Kate writes:
“My husband and I tried to claim Larisa.They have lost track of her paper trail! It’s been a week since they told us. Rosaries UP!”
I spoke with Kate via email and learned that the Ukranian facilitators are looking for Larisa. Please pray that they find her, and soon!
I have a weird relationship with faith. Man in the sky who loves us all and has a plan for all our lives? No prob. Sky-man sent his son to die horrifically and save us from Gehenna? That’s cool. Husband thinks this all a crock? No big deal. It’s a free country.
But get me in a traffic jam? All the other people on this stupid highway were put here specifically to RUIN MY DAY!!!
Car got stuck on the snow at the end of the driveway? I am going to be late for work and it will be THE END OF THE WORLD!!
Minor slight from a coworker? Everybody [expletive] hates me.
One negative comment on an otherwise good performance review? Boss hates me even more.
One of my favorite quotes from Mother Teresa is “We cannot do great things on this Earth. We can only do small things with great love.”
I’ve often though of that quote in terms of small acts of kindness, such as giving directions to a stranger. While that’s certainly true, this Lent I realized that there are more meanings to that quote.
“Small things with great love” could mean seeing a traffic jam as an opportunity to relax for a few more minutes before work.
“Small things with great love” could mean shoveling the driveway more thoroughly so that you don’t make yourself late.
“Small things with great love” could mean understanding that Becky is just having a crappy day and it’s got nothing to do with you, and maybe you’d see that if you did something about your rectocranial inversion.
“Small things with great love” could mean understanding that there was only one person who ever walked on water, and honey, it ain’t you.
Small things. Great love. It’s a good theme for Lent.
One of my favorite pictures of our wedding is the picture of DH’s and my first kiss. DH is a foot taller than I am; he’s stooping to meet my lips and I’m on tiptoe to meet his.
I love that picture because it says everything.
DH is a neatnik; I’m on the slobby side. Over the years, I’ve learned that if DH has had a rough day at work, returning home to a messy house just makes it worse. I make sure the house is clean when he gets home – his definition of clean, not mine.
I used to be terrified of flying; DH loves it. He never quite understood why I was so scared. (Neither do I, honey. It’s a phobia. Phobias are not supposed to be rational.) But he held my hand anyway and let me squeeze it so hard I’m surprised I didn’t break his bones.
Often we’ll be performing a task together (the most recent example was bagging groceries) and we’ll start out getting in each other’s way. After a few minutes, often without even discussing it, we fall into line. We figure out who does what and the job gets done efficiently.
I stretch. He bends. It works.
DH and I took a long road trip the other day. Along the way, things got dull (as they usually do when you’re driving through a large land mass), and DH started doing one of my favorite things that nobody else does with me…
Oh for Pete’s sake, get your mind out of the gutter! We played a word game.
Many of you may be familiar with the expressions “bros before hos” and “chicks before dicks.” If you don’t live in a college town, allow me to enlighten you. ”Chicks before dicks” is an expression often used by college-age women to signify that their female friends should come before their boyfriends; “bros before hos” is an analogous expression used by college-age men. Our game was to come up with new wordings for this expression and try to get the other to guess what we were thinking of.
DH: OK, so what if you were a guy who couldn’t spend time with his girl because he was tending his prize-winning flowers?
Me: Rose before hos?
DH: Yes!
Me: What if you were a lady magician who couldn’t spend time with her man because she was practicing her act?
DH: Tricks before dicks!
I hate to brag, but I think I had the best one…
Me: What if you were a girl who just came back from a camping trip and couldn’t hang out with your guy…
DH: Oh no! TICKS before dicks!!! Yuck!
I love my husband because even driving across the plains with him is fun and an opportunity to be cute. :)
Often, when a person has a large goal in mind – losing 100 pounds, training for a marathon, finishing graduate school – it helps to break the goal down into smaller steps and celebrate the completion of each small step. Failing to celebrate the steps in the journey can make the ultimate goal seem too far away and many people will get discouraged and give up.
I had a similar thought about DH’s conversion. While I’ll keep the big picture (baptism at the Easter Vigil) in mind, it became clear that I needed to break the goal down into smaller pieces. So I decided I’d start praying for him to take the first step. And then, since I’m kind of neurotic, I started to worry: What is the first step? Should I pray that he go to Mass with me at Christmas? Should I pray that he read one of my theology books? Should I pray that he start reading Conversion Diary?
And then yesterday morning, it hit me.* DH’s first step would not be the same as my first step. (I’m surprised the Holy Spirit didn’t add “duh” after that thought.) There are as many reasons to convert as there are converts, and there are as many paths to conversion as there are converts. I have no clue what DH’s first step might be, but I’ll know it when I see it.
And so, I pray for a first step.
*I was at work and having a somewhat hectic day, and there was this awesome insight from the Holy Spirit. God really does work in mysterious ways!
I though the Feast of St. Joseph would be a good day to post this. :)
I had a hellish time at work this weekend, and I was bummed that I had to work on St. Patrick’s Day. (Don’t worry, I’m not relapsing on workaholism; my job requires the occasional weekend in exchange for time off during the week.) On Saturday, I worked too hard all day with annoying coworkers and was so tired I nearly dozed off during Mass. Then I drove home on a nearly-flat tire and an almost-empty gas tank and found:
Then I mentioned the tire to DH and he promptly went out with a can of Fix-A-Flat, repaired the tire, drove around the block to make sure it was really fixed, and stopped to fill up my gas tank.
I love that man so much!
“Then the righteous will answer him and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?’ And the king will say to them in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’” – Matthew 25:37-40
One chilly evening in 2008, I went to Mass in an unfamiliar city. I was out of town on business and the only way I’d get to Sunday Mass was to attend an evening Mass at my destination. I worry a little when I have to attend Mass at different parish than the one I usually attend; mainly, I’m concerned about having to listen to some of this claptrap. Little did I know that attending that Mass would change my life.
That weekend, a priest from the Christian Foundation for Children and Aging gave the homily. He spoke about how CFCA had been founded by lay Catholics who wanted to make a difference and how CFCA improved the lives of children and elderly people all over the world. He spoke of how CFCA didn’t merely provide handouts, they gave families a hand up – providing both education for the kids and job training for the parents. Kids aren’t booted out of the program at a certain age; they can stay in until they graduate from college, trade school, or whatever their educational goal is. And he pointed out that CFCA didn’t just help children, they helped elderly people too. In developing countries, there’s no such thing as Social Security or Medicare, and the elderly often have to fend for themselves.
I thought about all the blessings I have and I thought about the verse above. After I returned from my trip, I signed up to sponsor an elderly woman in India. Indira* and I exchanged letters and over the next few months we became friends. I wrote her about my job, my husband, and the snow at Christmas, and she wrote me about her children and grandchildren.
After about a year of sponsorship, I received a letter saying that Indira had passed away. I miss her, but my sponsorship journey is far from over. Along with the letter, I received a postcard from CFCA asking if I’d like to continue my sponsorship and if so, return the card and check whether I’d like a child, a teenager, or an elderly person. A few weeks later, I received information about my next sponsored elderly, Rajesh*.
A little over two years later, I’m still sponsoring Rajesh and I look forward to his letters greatly. I didn’t stop with him, however; after I paid off my student loans, I picked up Margaret*, a college student in the Philippines. I love hearing about how Margaret is doing in school and what her brothers and sisters are doing. Rajesh is a gardener like me and I like hearing about all the things he grows. I’ve enjoyed sponsoring Margaret and Rajesh so much I recently added a 3rd sponsorship: Darweshi*, a teenager in Kenya.
Reflecting on my CFCA experience, I knew that I would be a blessing to the people I sponsored, but I didn’t think they’d be such a blessing to me. Rajesh, Margaret, and Darweshi aren’t just random people; they are a part of my family. Getting a letter from one of them is the highlight of my week. I pray for them and I know that they pray for me, and I hope that Indira is in heaven praying for all of us. Becoming a sponsor is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made; if you experience it yourself, you’ll understand why.
“Love can build a bridge between your heart and mine. Love can build a bridge, don’t you think it’s time?” – The Judds
*All names have been changed.
“Her husband Elkanah used to ask her: ‘Hannah, why do you weep, and why do you refuse to eat? Why do you grieve? Am I not more to you than ten sons?’” 1 Samuel 1:8
I’m sure most of the childless women reading this (myself included) got a little annoyed with Elkanah when we read that. Hannah is one of Elkanah’s two wives, the other of whom is a real Fertile Myrtle and has bullied the infertile Hannah for years. Hannah is, understandably, at her wit’s end, and Elkanah just. Doesn’t. Get It!
And then I read this verse last Monday (I try to read the Mass readings every day, even if I can’t go to daily Mass) and it hit me: yes, Elkanah doesn’t get Hannah. At the same time, Hannah doesn’t get Elkanah. He loves her, kids or no kids; doesn’t that mean anything? Shouldn’t she be glad to have love in her life?
My DH could probably relate to Elkanah. ”So what if we don’t have any kids? We’re still a family. What am I, chopped liver?”
I grudgingly admit that Elkanah and my DH have a point. Right now, it seems like all the women I know are either having babies or getting divorced. As sad as I am that I’m not doing the former, I am grateful beyond words that I am not doing the latter! A loving, stable marriage should be more important than ten children; for one thing, it would probably be easier to have and raise ten children in the context of a loving, stable marriage. For another, whether a couple has one child or ten, eventually they’ll all grow up and move out, leaving husband and wife alone again. Too many couples reach the empty nest stage and realize that the only thing they had in common was their children, and with the children gone, they have no reason to stay together. You know what that is? Sad.
Today, as every day, I try to put DH first. I pray that all of you do the same. A marriage is a foundation for life; let’s keep our foundations from turning to sand.
