rule 12: Be Thankful for What You Have

My two youngest, Jacinta and Charlie, made their First Confessions today.

Because of rule 12, I'm not going to dwell on the fact that all of my babies are now beyond the age of reason, which really means that none of them are babies anymore and that my arms have been empty of baby for quite a while.

Instead, I'm going to think about Charlie's amazing ten-year-old friend Jack. Yesterday, when Charlie told him that he would be making his First Confession today, Jack enthusiastically responded, "Confession is awesome!" Jack is Charlie's surrogate big brother, and Charlie looks up to him in every way. Today I will be thankful for the influential witness of Jack.

I'm going to remember the bounce in Charlie's step as he left the house this morning and the way he said, "I have been waiting for this day for soooo long." He believes with all of his heart in the merciful love of Jesus, and he was ready to meet Him and have his soul made new. Today I will be thankful for the beautiful, innocent faith of my Charlie.

I'm going to picture the serious face of my sweet Jacinta waiting in line, she who is so shy and stumbles over words so easily. A few weeks ago I couldn't imagine that she would ever feel brave or strong enough to walk into that confessional...or what she would remember to say once she was in there. We had practiced and practiced and practiced the words for months, and yet even this morning as we practiced once again, she had to be prompted to say, "Bless me, Father...." But there she was, standing in line, worried but standing nonetheless, and then walking bravely into that dark, little room behind the curtain. Today I will be thankful for the incredible courage of my Jacinta.

I'm going to laugh again at the memory of Charlie proudly telling me afterwards that "Qiu Qiu did a great job on her Act of Contrition." Our parish has the old-fashioned confessionals, where the priest sits in the middle and a penitent kneels on both sides of him. Charlie was behind Jacinta in line and therefore in the other confessional waiting for his turn when she was confessing. I gently reminded him that we are not supposed to listen to the other person's confession, and he adamantly told me that he had his fingers in his ears but he could still hear her. (And this is why we only go to confession at our parish when we think no one else will be there and we can leave one side empty. :) Today I will be thankful for the gift of laughter and the pride of a little brother.

I'm going to imagine the day, less than two months from now, when we will all walk forward to the communion rail as a family to receive our precious Lord...and no one will be left behind in the pew. It's a day that has come too soon for me but not soon enough for those two little buddies always waiting in the pew. Today I will be thankful for our unity in faith and our journey together toward Heaven.

Oh, how I loved my babies when they were still babies. Life was so simple and sweet, and I felt so much more competent and capable. I didn't want it to ever end. But today I will be thankful for what I have now, right now, and walk forward in faith, believing that we are still just beginning the journey.

My Heart Is Full

So many little things conspired to make this a great day....

....waking up with Qiu Qiu's scrawny arm wrapped around my neck and hearing Charlie's soft voice from the other side of the bed say to Jim, "do you wanna go set it up?" "set what up?" "Mommy's birthday"

...re-waking to the sound of M&Ms dropping into a cup outside my door and watching Mei Mei rush in to pour them all over me in bed with a delicious smile on her sweet face

...walking downstairs, after being asked multiple times when I would go downstairs, to find a dozen Panera bagels, a bear claw, and a bowl of fresh melon on the table

...taking a brisk Rosary walk all by myself under blue skies and warm---but not hot---sunshine and palpably feeling the goodness of this day

...seeing my generous Nastia, donned in her ball cap, eagerly mow the lawn so her Daddy didn't have to worry about it

...being invited by a way cool young family to go see Matt Maher in concert because they think we're pretty cool too even if we're old

...standing in my bedroom as we all worked as a family to prepare the floors for hardwood and watching Valya bag and haul more stuff from the room than the rest of us put together

...listening to Scythian rock the house, making us all move faster and happier, except maybe Jim, who has a jealous heart :)

...finding Jacinta glued to Jim's side, long after the others had gone, prying up carpet tack strips with her crowbar and hammer, not wanting to stop for lunch

...opening my inbox to discover a plethora of love and good wishes

...sitting in front of Elena's mirror as she patiently curled and pinned my hair into a beautiful up-do, cherishing each moment she spends on me

...wearing my new silver sandals with the four-inch wedges and not stumbling once

...spending the evening with good friends, eating and drinking and laughing and discussing the depths of an excellent book

...gazing with admiration at my handsome husband as he expressed his views so thoughtfully and confidently and knowing that no other man could ever win my heart as he has


The first day of my forty-fourth year could not have been better.
My heart is full, brimming with the richness of His blessings.

A Bit of Wonderful Normal

I offer you the words of a guest writer today, my gifted younger brother Jonathan. Last summer his beautiful wife Bridget was diagnosed with cancer. Surgery removed what we hope and pray were all of the deadly cells, and during the past several months she has been undergoing exhausting rounds of chemotherapy as a follow-up precaution. She is battling hard and, I believe, beating this disease. But needless to say, this terrifying ordeal has taken its toll on their young family...physically, mentally, and emotionally. They are blessed with a five-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Mary Maeve, who is the sweetest little girl you could ever hope to meet and a tremendous source of light to them during these troubled times.

Yesterday Jon sent the following reflection to me, and I asked him if I could share it here. Even if you do not know my brother and his family, I think you will be touched by his thoughts. It's a message of hope and survival and a powerful reminder to celebrate the precious little moments we are given each day, something we all need to hear during these busy days of preparation for the coming of our Savior. I deeply appreciate your prayers for Bridget, Jonathan, and sweet Mary Maeve. They are such an inspiration to me.

Make today count. In the best of ways.


When I ran the Cleveland Marathon in 2000, it was difficult. And, obviously, with each passing mile the journey got tougher. Every few miles, however, there was a comfort station to bring water and much needed, if brief, comfort.

Today, Mary Maeve and I made 10 rolls of kolache. Sometimes we do it at Easter, but it always happens at Christmas; this year was going to be no different. There is so much joy in the process. Christmas music plays the whole time, I still recall so much about learning the recipe from Marnie [our beloved grandmother] over 10 years ago, and love telling Mary Maeve about what happened those two nights and other things about Marnie.

Mary Maeve helps more each year. This year, she sifted flour, separated egg yolks from whites and mixed the yeast/milk/vanilla/sugar/egg mixture with the flour and butter. Then she got mad when I tried, a second time, to show her how to roll the dough after spreading the filling; apparently, showing her once was enough. I can't remember the exact wording, but when I put my fingers near the edge of the dough again, she pushed them away and said something like, "Daddy, I know how to do it!" Amazingly, our5-year-old does. (It must be that Montessori education.)

We sampled a part of the almond batch and the raspberry batch before Maeve finally went to bed and fell asleep about halfway through prayers. Later, as I wrapped up and labelled each roll, I thanked God for a beautifully normal day. Sure, Bridget still needs to sleep longer than we'd like. And her headwrap is a constant reminder that life is changed forever. But it didn't bother me as much tonight.

God puts comfort stations exactly where we need them.

It Wasn't All Bad

Since I wrote a bit about how difficult Mother's Day was on the inside, I think it's only fair to show you how wonderful it was on the outside. I awoke to find this beautiful display in my kitchen, having been only slightly tipped off by Mei Mei's incessant questioning, "Have you been downstairs yet?"

Here's a close-up of that thoughtful bouquet of Sprees. My sweetheart knows me well. While I always appreciate chocolate, I LOVE Sprees. Odd, I know. Unfortunately, this photo was taken after Elena, Valya, and Jacinta had already been consumed. In my defense, I did share, and at 12 shared Sprees a pop (2X6), the rolls don't last long.

My favorite wildflowers! Aren't they beautiful? After Mass, I asked Jim to take a picture of me with my babies, the ones who give me the honor of being a mom. Yes, Valya is really that tall, and no, Elena is not. :) I have no idea what Mariana thought was so funny, but obviously Charlie and Jacinta did not agree. Elena says they remind her of the couple in American Gothic, minus the pitchfork, of course.

In the middle of the day, I gave myself a gift. I snuck out to a local sewing shop that is going out of business. Gorgeous, gorgeous fabrics, all 30% off. After over an hour of agonizing decision making, I walked out with 30 different patterns, mostly quarters. I bought some I plan to use for Maggie's quilt block; some I hope will work for Chere Mere's square; some yellows, pinks, and greens I want to use to make a quilted runner for my little girls' dresser; a couple of cute Western prints I intend to include in a cowboy quilt for Charlie eventually (sooner rather than later if he has his way...why did I ever tell him my plans for them?); a few florals to make sweet birthday surprises for my quilting gang; and some simply because I thought they were pretty. I even bought a yard and a half of that black and red batik butterfly to sew a skirt for myself this summer. Or some summer. Yes, I am a sucker and a dreamer when it comes to fabric. And an economic peril in a sewing shop that is going out of business.

All in all, an awesome day. Thank you, Jim, Elena, Valya, Nastia, Mariana, Jacinta, and Charlie. You rock my world and make my life so very precious. I am blessed beyond measure.

Wildflowers

I chronicled the story of my motherhood in just fifteen minutes last night.

Funny. It sure seemed a whole lot longer as I was living it.

A few months ago my dear husband volunteered for us to share our story with an adoption class at a local hospital. Somehow I ended up the one standing there alone in front of thirty-some prospective parents. I hadn't prepared anything, planning instead to share from the heart. I do know the story quite well, after all. The coordinator left me a thirty minute slot, and I was worried about running over. Fifteen minutes later, I had run out. Of words. And intelligible thoughts. And unintelligible thoughts.

Well, what can I say? I'm a writer, not a talker. Obviously I should have prepared something more than to rely on my heart. Live and learn. At least, I didn't keep them sitting there forever, blabbing on and on, right? Short and sweet and to the point.

I hope I had a point.

Anyway, I know Someone had a point last night. Someone knew that the last few days would be really pretty rotten for me. Someone knew that I would need to reflect and remember and recognize my life for what it is. To witness the blessedness of it all and wonder in awe at the gorgeous tapestry He is creating, in spite of my crooked ways. Even for just fifteen minutes.

Mother's Day is a tough one for me. And not because my husband doesn't do his darnedest to make it special. He does. I'm telling you, you will never go wrong marrying a man whose language of love is service. You may feel woefully inadequate at times, but you will always be pampered. And not just on Mother's Day.

I thought about writing a post about why this day is not my favorite, and then I remembered that I wrote it last year. The feelings and struggles are still there, much the same. That little girl of mine is on a path toward healing and ever so much better than she was a year ago, thanks be to God. But Mother's Day hits her hard too. It's virtually impossible not to get mad about a day that tells you to celebrate one mother half a world away who neglected and abandoned you and another mother here who still feels foreign after almost seven years. The heartache spews out like venom. I can't say that I blame her. Not at all.

So, God gave me this tremendous, uncomfortable opportunity to stand before a room of strangers and tell them of the wonders of His love. Because He knew how much I needed to hear it. To be reminded that this is a journey, my journey, and no matter how badly I may wander and feel lost and alone, He is there, guiding me, sometimes gently by the hand, sometimes yanking my arm almost out of the socket, making sure I stay on that path, strewing wildflowers in my way and hoping I notice them before they are trampled underfoot.

May I see the beauty and smell the sweetness of those wildflowers, every single one.

You Know You Chose the Right Man When...

...you return from a five-day solo trip to California and the first thing he says to you, after a long weekend of cooking and cleaning and bathing and reading and driving and keeping score at a basketball tournament, is...

I want to be a stay-at-home dad.

:)

And then he gets up the next morning at 6:30am and goes to work so that you don't have to.

I Found Love on Facebook

A few days ago as I was reading 25 Random Things about Me! Do It Even If I Didn't Tag You! on Elena’s Facebook page, I happily stumbled upon this sweet gem:

6. I have lots of best friends..and one of my bestest friends is my mommy. :)

Totally unexpected. The very best kind of gift. Proclaimed before all 138 of her Facebook friends, most of whom are teenagers. Now, that’s love.

You don’t think she might be buttering me up for something, do you? Because a few lines later I found this:

11. I hope to get three body piercings and a tattoo in the coming year.

Just kidding. :) About #11, not #6.

I’m tellin' you, I don’t deserve my kids.

By the bye, if you’re interested in adding me as a Facebook friend, you can find me here. I’ll warn you though…it may be the most boring fb page ever. I mostly use it to spy on Elena and her friends and to harass my siblings and their spouses. Just not my medium. But if you're looking to pad your friend count, I'll accept your request. :)

Thankful Thursday, The Thanksgiving Edition

Yes, I know that it is Advent now and that Thanksgiving is a week old. I'm fairly sure you are aware that I have never been known for my punctuality.

This Thanksgiving I was reminded once again of just how much I have to be thankful for.

For my husband and my children. For dear family and friends. For good food and a warm home. For the security of my husband's job and the ability to afford insurance. For kind police officers. For life itself.

I must be a bit dense, because the Lord seems to use dramatic means to remind me of such blessings. Again and again.

Unlike last November, I was fairly relaxed heading toward Turkey Day. In fact, I was downright relieved. It's been an exhausting semester filled with way too many outside activities, and I relished the thought of five days of relative quiet. Plus, my amazing sister offered to host the dinner this year, and all that she asked of me were pumpkin pies and a sweet potato souffle. How easy is that?

I was feeling so relaxed that I decided to take all six of my gang to a great thrift store on Wednesday afternoon. It's forty-five miles away, way out in the country, but it really is a great thrift store, and on the last Wednesday of the month everything is discounted by fifty percent. Since gas is so cheap these days, I figured, "why not?" Actually, at the last moment, I had second thoughts...I was feeling tired and I did still have to make those pies. But rather than face the horrific reactions of five girls ready to shop, I loaded everyone into the van. I should have listened to those second thoughts.

A few hours later, we were back in the van with a trash bag full of half-price sweaters and corduroys. It was a little past six, already very dark, and the kids started snoozing. I was cruising along, listening to one of my favorite cds*, when BAM...the air bags exploded and the van swerved into the left lane before I was able to regain control and steer us to the shoulder on the right.

We hit a deer. A big one.

Needless to say, it was more than a bit traumatic and chaotic. Steam was rising from the engine through the glow of the hazard lights, and Elena thought we were on fire. As I calmly reassured her that we weren't, my mind frantically wondered if we could be and how quickly I could get all six kids out of the van. The four youngest were terrified and sobbing uncontrollably. Nastia had banged her nose hard against the side window. Thankfully, my cell phone was charged, so I called Jim, my Knightley, who calmly assured me that he would be there in twenty minutes.

Shortly after I called, the most endearing police officer stopped behind us. The kind of police officer who would soothe your nerves with a promise to take care of you in his sweet southern drawl.** The kind of police officer who would ask you for the record how fast you had been driving and you would say, "about 70," and he would say, "about 65?" and you would say, "yes, 65, thank you." The kind of police officer who would drive your husband and two daughters home because you could only fit five in your husband's Scion.*** That kind of police officer, thanks be to God.

We had planned to have Thanksgiving brunch at the home of some close friends and then make the seventy-minute drive to my sister's for dinner. What to do now, since our insurance didn't cover a rental car? Jim decided to drive half of us to my sister's in the morning and then come back to drive the rest of us there. When we called our friends to cancel brunch, they insisted we take one of their cars. That's the kind of thoughtful friends we have. When we left my sister's house on Friday (after a scrumptious Thanksgiving meal, an entertaining game of charades, and a peaceful walk through the woods), she insisted that we trade our car for her van, for as long as we need it. That's the kind of generous sister I have.

I loved that van. It was only five years old, but it had over ninety-five thousand miles on it, miles that took us across America and throughout most of Europe. So many memories locked in that vehicle. Memories of crying babies and laughing children, of beautiful landscapes and desolate highways, of songs sung and rosaries prayed. Trusting our Toyota, we expected to get at least another ninety-five thousand miles out of it. How could I be driving along one minute and then, BAM, the next minute my van is gone?

The instant after I wondered that question, I realized with fear and trembling that it could have been...BAM, the next minute my children are gone. If another car had been traveling behind us (and there had been a fair amount of traffic on that four lane divided highway), it could not have avoided hitting us. If I had seen the deer and braked too suddenly, we could have tipped and rolled. It's going to cost us some inconvenience and a lot of money to replace that minivan...big deal. The precious lives of my children are absolutely irreplaceable. My van may be gone, but my kids are here, with nary a scratch to show for it. What else could possibly matter?

This Thanksgiving I was reminded once again of just how much I have to be thankful for...for life itself and for the lives of those I love.

Thank You, Jesus.


*Sadly, the car battery died before I had the presence of mind to eject my cd. Happily, Elena had previously downloaded it onto the computer. God is good. And so are teenage daughters.

**Elena claims that I slipped into a southern drawl each time I answered that sweet police officer, but I think that she must have hit her head.

***Valya and Nastia were quite excited about their first ride in the back of a police car, especially since every word of their (captivating, I'm sure) conversation was recorded. I told them that their first ride will also be their last ride.

Tell Me Life Will Always Be This Good

If I want to have a really good day, all I have to do is pass some time with this little girl.

She spent the first ten-and-a-half months of her life in a Chinese orphanage. She spent the next twenty-four-or-so months babbling in what sounded more Chinese than English. Language has never been easy for her, but that makes her all the more endearing to us. We consider it a blessing, being able to hold onto her babyhood for as long as we can.

Her words sometimes become jumbled. At dinner, she usually asks for more tomatoes when she really means potatoes. She took this to a new level today as she politely inquired, "May I please have one of your tomato chips?" How could I say no? I just smiled and handed over the bag.

When I had to run some errands this evening, she jumped into the van before I could refuse. I'm so grateful. Having a captive audience of one of the two people she loves best, she rambled on and on about anything and everything. I could not stop grinning, my heart was filled with such joy. For one precious hour, the struggles in my life no longer existed. Reality was she and I, living in that moment.

As we passed a Taco Bell, where I've eaten maybe three times in my whole life, a sweet voice from the back seat begged, "Can we please stop at that Tinkerbell?" Again, how could I resist? Munching on nachoes a few lights later (I promise that she does eat healthy food too!), she sighed, "Oooo, these are awful good" and then, "my mouth is spicin'!"

I'm sure I can't convey just how treasured these moments were for me. You'd have to see the loving eyes and winsome smile on her angelic face, you'd have to hear her soft, deep voice that sings as she speaks, you'd have to love her as only I do to understand fully. But I'm recording the memories here anyway. Because someday I want to read them and remember...when a beautiful six-and-a-half-year-old little girl with mixed-up words melted my heart and gave me a precious taste of Heaven.

Thankful Thursday

This week, I am thankful...

...for down comforters, hot tea, and blue skies.

...for great friends, near and far, who love and encourage me via emails and phone calls and real life conversations.

...for a much needed Saturday afternoon spent with my sister, the person voted most likely to make me laugh and lift my spirits. We lunched, we thrifted, and we received absolution---what better way to spend the day?

...for a husband who let me spend a much needed Saturday with my sister and then let me record an absurd video for my friend and then let me pick the restaurant on our date---Thai.

...for a virtuous teenage daughter who can be trusted in all things and who trusts me enough to share her life with me.

...for a passionate teenage daughter who strives so hard everyday and who returns from co-op to power-clean the entire main level of my house as well as her bedroom.

...for my two lovable middle daughters who are the best of friends and can have a good time doing the dinner dishes, even if it does take them two hours.

...for my two sweet babies who are not such babies anymore but are the best of friends and always insist that I sleep in the middle when their daddy is away.

...for the flight that will bring my guy home today after four days in Texas. I am so grateful that he has never been deployed, and I pray for all of those who have been and for their courageous families.

...for the blessed gift of Confession, which offers hope and a new beginning. Always.

Thankful Thursday, the Early Friday Edition

It's that time of year again, time to stop and count my blessings.

I've been wondering how to jump back into this blog. Wondering if I should jump back into this blog. I'm on no firmer footing than I was when I left it. No extra minutes have miraculously made their way into my days, much as I've prayed for them. And I'm not sure I can think of anything to say anymore, worthwhile or otherwise.

But I miss it. I miss writing---I miss preserving the memories that so quickly pass through my sieve of a brain, I miss straining to conjure that oh-so-perfect word hidden on the tip of my tongue, I miss those magical moments when the thoughts flow out faster than my clumsy fingers can record them. Most of all though, I miss you. I miss sharing my heart and my life with all of you who so graciously visit me here. I miss feeling connected.

So, here I go again. Being thankful on a Thursday (and it is still Thursday in California, where a piece of my heart will always be) seems a very good place to revive this little home of mine. (Please forgive me if my posts continue to be sporadic...such is life sometimes. :)

This week, I am thankful for...

...the utter joy brought to me by this beautiful post.

...the chaotic cabin I shared with five adults, eleven kids, and five friendly visitors last weekend. Although most of the surrounding leaves had already fallen, IT DID NOT RAIN, and for that, I am extremely grateful. (Why are weekends only two days long?)

...our new homeschool co-op, which is finally forcing me to teach my kids grammar and science in a more disciplined way and, more importantly, is giving me lots of mommy-bonding time every Wednesday.

...Dominion Academy, where Elena is challenged academically three mornings a week and where she receives an adequate and relatively benign dose of high school shenanigans.

...a pantry fully stocked by my favorite Airman, who celebrated Veteran's Day with a trip to the commissary. Yes, I'm spoiled.

...good friends for my kids, the kind of friends who inspire them to holiness, make them feel loved and accepted, and pretend not to notice my messy house.

...the blessing of being able to spend each and every day with these precious souls in my care. Even when it feels as though we are accomplishing very little, I know that we are right where we are supposed to be, learning to love, day by day.

...sisters who are always there to listen and commiserate and make me laugh. We Are Fam-i-ly...

...a husband who never fails to serve his family without counting the cost. (This is a man who comes home from a long day of work and makes pizza for dinner. Pizza, his favorite food, which he can no longer eat due to his gluten-free diet. That's love.)

...a God who won't let go.


May God bless you with a grateful heart. Thanks for coming back.

Egads, where'd my baby go?

It seems as if only yesterday my little girl, dressed in a size 3T pink leotard, was giving us private recitals in the living room. Now here she is...hitting the big stage...and loving every minute of it.

Last September we were blessed to find a wonderful group of Christian homeschoolers, called Stage Lefters, who meet weekly throughout the school year to create a theatrical production. This was their seventh season, and it was their most ambitious project, The Music Man, complete with exuberant singing, enthusiastic dancing, and a real live band. Elena won the part of Zaneeta Shinn, the mayor's daffy daughter who runs around with the town badboy. Let me tell you, she played it just a little too well for her daddy's taste. She lit up the stage with her radiant face.

I had one mom tell me, "Your daughter is so good at being a ditzy flirt." Why, thank you. I think.

She's been in productions before, but this was the best and most fun, and now she is firmly convinced that her future belongs on the stage. (Egads!) She can't quite figure out what second degree equations and present participial phrases have to do with that future...just bring on the music and drama. Oh yes, we know all about drama in this household with six females. Oh yes.

After the high brought on by four spectacular performances earlier this month, she was facing nothing but a long, lonely summer of catching up on a few subjects and counting down the days until the first rehearsal of the next play. So I sent her off to a week of choral camp, followed by her first high school youth conference at Franciscan University. She's in Steubenville as I write this, hopefully fast asleep. (She'd better be.)

Ten years ago, I escorted a group of kids, including my youngest sisters, two cousins, two nieces and a nephew, to one of those conferences. It was a life-changing event for my sisters, who both embraced their faith deeply that weekend and later graduated from FUS, where they also met their amazing husbands. Elena, who was only five, joined us for the closing Mass of the conference, and I remember thinking that someday she would be old enough to attend one herself. Someday seemed so far away. It wasn't. I'm praying that the Holy Spirit touches her soul in a meaningful and lasting way this weekend as she continues her journey of becoming a beautiful young woman.

The night before she left, I sat in her bedroom as she was packing, and she gave me one of the sweetest gifts I've ever received. Excited and a bit nervous, she was peppering me with questions about what to expect, when she suddenly looked me in the eyes and gently said, "I wish you were coming with me."

Be still, my heart. I don't suppose there are a whole lot of high school girls who wish their mothers would accompany them to a weekend away, where there are bound to be a plethora of cute Catholic boys. Whoever said they didn't enjoy the teenage years never had the blessing of raising my Elena.

Gosh, I'm going to miss her. And I'm not just talking about the rest of the weekend.

Blessed Are the Pure in Heart

This morning we were reading the tenth chapter of The First Christians by Marigold Hunt, and we came across Paul's words to the elders of the church in Ephesus: "Remember how our Lord said: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'" Nastia immediately responded, "Well, that sure is true."

I had to smile at the appropriateness of her comment. Nastia is my child with a heart of gold. Giving seems to come as easily as breathing for her. She is the one who chooses her cookie based on what she thinks the others will want, always leaving the best on the plate. She's the first to surrender her turn at something for a younger (or older) sibling, even when it's something she's been anticipating with joy. When someone's birthday arrives, she doesn't just search her closet for a worn, unwanted toy to offer as a gift---she wraps up her favorite horse instead. While it's true that she doesn't seem too attached to possessions, it's more than that. She simply delights in making other people happy.

If only we could all understand our Lord's words as my sweet Nastia does.

Reality Check

Saturday was not exactly one of my better days.

It started out on a good note. In two weeks, Mariana will be receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation for the first time, so Saturday morning she and I attended the CCD class at our parish to help her get ready for that big moment. I just love the innocence and sweetness of this age, especially as they are preparing to receive the Sacraments. And one-on-one time with one of my babies is always a treat.

On the way home, my day took a turn for the worse, when we ran out of gas on a busy four lane road. I was driving our brand new little Scion hatchback, which Jim usually drives, and it never occurred to me to check the gas gauge. My dear husband had been running late the night before, decided not to stop to fill the tank, and forgot to tell me before we left for the church. These things happen to parents of six children.

When I first realized something was wrong, I noticed a driveway into an industrial parking lot, and for a split second, I contemplated pulling into it. Why I kept going, I'll never know, and believe me, I have asked myself that question a million times since then. The car slowly rolled to a stop as I finally looked down at the dashboard and understood what had happened. There was a curb and no way to get off the road, so I turned on my hazard lights and tried to call Jim.

Cell phone dead. Of course.

Charger in van. Of course.

Think quick, Diane, what to do? We were sitting on an upwards incline, so in between traffic cycles I let the car roll backwards a little, hoping to find a way to maneuver us onto that driveway about fifty yards back. I knew that once I had the car parked safely off the road, Mariana and I could walk to the gas station we had just passed.

The car was stopped. I was looking backwards, waiting for the oncoming traffic to pass us, and suddenly noticed a Cadillac rapidly approaching. It neither slowed nor moved to the left, so I pressed hard on my horn. WHAM! In the blink of an eye, that big black car knocked us right off the road.

Mariana immediately started crying and screaming for her daddy. I made sure that she wasn't hurt and assured her that I would call Jim as soon as I could. Several very kind people stopped to help, which turned out to be a very good thing, because the elderly man driving the Cadillac was confused about what had happened. He hadn't realized my car was stopped. He accused me of braking suddenly in front of him to make a turn and denied that my hazard lights had been on. He became very agitated and defensive. I really don't think he should have been driving in the first place.

I borrowed a cell phone to call Jim and the police. Three police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck arrived on the scene, which was rather alarming to my poor husband as he drove up the street. Several of the witnesses had stayed to offer their report to the officers, and all expressed concern over the welfare of my child crying in the back seat. Mariana was clearly upset but otherwise not seriously hurt. Eventually the driver of the other car calmed down, realized what he had done, and was sincerely apologetic. Thankfully, he has insurance, which will pay for all of the repairs.

I had a lot of time to sit and wait. Waiting for the police to arrive. Waiting for Jim to arrive. Waiting for the police to complete the report. Waiting for Jim to return with a can of gasoline. A whole lot of time to sit and wait and think.

Of course, everyone's first response in such a situation is to say that the important thing is that no one was hurt. I was grateful that no one was hurt. But once I was past that initial spark of gratitude, it was just too easy to start feeling sorry for myself.

I re-lived the scene a hundred times in my mind. I questioned why. I thought about what I could have done---should have done---differently. I thought about all of the things I would have to do in the coming days, things I hadn't factored into my already way too busy schedule. Calling the insurance companies, getting an appraisal of the damage, picking up a rental car, finding a body shop. I knew our brand new little car would never be the same.

I was bothered. And I wouldn't let it go.

Late last night, my sister remarked how amazing it was that our car hadn't received more damage. The other, much bigger, car had been totalled; our, much smaller, car had a smashed bumper and a slightly bent frame. There is very little space between the rear bumper and the back seat where Mariana had been sitting. We both agreed that our guardian angels must have been protecting us.

Suddenly, my mind flashed to a far different scenario, and I was given a glimpse of what might have been. My beautiful child was wailing, covered in blood, gasping for breath. I saw myself struggling to comfort and save her. I witnessed a funeral and then the impossible, unthinkable task of living my life without her. These horribly painful imaginings flooded my heart.

In an instant, I found myself overwhelmingly grateful for that smashed bumper and all that it had to teach me. The body of my car will easily be rebuilt, but the beauty of my daughter's soul could never be replaced. What an incredible blessing she is, an exquisite gift I should never take for granted. People are more important than things, my mother used to say. Infinitely more important.

Sometimes it takes a bit of inconvenience to remind us.


***Just want to let you know that my blogging will be light during Lent. I'll be writing and reading just one day a week, and giving up reading the beautiful blogs I love to visit is the far greater sacrifice. I don't believe I'm being called to fast completely---my online friends provide too much encouragement and support for that---but I do need to re-focus and re-balance my crazy life. I am, however, not fasting from email. ;)

How Sweet It Is...

...to be loved!

When I returned home from an impromptu visit to my sister's house yesterday, I received the sweet surprise of finding an unexpected package waiting on my doorstep. A very thoughtful Honey out there read my post on Tuesday and had this lovely gift delivered the very next day! I am just so touched by her generosity and kindness---true love in action. Thank you, my dear, dear friend.

The most amazing thing that resulted from my great leap of faith in baring my soul is the discovery of so many women who have faced similar experiences. Some are women I have never met. And some are women I would never have thought could struggle like this based on their outward appearances. It makes me realize all the more how the evil one tries to deceive us into believing that we are alone in this battle, how badly he wants to cut us off from the healing power of love and friendship.

It is so very important to make the connections and nurture our relationships when we are feeling well and strong. Because when the dark thief enters, it is too late. For years, I lurked around the Internet, reading the inspiring words of beautiful women, feeling that I'd come to know and love them, but never giving them the chance to know and love me. These lovely women all seemed so connected to each other---why would they ever want to know me? Why would they care to hear my story? I am a shy, somewhat insecure person, and it is just so much easier for me to take it all in quietly than to risk opening myself up and facing the possibility of rejection. Easier, yes, but ever so much more lonely.

I really want to encourage anyone who has felt alone in her struggle with the darkness to take a chance and reach out. Share the real you, sadness and all. Write a post. Leave a comment. Send an email. Ask for a phone number and a good time to call. Plan a visit with someone you admire even if you are terrified you won't have anything to say in real life. There may be some with whom you just don't connect---it may not be the right time or the right personality match---but keep trying. God will bless your faithfulness.

There is nothing more soothing to a troubled soul than the unconditional love of a true friend, nothing more uplifting to a weary heart than knowing that someone cares.

God bless you.

Hope in the Body of Christ

I write a lot of posts in my head that never make it onto the screen. Sometimes I never find the time to transform my thoughts into words. Sometimes I steal the time, but the words just aren't there. I found this so frustrating when I first started blogging. Now I simply see it as God's way of weeding out some of the stuff that doesn't need to be recorded. My best received posts flow out almost effortlessly. I don't want to read too much into that---I surely can't claim to know or understand how much the Holy Spirit is involved here---but I don't think it's coincidence either.

When I started writing yesterday's post about my struggles with the dark thief, I really had no idea where it was going or why I was writing it. The images came, and so I narrated them. Last week I faced a few dark days of depression---a battle I've been fighting on and off since my youth---and the heaviness was still very fresh in my mind. I hesitated a bit before clicking on that orange "publish post" button, and to be honest, I considered deleting it all when I awoke this morning. Wouldn't my readers rather receive light, upbeat posts, and shouldn't I wait until I had one to give them? Who would want to be challenged by such a heavy, painful confession?

In risking my heart, I discovered that I am not alone in my experience with the darkness, and I learned that those lies whispered by the thief---of being alone, unloved, and unlovable---truly are lies. Some of those who stumbled upon my writing yesterday discovered the same. I was humbly overwhelmed by the tender, encouraging love notes I received from brave and beautiful women who shared their hearts and their suffering.

Suddenly I knew exactly why I wrote that post.

We are not alone. We are broken and battered, weary and worn. We have been tested and trampled and torn into tattered pieces. We have been robbed of our joy in spite of our blessings. But we are not alone.

We are bound by the Love of One who carries our crosses with us. Though we may not feel His presence in our most terrible moments, He bears the greater weight of our pain. We could not endure it without Him.

He offers us the healing gift of each other, a broken Body made perfect in its weakness.

Grace. Mercy. Love.

Thankful Thursday, One More Time

This week I am thankful for...

...the mom who organized the roller skating party for home schoolers yesterday. The rink was filled with kind, happy, and polite kids. Itty bitty Jacinta was like lightning, racing around the track, while Charlie could barely stay on his feet. So cute.

...a sister who will drive for an hour so that her kids can skate with mine.

...cousins who never get tired of playing together and always beg to stay longer.

...our local library, which makes me feel like a kid in a candy store. One half of a long aisle filled with nothing but Christmas books! Our poor little base library in Belgium only had about ten.

...my hot shower every morning, which gives me a few quiet moments to think. Most of the time.

...stores where I can find whatever I need, where all of the signs and labels are written in English, and where all of the clerks smile.

...sweet friends who send encouraging comments to my inbox.
(hint, hint, says Elena)

...citizenship in a country that allows me to educate my children at home.

...six beautiful, healthy children who love me even on my bad days.

...a generous husband who is faithful and true.

...the gift of faith in One who loves and sustains my undeserving soul.

Beautiful News about Another Amazing Young Man

Our Favorite Soldier Is Home!
Our nephew Sean has been serving our country in Iraq for the past fifteen months. Today we received the beautiful news that he is safely back at his duty station in Alaska. Thank you, dear Lord! He'll be arriving in Ohio on Christmas Eve to spend the week with all of my extended family---and that's by far the best gift we'll receive this year.

We were blessed to spend a few days with Sean this summer during his long overdue "mid"-tour leave from Iraq. He was relaxed and happy and very patient with all of the kids...who just could not get enough of him. I suspect the tragedies he has faced overseas have given him a deeper appreciation for the simpler joys of life. Following that visit, my husband wrote the following words to my sister and brother-in-law:

I wanted to tell you how impressed I was with your eldest son. I already knew he had character: his joining the Army during such a difficult time in our history told me that. But I really loved watching him deal with all the kids, especially responding to their constant attacks with squirt guns, water balloons, and buckets. A specific incident will always stick in my mind. Sean was fighting off one of many water attacks armed only with a "super soaker" when Charlie charged after him a with a half-full pitcher of water. "Charged" is probably overly dramatic, since Charlie could barely carry it. Sean, while still firing at his other attackers, dropped down on one knee so that Charlie could pour his pitcher over him.

How do some kids turn out so amazingly well?

I can't think of a finer tribute for this brave and beautiful young soldier. Welcome home, Sean. We love you!

We'll keep praying for you, for all of the men and women who sacrifice and risk so much to defend our nation, and for their families waiting at home with anxious hearts. Jesus, we trust in Thee.

My Amazing Little Brother

In the spring of my senior year of high school, my youngest brother was born. He was my parents' ninth and final child; I was their first. Out of the nine of us, my father only chose the name for two---his oldest son, named after a priest, and his youngest son, named after St. Anthony. He had been praying to this beloved saint for years and had promised to name a son for him, but the previous three babies had been girls. St. Anthony finally sent his boy.

A week after my little brother was born, my mother was rushed to the hospital. Her lungs were filled with fluid, making it very difficult for her to breathe. The doctors discovered that the mitral valve in her heart was leaking, and she was placed on medication. It sustained her. She would sometimes struggle for a breath, and that often led to panic attacks. But for the most part, her life continued on as normal---well, as normal as the life of a mother with nine kids can be.

Within a few months, Anthony was given the nickname of Piper, a name that we continue to call him to this day. I'm absolutely certain that no baby was ever loved more. He had dark hair and big brown eyes, and his charm only grew more endearing with each passing day. It was a difficult time for my family. My father was burdened with financial struggles, my mother's health was frail and uncertain, and we were all squeezed into a small Cape Cod home in a new town. God knew exactly how much we needed that sweet little boy to bring joy and hope to our lives.

My mom was especially close to her baby. I think she had a sense that her life was fragile, and she clung to him, wanting to give him every ounce of love that she could. The feeling was mutual. He adored her. If the two were in a room together, her lap was his chair...for years and years. Theirs was a special bond borne out of suffering.

When Piper was nine years old, and my firstborn was nine weeks old, our mother died of heart failure. As incredibly difficult as it was to lose her, it was even more painful to watch my youngest siblings lose her, knowing they would have to grow up without a mother's love. We all did what we could for them, but of course, it could never be enough.

There was one particularly painful day for us siblings about a year after my mother had died. That night I lay with my ten-year-old brother as he tried to fall asleep. With innocence and sincerity, Piper said to me, "I'm glad that Mom died when she did, because now she is in Heaven and she doesn't have to suffer anymore. It's better for her." And I prayed, "Oh Lord, give me the faith and wisdom of this amazing little boy."

When I learned that the mother of Pope John Paul II had died when he himself was nine years old, it gave me hope for my brother. I asked our Holy Father to watch over and intercede for him, and I prayed that Mary would become a mother for him, as she had for Karol Wojtyla. If God could mold this saintly man out of such tragic loss, surely He could take care of our Anthony.

High school hit Piper hard. Searching for relief from the deep wounds of his childhood, he began to self-destruct and tried to escape from his life. Honestly, I'm not sure the extent of his behavior, but suffice it to say, it was definitely not good. His relationship with our father and stepmother was distant at best and hostile at worst. As he watched each of his siblings leave home to begin a new life, I'm sure it intensified his feelings of abandonment. He was traveling a downward spiral.

We watched and suffered helplessly and prayed with all of our might. Amazingly, throughout it all, he faithfully went to Mass and Confession. He did not give up on God.

And God did not give up on him.

Two days ago my beautiful brother sat at the center of our Thanksgiving table, across from my father and stepmother. He kept the children, all sitting at one end of the table, involved in the conversation with the adults, all sitting at the other end of the table. He was the bridge between generations. My dark haired, brown-eyed baby brother was charming and thoughtful and witty and kind. In two weeks, he will graduate from Ohio State with a bachelor's degree in a double major that he designed himself. For the past five years, he has worked full-time to pay his way through college. Although he is unsure of the specifics of his future, he is hopeful and confident.

So am I. And oh so grateful.

For great is His steadfast love toward us;
and the faithfulness of the LORD endures for ever.
Praise the LORD!
Psalm 117:2

Ten Reasons I Am Thankful This Week

A year ago my friend Kristina wrote this beautiful post of thanksgiving, celebrating her blessings. It inspired many of us to take the time on Thursdays last November to write about ten things for which we were grateful.

With the arrival of a new November, I really wanted to host a fresh carnival of Thankful Thursdays this week, but my conscience simply won't allow me to spend much time on the computer these days. Still, I feel the need to make the time to reflect on the good stuff in my life and to write about it.

If you feel inspired to join me, please leave your link in the comments so that I can come and count your blessings with you. Maybe I'll be able to pull it together in a formal way next Thursday. Maybe.

Without further ado, here are ten reasons I am thankful this week.

I am thankful to be living in Ohio once again. Belgium provided a host of enriching experiences, but it was so, well, foreign. I was born and raised in the opposite corner of this state, and my oldest daughter was born right here in this city. It is neither the most beautiful nor the most exciting place I've ever been, but it feels like home. People are genuine and friendly, and I'm happy here.

I'm thankful for the tremendous support among Catholic home schoolers in our new hometown. We plugged into the community right away and have made some wonderful new friends. There's an immediate sense of being kindred spirits when you share such fundamental convictions about how to raise your family.

I'm thankful for the opportunities embraced by my oldest daughter, Elena. She really wanted to go to high school this year, and we convinced her to try a year at home in our new community. Fortunately, the Catholic home school world is alive and well for high schoolers both in our city and online. She's been blessed with challenging online classes, fun extracurricular activities, and many good friends who share her beliefs about faith and life. She's giving it her all.

I'm thankful to witness my children growing closer and closer. Elena was an only child for eight years, and it was painful to watch her loneliness in growing up alone, especially after having been raised in a large, happy family myself. It warms my heart to take my kids to the park and observe the fun and camaraderie they share with one another, especially the youngest four. They truly are each other's best friends and love being together.

I'm thankful for my husband, who did the grocery shopping Tuesday after work and then scrubbed the kitchen floor on his knees later that night. He never fails to look for ways to make my life easier. And he never complains about picking up the slack (or crumbs) I leave behind. Not only that, he took me on a date Wednesday night. To Lowe's. (Romantic devil.) To look at paint color swatches. Not that I'm thinking of changing those mauve walls. Not at all.

I'm thankful for a new parish that offers a reverent Liturgy, a beautiful setting, a kind and holy pastor, and a faithful body of believers. I'm thankful that we didn't have to celebrate All Saints Day alone this year. I'm also thankful for the lack of traffic in our city, which makes the drive downtown doable. It's so worth it.

I'm thankful for the peaceful week I spent with my kids at Clear Creek in mid-October. This little state park in western Pennsylvania is my home away from home and my favorite place on earth. We hiked beneath the falling leaves of amber and crimson, we listened to our Indians lose the pennant and toasted marshmallows anyway beside the campfire, we played and prayed together in a rustic one-room log cabin without running water or the internet. On the weekend, we were joined by some family and friends and, best of all, Daddy. As he was welcomed into our fairyland late Friday night by a streaming procession of dancing leaves, he remarked, "this place is so good for the soul." I could have easily stayed for another week or more.

I'm thankful for good food, which nourishes the body, and good books, which nourish the spirit. Both bind our family together in memorable ways and take us on journeys to faraway places. We couldn't do without either.

I'm thankful to be living near family again. After three years abroad, we are savoring every single visit. Next to Jim, my siblings are my best friends in the world, and Jim's family is like my own. The cousins are all amazingly close, on both sides, and it's pure joy to see the love and laughter being passed down to the next generation. I'm especially thankful to live just an hour from my sister Karen, who, like my husband, never fails to look for ways to serve me and always inspires me with her generous heart and vivacious presence.

I'm thankful for a place to record these thoughts. And for the sacrificial gift of my husband in letting me write them. And for the faithful readers who continue to check back here even when my posts are extremely sporadic. Jim used to tell me not to worry what you think, just to write for myself. But honestly, I'd rather write for you.

Thanks for staying with me so long, both today and this past year. May God bless you with a thankful Thursday.