to literally shave away at his heart.

He is sitting beside me now, sweetly and quietly.  He does not leave my side.  Despite the fact that I, the one he believes in and trusts, dropped him off over night for his painful and frightening treatment, he still chooses to stay close to me.  He does not know why he is going through this, but he trusts me none the less.

And so I reach for the silver crucifix I keep around my neck, and kiss it gratefully, remembering the dark and deep valleys of my own life, the painful nights, my own shaking and shivering, the shaving away at my own heart.  And with this faithful pup snuggled close to my side, I too, choose to cling to my own faith, and snuggle close to the one who loves and saves me over and over again; to the one that never ceases to purify my heart, removing from it all evil. This free pup has freed me after all, reminding me to not ask God WHY, and to simply go through whatever this life throws at me, sweetly and quietly.

Because I belong to Him.  And he will fight to keep me alive.  No matter the cost.

you do not know what you are asking

Mark 19:32-45

James and John come to Jesus and say, "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you."  And after they hand in their request  to sit one at his right and the other at his left, Jesus replies, "You do not know what you are asking."

This stood out to me.
You see, I ask God for a lot of things.
And of course, I ask him for things I want him to do in my life because I am sure that I am asking for what it is I truly need.

I am reminded today.
I do not know what I am asking.
Because I do not know the full story.
And maybe, what I am asking for is not meant for me.  In fact, maybe what I am asking for would be the death of me.
How can I know?

And so I remain in Him.
And I trust in Him, especially when I most don't feel like trusting.
Because He is the author of my life, not me, and He knows how it will end, not me.

Of course, I want him to do whatever I ask of Him.
But how blessed I am, that he loves me enough not to.

total wreck

It is the simplest questions I am asked that often leave me without answer.
She asked me, "Can I ask you something? Why do you go to church?"
And my mind went blank.

But let's back up a bit.
This was yesterday.
8am.
She approached the side of my car, wrapped up in a green and red Christmas blanket, morning cigarette smell on her breath.
And she never makes eye contact.
Always looks down; looks away.
I wonder what she thinks will happen if she looks me in the eye?


And she has done this before.
This getting out of her car, leaning up against the side of my dirty mini van, picking at nothing in the grass, or looking off to the side, and then dropping this bomb.
Always about God.
And her grandmother, who taught her to pray, who is on earth no more.
It is a mix of annoyance and discomfort for me, but mostly, it feels like helpless compassion.

I mean, how do you even answer such a question?
Why do I go to church?
She mentioned the hate she had in her heart, and how she wants it to go away.
"I was doing so good for so long, and now it is back."
Because those wolves do that, you know. I know that. They leave you for a while, but they always come back. Hungrier.  Angrier.  They are relentless.
"Does church make that go away? The hate?" she asked me.
Still, I had no answer.
"That is part of it", was all I could muster up.

Before the bus rolled down the hill, there was not enough time to tell her why I go to church.
Because I love Jesus.
Because there is no other way to start my day.
Because I must give thanks for every good thing.
Because the church is my home.
Because truly, if I didn't go to church, where on earth would I go?
Because I have fallen, and I will fall again, and there is no way I can continue to get up and fight the battle each day if I didn't have HIS strength to lift me.
Because I am a sinner.
Because I have fallen madly in love with my Creator.
Because I would die if I didn't.

"Come with me one day" I told her.  "I go every day. Come with me."

And I know she won't.
She is scared.
She is lost.
She is angry.
She is hurting.
She is misguided.
She is desperate.
She is trapped in her sin.
She has been tricked.
She has been lied to.
She does not know she is worth it.


She is the closest thing to God I have ever seen.

Looking back on yesterday morning, her, wrapped tight in that blanket...that is what going to church is for me.
It is that blanket.
It wraps around me, keeps me from running, holds me still, protects me, envelops me in softness and warmth, comfort and peace. It is a shield of mercy and grace.  Nothing feels safer.

The bus came.
The children scattered for back backs thrown among the grass, then disappeared down the road.

For the first time, she looked at me.
"Jesus loves the total wrecks, you know".
I told her this.
Right to her face.
Directly into her eyes.

But the honest truth?
The total wreck I was reassuring was myself.