How God Found Me Lost in Thought

Let's start this segment with a few true confessions.

1) If we hadn't been meeting up with a friend who had come in from out of state, we would have likely split Masses today. It has been that kind of week. 

2) I hate throwing kid parties. For the most part, one of us is chasing kids and the other one is prepping food. If there were a way to not have kid parties and get away with it in our family, you can bet your sweet potato pie we would! Sadly, that is not an option for us. Le sigh. That's not to say we don't want to celebrate kid moments, or that we don't appreciate the friends and family who come to celebrate. It's just than three hours can fly by and we realize we haven't actually had any fun. Seems like a waste of a party to me. 

So there we are.

As if the kids knew we were down for the count, the newly minted threenager received a glowing F- for Mass from me. Ok, ok, I'll be generous. F+. The girl in comparison did remarkably well. I shall give her an A-, and only a minus because she has a predisposition to laughing when her brother does things that he shouldn't. You can imagine the boost this gives the threenager. I am raising a host of class clowns. Sorry, future teachers.

Even in the midst of weariness and circus tricks, as my mind meanders during the Deacon's homily, God has a way of sneaking up on me. Even as I keep an ear out for the boy and the dad who have had to step out due to theatrics, God is whispering to me. Even when the girl is inching closer and closer to crawl onto my lap, where she barely fits these days, God is tapping me on the shoulder.

Today, God found me lost in thought and wanted to remind me that He is a God of abundance. Where I always fear not having enough, not giving enough, not being enough, God tells me to stop seeing scarcity. He reminds me, through his faithfulness to Elisha, through His feeding of the thousands, that He is in the business of providing in a way that exceeds our expectations.

God reminds me that He takes what is small in us, given to Him in faithfulness, and makes it overflow in His grace. He can take all our gifts and make them flourish in His way and in His time. There is enough grace, enough blessing, enough love to go around. There is certainly enough work to be done. 

God uses all of us and all our gifts, no matter what another is doing, or how well or beautifully. He takes our baskets and our gifts, even (and especially) if they are filled with scraps. He asks us to give him all we have, even our torn and broken pieces. It is through that offering that God uses us, in all our smallness, to make Him present in the world. 

What seems broken in you that you can offer up to God this week? Place your broken pieces in the hands of our loving God of abundance and see what miracles come to be.

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, and/or Twitter!

{SQT} On Love, Motherhood, Recovery, and Art

--- 1 ---

WHAT I READ THIS WEEK: Here's a few posts that really spoke to my heart. 

Those People: This gets to the heart of what I mean by "we need to love better." I love Cate's heart and honesty. We are ALL "those people." 

Once a Mom, Always a Mom: Kim writes so beautifully about the loss of her child, and why Mother's Day still holds deep meaning for her. At a time when there are many who aren't so sure we should celebrate Mother's Day quite so fervently, Kim provides a great reason why we should. 

How Do I Love Thee?: In a world where the meaning of love is as diluted at my toddler's juice, Pope Francis continues to challenge us to love authentically, to remind us what - or rather who - the face of love is, and share it boldly in this world. 

--- 2 ---

Mother's Day. There has been quite a lot written and spoken this year about how difficult this day is and how we might best celebrate while still honoring that struggle. For too many, it is a day filled with heartache. Whether it is from the loss of a mother, the loss of a child, the inability to conceive a child, longing for a vocation that has yet to be fulfilled, or a terribly broken maternal relationship, Mother’s Day is not always a joyful day. 

In reality, it is impossible to escape the day. From the commercials and the cards, to the celebrations at church, Mother’s Day is everywhere. People want to celebrate the gift of life and life-giving, and that is not a bad thing. We need to be proclaiming the bringing forth of life as a good thing in a culture that does what it can to suppress motherhood. How do we celebrate that and still walk with those whose hearts are still breaking? Maybe, just maybe, the answer lies in the celebration itself. It is a day to celebrate motherhood. It isn't about the presents or the food or what I want. It is a day to honor the gift of giving our lives for someone else, to recognize the sacrifice of those who nurture life in another, the ache of those who long to nurture that life within them. 

This Mother's Day, what if we started a windfall of blessings for all those women who are struggling? Sure, I would love a quiet day with noise cancelling headphones. I know too many women, though, who would give anything to have a houseful of noise but live in silence instead. Sure, it can be overwhelming to figure out how to celebrate in our own family, while still honoring our mothers too. Sadly, I know too many who no longer have that struggle because their moms are no longer with them. Can we pick up the phone or write a note to our grieving friends to remind them we haven't forgotten them? Can we in our own festivities really embrace how much we have to celebrate? Let's love each other better this year instead of battling about how much is too much Mother's Day. 

--- 3 ---

If you asked me what my favorite season was, I would normally have said Autumn. I say this in the past tense, because as I have been out and about over the past few weeks, the beauty of spring has wooed me and stolen my heart. There is something this year that is reassuring about the budding of trees that were once bare for far too long, the flowers that adorn those trees and lawns, like jewels shimmering in a sea of green. People are out and about, the parks and yards are full of children...life blooms along with the flora. I'm not quitting autumn, but spring has certainly done a good job of flirting with me this year. Once my allergies hit, the love affair may be over though. 

--- 4 ---

Have you pre-ordered Audrey Assad's upcoming Hymns album yet? There is still time! I love Audrey's heart. She writes about how this hymns album came about:  

Making a record of hymns (which will be mostly traditionals but also some originals) will be a way in which I can, once again, nail the stakes of my tent down a little deeper into the ground, arm my heart with words of life, and say to the black vacuum of unbelief, you will not have me.

How many of us vacillate in that space between faith and despair? Art and music are such a powerful way for us to rekindle that connection to the something that exists beyond ourselves, to remind our souls of their lover. I can't wait for this new album (or to see her at Edel in July)! By the way, if you pre-order, she is making the creation of this new record very interactive - "a gift of the church to the church." Love.

--- 5 ---

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES: The kids came home from Nonna's on Sunday, and of all the post-surgery struggles, the biggest one is chasing these hooligans around. I was trying to explain why mommy can't snuggle with them or pick them up, and why they need to perhaps be a little better at listening. Judah, boy that he is, wanted to see my stitches. So I showed him. Then he kissed my "boo boo" (well, not exactly, but near it). That boy is a lover. An almost three year old crazy toddler lover.

This was after Gianna wanted to pick mommy flowers from the yard on their way in. She looooves to pick those flowers.

--- 6 ---

LIFE IN A FEW THOUSAND WORDS

--- 7 ---

In my convalescence, the time I wasn't passed out from the pain medication (which are awful by the way), I might have been guilty of a little impulse buying. A credit on the card and a book about mixed media techniques were just too dangerous a combination. It made for some fun times this afternoon!

That's all for this week. For more Quick Takes, visit This Ain't The Lyceum! 

Until next time, get out there and love 'em like Jesus!

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, and/or Twitter!

Praise Him in the Storm

The blog has been a little dormant these past few months. It seems like I have torrents of inspiration, and then stagnation. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

In reality, it isn't so much that the writing is stagnant, but rather my spirit and my vision. I am inspired to write, but when I finally sit in front of the screen, exhaustion hits and the mind goes blank. It seems as though what I was dying to write earlier in the day or week just doesn't seem important. In the midst of the chaos and crazy that is my life, how could I possibly contribute anything worthwhile? There are so many bigger blogs, so many better writers, so many more talented artists, so many more fun and wise mamas...what I was going to say just pales by comparison.

By comparison. The death of the creative spirit. The death of the soul flying to God. The constant thorn in my side despite the knowledge that the measuring stick is poison to the soul against anyone other than Christ. Couple that with a dash of perfectionism, and it leads to sudden death of any spontaneous creativity by over-examination. If the words don't flow with just the right rhythm and cadence, if the phrases don't dance across the screen with just the right blend of humor and depth, if the response is not immediate and gargantuan - forget about it! I mean, that's what Jesus said, right? 

Cue Blessed Teresa of Calcutta (We are called to be faithful, not successful.) and Jesus with St. Peter (What is it to you what I ask of him? Follow me!). These are paraphrased of course, but the two sentiments get at the heart of what often obstructs my vision. I should probably have these plastered all over the house, or at least those places that are visible as I create. At the end of the day, it isn't about anything else but faithfulness and following the voice of the Lord - not when it comes to the creative spirit, and not when it comes to prayer.

Yeah, it's my stumbling block with prayer too. I can't find the "perfect" fit? I just give up. Lather, rinse, repeat. Yet again, it is just about getting up and starting again, over and over, submitting ourselves to His mercy and grace. If you follow me on Instagram, you'll notice that a few weeks ago I started taking the toddler with me to pray before the tabernacle for a few minutes each day we pick up Gia from pre-school. It's only a few minutes, but it is a few minutes with Jesus. Jesus is waiting there for us, whether Jude is quiet or not. He is waiting whether I am distracted or not. He is waiting just to be with me. How could I make it simpler than that? He isn't waiting for the perfect time when my attention is focused and life is still. He waits for me in the storms and chaos of life so He can still my heart and make it His. 

So we go. With a busy, noisy toddler, we go. Not everyone appreciates it, but we go. Today, I took Jude with me to a Sacrament Double Header. I went to reconciliation and he came with me. He's young enough that I'm guessing he won't reveal the secrets of the confessional! He wasn't still. He wasn't quiet. You know what? Grace and mercy still showed up, because Jesus comes to us anywhere at anytime. The priest was great too and just kept on going even when I was clearly trying to wrangle the toddler. We come as we are to be wiped clean. What a blessing! (Be sure to thank the pastors who make it easy to show up for Jesus with kids in tow as they are too.)

From there I headed back to our parish for an appointment with our priest to receive the Sacrament of Anointing...noisy and active toddler in tow. He wanted to go say hi to Jesus first in all the usual places - the crucifix, the tabernacle, the statue. Instead, we found our priest and headed toward the anointing oils, which are right by the baptismal font. So Father anointed me as Jude splashed in the holy water. He wasn't still. He wasn't quiet. Grace and mercy still showed up, and I got a double blessing of holy water from a slightly wet two year old, who then wanted to head up to the altar to kneel before Jesus. And then the tabernacle. And then the statue with candles. (After sitting down in the main aisle and trying to fill his pants as he blessed himself with the sign of the cross. Father was pretty amused by that one.)

So it goes. It isn't about waiting for the perfect time with the perfect offering. It is simply making the offering with an open heart, willing to follow. Every morning, it is asking Jesus He wants from me that day. It is the practice of knowing my desires and handing them over to Jesus who will perfect them according to His will for His purpose and glory. It is asking for His help to be present, to be attentive to the prompting of the Holy Spirit, to respond when He asks me to act...or not to act. This is not something I can do alone. This is not a discipline that will develop overnight. My hope is that with constant reminders to start anew and surrender myself, that I will grow in my ability to set aside those measures of comparison and keep my eyes focused on Jesus and His desires and plans for me. I pray that with practice, I will more joyfully respond when Christ asks me to be a gift or blessing to another, whether friend, family, or stranger, even when it is inconvenient. Maybe with time, I will come to recognize every moment as an opportunity to honor and praise God...even (and especially) in the storm.

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, Instagram, and/or Twitter!

God is in the Cheerios

Lent brings along with it a longing of the heart. For me, it is sometimes a longing to go back to the days when my worship was more pure, and I felt I was more devoted to Christ. Before marriage, I easily spent 60-80 hours a week ministering in His name, and much of that ministry was filled with prayer & worship, Adoration, conversation about Christ and how to know and love Him better, retreats, Mass, devotions, bringing people into relationship with Christ. 

At first glance, it seems life sure has changed. A typical play by play of my day now involves getting up later than I should because I've been up at some point during the night due to kid or cat, rushing to get ready, changing diaper(s), getting bottles, brushing little teeth, arguing about breakfast, picking up spilled food, wiping faces, arguing about clothes with buttons and why we can't always just wear pajamas, thinking about what to feed the people in our home, running out the door to rush to work during which time I will wonder about what will face me as I come home. Then on the days I work, I'm rushing out of the office to come home to make dinner, and finally breathe for a moment before bedtime routines start, most of which still involve begging for toys to be put away and not strewn about the floor, several attempts to delay, more drinks of milk and trips to the bathroom, starting bedtime music over, and pleas for more bedtime stories. 

Life in these five years has changed immensely. When I saw Brandon's graphic today with the quote from St. Frances of Rome, I exhaled. "Yes," I thought. "She gets it. Now I need to let it sink in more deeply too." I long for quiet adoration, when what the Lord is asking of me is probably more quiet snuggling with the littles. I long to be leading reflections and prayer groups, when what the Lord is asking of me is to be leading my children in prayer, telling them stories, teaching them to play, laugh, love, and live. I long for mission trips and helping the forgotten, when what the Lord is asking of me is to call my mother and care for my husband, who can go a little unnoticed by me when there are two noisy and needy little people tugging at my sleeve (or more likely my hair). The Lord is, and always has, asked me to serve exactly where I am with whatever He sends my way. 

While before it may have been building houses with the poor, it may now be building forts and towers with my children and building a home with my husband that will be our refuge. 

If I wasn't already sure that God was trying to get through to me, the song below popped on the radio on my way in to work. I think I've got the message loud and clear - it's just a matter of letting it seep into my soul and become a part of me so living it out is a natural part of life.

Enjoy the video! It reminds me of something akin to a mashup between Sledgehammer and Mario Bros. - ahhh, the 80s...

Do Everything 

by Stephen Curtis Chapman

You're picking up toys on the living room floor 

for the fifteenth time today

Matching up socks

Sweeping up lost cheerios that got away

You put a baby on your hip

Color on your lips and head out the door

While I may not know you,

I bet I know you wonder sometimes, does it matter at all?

Well let me remind you, it all matters just as long as

You do everything you do to the glory of the One who made you,

Cause he made you...

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, Instagram, and/or Twitter!

{Lenten Love Dare} You Are Not Forgotten

If you looked me right in the eye

Would you see the pain deep inside

Would you take the time to

Tell me what I need to hear

Tell me that I’m not forgotten

Show me there’s a God

Who can be more than all I’ve ever wanted

‘Cause right now I need a little hope

I need to know that I’m not alone

Maybe God is calling you tonight

To tell me something

That might save my life

Sidewalk Prophets, Save My Life

The greatest desire of our hearts is to be loved, to belong, to be found worthy. Whether we acknowledge it openly or not, how many of our most crushing moments stem from a time when we felt cast aside, invisible, unworthy, unloved, and unnoticed? I know that those times of darkness in my life drain me of energy, joy, motivation, and make me turn inward in a negative way. Most often I can be found crumpled on the kitchen floor - just ask the Hubs!

Blessed Teresa of Calcutta astutely diagnosed us in the west some decades ago. She prophetically noted that 

The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty -- it is not only a poverty of loneliness but also of spirituality. There's a hunger for love, as there is a hunger for God.

This has not changed. If we are honest, we are spiraling even further into an epidemic of loneliness and isolation, despite advances in communication technology and transportation. The ability to be connected at any time has ironically left us ill equipped to connect with one another meaningfully. We have become a people of ten second soundbites, 140 character messages, and quick updates. How often do we see one another seated at tables laughing and smiling at our phones and tablets instead of looking at the people who are right beside us. I know I am guilty of it at times myself. It has to stop.

Before we go further, understand that I am not anti-technology. Quite the opposite really. I love how growing technology has given us the tools to connect with one another in a manner unprecedented at any other time of human history. However, as Peter Parker's (Spiderman's) Uncle Ben reminds us, it seems by quoting Voltaire, "With great power comes great responsibility." 

How many people do we walk by without acknowledging with as much as a smile? Do we look people in the eye as we pass, or are we so busy living in our heads with all that is going on in our lives that we barely take a glance at them? When we ask how people are doing, are we truly seeking an honest answer, or is it just a polite gesture with the hope of a quick "I'm fine."? (Hint: we are not fine.)

Here is a radical thought. Take the time to look people in the eye when you meet them on the street, in a restaurant, in church. Try to remember that God created them in His image and longs for their return to Him in the eternal kingdom. Remember that God has placed a desire in their hearts for their return to Him as well. Flash them that beautiful smile and say hello to let them know they have been seen. Leave time in your day to ask how people are doing, really doing, and be willing to listen to their stories. Build relationships with people you might otherwise just pass by along your day. If God repeatedly brings someone through your life, maybe, just maybe, He intends you to reach out to them for Him. 

Be warned. Opening yourself to this will bring people into your life you don't intend. It may (will) push you outside of your comfort zone. God's love isn't just for the righteous. Jesus didn't come for those of us who have our act together (hint: that's no one). He came to redeem the whole world, and He sends us out to the whole world, to all the corners of the earth. Maybe this means that you'll be sent to another corner, or maybe this means that He needs you to lighten up the corner of the world you are in right now. 

There is your challenge for the week ahead. Notice someone you wouldn't normally see (or don't want to see). Look them in the eye, share with them the truth and depth of God's love for them, and let them know they are not forgotten. Pray for them. Better yet, pray with them right there. See where God takes you and follow. 

Let's continue to love 'em like Jesus!

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, Instagram and/or Twitter!

You Are Precious to God

We must never undervalue any person. The workman loves not that his work should be despised in his presence. Now God is present everywhere, and every person is His work. St. Francis deSales

I was driving on the interstate a few weeks ago on my way to meet a friend, and as is my nature, I was becoming rather irritated with the irrational driving decisions of those around me. It was beyond my ability to understand, why on this beautifully hazy winter day, drivers insisted on driving well below the speed limit or changing lanes without using their signal. The thought mystified me. So much so, that I may have begun to utter quietly some disparaging remarks about said drivers. Shocking, I know.

Under that hazy sunlight, in my speedy little van, I heard the voice of God. No, not audibly - Val Kilmer hasn't installed any speakers in our van to my knowledge. (100 points if you get that movie reference!) Still, I heard the whisper of God remind me that this clearly annoying driver was precious to Him. All I could think in that moment, after having expressed my annoyance, was, "You are precious to God." 

Every driver. All the way. "You are precious to God." 

That revelation has stuck with me for all these weeks. All these weeks I have been meaning to write about that day, and yet life has interrupted my best efforts. 

"You are precious to God." 

How much strife, division, conflict, anger, destruction, havoc - how much woundedness could we avoid if we remembered just that one thing. 

"You are precious to God." 

That desire that lies in the deepest recess of our hearts, no matter how much they are hardened by the burdens and beatings of life, to belong to someone, to be precious to someone. 

"You are precious to God." 

Yes, you, who have taken another's life.

Yes, you, who destroyed your family.

Yes, you, who injured me.

Yes, you, who destroyed the most innocent of children.

Yes, you, who are triggering in me the most violent anger.

Yes, you, who with whom I cannot seem to find a single common thing. 

All of you, regardless of who you are to me, you are precious to God. 

All this time I have wanted to write, and yet the words wouldn't come. Then a few days ago, just as I was ruminating on this phrase, this came into my email from Steubenville University:

What are the chances? For those who follow my blog, you'll know that Blessed Mother Teresa is a patron saint for our family, and that I feel a strong connection to her. It seems she was prodding me along. Maybe this message wasn't just for those other people. Maybe, just maybe, God was saying the same thing to me.

"I am precious to Him." 

With all my shortcomings, with all my quirks and failings and sinfulness and insecurities.

"I am precious to Him." 

No matter what someone else has done to me, called me, thought of me. 

"I am precious to Him."

Not in the future, not another day, but right now, in all my brokenness.

"I am precious to Him."

You are precious to Him. He created You. He calls you by name. You are His beloved, His son or daughter, His forever. 

No matter where you have been, where you are, or where you think you are going, you are never too far away to reach out for the love of the Lord. No matter what has been done to you, you are never too far away or too broken to let the Lord share His love through you. 

We must love better if we are to bring light to this dark world. If we are to leave our children with a better world than where we have been, we must love with abandon. We must let the Lord say to us and through us to one another, no matter what you have done, you belong to Him. 

"You are precious to God."

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, Instagram and/or Twitter!

Project Empty: Don't Be an Amoeba

I admit it. There are times I need to be hit over the head with a copper kettle before I start to pay attention. When I gave in to my word of the year, I knew this whole year would be somehow filled with those moments. Empty is hard, especially when you have been fighting empty for so long. 

Nevertheless, there it is. Empty is still hitting me over the head. The flavor of the day is perfection and comparison. It began last night as I read this status update from Lysa TerKeurst:

"Dear Lord, forgive me for all of the times I've compared myself to others. I know that You have hand-picked all of my qualities. Help me to see these things as beautiful reminders of Your great love in creating me as your daughter. In Jesus' name, Amen." 

Well, then. There you have it. Not only is comparison the thief of joy, it is the thief of grace. God has created me, all of me. Why do I think I need to do it all, and be it all, all of the time? Why does seeing someone else succeed at times give me tinges of guilt at the things I am not accomplishing? In addition to wreaking havoc on my own psyche and spirit, the drive for perfectionism wreaks havoc on the body of Christ. 

Our shortcomings serve a purpose. While many of us are quick to believe we must be the best at everything, that just isn't God's plan. Certainly, we strive to do and be our best at all times, but that is far from the stench of perfectionism. As St. Paul writes, in the body of Christ there are many members, but one body, no one part dispensable or more important that the other. 

If we cannot, in humility, acknowledge and embrace our shortcomings, we elevate ourselves over one another. We deny others the ability to use what God has given them to share. If I can do it all, I have no need of you. We risk becoming an entire body in and of ourselves, comprised of only one cell. We become an amoeba, not a human. 

I say this as a reminder to myself. Failure and weakness are part of the human experience...perhaps even a strength of the human experience in that it opens us to the grace of God. 

Grace-filled isn't always graceful. It doesn't mean that I am always floating gently above the surface, devoid of emotion or failure. Yes, by definition, that is hard to reconcile. When I explore the fullness of the words, graceful evokes images of ballerinas leaping as though lighter than air, ladies walking with perfect posture in heels and pearls. I don't think that is the graceful that Christ desires of us, or the expectation I want to pass on to my daughter (or son, for that matter.) When I use the word grace-filled, a very different image appears. An empty pitcher, being filled with water, grace being poured out onto an empty and open soul. Grace-filled.

It isn't when I am somehow perfectly hovering above the messiness of life that I am most graceful. It is precisely when I have fallen on my giant patootie that I am most filled with grace. It is when I am fallen and dirty and beaten that there is more likely room for grace to enter in and fill me to the full. 

I was once told a story about Native American weavers. It was said that when these artisans would weave their tapestries, they would always leave a little hole, a little imperfection, where the spirit could enter. That image has always stuck with me in a powerful way. God has allowed the same in us after the fall, but we spend countless hours and millions upon millions of dollars trying to eliminate the imperfections that may be our very ticket to grace. 

How much simpler life would be if we instead perfected the ability to embrace our quirky idiosyncrasies, the thorns in our flesh, the faceplants and facepalms, and learned to laugh and surround ourselves with the body of Christ. Surely we would find that we are stronger together, that you can do what I cannot, and I can do what you cannot. It is possible that we would learn that our weaknesses do not make us worthless, but rather in them we realize our true worth to a God who comes to lift us up through them. Perhaps we would be quicker to remember that God alone is perfect, and even He comes united in three persons. 

Now there is a lesson I want my children to learn.

Wishing you and yours a year of grace-filled moments, bruises and all!

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, and/or Twitter!

WIWS: Adorning the Temple

After what seems like roughly 3.14159 million light years, I am back with a What I Wore Sunday post and linkup with the ladies at Fine Linen & Purple. Without further ado, here is what I wore to Mass:

Sweater: Target clearance

Scarf: Florence, Italy on our honeymoon

Skirt: Thrifted

Tights: really old

Boots: DSW

Glasses: Costco

Hair: Waved ... it's my new thing.
Porch Decor: Still Halloween, though a squirrel took a bite out of Raphael there.

--------------------------------- ///\\\///\\\ ---------------------------------

“It doesn’t make sense to call ourselves ugly, because we don’t really see ourselves. We don’t watch ourselves sleeping in bed, curled up silent with our chests rising & falling with our own rhythm. We don’t see ourselves reading a book, eyes fluttering and glowing. You don’t see yourself looking at someone with love and care in your heart. There’s no mirror in your way when you're laughing and smiling and pure happiness is leaking out of you. You would know exactly how bright and beautiful you are if you saw yourself in the moments where you are truly your authentic self.”

– Unknown (shared by Hallie on the Moxie Wife FB page)

That quote popped up on my Facebook feed this morning and made me cry. Thanks, Hallie. :)

It has been awhile since I have really taken the time to intentionally dress for Mass. Last week I got tired of just throwing on clothes and running out the door, and this week, I connected the dots of the transformation that had taken place in me since I had last participated. Oddly enough, the lightbulb went on when I was in Target and was uninterested in accessories or clothing for myself. That Target is a magical place...

While some of that disinterest is from a place of craving more simplicity, some of it really is borne out of frustration that I feel frumpy or dowdy in most anything I wear. I do not feel good about myself when I look in a mirror, and so I simply throw on something that looks okay and move on about my day. I've been so focused on the outside that I didn't stop to think about how it was connected with what was going on in my heart. 

In my last post, I talked about the chaos that seems to be ruling the day. It is unsettling for me to live in chaos, and to be so unsettled interiorly quickly leads to a downward spiral into apathy. It becomes all too overwhelming and I begin to shut down. I stop putting in effort on myself, on my home, on my dreams, and even in my prayers. It is a dangerous place, but faced with exhaustion mentally, physically, and spiritually, I go into bare minimum mode. 

It is also amazing how bringing something into the light and laying it at the foot of the cross truly begins another transformation. Things are still chaotic, but we are making progress on that front. As things in the home become more orderly, and I make more of an effort to provide the tiniest bit of structure to my prayer life even if it doesn't quite appear robust, I begin to see again how the exterior can influence the interior and vice versa. Sometimes it is precisely when I feel the worst that I need to make an effort to look my best so I can remind myself that I am the temple of a living God. God is alive in me even when I feel like death warmed over. As such, I must adorn that temple in a way that reminds me and everyone else that the Holy Spirit is alive and well...and not a frump.

Brothers and sisters: You are God’s building. According to the grace of God given to me, like a wise master builder I laid a foundation, and another is building upon it. But each one must be careful how he builds upon it, for no one can lay a foundation other than the one that is there, namely, Jesus Christ.

Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person; for the temple of God, which you are, is holy. 1 COR 3:9C-11, 16-17

I owe the One who gave everything for me everything I have. That includes my misery, my unrest, my sadness, and my frustration. It is in those things that I am most united with my Jesus on the cross, and it is in that unity that any suffering, real or perceived, is put into perspective. It is in those moments that I am reminded that I am a stranger in a strange land and that my true home will be in heaven. 

No, I am not healed from whatever is plaguing me at the moment. I am sick, and I am exhausted. I still feel like a bit of a misfit in my body and in my life despite the fact that I really do recognize just how blessed I am. I love my husband and my children - God gave me all I had been desiring. This isn't a plea for pity, though I will take prayer. I am, however, recommitted to offering everything to the One who is everything to me...and to making sure He remains everything to me. He is the air I breathe, He is my joy, my energy, my blessing, my hope, my direction, my dream, my consoler, my source of the love I want to feel and give. I surrender all to Him, over and over and over until it becomes second nature, which may take eternity for this little control freak of a mama!

Suscipe

St. Ignatius of Loyola

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,

my memory, my understanding,

and my entire will,

All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.

To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.

Give me only your love and your grace,

that is enough for me.

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, and/or Twitter!

Simple Sunday Snapshot: August 17 {For the Dogs}

At that time, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. 

And behold, a Canaanite woman of that district came and called out,

“Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David! 

My daughter is tormented by a demon.” 

But Jesus did not say a word in answer to her. 

Jesus’ disciples came and asked him,

“Send her away, for she keeps calling out after us.”

He said in reply,

“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

But the woman came and did Jesus homage, saying, “Lord, help me.” 

He said in reply,

“It is not right to take the food of the children

and throw it to the dogs.” 

She said, “Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps

that fall from the table of their masters.” 

Then Jesus said to her in reply,

“O woman, great is your faith! 

Let it be done for you as you wish.” 

And the woman’s daughter was healed from that hour.

Matthew 15:21-28

Two things came to mind as I was praying on this Gospel passage at Mass today. Part of the homily broke open the intention behind Jesus's harsh words to the Canaanite woman. While it seems that he is being rude, it may instead be that he was doing so intentionally, so as to hold a mirror up to the faces of the Jews as a reflection of their own ugliness toward the Gentiles. That got me wondering, who are our dogs? Who are those we feel are not worthy of the banquet table of Christ, and might we be holding back even the scraps from their souls? 

The other thought that came to mind was whether I was willing to risk rebuke, ridicule, and scorn to seek out Jesus for the dogs...not for myself, but for those who are dying (body, mind, or spirit) and cannot seek the Lord themselves. What do I do to intervene, and do I take action even when it may not be easy?

If the Lord encountered me on the road today, would he walk on by as I was busy with my life, or would I be bold enough to stop Him that He might say of me, "O, woman, great is your faith!"  Praying the week ahead provides us ample opportunity and boldness to seek after the Lord for those on the margins. 

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, and/or Twitter!

SQT: On Floods, Suffering, Surrender, Insanity, 6 Degrees of RobinWilliams and Songful Dreams

--- 1 ---

Did you hear we had a flood in Detroit? It's about all we can think about since we are still in the midst of cleaning out.

The clean-out has been exhausting, but it wasn't until we took the old infant carrier to the curb that I actually cried. Yes, I know we could never use it again anyway as it's likely about 8 years old since we were gifted it from a friend. It doesn't really matter. It was what carried my babies home from the hospital. Visions of my now-almost-in-school Gia at a few days old, dwarfed by the then-giant seat, memories of the drive home {especially hitting bumps and wincing in pain}, the first moment we brought her in the door and the panicked "what do we do now?" that fleeted through our minds. All of that came rushing back. And I might have cried a little. And that is okay. Goodbye little seat. Time really does fly.

--- 2 ---

One side effect of disaster, at least in our neck of the woods, has been that more people are out and about in the neighborhood. Sure, they're hauling their sewage drenched basements to the curb, or still pumping out water, but they're out there. And people are talking. And helping. It has cemented something I suspected all along. Suffering unites us in our humanity, and more deeply it unites with Christ who is the source of our truest humanity. In our suffering, God surprises us with His grace and glory, making good out of everything, even s%!# filled basements.

The surprise I came home to dropped off by a friend to help
sweeten the blow of the basement stank. Now she found
out they have a ton of mold in their basement. Prayers for them please!

--- 3 ---

I've also been thinking about what a difference a day can make... Sunday we were enjoying a tasty brunch and hanging out the kiddie pool, and Monday we had more water than we ever wanted in our basement.

--- 4 ---

Ok, enough about the water woes. Today we had a staff in-service and I was asked to find a prayer on surrender. There was a prayer of surrender to the Holy Spirit I was thinking of, but when I asked my pal Google to locate it, old Googs one-upped me and found me this prayer instead, which now is at the top of my list of favorite prayers. Given that today is the Feast of the Assumption, it seems fitting to share a prayer about total surrender of self, that we might offer our whole yes to the will of God as Mary did.

Dear Lord Jesus, it is my will to surrender to you everything that I am and everything that I am striving to be. I open the deepest recesses of my heart to you and invite your Holy Spirit to dwell inside of me. You are the salvation of my soul; I hold nothing back from you.

I offer you my mind, heart, body, soul, spirit, emotions, all my hopes, plans, and dreams. I surrender to you my past, present, and future problems, habits, character defects, attitudes, livelihood, resources, finances, occupation, skills, vocation, and business endeavors. I surrender everything unto your compassionate care. I give you my home, marriage, sexuality, relationships, friendships, and children. I surrender all my weaknesses, strengths, fears, and insecurities to you. In sickness and in health, in the good times and bad, I belong to you. Please transform my life into whatever most pleases you. Transform me into the child of God that you have intended me to be.

In your most holy name we pray. Amen. 

--- 5 ---

School starts soon for our first born. I got a letter from her pre-school about a new-family orientation. It begins. It was such a welcoming letter, and part of their welcome to new families is to pair them with an established school family for the year to ease the transition. What a lovely idea and great way to build community. I might have come close to shedding a tear. It's been an emotional week.

--- 6 ---

Once I got my head above water from all the muck in the basement (hahahah, head above water...get it?), I was pulled right back under with all the chaos on my newsfeed. What the what is going on with the world? I don't honestly even have words for what is going on in Ferguson, MO, or in response to the Walmart shooting. I really don't right now, but thanks to a friend I did read a post by someone who I feel nailed every issue right smack on the head.

--- 7 ---

Of course, then every two seconds we hear about Robin Williams' suicide. How very truly tragic. What saddens me the most is how surprised everyone seems to be that someone who was a comic by trade and brought such joy could be so very distraught himself. It saddens me that we have become so focused on the surface that we forget how deeply the waters of our spirit run within, sometimes in quiet turmoil. I won't even get into my disappointment with the judgement running rampant on every angle of his death. A man has died - this is not a story, this is not a cause, this is a man who brought joy to those around him but deeply suffered. A man. With a family. With friends. With a kind heart. Yeah, those stories are making me cry. While I never knew him myself, I will throw one more log on the fire that was the generous spirit of the man.

My Godbrother was an actor (sometimes struggling) in Cali in the late 80s/early 90s. He happened to get a role as an extra on the set of Hook back in the day. We tend to think of extras as just faces in the crowd, blending in, going unseen. Somehow, Stevie met Robin, and made enough of an impression that Mr. Williams remembered him a few years later when he passed from AIDS related complications. I don't remember all the details, whether he attended the funeral or just sent a long note to the family, but I remember my Godmother was so very touched that he had remembered her son. He spoke of Steve's spirit, his soul, his kindness, his beauty as a fellow human being that he'd had the privilege of coming across. Stevie was an extra, and Mr. Robin Williams, a lead actor, knew enough of him to know he had passed and know how to contact his family. He took the time to offer his condolences. This was the spirit of the man who was tormented by his own demons. I hope, as his spirit and legacy is remembered, that the generosity of his spirit will set an example for others who achieve the same success. For Mr. Williams, it seems that people were just people...and by that I don't mean "just" in a diminutive sense. Rather, it seems that his legacy is one that shows us how it looks when a man, regardless of his stature, views all people with the dignity they deserve. That loss is a great one in our world today. May God grant him mercy and eternal rest, and may perpetual light shine upon him.

EXTRA (because why end on sorrowful note when you can end with joy?):

I have this great dream. It will likely NEVER come to fruition, and may be not the most reverent of dreams. Yet...I have this dream. One day, I will be at a Mass honoring Mary, and THIS will the version of Salve Regina that is sung. If we are honest, it's the version that's in my head no matter which rendition is sung, however slowly. You know what this is. You do. Now sing to the rafters, clap those hands, and hit it, girls!

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

If you enjoyed reading this post, follow The Pitter Patter Diaries on Bloglovin, Facebook, and/or Twitter!