Living the Liturgy

Hallie over at Moxie Wife is collecting Five Favorites.

So it's a week past the day for New Year's Resolutions. Many bloggers are praying and seeking a word of encouragement and direction for 2014.

This year I'm doing neither.

I have several goals in mind, mostly in the realm of fitness and nutrition, but don't really want to share them. Fear of jinxing my efforts? Don't really believe in that sort of thing. Fear of pinning myself down to specifics? Possibly. The last time I posted some vague thought about "getting in shape or something" my results were about as clear as my announcement.  Keeping it personal? Probably.

I do have a family goal: to live the liturgy more fully.

December always races by in a whirlwind of festivities, decorating, and food. While we enter into several liturgical celebrations, I'm forever lamenting the ones we miss. St Lucia's Day -- A beautiful tradition is to have the oldest daughter dress in white with ribbons (and candles!) in her hair and serve the other family members sweet rolls early in the morning. Ainsley would flat love that, burning hair and all. The O Antiphons -- This is a beautiful devotion I was sure I would manage to do both at home and in the atrium this year. It's a seven or eight day celebration of the names of Jesus and very much mirrors the type of praise I do in my personal prayer times. Well, the O Antiphons didn't quite happen, either.

So in 2014, I'd like to bring more liturgical celebration into my home, into my own family.

Here are five resources I've found:

1. The Catholic Home by Meredith Gould

Gould describes herself as "a Jew by identity, a Christian in faith, and a Catholic in practice." She was raised Catholic until 1960 when her family embraced Judaism, the faith of her mother. She writes, "Cultural identity was synonymous with religious identity; both permeated our home."

When Gould returned to the Catholic Church as an adult, she was shocked that much of Catholic culture that she remembered from early child was lost to post-Vatican II families. Her book traces the liturgical year and offers detailed, interesting, and fun ideas to live the liturgy at home.

2. The Year and Our Children: Catholic Family Celebrations for Every Season by Mary Reed Newland

This, too, follows the liturgical year and offers ideas to bring what is happening on the altar alive for little people at home. Mary writes, "These delightful things to see and touch and small and taste and hear and make and do are by far the best tools there are to teach of the beauty and power of God, and the richness of life in Christ."

3. Magnifikid, Magnificat

We've subscribed to both of these for years -- Magnifikid for young readers, Magnificat for the adults. Magnifikid allows children to follow the Mass and adds fun, interesting activities.

4. My Planner

Last May, when activity stacked up upon activity, I literally could no longer write them all down in my previous planner. I doubled the size with this number by Michelle Quigley. I love The Angelus depicted on the cover -- simple farm folk pausing to pray. This planner offers lots of room to write and includes daily readings, notes on feast days, which mystery of the rosary is recited on a given day, inspirational quotes -- both functional and inspirational.

5. Catechesis of the Good Shepherd

Catechesis of the Good Shepherd imparts the faith mostly through doing.  I was first attracted to Catechesis of the Good Shepherd when Tim was three or four and obsessed with figures of various sorts -- action figures, Little People, and, his all time favorite, trains. I'd look at catalogs of religious articles and think, "Why don't they make child-sized saints and altars and chalices?

They do. And we use them in the Atrium. Children learn through both hearing and experiencing. Google the name to find a program in your area. Can't say enough about this.

Meredith Gould writes, "Here you'll find rituals and observances for holy days and feast days on the liturgical calendar that just may transform 'doing' into 'being.'"

The Lord alone knows I'm not trying to find one more thing to do, but I do like the idea of being and being together as a family.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

School will start two hours late today and tomorrow because -- now, brace yourselves Northern friends and relations -- it's cold.

There's no ice. No snow. No precipitation of any variety. But it's, umm, 20 degrees or so.

School is delayed.

Augusta's last big snowstorm.

As for me, well, I am of two minds on this. The Northerner in me is scoffing, but she is quickly and forcefully subdued by the mother in me who is, like, whoooo-weeeee!  The opportunity to sleep late two days in row? Hey, by my way of thinking, this is better than a snow day.

My kids have experienced the shock of cold, cold weather on our Christmas jaunts to Michigan. We flew into Detroit one icy evening. I hustled Tim and Kolbe into the airport bathroom to put pajamas on under their regular clothes. I thought we'd freeze just standing at the baggage carousel as every time the double doors opened a blast of frigid air hit hard. One of the kids was crying by the time we reached the car.

One Christmas we headed to Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan. Carolers in colonial costumes, glass blowers, ice skating -- it would have been the perfect way to pass a winter evening except that it was,  like, 3 degrees. I remember pushing Kolbe in an umbrella stroller. I bumped into the curb and a piece of the metal frame cracked in two.

That's cold.

Our last few winter visits have brought the opportunity to sled and snowmobile in relatively warm weather (around the 20 degree temps that closed our schools). Sledding at 20 degrees is so much more fun than attempting to sled at 9 degrees when we feel obligated to take advantage of having fun in the snow even if no one is actually having any fun whatsoever.

I remember playing in the snow at my sister's farm with Kolbe and my nephew, Nate, who were both about three. Nate, bundled like Randy in A Christmas Story, was clearly no stranger to frigid air. Kolbe, similarly dressed, was so totally out of his element. He kept pulling off his mittens and stumbling around on the ice. Dave was pushing him up a little hill when Kolbe face-planted in a snow drift and said, "I wanna go in that farmer's house!"

When it comes to weather, the grass is always greener, the snow is always thicker, on the other side of the lake. As kids we used to watch the weather reports hoping, hoping, hoping to see that magical list of school closings scroll down the screen, eyes pealed for Oakland County Schools. Regardless of our own fate, we figured those lucky dogs in Buffalo never went to school. If we got three inches of snow, Buffalo got eight. If we got nine inches, no one could even find Buffalo.

Ice seems to be the great equalizer. We flew into Boston a few years back and landed in one of the worst ice storms New England had ever faced. Seems Northern power lines fall just as fast as Southern lines. Roads clear up much faster in colder climates which have salt trucks as opposed to Augusta where icy bridges are covered with sand.

(And after I wrote this, I went out to start our trusty van which just barely sputtered to life in air far, far colder than it is used to, poor thing).

We Need a Little Christmas

I love Epiphany, sometimes called Little Christmas.

I always struggle with just a touch of melancholy as Santa 104.7 returns to pop music, as the twinkle lights slowly disappear, as the decorative touches get packed up, as routine life resumes once again.


I love that Epiphany gives us one last chance to celebrate.

I love the three layer chocolate cake I baked Sunday night. (I may love it a little more than usual as there will be precious little indulgence in the near future if my Epiphany resolution comes to pass.)

I love this ornament of the wise men, a gift from my dear friend, Anna.

I love nearly every version of We Three Kings and have been pressing Tim to learn it on the piano.

The wise men sought truth, encountered Christ, and returned by a different way. 

I love that expression returned by a different way.

An encounter with Emmanuel -- God with us -- should involve something different.

So what is different? Exhaustion? Weight gain? Credit card debt? Downton Abbey Season 4?

Good memories?  A renewed sense that God came to Earth? A deeper thirst to abide in His love? A desire to be like Mary, to ponder these things in my heart?

Here is something I wrote several years ago:


As Epiphany Meets Ordinary Time

In the Atrium we are getting ready to transition from the Christmas season back into Ordinary Time.

We just celebrated Epiphany. We pondered the long journey of the wise men; we talked about the fact that they fell prostrate in the presence of their savior; we read about how they returned to their country by a different way.

They returned to their country by a different way.

They had had an epiphany. We said the word. We defined it -- a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something,"according to Dictionary.com.

As I looked at the faces of these six sweet children who come week after week, I thought about epiphany. As we move out of Christmas and move into Ordinary Time, I thought it was time we revisited the essential meaning of our faith. I looked over to our sheepfold and thought we would go back to The Good Shepherd and The Found Sheep. I began to pray that as we ponder these foundational parables, the children would experience their own epiphany.

Sofia Cavalletti, the founder of The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd,  took the educational methods of Maria Montessori and applied them to religious formation in children. Through decades of observation, she found that the very youngest children are drawn to the parables of Jesus, most especially to the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd.

The Good Shepherd cares for His sheep, knows them, calls them by name. They, in turn, stay close to Him. They won't follow a stranger, but the Good Shepherd alone because they know His voice. The Found Sheep is especially near to a child's heart, as it touches on that universal experience of being lost and then found.

I remember so well my first day of first grade. I stood by the parking lot of Saint Bede's School watching the big, yellow buses pull up. Out of my left eye, I could see my third grade sister Kathy in her brown striped coat. My right eye was trained on Keith, my fifth grade brother, in his blue jacket standing with the "big" kids. Throngs of girls in plaid jumpers and boys in navy pants milled about. I kept my eyes on my brother and sister. Left, right, Kathy, Keith.

Suddenly they were gone. I panicked, eyes darting through the crowd, searching for a brown striped coat or a blue jacket. Kids began pouring onto the buses. I hadn't a clue which one to board. The crowd thinned. No Kathy, no Keith!

I walked to a bus and got on.

The next few moments are a blur, but I eventually started bawling my little eyes out. I was lost! The next thing I remember is sitting on the lap of a long-suffering and very kind bus driver who drove the streets of Southfield, Michigan, asking, "Is this your street, honey?"

Somehow one of the kids (yes, the bus was completely full) told the bus driver that my mother was in the car behind the bus. How exactly this transpired, I will never know. I hopped off the bus and jumped in our red sedan so happy to be with my family once again.

As a mother now, I can well imagine my mother's reaction when her two oldest arrived home from school minus one brand new first grader. I have lost kids, and there are few more frightening experiences. John has proven particularly adept at disappearing as I found out late in my pregnancy with Ainsley.

I was up in Michigan enjoying a little R and R at my sister's house. It's a treat to have so many helpers late in pregnancy, but it's especially easy to lose a toddler because you think someone else has him.  John was outside playing with everyone. And then he wasn't.

We called. We searched. We panicked. We prayed. The search expanded to the next street. I incoherently begged the help of some construction workers. I told my sister to call 911.

And then my niece's voice yelling, "I found him!"

Oh, the relief! Oh, the agonizing "What if? What if?" Parenting is not for the weak-kneed. Toddlers are not for the distracted.

I have been the found sheep, and I have searched for the lost one. How well I can understand the joy of the Shepherd when the stray sheep is recovered. How I can appreciate the celebration that ensues. His desire is that not one be lost. What parent can fail to understand that? Which one of our children would we deem expendable?

In The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, we use the word "essential" a lot. We try to focus on the essential. The Christian faith is about essential relationships; it's about the deep, abiding love we have for God and He for us. We can know the whats of our faith, but it's so much more essential to know the who.

The Good Shepherd and The Found Sheep focus on the infinite value God sees in us. Our Good Shepherd is a source of sustenance, of security, of love. These can remain stories we've heard over and over in church, about as meaningful as a coloring sheet we remember from Sunday school. Or they can become an essential reality, an abiding love, an epiphany.

We will soon begin taking down Christmas decorations, boxing up the glitter that has brightened our world these past weeks. We will embrace Ordinary Time - the largest chunk of our church year - with its cycle of minor feasts and continuous growth in the Lord. But in my heart, in my home, and in my atrium, I hope to hold onto the spirit of Epiphany. I’ll return to Ordinary Time by a different way.

On Found Items and Sky High Estimates

Seven Quick Takes:

1. So I found the remote to our streaming device. And this whole episode is nothing but embarrassing for three key reasons:

• The fact that I was overjoyed, thoroughly de-lighted, to find it.
• The fact that it went missing in the first place after I hid it from my children and couldn't remember where I stuffed it.
• The fact that I found it under a couch cushion. So I actually didn't hide it and forget where I hid it. I never hid it in the first place. But I thought I did. Frightening, just frightening. (Hat tip to Marie who suggested I give the cushions one final look).

Needless to say, we spent the day vegetating.

2. One of the older pair got just a tad agitated the other day because There Was Nothing To Do! Mind you, this was on the first real day of Christmas vacation, at least to my way of thinking. Last week was Christmas, Christmas, Christmas. Loved it all. But it was busy. And on the heels of Christmas came illness. And then a busy weekend. We finally arrived at a slow, lounge around in your jammies, find the box remote and lounge a little longer kind of day . . . and there is wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And I just wasn't up to hearing the whining and kvetching and threatened to start homeschooling bright and early the next morning. While some of the boys cowered under this dire threat, Ainsley responded, "I wanna homeschool tomorrow!"

Oh, how I love having goody-two-shoes in the house.

3. So after Ainsley pleaded and begged, I pulled out Teach Your Child How to Read. Can't say enough for this book whether you have a child who struggles or one who takes to reading like a duck to water. We got to page 30, and Ainsley implored me to continue. About 80 pages in, she was reading simple words and three word sentences. Thrilling!

4. And then there's John. John rode his bike for the first time on Saturday. Dave gave the bike a little tune-up and called John out back. I was in no hurry to come watch, figuring I'd just skip the warm-up and the careening and the falling and the crying, but, no, John got on the bike and rode.

Also thrilling.

And I remember when my second or third child hit some milestone, not especially early, not new for us, and being overwhelmed by the thought that I could have seven children or seventeen children and the first lisped word, those halting early swim strokes, that missing tooth, that initial wobbly ride on the bike -- each and every First would be captivating and heart-rending and full of expectation.

Doesn't even begin to capture the mess that is his bottom jaw.

5. And speaking of lost teeth . . .  John lost another tooth on Christmas Eve. His mouth looks, well, cuh-razy. Missing teeth, teeth of vastly different sizes, one tooth coming in on a 90 degree angle. We're taking Tim to the orthodontist this afternoon, but, really, the good doctor ought to take a peek at John' s mouth if for no other reason than so he can begin to plan a sumptuous retirement.

Update: Tim's trip to the orthodontist was illuminating. First, he needs oral surgery to yank his wisdom teeth. Second, the estimate for his braces  -- was -- words elude me -- staggering. Staggering! And his treatment involves simple cosmetic work, mere tweaking compared to John who is a darn mess, dentally speaking, and Ainsley who has a cross-bite. So the comment about "sumptuous retirement", the comment I thought was nothing but hyperbole? Maybe not. Maybe not.

If you see me on the street wearing a sign that reads "Will write for orthodontic care", don't be too shocked.

6. We woke up one morning with children stacked like cord-wood at the foot of our bed -- John, ramrod straight against the foot-board with Ainsley by his side. This morning I woke up literally dripping sweat because Ainsley is not content to share our bed, oh no, no, she wants to share my pillow as well. Try sleeping next to a three foot long hot water bottle and that is a night spent with my hot-natured daughter by my side.

She's the baby. Yes, she is.

7. And there's nothing like little people at Christmas . . . or the rest of the year either.

As I've been cleaning and sorting all the Christmas haul, I keep moving a large cardboard box from room to room, but can't summon the nerve to pitch the darn thing. I can't seem to look at an empty box without picturing a spaceship or a fort or a Tardis.

They bring so many possibilities, these little people of mine. I'm glad I have them.

Head over to Jen's to add your Seven Quick Takes.

needle & thREAD

Linking up with Elizabeth Foss and needle and thREAD . . . but now I realize my "sewing" project didn't technically involve a needle . . . or sewing for that matter. But here it is, the antique chair I redid for Ainsley. I bought the fabric, and Dave staple gunned it together. One coat of spray paint and new chair!

My second project, an applique snowman apron, went by the wayside when I substituted a weekend in Florida taking care of my parents for a weekend at home blazing through my To Do List.

It was a good exchange to make.

And there's something about these cold, wet days that makes me want to read and sew. The apron will be a nice winter project.

And on the reading front . . . Ainsley started reading yesterday. I'll tell the tale another time. It was pretty much as fast as it sounds. Wild. For Christmas John received Grasshopper on the Road which he is enjoying. Kolbe got Wreck This Journal which he finds hilarious. Great twelve-year-old boy gift. He's also reading Pulling Off Your Shorts, a book for teenage filmmakers.Tim is rereading Lois Lowry's series that begins with The Giver and ends with Son. Interesting, thought provoking books for early teens.

A Gracious Response to the VA

So the boys' school made headlines both here and in the national media. Here's the scoop:  Students arrived at our local VA hospital to sing Christmas carols and were handed a list of twelve, VA approved, secular songs, and were informed that those were the only songs allowed. The principal chose to take our students back to school.

There's been some outrage.

And then some outrage in response to the outrage.

They should have stayed! They were right to leave! And my favorite: What would Pope Francis have done?

I know the principal -- he's a friend, my former boss, a co-worker for many years. When I've done some small service for our school, I've received a thoughtful thank you note. Any time in the hurly burly of teacher-principal relationships things became tense, I'd expect and get a kind word in short order. So this I know: Dan is a gracious man. He arrived at the VA intent on bringing a little joy and levity to our veterans, not planning to ignite controversy. And I'm sure he handled it all with tact and decency.

I remember Christmas caroling as a child. We lived in a family-friendly neighborhood with a slew of small houses. My sister and I would team up with our two best friends, Adrienne and Susan, and spend hours copying out song sheets by hand. Those were the days when copy, cut, and paste was the real deal -- loose leaf paper, scissors, and tape. Sheaves of paper in hand, we would wend our way around the block singing Christmas tunes.We did it for the love of singing . . . and because indulgent neighbors usually handed us cookies or, better still, a handful of change.

I recall the night we stood in someone's foyer, began to sing, and then noticed Happy Hanukkah strung across the window in blue crepe paper and a Menorah sitting on a nearby table.

For a moment I thought of six-year-old John's response when he sees two people kissing: Awkward!

But it wasn't awkward.

Because the women listened and smiled and handed us I don't remember what, quarters or brownies, and thanked us for coming.

She was gracious.

We weren't there to insult or to convert. We were a bunch of kids spreading a little Christmas cheer. We were not there to offend, and she didn't take offense.

What is so sorely lacking in this world of ours is this sort of graciousness, a simple, humble tendency to think the best of others and to resist reaching for a memorandum or a pitchfork and a torch every time things don't go exactly our way.

We've attempted to teach our kids that being passionate about your faith does not require disdain for the faith of another person. It helps that they've grown up in an ecumenical community and have been raised along side Jewish cousins. That doesn't mean it's been a slam dunk in any respect. Children are black and white thinkers. If what I do is good, and you do something different, then, logically, that different thing must be bad, right? And then there's boys being boys. They have this innate need to pick, poke, and prod at every single thing -- braces, weight, glasses, zits, whether you say You Guys or Y'all, and, yes, the lengthy list includes religion.

We were heading for the dairy case at Food Lion one December night a few years back when I heard my older boys chuckling and then spotted my visiting nephew furiously texting. We had just passed the meat section and wouldn't you know my guys just couldn't resist making pork jokes to their Jewish cousin. Where oh where can you pick up a thumb screw when you need it? I hissed ominous threats while trying to reach my sister whose husband had already talked to his son and basically told him this: Lighten up and learn to take a pork joke or two.

It was a lesson in being gracious.

A lesson for all. of. us.

We can arms ourselves with lists and legislation. We can rattle virtual sabers all over Facebook and Twitter. We can continue to attempt to draw a hard line between church and state, between the secular and the sacred, between what happens on private and public property, between Christian high school students and aging VA patients.

And the society we produce will be more sterile and less engaged, comprised of cold, compartmentalized, homogeneous entities who can neither share nor celebrate with one another -- in short, a society that has forgotten how to be gracious.

Rent a Four-Year-Old

Everyone needs a four-year-old on Christmas morning.

So said my friend Holly on Facebook.

She's spot on.

Add a six-year-old boy for an extra dose of holiday cheer.

They love it all.

They can't wait to see baby Jesus in the manger. And, boy, was John disappointed that the manger was still empty after 6:00 p.m. Mass. They love the lights. John loves the Christmas station  -- I'd bet he knows thirty Christmas carols by now, and he walks around the house singing them. (And nothing beats his rendition of "Walking Around the Christmas Tree".)

And then, of course, there are the gifts. I know, I know -- really, I know -- it's not all about the gifts, but little people in the house make the gift giving so. much. fun.

Everyone needs a four-year-old on Christmas morning.

They love it all.

Ainsley has worn her Dora jammies for three four days straight. They are beginning to remind me of my nephew, Nick, and his Batman t-shirt. We had to peel it off him at night and run it through the laundry fast.

John loves his pirate ship. He loves his Batman watch. He loves his space jammies. He loves it all, and he makes everyone around him happier.

The big boys are content as well. Kolbe is thrilled with his Penny Board. Tim's favorite was a board game -- Axis and Allies: The D Day edition. He and his friends played for six hours the other day.

Christmas was a long, quiet, relaxing day enjoying the kids enjoying their gifts and enjoying the special gift of having Dave's parents with us for the first time. I think I got out of my jammies about three o'clock when a priest friend of ours popped by to say hello.

The morning of December 26th found me cruising up the highway headed for the doctor's office with Kolbe riding shotgun (fever, cough, vomiting -- that perfect trifecta of  post-holiday misery). I passed the mall, and it was packed. Not Christmas Eve packed. Believe it or not, I -- a person who doesn't go the mall five times in any given year -- entered the mall on Christmas Eve. JC Penney, see, knows how to get you in the store. Embracing the generosity that makes the Christmas season so special, Penney's sent me a coupon for $10 off a $10 purchase. Funny, they seem to do this every year. And who can stand to let that pass? Free stuff!

The trick is that there are Exclusions. As in almost every single thing in the store is Excluded. This year, however, I scored. I grabbed the last item in the entire store that wasn't on sale -- a red Izod tie that retailed for a steep $16 -- and got it for a mere six bucks.

I think the last time I was in a mall on Christmas Eve was about 1982. Sometime about mid-morning on Christmas Eve, Dad let slip that perhaps -- just maybe -- he hadn't quite gotten around to buying anything for Mom and would my sister and I please bail him out? Enablers that we were, we did indeed bail out dear Dad. So about 4:00 on Christmas Eve, we were standing in the checkout line at Sears in Oakland Mall. The front doors opened. In strolled two teenage boys who proceeded to grab armfuls of coats and bolt back outside to a getaway car.

Nice.

I don't like shopping on Christmas Eve.

I like shopping the day after Christmas even less.

Many years ago my sister and I used to hit the stores for the post-Christmas sales. Oh, the thrill of the chase! Crate and Barrel was always high on our list of stores to hit. Cute, trendy Christmas decor for a song. I bought my tree skirt there  -- a beautiful tree skirt I love, love, love -- and raced home to to brag to Dave about my savvy shopping.

Me, thrilled: Crate and Barrel had all their Christmas wares 75% off. $38 bucks!

Dave: Great! So what was the sale price?

Me, perplexed: Ummmm, $38 bucks.

Dave: ???

This year the very idea of going shopping makes me feel like I've eaten too much chocolate cake. We didn't overdo this year, but enough. Just enough.

(I'm typing this just before getting a piece of pumpkin pie for lunch. Ironic.)

Anyway . . .
Merry Christmas!

And borrow a four-year-old if you need a little holiday cheer!