Ends and beginnings

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
(from T.S. Eliot's poem "The Four Quartets")

On Sunday afternoon I took a spade to the Virginia clay to the garden in front of Antonia's house, and in four or five quick thrusts I uprooted a cluster of lavendar. The plant's silver-green leaves shook the fragrance of memory into the spring air; I hoisted it by the roots into the dark trunk of my car. "In France they grow this by the field-full," she laughed, remembering a post-university adventure; I thought of my mother's garden.

Antonia had called me earlier in the day-- she, David, the triplets, and her mother are leaving for Slovakia on Wednesday, and they're packing, clearing out the house, and tying up loose ends. Most people in her situation would probably not give a second thought to their garden plants--but Antonia is not most people. She had planted her gardens from seed and couldn't bear the thought of abandoning them to their fate. As the sun sank towards evening, I churned up the rocky red soil in the front of my own house, carving out a new home for her lavendar, her daisies, her sage.

* * *

It is Holy Week, and it is spring. A good time for ends and beginnings, I think. Antonia's triplets--Bronte, Lukas, and Aiden--will first experience Slovakia as a world of beginnings: slowly-greening mountains, black gardens pierced by tentative sprouts, and flocks of wandering sheep punctuated by the bleats of newborn lambs. They will awake to their first Slovakian morning on Good Friday, when the Cross of Christ turns up the soil of our hearts, churning us out of our complacency, loosing the deep-rooted sins that snake through the soil of our lives. And then they will listen, watch, and pray (as much as one-and--a-half-year-olds can) at the triumphant Easter celebrations, when we revel in the verdant fullness of Christ's resurrected life and its promise to those who are faithful, who believe.

* * *
I am experiencing the peculiar yet familiar blend of gratitude and sadness that always seems to attend farewells; the fullness of relationship and the emptiness that physical distance brings. Let us continue to pray for this sweet family; I will let you know how things go with their house. (As of right now I believe they have raised about one quarter of the funds needed to build their house; help is still appreciated, I'm sure.)

Gabriel's First Poem, for Mommy

I love you like the sun loves setting on the horizon

I love you like the river loves flowing down the mountain
I love you like the plug loves the drain

I love you like apple pie loves icing

I love you like rain loves splashing

I love you like the sun loves the moon

I love you like hugs love kisses.

(Narrated to Mommy at age 3 years, 3 mos, while splashing in the tub with little brother Peter, in these words precisely. A spontaneous and original response--albeit in the style of a book we have called "I Love You, Good-Night"-- to a few simple words from me: "I love being a mommy to you, little boys." Gratitude bringing forth beauty. Material for later blog post indeed!)

Happy Mother's Day, Mom...

...thanks for all the playing, the caring, the loving, the driving, the cooking, the worrying, the shopping, the sharing, the helping, the sewing, the cleaning, the nurturing, the teaching, the supporting, the chatting, the advising, and the loving that you've done over all these years. I love you! (Hey, and that shirt is pretty hip too! :) )

8 Lessons Learned in 2008

(Thanks to Elizabeth Foss and Conversion Diary for the promptings to write this post.)

1. This world--and in particular, my world-- is full of generous people.

For some reason, this surprised me to no end. I have known for some time how blessed I am with family--in particular, this year I realized it because it was only thanks to the sacrifices of my husband and mother that I was able to have the time to complete my studies for my Master's degree. I consider that degree a gift not only from my professors and the saints, theologians, and thinkers I read in order to complete it, but also from all those who made it possible for me to physically sit in the classroom. (Another thank you must go to the Knights of Columbus whose scholarship funded a big part of my studies.)

My pregnancy and newborn son also brought a flood of generosity from all directions in all forms. When I was having back problems, a massuese neighbor gave me a massage for free, and the chiropractor gave me a free session because I was pregnant. A neighbor threw me a baby shower I wasn't expecting. Thanks to family, friends, neighbors, and complete strangers from our church(es) I didn't have to cook a single meal for over a month after Peter was born. And many people have entertained my exuberant older son for a couple hours, or fed him or put him to bed, so I could have some much needed rest with the newborn.

2. Generosity can't be directly "paid back". It can only be passed on.

I've always been pretty dutiful about writing thank-you notes for gifts. Recently I've begun to realize that this duty was almost equated in my mind with a sort of "payback" for the gift or favor received. I think I've revised my thinking about "thank-you's" for the most part. I still think they are important--after all, I would like to know if possible if the faraway person I sent a gift to had indeed received it, and hopefully with some sort of delight. But I think I now realize that the beauty of the generosity I have been showered with is that it has prompted me to open my eyes for opportunities to be generous to others. An ever-generous neighbor has inspired me to be more friendly to the people in my neighborhood--people I may not know well, who may not be the kind of people I "usually" spend time with, but nonetheless people who are in the orbit of my existence and who are often in need of something or the other.

3. When my body is happy, I am happy...and I am a better wife and mother.

A.K.A., my chiropractor was my best friend when I strained my back and could barely walk back in September. The days were filled with impatience with Gabriel and shortness with my husband. Each night ended with me in exhausted tears, unable to do anything but fall into bed. Certainly post-partum has brought a new wave of exhaustion, and similar endings to the days, but at least I know this will pass. The back issues were somewhat frightening in that regard because I didn't know what was wrong with me. This extends to nutrition too. All those generous people who gave us meals also gave us lots of yummy desserts along with them. And now it is Christmas, so of course, my favorite cookies are hanging around the house. I can't resist them, but I think I can tell I just don't feel all that great with all this refined sugar floating around in my blood. There were a couple weeks while I was pregnant that I gave up sugar all together, and during this past Lent we gave up buying most processed foods. I think both really made a difference in how I was feeling, and my moods. I'm almost excited for the sweets to be done so I can cleanse my system a bit. I’ve dabbled a bit with Weston A. Price’s theories on food in the past, and I finally ordered Nourishing Traditions. I don’t think we will ever go full-on with his nutrition advice, but I like the recipes for traditional foods and broths and look forward to trying them.

4. Nature is often the best playground (and healing-ground) for young and old alike.

Thanks to some neighbors with kids Gabriel's age, I've been inspired to spend a lot of time outdoors with him--on nice days we could spend 2 hours in the morning and 2 hours in the late afternoon. Even if tempers are short as we put on shoes and jackets, the moment we step outside the door , it is so much easier to be the mother and son we are supposed to be. Gabriel is free to run and yell and be 2 years old and I am free to enjoy him without all the piles in the house staring me in the face and daring me to clear them off the stairway...or the dresser...etc.

I also realized this is true for our family as a whole after a delightful camping trip to Cunningham Falls State Park in Maryland. I forgot to bring any toys, which was probably a good thing. Gabriel spent his days happily playing with sticks, as well as a harmonica some fellow campers passed on to him; I spent some time reading; and Michael spent hours trying to start a fire from scratch. All were content and happy, and there were far fewer squabbles and moments of impatience. I think we came home from that trip a closer family than when we left.

5. I am a better (meaning more patient, creative, cheerful, etc.) wife and mother when I have something--even something small-- outside the home that challenges me to think.

I had this "outside challenge"--as well as time to be "just me" rather than "mommy-me" built into our everyday schedule while I was in school in the beginning part of the year. I have not had this as much in the latter half of the year, and I am feeling the lack. Certainly, being at home full time means I have time to see other friends who are at home all or part of the time, but it is often hard (and frustrating) to think and converse at any profound level while keeping one eye out for the children's antics. I am a bit lost at the moment, wondering where I should turn for this "outside challenge", but I know with time something always comes up.

6. Stuff is stressful; simplicity is soothing.

Now that I am home and staring at it all the time, I realize how much stuff we have that we don't need. Often this stresses me out because of the clutter that it creates around the house (and the number of objects I am constantly tripping over now that I can’t see where my feet are landing because I have a baby in a sling in front of me). But I’ve realized that when I think about getting rid of things, I’m often thinking about me. Granted, it is probably spiritually profitable to live with less, so there is a personal benefit to simplicity. But it just hit me how much more ambitious I should be about passing on things we don't need or use to others who could use them when I called the crisis pregnancy center to see if they would want any baby items. They said of course, they're taking everything they’re offered, especially because the hard times with the economy has caused an influx of clients for them. I looked at the huge pile of unused baby blankets that we have, thought about how I haven’t really given much of a second thought to the financial crises because it hasn’t impacted us much, then thought about babies that might legitimately be cold and actually need the blankets...I decided it was time to get serious about weeding out unneeded baby items, and whatever else doesn’t need to be here.

7. Prayer can be fruitful even in “arid” times.

I was talking to my spiritual director last month and lamenting that although I often attempted to pray, I felt like I was doing it more to “check off” my duty for prayer rather than out of love or desire to pray, and that my prayer often just seemed to be just that: dutiful, done, but not overly enjoyable or consoling. As we chatted, however, I realized that in several areas of my life where I needed some clarity, or some consolation, I had received great insights. They had come along in the midst of dishes or putting Gabriel to sleep or driving, and they had been mulled over on the back burner of my brain while I was busy doing other things, until God finally brought them to the forefront of my mind. That, he pointed out, is the fruit of prayer. Not to mention all the moments when I am able to be more gentle or more patient–all that is the fruit of the Spirit’s work in our lives, and thanks should be given for this particularly in days when “prayer time” itself seems more dry.

8. If there is time and energy enough to eat, there is time and energy enough to pray (and participate in the Sacraments).

Gabriel and I, and sometimes Michael, had a good routine of praying Morning Prayer as a family for a while this year. Then I convinced myself after Peter was born that we didn’t have time to pray as a family, or that it would be too exhausting to corral Gabriel in the prayer room. After considering how much time and energy I spend putting food on the table and cleaning up from the meals, I figure even half as much energy can be put into our personal and familial prayer and sacramental life. We are now starting to try to pray Morning Prayer, the Angelus, and Night Prayer. So far, one week down. 51 to go. We’ll see how we do! The most fruitful moment of prayer for me has been the Angelus, as noon always seems to find me going 150 miles an hour without stopping for breath–we’ve usually just come in from playing, or groceries, and I’m zooming around the kitchen trying to get food on the table for lunch. Suddenly the alarm on my cell phone will go off to remind me that it’s 12:00. Gabriel seems entertained by it–he looks at me with a grin and says “What time is it?!?” I stop, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and together we stand and pray the Angelus before an icon of Our Lady in the living room. It has a wonderful way of calming me and reminding me of all that is good and true.

Happy Birthday, Little Man!

Our just-turned-two-year-old insists that he is a "man" and not a boy, and although Michael has repeatedly emphasized to him that he is not a man and that he will tell him when he is a man, Gabriel continues to call himself by that title. Although I understand and respect the important coming-of-age implications the title implies, I was quite tempted to write “I’m the birthday man” on his birthday crown. True to form, whenever anyone exclaimed “you’re the birthday boy!!” last night Gabriel would just look at them and say “Man. You’re the birthday man.”

Although he’s got quite a ways to go before he can legitimately claim that title, I have to admit there are so many moments when I feel like he’s on to something with it, and I can’t help but smile at them. From the way he paces purposefully while talking on the telephone to someone, to the way that he animatedly discusses some of his favorite activities–grilling and lawn mowing-- with us on our evening walks around the neighborhood, he does seem like a little man.

Of course, there are many occasions when I know he’s not a little man, and still quite a small boy who needs lots of love and patience from his mommy. With the two-year-old days upon us (seems like they’ve been here for a while, actually) there have been emotional meltdowns about who will remove his shoes and when and where it will be done, about teeth brushing, outside time, and struggles with naptime that seem never-ending. But I know that this too shall pass, considering it seems like it was just yesterday that he came from the hospital and I was learning how to wash diapers and cook dinner while doing the little bounce-the-baby-to-sleep-in-the-sling dance at the same time.

My little man, how much you’ve taught me in these two years! Here’s to many more years of mutual education. :)

Gratitude and shadows

Yesterday I went through my nightly ritual of opening Gabriel’s door and peeking in on him before retiring for the night. It is always a gentle, sweet moment, to see him sleeping with his arms tucked up around his head and his legs for once relaxed, but on this night in particular I was just overwhelmed with God’s generosity to me in blessing me with my little family. Michael, Gabriel, and our “baby-in-the-belly”, all with a roof over our heads, fresh and abundant food to eat, and a circle of generous family and friends extending out around us.

My husband and I have committed to pray the Magnificat daily as a couple (part of the endeavors of the Teams of Our Lady group we are a part of) and so often saying this prayer can seem like just dutifully reciting a stream of words together after dinner. Last night, however, it was a gift that I knew these words by heart, because they seemed to fit my sentiments so precisely–the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is His name!

One thing I struggle with, however, is that my moments of gratitude are often tinged by fear, a shadowy fear that seems to whisper that I shouldn’t rejoice in these moments too much because they are precariously perched on the edge of an uncertain future, and an accident or sudden unforseen circumstance could change things instantly, bringing suffering and sorrow.

I was comforted and challenged by the words of C.S. Lewis in his book The Four Loves (the recent discussion book for our Team). He speaks of how in all of our earthly loves and joys are really just faint echoes of the heavenly life of love that is the Trinitarian communion of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, which we will hopefully one day participate in. This is a consoling thought, because it is so often hard for me “desire heaven” when I consider it as an unknown, unexperienced “place” rather than something I have known and desired–in all of my desires–all along. I think this is all tied to the fact that for me emotional, affective love of God has of late been an elusive element of the spiritual life. (Lewis himself characterizes such “emotional” love–attachment to God that basically “feels” the same as our attachment to our loved ones on earth– as a supernatural gift, and thus not something to be attained or acquired by virtue of our own effort or willing.)

I thought Lewis’ thoughts below on this topic seem like a good elaboration on St. Paul’s words in 1 Cor 13:12: “At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face.”

“We were made for God. Only by being in some respect like Him, only by being a manifestation of His beauty, loving-kindness, wisdom, or goodness, has any earthly Beloved excited our love. It is not that we have loved them too much, but that we did not quite understand what we were loving. It is not that we shall be asked to turn from them, so dearly familiar, to a Stranger. When we see the face of God we shall know that we have always known it. He has been a party to, has made, sustained and moved moment by moment within, all our earthly experiences of innocent love. All that was true love in them was, even on earth, far more His than ours, and ours only because His. In Heaven there will be no anguish and no duty of turning away from our earthly Beloveds. First, because we shall have turned already; from the portraits to the Original, from the rivulets to the Fountain, from the creatures he made lovable to Love Himself. But secondly, because we shall find them all in Him. By loving Him more than them we shall love them more than we now do.”