On Resolutions

Regarding New Year’s resolutions, if you’re anything like me, you either (A) didn’t have time enough to reflect on life and come up with any, or (B) did have time and came up with some, but have already given up on them, because they were just too big and you already feel you “failed.” This was an (A) year for me. I’ve had (B) years, too.

The thing is, January 1 is not the only day of the year we can make resolutions. For a resolution is merely a firm decision to do or not to do something. In fact, St. Francis de Sales, among other great spiritual writers in our tradition, encourages us to make resolutions daily, at the end of our time of prayer and meditation. Our reflections on Scripture and the mysteries of our faith should lead to “special and particular resolutions for [our] own correction and improvement.” We should conclude our time of prayer asking, “Lord, what do you want of me today? What can I do or not do to grow in holiness today? How can I love more today? What can I sacrifice for others today? How can I say yes to You today?"

And, St. Francis continues, “After you rise from meditation you must remember the resolutions and decisions you have made and carefully put them into effect on that very day.” I find a concrete daily resolution much more helpful in my daily pursuit of holiness because, really, our lives are about conversion. And conversion isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence; it is a process. Because “Christian perfection has but one limit, that of having none” (St. Gregory of Nyssa).

Holding Fast

This morning I read from the Office of Readings for the day:

My son, hold fast to your duty, busy yourself with it,
grow old while doing your task.
Admire not how sinners live,
but trust in the Lord and wait for his light.
God's blessing is the lot of the just man,
and in due time his hopes bear fruit.
-- Sirach 11:20-21a, 22

This reminder comes at a good time. Our family is in the final stretch of what has sometimes seemed an endless project: graduate school. Yes, it is my husband that is the student, but graduate school is a family endeavor -- an endeavor we began before having children!

For my husband, this final stretch means working like a madman on the final chapter of his dissertation until he starts teaching again in two and a half weeks. Unlike a certain priest friend (you know we love you!) who was "released from his [other] duties" to focus on writing his dissertation, a husband and father cannot be so liberated. I am so proud of him. It is extremely difficult for him to leave us -- as difficult as it is for us to be without his presence -- maybe more difficult. He's gone each morning by about six, and he leaves again after dinner for a few more hours. And the work won't stop when he does begin teaching again. And this spring he is teaching his first graduate course. He is "holding fast to his duty" and has said he will complete the dissertation by March 7 -- "or die trying."

For me, this final stretch largely means being a single parent, which is hard enough, but also maintaining the house and our school. I am proud of me, too. It is a lot of work. I was thinking of this passage from Sirach this evening as I wiped off the counters for probably the sixth time today, as I asked (!?!) one of the kids to sweep the dining room floor for probably the fifteenth time, as I watched The Baby enjoy her bath (while fretting about all the things that needed to get done before bed). But, really, I love my duty. as hard as it gets some times. and I find great JOY in being with my children as much as I am. And while I would like to be leaving for Mexico for a much-needed vacation, as my sister is doing tomorrow, I will instead busy myself. happily. with my duties. I will hold fast. This time of trial will pass.

This reading from Sirach I think is a good one to reflect on as we begin a new year, the first week of Ordinary Time. When one thinks about it, most of our time is ordinary. Learning to hold fast to our duties, growing old while doing our tasks, trusting in the Lord and waiting for His light is a way to sanctify the ordinary and, thus, make it extraordinary.

The goal is fixed. The end is in sight. And our hopes will, we trust and pray, bear fruit.

Thursday Thoughts from Pope Benedict XVI

During my holy hour last night, I came across this passage in my prayer journal. It is from Pope Benedict's address to the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, given on February 10, 2006.

Jesus Christ, who is the fullness of the truth, draws to himself the heart of each person, enlarges it and fills it with joy. Indeed, truth alone can take possession of the mind and make it rejoice to the full. It is this joy that increases the dimensions of the human heart, lifting it from the narrowness of selfishness and rendering it capable of authentic love.

Jesus is the Truth. Truth fills our hearts with joy. Joy increases our ability to love. Beautiful!

Thursday Thoughts from Cardinal Joseph Mindszenty

I originally wanted to name this blog Building Cathedrals, based on one of my favorite quotes:

The most important person on earth is a mother. She cannot claim the honor of having built Notre Dame Cathedral. She need not. She has built something more magnificent than any cathedral -- a dwelling for an immortal soul, the tiny perfection of her baby's body.... The angels have not been blessed with such a grace. They cannot share in God's creative miracle to bring new saints to Heaven. Only a human mother can. Mothers are closer to God the Creator than any other human creature. God joins forces with mothers in performing this act of creation.... What on God's earth is more glorious than this: to be a mother. (Cardinal Joseph Mindszenty)

But that title was already taken by seven young Catholic mothers, friends from Princeton, so I went with my second choice (but I really like it, too).

The quote has always been a source of encouragement for me. It is on a bookmark I use in whatever parenting book I am currently reading, to remind me of why I'm reading it.

Some time after I received this bookmark, the analogy likening raising children to building cathedrals became even more explicit when a friend sent me the following story (apparently the author is unknown):

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?" Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30 , please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -- but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going ... she's going ... she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.

I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it.

I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

In the days ahead I would read -- no, devour -- the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

(1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals -- we have no record of their names.

(2) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

(3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

(4) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."

And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

So, to all of you mothers who sometimes feel invisible, take courage! And keep building!

Thursday Thoughts from Maya Angelou

I have a quote from Maya Angelou's autobiography on my fridge. It reads:

If you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love. Don't be surly at home, then go out in the street and start grinning 'Good morning' at total strangers.

It is meant to be a challenge for me.

I think of the times we're snapping at each other around the house, and then visitors come over and everybody puts on a happy face. Or I'm crabby with the kids in the car, and then I walk into the store and am the nicest person in the world to the clerk and other shoppers.

Why is it I can suck it up for others, but not the ones I love the most?

Recently, my husband and I were watching an episode of The Waltons (the best TV show ever made!) on DVD. John Boy was having a bad day and snapped at his mother, who replied, "Are you angry with me, John Boy, or am I just handy?" What a great line! And likely the reason our loved ones are subject to the brunt of our bad moods -- they're just handy, they live with us.

But therein lies the challenge. And the call to holiness.

At our house, my dear husband gets the shortest end of my stick.

He works hard all day and comes home to find ... peace and tranquility? I wish. Maybe someday. We'll keep working on it.

After dealing with small crises all day, I am usually completely worn out by the time the dinner hour arrives (also known as "the witching hour" around here). My ability to communicate effectively has nearly diminished. My patience is gone. All I want is the kids in bed.

This is what my husband walks into most nights. And most nights he steps right into the pandemonium to relieve me. And after working just as hard as I do. All day.

My hubby rarely gets my smile, my best attention, my best energy, my best anything. He gets what's left of me at the end of the day. And sometimes that isn't too pretty, or easy to live with.

And he never complains about it. And he still loves me. And THAT brings me great JOY.

So, sweetie, this smile's for you! I love you!

The Water-mill

As I was correcting reading assignments from last year (another item on my to-do list mentioned last week!), I came across this poem in one of the girls' readers. The author is not named.

Listen to the water-mill;
Through the live-long day

How the clanking of the wheels
Wears the hours away!

Lazily the autumn wind
Stirs the greenwood leaves,
While in the fields the reapers sing,
Binding up the sheaves.

Then comes this saying to my mind --
A saying true to the last --
"The mill will never, never grind
With the water that has passed."

Take this lesson to yourself,
And study it through and through;
For golden years are fleeting by,
And youth is passing too.

Learn to make the most of life,
Lose no happy day;
For time will never bring you back
The moments thrown away.

Leave no tender word unsaid;
And love while life shall last.
"The mill will never, never grind
With the water that has passed."

Work while yet the daylight shines,
Man of strength and will!
Never does the mill-stream glide
Vainly by the mill.

Wait not till to-morrow's sun
Beams upon the way;
All that you can call your own
Lies in your to-day.

Clear mind, strong body, youth and health,
May not, cannot last;
"The mill will never, never grind
With the water that has passed."

How many times have we, as parents, marveled at how quickly our children grow? at how fast time flies? at how each passing year seems shorter than the one before?

I am trying (oh, how I am TRYING!) to embrace each moment, not just survive each day. I am trying to overlook the things my mind tells me NEED to be done, in favor of the things my children's hearts are aching for: mom REALLY listening, hugging, tickling, playing, cuddling, teaching, and working alongside them, not in spite of their presence. Sometimes I succeed; more often I fail. But striving to live life thus intentionally means the more I remind myself of what is REALLY important, the easier it will be for my will to choose that good.

And, in that, I find great comfort. And hope. And JOY.

Lord, help us all to learn to make the most of the life You have given us. Teach us to leave no tender word unsaid and to love while life shall last. May we persevere in our work while the daylight shines, and rest in You when evening falls. Amen.

Rediscovering Sunday

"This is the day which the Lord has made: let us rejoice and be glad in it" (Psalm 118:24).

"I love Sundays!" -- I must have said that to my husband at least three times yesterday at the beach.  Truthfully, I don't think I could survive without them -- I think I'd be in an institution, or worse.  God, in His infinite wisdom, has shown me time and again the necessity of a day of worship and rest. 

It was in college that I was first made aware of our call to give the whole of the Lord's Day to the Lord.  I had been raised Catholic and knew that attending Mass was an obligation of my faith, but as I began to claim that faith as my own and take it more seriously, I realized that "keeping the Lord's Day holy" meant more than merely attending Mass.  And so, I began to refrain from work on Sundays, which at that time meant study.  I am the type of person who is always wishing for more hours in the day to accomplish my never-ending list of things that MUST be done.  So to know that whatever was not done by dinner Saturday evening would have to wait until Monday morning was sometimes difficult, but I was rewarded with renewed energy for my studies, and with a greater peace and sense of balance that I think I would have had otherwise.

My husband had done the same thing in college, and so it was natural for us to continue refraining from work on Sundays during our marriage.  Again, sometimes this is difficult for me, what with piles of laundry or paperwork or attacking dust bunnies.  I would probably never rest if not either forced to by a breakdown or (thankfully) reminded and encouraged by the Church (and my husband).  Sometimes it means we HAVE to leave the house for the day so that I'm not constantly reminded of what needs to be done, but again, we have been rewarded time and again for giving the Lord's Day to the Lord, and to each other and our children and extended family.    

As a family, we try and start our Lord's Day celebration on Saturday evening with a special meal together.  We start with a time of prayer and song.  Sometimes we share bread and wine.  My husband reads the Gospel for the week and we discuss it, which the kids find helpful at Mass the next morning.  Though we attend Mass daily as often as we are able, Sunday Mass is seen as a "little Easter" and we dress in our finest.  After Mass, the day is spent together as a family, sometimes with extended family or friends, relaxing or enjoying one another's company in a way that the busyness of the week does not allow.

John Paul II, of happy memory, wrote an Apostolic Letter, entitled Dies Domini, which is a great reflection on the Lord's Day (and the word "joy" is found in it 67 times!)  Our Holy Father writes, "If we wish to rediscover the full meaning of Sunday, we must rediscover this aspect [joy] of the life of faith.  Certainly, Christian joy must mark the whole of life, and not just one day of the week.  But in virtue of its significance as the day of the Risen Lord, celebrating God's work of creation and 'new creation,' Sunday is the day of joy in a very special way, indeed the day most suitable for learning how to rejoice and to rediscover the true nature and deep roots of joy."  In the letter, John Paul II, "strongly urge[s] everyone to rediscover Sunday: Do not be afraid to give your time to Christ!  Yes, let us open our time to Christ, that he may cast light upon it and give it direction.  He is the One who knows the secret of time and the secret of eternity, and he gives us 'his day' as an ever new gift of his love.  The rediscovery of this day is a grace which we must implore, not only so that we may live the demands of faith to the full, but also so that we may respond concretely to the deepest human yearnings.  Time given to Christ is never time lost, but is rather time gained, so that our relationships and indeed our whole life may become more profoundly human."

May the Lord help us to rediscover the joy that is Sunday!

St. Martha

Today is the feast day of one of my favorite saints -- Saint Martha.  Saint Martha was the sister of Lazarus and Mary.  When our Lord visited them in Bethany, Martha received Him as her guest and served Him with devoted attention.  I am often reminded in my own life of our Lord's words to her, "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.  There is need of only one thing.  Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her" (Luke 10:41-42).

Our Lord spoke these words to Martha when she approached him, "burdened with much serving," to complain that her sister was not helping her.  I, too, sometimes feel "burdened with much serving."  I, too, complain about it.  I, too, am often "anxious and worried about many things."  I don't know of many mothers who do not sometimes feel this way.  It is then that we should try to remember to "choose the better part."  

And what is the better part?  The story of Mary and Martha highlights the balance most of us must seek in the spiritual life: the balance between prayer and work, ora et labora.  Mary had been sitting at our Lord's feet listening to Him speak.  But most of us cannot spend our whole day in contemplation; most of us, especially mothers, are required to lead a very action-filled life.  But let us, too, sit at the feet of our Lord.  Let us approach Him in prayer and in the sacraments and let Him renew our energies for serving our families.  Let us make our work our prayer: Each dish we wash, each diaper we change, let it be for love of our Lord.  For it is not Martha's serving that was the problem, but her feeling "burdened" by it, her complaining and anxiety.  May we be ever mindful of our Lord's presence while we work.  May we turn to Him often in thanksgiving and in need.  May the Lord bless the work of our hands.  And may we ever grow closer to Him.

Father, your Son honored Saint Martha by coming to her home as a guest.  By her prayers may we serve Christ in our brothers and sisters and be welcomed by you into heaven, our true home.  We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.  Amen. 

Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours for July 29