As I was writing the article for the NCRegister linked below, I saw that Rebecca Frech had written about things she misses about being poor. She reminded me of the friendships I thrived upon with fellow mothers in the throes of early motherhood. We spent so many mornings together sharing food, watching our children play, and drinking cups and cups of coffee. We made meals for each other at the birth of our babies. We shared clothes. We basked in the simplicity of having small children without busy schedules of older children. Those friendships are so special to me, and now I live hundreds of miles away from those ladies I spent so many hours with, I still cherish the friendships we had back then while we stay in touch now.
Pancakes were a lunch we often made for each other. Whenever I make them for lunch now, I think about those friends. They are the ultimate comfort food on a cold Fall, Winter, or Spring day in these northern states that I have been settled in. They are also an inexpensive meal that I can guarantee my children will eat, and mostly healthy since I use whole wheat flour.
We paid off my student loans last month, and have not yet quite realized the financial freedom which we now have. With older children the money will be redirected towards things like piano lessons, home school supplies, more clothes. But I will always try to remember the times when money was more sparse and when we felt guilty for buying even the simplest of things.
Where were we? M and I had just broken up after a crazy, intense beginning of our relationship. All of July and August I struggled to let go of him, because he was trying to figure out his vocation. Yet, every time I prayed about him I knew that there was something more for us. I felt deep inside that we were supposed to be together.
Behind the wall in Gaming, Austria.
In trying to remember that time, I recently reread my prayer journals from when were broken up, and I asked my mom why I had such a hard time letting go of M. Again and again in my journals I talked about how young and foolish I was, at just 19 years old. But somehow I felt that this was a crucial relationship in my life, and it turns out, it was. My mom pointed out that I really did know, that God was showing me in my heart, that M and I were meant to be together, and that watching me that summer, she saw what was going on.
During that summer I decided that I should also revisit my own discernment of whether I was called to religious life. I prayed a lot about it, and eventually I spoke with a nun that I had known in high school. During the last conversation that I had with her, I came to the realization that while the call to be the bride of Christ was beautiful and wonderful and so, so attractive, it was not where I was being called. My heart was still being drawn to M, and I felt that it would never stop tending towards him. I was right.
The Kartause where we lived, studied, and prayed. Of all the places in Europe, this is one I’d love to be in again.
At the end of August I saw M for the first time after our break up. We were at Dulles International airport in Washington, D.C. And he claims that I was giving him longing looks, but I can tell you that he was giving me the same looks (accompanied by his brown eyes and long dark lashes). On the overnight flight to Vienna for our semester in Austria, I could not handle my desire to talk to him and tried to get him to talk to me. This is pretty much the story of most of our semester abroad: I could not handle my desire to just talk to him and tried desperately to not to. We traveled together in the same group of friends, snatched hours of conversations, gave each other longing looks, went for walks together. All the while I tried desperately to let go of him, and could not.
We took a lot of pictures of each other.
But few of just us. So here we are in Spain.
I spent the semester praying a 56 day rosary novena for a number of intentions, but the biggest prayer breakthrough for me was when I realized that it was not a selfish thing to pray for M to finish discerning. I prayed that he would finally know one way or the other. I realized that it was not actually selfish for me to ask God to show M His will for M. I had been resisting, because I felt like it was selfish to want the discernment to be over.
This path around Gaming was a favorite haunt of ours together and separate.
It took nearly a whole semester of waiting, praying, and trying to overcome my attraction to him. A whole semester of traveling all over Europe, slipping off to take walks together, late night talks on overnight trains, praying at Masses in every language, and spending hours (separately) in adoration before the Blessed Sacrament. As the weeks went by, it became slowly more clear to both of us that he was going to eventually ask me to date him again. (As far as everyone who was on Austria campus with us were concerned, we were definitely an item.) And for him the discernment of his vocation was not just to be a priest or not, but he already knew in his heart that if he discerned to date me again and to not pursue the priesthood, that we would eventually get married. For him, discerning the call to marriage was about the call to marry a particular person, and I suppose in the end it was the same for me. I did not settle on marriage as my calling until there was M in my life.
The most significant trip of our semester was when we went as a study abroad program to Rome. All of the students in Franciscan’s Austria program went on a school sponsored 10 day visit to Rome and then Assisi. In Rome I finally worked on overcoming my desire to be next to him whenever possible. We would go on walking tours of the city and I would often stand next to M. Yet, I slowly stopped myself from doing that. I resisted. I also had several emotional meltdowns while praying in Rome (we went to daily Mass as a school and had daily prayer times). I cried a lot, and was so thankful for my good friends who supported me in my weepiness. A few days into the visit in Rome, I noticed that while I had not gone to stand by M on our walking tours, he was starting to stand by me. See the difference? He was seeking me out. Then we went to Assisi for a couple of days, and again I was successful in resisting my desire to be close to him; I even enjoyed spending time with other people and letting go of my anxiety about the waiting. I do not know why I found it so hard to wait.
The view from the hermitage outside of Assisi.
One of the days in Assisi, it was a chilly afternoon, we walked up a large hill to the place of the hermitage of St. Francis and his friars. I began walking alone, but M appeared next to me, walked beside me silently as we prayed our rosaries. He even carried my jacket for me when I became warm and took it off. When we reached the hermitage, we parted ways and wandered alone in the paths of the woods. I found another friend to walk down with, but I had again found some freedom from my desperate longing to be called his.
Thanksgiving was few weeks after our return from Rome and Assisi (which we did through the mountains in a snowstorm), and there was a Thanksgiving Ball after the dinner. A few days before the ball, M asked me if I would dance a most of the dances with him at the ball. I immediately said yes, seeing his desire as a good sign. Then I slowly realized that I did not want to just half be his partner at the ball, I wanted to either go with him or not dance with him at all. So, I went to his door, knocked on it and told him so. (I have never been subtle with guys I suppose.) And to my surprise, he immediately asked me to be his date for the ball, and I, in my astonishment, accepted him.
It snowed in the mountains the night we bussed back from Rome.
Then the ball was anticipated with much trepidation. Was he going to tell me his final decision there? Were we going to be officially a couple again? I put too much weight on what would happen at the ball leading up to it. During the ball, we stepped out to go on one of our evening walks around Gaming, and when he clearly did not ask me out again on that walk, I made a decision to just have fun with him there. We went back into the ball and just enjoyed being together, with a freedom we had not had together all semester. We were there as a date, so we could enjoy being together as on a date. And I realized that I was not over him, and he was not over me, but that we had been falling in love with each other again all along.
These are the very pines.
And then two days later, in due time, he took me on a morning walk. We walked one of our usual routes, rounded a bend, and under a row of tall pines, in the snow, he asked me to date him again. And of course I agreed to it.
We spent our last 20 days in Austria as an official couple, free to spend time together without fear of impeding M’s discernment; he had chosen to pursue a relationship with me. We had chosen it together, and as we went back to American I joyfully anticipated our future together.
And I can’t really stop here. I will have to tell you the rest another time.
One of the oldest tricks of the Deceiver is disguising his temptations so that we do not realize what they are. Very recently I had a revelation about the vice of acedia or sloth in my life. I have been dealing with feelings of resentment, discontent with my life, and a desire to be doing something other than what I am doing for much of my life. It has never been a continuous feeling, but one I would have when I was alone trying to get work done and once I became a mother a feeling I would have when I was home with my children going about my daily tasks. In fact my feelings of discontentment would increase often when I would be doing the Sisyphean tasks that come with motherhood, ones that demand attention day after day and week after week, and rarely when I would sit and stare at social media for too many minutes of my day. It was a feeling and a temptation that wanted me to be dissatisfied with and seek to escape from the good things in my life.
A couple of weeks ago when Pope Francis made his most recent comments about valid marriages, I was busy making preparations for my sister’s wedding. I read the commentary surrounding it, and discussed it with my husband, but mostly I thought about the upcoming wedding of my sister and her now husband. They were married in a beautiful Catholic wedding at the Cathedral Basilica in St. Louis, which was a long awaited event on both sides of the family as the bride and the groom had both been hoping and praying to find someone to marry for several years. And that made the event all the more joyful as they were surrounded by many nieces and nephews and family and friends who were so happy for them.
During the liturgy leading up to their vows, it struck me how Christ and the Church made the Sacrament of Marriage something that one could not enter into unknowingly if one paid attention to the words being spoken. One who has been to Catholic weddings may recall how the priest or deacon presiding over the vows asks the bride and the groom three things: (1) if they have come to be married freely and without reservation, (2) if they will love and honor each other as man and wife for the rest of their lives, and (3) if they will accept children lovingly from God. Here before the vows can even be made the conditions are laid down for a valid marriage.
You are married! Your wedding was such a wonderful, happy weekend despite the sweltering heat and late nights for the children. And it seemed so fitting for you as a bride to be surrounded by SIX swirling flower girl nieces who could not take their eyes off you the whole day. They will always remember your feminine beauty as they watched you wed yourself to your husband, their new UNCLE!
But as I watched you that morning, as I waited to walk up the aisle before you on the arm of our brother (thank you for that, by the way, I was thrilled to be walking with him), all my memories of our childhood together came back to me. I feel like I left the family house in a whirlwind of college, falling, in love, and moving away. You, my sister, took your time. You grew into a beautiful, mature, whole woman, and you waited until the precise time God wanted for you, for the exact person. God prepared your hearts for each other. And I can’t wait to see you living as a married women just three hours away from us.
Back to our childhood; those years of us three sisters in our room together. First there was the small room upstairs where I was a toddler and little girl, and then the big bedroom in the basement with you sleeping under the stairs. You and our sister showed me the way to be. I always liked having my two big sisters around. In elementary school, you were always there to ride the bus with me. Remember the time I brought the pet mice home in a cardboard box on the bus? I only wanted them because you had a pet mouse before me. And I copied you in wanting an American Girl Doll. And being the younger sister I tagged along to all of your soccer games and gymnastics meets. I watched you and our older sister do all the things that I was too shy to do. And you both did them so well.
I think that my favorite time of childhood together was the two years we had together in high school. We may have fought everyday on the way to school, as I grumpily submitted to your favorite Bebo Norman music. I had my big sister around to drive me to and from school. And we had a lot of fun going to Bebo concerts whenever he was in town! I also learned how to go deeper into my faith with you as we went to several youth groups together. It was through your youth group that I went to my first Steubenville Youth Conference, which changed the course of my life. We tried to go to daily Mass before school every morning, but ended up being late for school too often and having to stop. Those two years of high school together were such a special time. And then you went to college. But while you were in college our oldest sister began to live at home while she finished college. And while you lived on campus, you still were around at home.
And then two years into your college life, I went off to Steubenville. You came to visit me on campus, and you met the man I was slowly falling in love with. The summer after my first year of college, we took that memorable road trip to Michigan to visit the him. You were always so supportive of me in my relationship with him.
While I was finishing high school and off in college, you were advancing in PT school, using your knowledge to help your friends and family. You taught me how to run without injuring my knees. I had never been able to be a runner before, but you changed my gait and helped me be a runner (a slow and short distance one, but a runner nonetheless). Our sister pointed out to me over the weekend how she sees your whole life having been pointing towards being a PT, beginning with you always sitting head down on the couch and into your years of doing and then teaching gymnastics and now your ability to intuit so many things about the body. You have helped so many people, and God will make the opportunities for you to do it still when you are in Iowa.
After I got married and began to have children, you were always the most attentive aunt. Never a visit went by without you teaching my youngest to do something new developmentally. And while you did not get to play with him your wedding weekend, your baby nephew decided to take his first steps this week in honor of your marriage; he shouts “go, go, go!” and wobbles a few steps before collapsing. We will have to show you when we see you next.
So, my dear sister, you are really, truly married. I was there; I heard your vows; I fixed your train a dozen times or so. You were and are a beautiful bride. And I am praying for you and your sweet, loving husband. I am so excited to get to know you better as a the one you two have become.
May God grant you many happy, full, holy years together.
I have been so busy these days that my writing has been on the back burner. Plus, I have a book review that I am working on that I just can’t get myself to focus enough to write. So, I am here at the old blog to do some writing just to write.
My baby turned one two weeks ago. We threw him and his same birthday, same hospital, friend a big party, and it was wonderful. Then I spent all of my free time reading the book I am supposed to be reviewing. Then we went to Illinois to visit my sister and her family for a long weekend. The cousins all had a delightful time.
Chicken Kiev…so good.
We celebrated our 8th anniversary by going to Moscow on the Hill. It was delicious as always.
And this week has been VBS. I volunteered to teach, but a teacher was not needed, so I was a helper in a classroom of 20 four and five year old little girls. It was just a little crazy. And I had a tag along 3 year old girl and a tag along Mr. I-want-to-be-either-moving-or-eating one year old boy. I almost did not come back after the first day. But that would have meant I would have spent 45 minutes each morning and 45 minutes each noon-time driving the little people in the car and trying to not ruin the baby’s naptime. So I labored through the long mornings for the sake of naptime, and each day the baby liked it more and the 3 year old was happier to be there.
I really like naptime. The quiet afternoon’s are a nice reward for the busy mornings.
Every year VBS week makes me so thankful that we home school. And not because I can’t handle the early mornings; we wake up by 6:30am just about every morning anyway. In fact, we are often up before 6am, because we like to go to 7:30am daily and Sunday Mass when we are being disciplined.
It makes me thankful because I am not driving my kids to and from school for large chunks of time. It makes me thankful because my children have each other to enjoy and love ALL DAY LONG. It makes me thankful because, the life of caring for just a toddler and baby is about 10x more trying for me than the life of caring for all my kids together even with home schooling.
On top of the things this week, my other sister is getting married NEXT week! And I am turning 30 the day before she does. All the girls are in the wedding, and I have to find time to practice styling hair, plus pack, plus sew a few things. And write that book review.
Thanks for being my warm up writing place, good old blog. And thanks for reading, my dear readers out there.
My husband, aka “M”, aka “the professor”, started a blog this week. He has been talking about it for awhile. As I read his first two posts, I found something beautifully familiar. I found part of the reason I fell in love with him in the first place.
You see, I absolutely love to read his writing. It is so beautiful, the way he puts things, the way he describes things. And I am in absolute awe that he can write something so beautiful and flawless in 30 minutes. And he did it two days in a row! I expect that everyday will be beautiful and worth reading. I am excited to see the things he is thinking and feeling written down, day after day.
During our first year of college, we were in a weekly writer’s group which had been organized by a mutual friend. We read things we had been writing or had written to each other. It may have been a bit too much for college freshmen to handle and not fall in love with each other; I think that we already were inclined to like each other. But in hearing what he wrote, I found a kindred spirit.
And when I read what he has to say about beauty and romance in the springtime, it reminds me of the sonnets we used to write for each other when we were falling in love the first time.
The summer which we both read the book Severe Mercy by Sheldon VanAuken, which the professor mentioned today, we also wrote each other letters. He was walking across the country with other pro-life college students with the ministry Crossroads Pro-life, and I was taking five philosophy courses (to graduate a semester earlier) and working 40 hour weekends at Steubenville conferences.
It was that summer that we realized that we wanted to get married. We wrote each other letters. Mine arrived at the house I was living in for the summer and his were sent to host families who passed them onto him.
Those letters were wonderful to get. When one would arrive I would always take it to a quiet place and savor every word. And then I would read it again.
And the book, which is a memoir of a love story, gave us a guide on which to ground our relationship. It showed us that a purposeful planning of how to preserve our love was necessary if we wanted to maintain our “inloveness.” I believe that we still have our “inloveness’, and it grows deeper every year. And I wonder if as the professor writes his blog this summer and I read it that I will fall in love all over again.
My husband and I spent our free time the weekend after the release of Amoris Laetitia reading the document, and we would both say that it was really good for our marriage. We liked what we read in the document about marriage and family life as it was full of theological truths and many times practical ways to live out marriage. We have also had many conversations with friends about the document, read many commentaries of it, discussed what really is going on with Chapter 8 (which I am not going to add to the buzz there). One of the concerns a friend had (besides all the issues surrounding Chapter 8) was that the pope really did not state anything new about marriage. What was the whole point of the document if he was just going to reiterate the same teachings on marriage that the Church has always held?
The summer we moved to St. Paul we were very eager to attend Holy Mass at St. Agnes. In addition to Sunday Masses, we went almost every day to the daily Mass in the lower chapel. At those daily Masses, for the first time since I had fallen in love with the Church’s liturgical traditions did the OF seem like it followed from those traditions. We had been daily Mass attendees at many other OF Masses, but this one was different.
This recent New York Times article about how some babies are easier than others rang true for me this week, but I did not need an article to tell me that. When we had our first baby seven years ago, her different needs changed a lot of my presuppositions about parenting. For example, we never wanted to use a pacifier, but she was so oral we ended up giving her one. Our second baby had different needs, and we did things differently with her. Our third baby could fall asleep unassisted from the time she was a newborn.
Our fourth baby took all my nighttime parenting confidence and threw it out the window. With him I had to give up on all my human efforts to help/make him sleep, and prayed a novena to St. Jude, the patron saint of impossible causes…
