parables in real life

My kids have been playing a super-fun game of "pass the bug" for, oh about two weeks now. They're playing Advanced Level, so there are multiple bugs in play. We've hauled the whole gang to the pediatrician twice, carted dehydrated and listless victims off to the ER both weekends and we've chatted with pediatric nurses almost daily. Some of the bugs have been named by various physicians: ear infections, bronchitis, croup, viral gastroenteritis, norovirus, rotavirus, upper respiratory viruses.... We've had Standard Daily Fevers in the 103 range and our fridge looks like a pharmacy. To those whose phone calls and texts and emails I have not returned - this is why and I am sorry.

We're wiped out.

Today a pediatric nurse (on the phone) was concerned that Bernadette might be showing symptoms of meningitis.  Just for a change of scenery, I decided to bring her in to a different hospital than the one we've been frequenting. There was nothing "wrong" at the original hospital, per se. Well, ok, the floors were filthy, the nurses hit-or-miss and one PA gave my 2 year old son a drug that our pediatrician later said ought never to be used in children due to possible psychiatric side effects. So rather than buzz two miles down the road to our neighborhood ER, I drove over to the next town to give their hospital a go. I'm so glad I did.

We walked in to cleanliness, friendliness and competence. There was an air of order and peace in the Department, our room was immaculate, the staff were remarkably kind, and Bernadette did not have meningitis. All very good things! And the last two are almost on par with one another.

Every person employed in the department was strikingly attentive, gentle and loving. Really, there is no other word I can use to describe the way they treated the two of us. Two receptionists, the triage nurse, the follow-up nurse and the doctor - all, stunningly, loving. The grand finale, though, awaited us when we "checked out". A sweet, gentle grandmotherly woman double checked all our insurance and billing information. Then she said, "Your insurance copay for today is $150, but we realize that not everybody has pots of money laying around, so you can just pay whatever you feel able to, or nothing at all."

I thought I had misunderstood her.

"Oh, so whatever I don't pay right now, you'll just send me a bill in the mail?"

No. That was not what she meant. What she meant was that I would pay what I felt able to pay and there would be no further responsibility towards my copayment.

I'm still not really sure that I am properly understanding her meaning. I have no idea if this policy is a reflection of the hospital's mission statement to treat patients in a way "rooted in our understanding of all people as created in the image of God." Maybe it has something to do with Obamacare. Maybe it's some kind of battle that hospitals and insurance companies wage between themselves. Or perhaps I'm just "not getting it" and missing something really obvious here. I do that. Often. But the minute I understood that she was apparently freeing me from any obligation to pay for the outstanding care my sick child had just received, I wanted to pay every blessed cent. 

I could have satisfied my conscience with paying far less. I had neither cash nor check on me. I did have my debit card, but I knew that there was only $25 in our checking account, with no more funds imminently available. So I dug my one credit card out of the depths of my wallet and handed it over. She looked at it for a moment and then handed it back, asking gently, "Am I reading this small print right? Does it say this card expired in August?"

It did say that. Alas. I was humiliated. I admitted as much and explained that I hadn't used it or even looked at since long before it expired. In the softest, most motherly tone possible, she sweetly said that she was glad I never used credit cards and she was doubly glad this event had not occurred when I was trying to pay for a cart full of groceries. Oh my gosh. So was I!

As the direct result of her efforts to smooth over my mortification and brush it all away as unimportant, I suddenly found myself now wanting to pay double. I felt so grateful to this tender old soul, to all the other staff we had seen during our visit, and to the hospital philosophy that had so clearly imparted this priceless charity into the attitudes of its employees. I wanted to make that gratitude abundantly clear. I wanted to repay it. I told her to send me the bill. I almost begged her to.

And then a truth I have long held came rushing into my heart once more:
That which is demanded can never be freely given.

I know that the hospital has a right to demand money for its services. This is about something bigger and deeper than the hospital. This is about the human heart being free to respond to goodness with goodness - this is about the soul's natural (if sometimes slow) desire to repay generosity with generosity. So often it does not get the chance. So often repayment is demanded. Immediately. Before the natural impulse can arise, take shape and act.

The demand kills the natural instinct.  Do it enough in a relationship and it can kill the gratitude instinct altogether.

I do this with my kids - hand them something good and then, before their little minds can even compose any kind of sincere expression of thanks, I demand, "What do you say?" 

I do this with my husband - perform some little service or sacrifice for him, and then, before he really has time to process the love that prompted the favor, I demand acknowledgment.  Did you notice that I put the trash out tonight?  Did you see that I bought you a case of your favorite beer? I may say this very lightly - casually - even lovingly - but the demand is hidden there. Say thank you. Feel grateful. Repay me. 

That which is demanded can never be freely given.

Isn't that the key to the mystery of our free will?

What is demanded cannot be freely given.

And that which is freely given is so much sweeter than that which is extracted by demand.
It's sweeter for the giver and for the recipient.
The payment of an extracted demand satisfies the cashier at the store, but not the person in relationship.

I'll pay the hospital bills for Joseph because the hospital will demand that I do so. The law of the land and my own private sense of justice will ensure that I do so. But it will not be sweet. For either side.

I'll pay the hospital bills for Bernadette because the hospital lavished love upon us and made no demand in return. Some profound, beautiful natural law will prompt me to do so. And I will write a heartfelt note to the hospital. It will be so sweet to me to be able to do so. I hope and believe it will be so sweet for the recipients as well.

I hope that I will more consistently live the moral so eloquently proclaimed to me this evening in the Parable of the Two Hospitals. I hope that with my family, my friends, my acquaintances and with strangers, I will be governed by the truth that that which is demanded can never be freely given. I hope I can let go of my petty demands and enjoy the sweetness of unprompted gratitude. And I hope that I can grow in my ability to express gratitude - abundantly and sincerely - towards those who demand, towards those who rarely demand, and towards the One who never demands.

another

Kelly - 

October 2013: ANOTHER !?!?!?!!

November 2013:  another....?

December 2013:  another......

January 2014:  another.  another.  another.  another..... 




Rich - 

October 2013: ANOTHER !?!?!?!?!!

November 2013:  ANOTHER !?!?!?!?!!

December 2013:  ANOTHER !?!?!?!?!!

January 2014:  ANOTHER !?!?!?!?!!

Exhibit A

James turned one early in November. He's old enough to have worn a tie to Christmas Eve Mass (see Exhibit A). So....I should be almost three months pregnant right now, had we followed the Standard Sealy Family Plan For Family Expansion. But I'm not three months pregnant right now. I'm not one month pregnant. I'm not even one day pregnant. And oh how I begin to wish I was. But, as the handy chart above shows, Rich and I are still in the negotiations process - and we are not swiftly moving in the same direction.

a head wound that already made him look like The Boy Who Lived
just begged to be finished off with a marker

I've been in this place before - a place where my prayers cannot help but start with that one wistful word: another. But for the very first time, my prayers are not ending on the same expansive note. Because.... I'm not sure that they are likely to be answered as per my exact wishes any time soon, and I'm trying hard to accept that. Though I would be tremendously glad for the gift of another baby, my husband would reeeeeeeally not - so..... I'm trying very hard to remind myself that I already have a baby. He doesn't even have hair yet. Well, ok, he has some completely ridiculously cute curls on the back of his head, but he's still practically bald up top. He's in diapers. And a high chair. He's nursing. And spoon-fed. He barely talks, except to say Hi-dah! (Hi Cat!) and Cook-Cook (As in "cookie". As in "I saw you eat that cookie and if you don't give ME a cookie in the next 13 seconds I am going to make the next half hour absolutely miserable for every.person.in.this.house."). He also says Genk-oo (Thank You. For the Cookie.) and when Rich gets home from work, he RUNS trippingly and unsteadily to the door with outstretched arms and lovingly, joyfully, exuberantly calls to his beloved father,
  MaMa !!!


(We're working on that. Hard. Well, Rich is - I think it is hi-larious).

He's only two months past his first birthday. He's a baby. I HAVE a baby.

But every time I find myself in a moment of silence and solitude - every time I turn my gaze on God - my heart whispers it  -  "another". I can't help it. There are PLENTY of moments of noise and chaos and near-disaster (and actual disaster) each day when another seems like a perfectly foolhardy design, but in the quieter moments, the desire is anything but foolhardy.

(10 AM.  disaster.   idea seems foolhardy.   extremely.)

1 PM.   idea appears far less foolhardy
( or at least slightly more sensible than napping with a toothbrush in hand)

Last night I was unable to sleep, sitting up in bed in the dark and staring out my window. Snow was falling heavily and my eyes were mesmerized by the sight of it streaming past a streetlight. I was mentally going over all sorts of things and then....    Another.    Jesus,    another.    

I caught myself (almost in time) and surrendered the desire (again). Suddenly, for the first time in my whole life, I wondered if Mary ever had to surrender that desire....to be pregnant again, to labor again, to hold a brand-new infant again, to see a gummy first smile again, to fill up the home further, to add another little face around the dinner table, to hear one more layer of laughter around the house and enjoy one additional source of silly faces and earnest expressions and tight hugs. Did she ever find her heart whispering another? 

But how could there ever be Another for her?

Another virgin birth? Another star-drenched angelic host? Another magi? Another child divine?

Another was impossible.

Mothers aren't supposed to have favorites, but how could it be helped if the First Child was God and the others were just.....ordinary.  No. Mary had to be satisfied with Just One. More than satisfied, she had to be humbled and grateful and overjoyed beyond telling. She had to submit to her vocation as He had shaped it, trusting that His designs were best for her, best for her Child, best for her family, best for the world. She had to pour herself completely into what had been given her without broodingly longing for anything other or additional. She had to live in the moment, surrender completely and accept whatever unfolded in the life of her Family with total trust in the goodness of God's (often surprising and always challenging) plan.

As do I.

As do I.

"holy feelings"

For a couple of years now, this one line from O Holy Night 

has been my richest food for Christmas contemplation.

Long lay the world

 in sin and error pining

'til He appeared 

and the soul felt its worth. 

This year I was seized by something new, 

a longer meditation from What Child is This? 

Why lies He in such mean estate

where ox and ass are feeding?

Good Christian, fear -

for sinners here the silent Word lies pleading.

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through, 

the cross be borne for me, for you.

Hail, hail the Word made flesh, 

the Babe, the Son of Mary.

This, this is Christ the King, 

whom shepherds guard and angels sing. 

Haste, haste to bring Him laud, 

the Babe, the Son of Mary. 

I've been quite content to have these verses stuck in my head for days, 

to be thought over at every prayerful opportunity

(and to be sung aloud whenever I'm certain 

no one can overhear my near-perfect imitation 

of a musically-inclined dying cow in the stable at Bethlehem.)

Why is He in a stable, for goodness sake?!

fear.... thoughtful consideration should lead to trembling....

the silent Word is pleading.....

beloved baby, tortured and nailed to a cross three decades later = maternal nightmare

Word made flesh.

flesh.....

For days, it's been the big words in the first 2 verses that have most attracted my thoughts;

tonight it is simply the word haste and the urgency attached to the act of praise.

In all the rushing around before, during and "after"* Christmas, 

the only priority about which it is worthwhile to make haste  

is beelining to spend time in the presence of the Infant.

Can one even imagine the shepherds hearing the angelic tidings of a newborn Saviour 

and NOT rushing immediately to see Him?

Could they have moseyed over to Bethlehem? 

Could they have procrastinated, done some other things first,

(and then after doing those things, ended up being too tired/sleepy/wiped out?)

No! A thousand times No!

My goodness, the things that I felt necessary to do before spending time adoring baby Jesus

last night, this morning, today....

* Thank God that Christmas is not over. 

Thank God that tomorrow is Christmas, 

and the next day, and the day after.....

Because I want to do this better tomorrow. 

Tomorrow I want to truly make haste to His side. 

Tonight, at 8pm, 

when I finally carved out a nice big chunk of time from my celebration of Christ's birth 

so that I could think about and pay attention to Christ,

I drove over to our church and entered our little Adoration chapel. 

I waited and waited and waited for some appropriately holy feelings to come. 

A rush of joy....a little wonder...some otherworldly peace....

Nothing. 

I tried to force some out - to squeeze something up out of the depths of my soul.

Nada. 

Then I felt the Lord asking me, 

What are you looking for? What is it you are seeking? 

Kelly - what do you want? What exactly is this "holy feeling" you desire?

I didn't have a clue. 

Seriously - I could have asked the Lord to make me feel anything at all, 

but actually.... I really didn't have the foggiest idea of what it was that I wanted. 

After considering it for a few minutes, 

I think I sort of wanted to feel a little like one of those shepherds, 

after they saw the angel(s) and rushed (making haste) to the stable and saw the Holy Family

  (but not exactly like one of them).  

And I knew that experiencing that particular cocktail of fear, wonder, joy, confusion and awe 

was not the gift that the Lord meant to give me tonight. 

Instead, He gently led me to remember my first nights 

utterly alone

with each of my four newborns. 

Maria.....

...and the "little kid first thing on Christmas morning" feeling I had 
every time the nurse woke me up in the hospital that first night of her life

and I would drowsily remember that I have a baby! and be suddenly and exuberantly WIDE AWAKE!

I remember most the perfect JOY.

Bernadette.....

....who slept very little that night she was born, choosing instead to 

stare peacefully into my reciprocating eyes almost the entire night.
I didn't even feel sleepy. She had the most stunningly beautiful, soulful, dark, dark eyes I had ever
 (and have ever) seen.

I remember most the perfect PEACE.

Joseph....

....who was under six pounds at discharge and seemed so very tiny and vulnerable to me, 

especially since he was too sleepy to nurse at all. I had to feed him hand-expressed milk, in his sleep, through a syringe - for the first week or more of his life.  I remember puzzling over the mystery of his incredibly tiny, fragile body, marvelling that an entire, functioning human person could fit into barely more than five pounds. 

I remember most the sense of profound WONDER & AWE.

James....

...who was slightly more than 8.5 pounds and such an endearingly fat leprechaun of newborn, with a full ginger beard, red sideburns, and chunks of vernix oozing out of every single one of his abundant chubby rolls. From first sight, he made the nurses laugh, his parents laugh, his siblings laugh. There was such a crew to come and take him home, to give him the warmest welcome to our family and to laugh at and encourage him in everything he has accomplished this past year. 

I remember most the outpouring of LOVE.

My most precious, most sacred memories are these:

 my very first night with each child.

Each of those four nights was spent in the most intimate solitude - 

just tiny newborn and mother. 

Tonight, for the first time ever, 

I just pictured Mary alone with Jesus on their first night together.
No angels. No shepherds. No Joseph.
No one. 

Unlike Richard, Joseph did not have to kiss the newborn hello, make his wife comfortable and then hurry back to Nazareth to take care of the toddler and pre-school aged older siblings of the new baby.

But perhaps he left the stable for a half hour to find food or water for his wife. 

Maybe she sent him out for the 1 AD equivalent of nappies. 

Maybe he just had to use the potty himself.

 Surely at some point on that very first night, mother and infant enjoyed perfect solitude.

JOY. 

PEACE. 

WONDER & AWE.

 LOVE.

I tasted, not Mary's own experience, but the remembrance of a shadow of her experience. 

Sacred too. 

And I left the chapel suddenly aware that producing some allegedly "holy feelings" 

was not an act of perfect worship.

Desiring to give perfect worship was.

make haste....

 Venite Adoremus.

saints

The saint peg swap was a success! 

One John Paul II peg got lost, so I painted my own as a replacement. 

The kids were given their pegs as an early Christmas present this morning (Christmas Eve)

Bernadette lining up the freshly opened saint pegs

Here's the gang! Each one was painted by a different woman in town. 

A good Catholic should be able to identify every one :)  

jk

Merry Christmas!

May the infant Jesus, who found no room in the inn at His birth, 

be given generous room in your heart and time this Christmas. 

I pray the Lord will bless you with many graces this Christmas

and may your feasting be holy, peaceful and fun!

preparing little hearts for Christmas

They're done! 

I had so much fun doing this project. 

It was an awesome quiet, reflective project to dive into for Advent. 

Holy Family

Angels

(my girls flipped over the "real" feathers)

shepherds & shepherdess & little peasant girl

(I got ridiculously involved in crafting a "good shepherd")

magi and drummer boy

And after working our way through all our favorite Christmas books

plus some new library loans this year, 

the kids know exactly what to do with the new Nativity pieces. 

Sealy Kids' Top Picks:

Room For a Little One

Little One, We Knew You'd Come

This is the Star

How the Grinch Stole Christmas

The Crippled Lamb

The Fourth Wise Man

The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey

Christmas (straight Scripture with intriguing illustrations by Jan Pienkowski)

maggot lady

The elusive "tidy home". I hardly know a woman (or married man) who does not bewail disorder and mess in the house - in degrees exponentially linked to the population per capita of the home (particularly when some of those little "capitas" are toothless and toddling).  Women's blogs are split between those who champion traditional (and perfect) homemaking skills - and those who insist that it doesn't matter - your true friends love you even if your house is a mess.  While I'm sure that's true, it is nevertheless an act of service and consideration towards family and friends to offer a comfortable, clean, attractive place for eating, relaxing and recreating. Good stewardship of our material blessings means, in part, keeping them in a condition that makes it pleasant for others to use them. No matter how many times the rebellious modern insistence resounds, there is something in most of us that inherently loves a clean, orderly home. No one enjoys sticking to the kitchen floor. No one likes to find cat hair in the freezer. No one delights in stepping on a Lego in the dark. I think it's got something to do with the human attraction to the Transcendentals: Truth, Goodness and Beauty. We live in a beautiful, well-ordered universe and something of that is inscribed in the heart's desire regarding indoor living spaces as well. Except the hearts of two year olds. I think it's something that must grow in later, like wisdom teeth.

How I like the library books to be arranged.

How Joseph likes the library books to be arranged.

I find in myself two principals at war:

On the one hand, there is a neurotic impulse towards perfection - an uptight or even resentful attitude of heart that places things above people. I can become impatient with my kids because I want the house to look just so and they ruin it! Or I can be tense and controlling simply because of the way they are interacting (or might interact) with things. That unhospitable determination to keep a nice, pleasant home can instead make it really unpleasant  to live in my home. Rather than using things to make people comfortable, I can sometimes make people uncomfortable on account of things. That's exactly the opposite of good stewardship, good hospitality, good homemaking and good motherhood.

On the other hand....I'm busy. Too busy with more important things to waste my life mopping a floor that will need to be mopped again in approximately 32 minutes. Or I'm tempted at times to write myself a pass for the next - oh, ten years - because I've got a lot of little kids! No one could keep a neat house with four little kids! 

Keeping up with this particular area is a losing battle.

These trucks have a wicker basket "home" but my boys prefer to park them around
(and on top of....and inside of) the fish tank.

Virtue, being the middle of two extremes, finds a balance. Kelly, being in need of a Plan, found Fly Lady. I liked the idea of Fly Lady - you don't try to clean the whole house on one set day; instead she sends you an email every day giving you marching orders for the day's housework. Housework is broken up in little pieces that follow a repeating cycle. I tried it in New Zealand, but her system did not work in my house, for many reasons. So I created a baby version - Maggot Lady, if you will.

I wrote out my normal weekly routines (grocery day, tutoring day, errands day, etc....) and distinguished between days that tended to be less demanding versus those that tend to be more demanding.  On the "easier" days, I assigned myself housekeeping tasks that would be more involved. On the busier days, I assigned fewer, faster or more flexible tasks.  The result: a manageable weekly routine that allows me to keep the house liveable with minimal effort.


Monday:  dust, sweep, mop & vacuum - entire house
                 1 hour maximum

Tuesday: deep clean kitchen
                 30-45 minutes

Wednesday: tidy up a "random area"
                (alternates between car, garage,
                  basement, mudroom/laundry area)
                 15-30 minutes

Thursday: pay bills & sort paperwork.                      
                  5-20 minutes                      
             
Friday: declutter. tackle piles and put things where they really belong.
            throw out stuff and add stuff to the give-away bags.
            also, organize something (a closet, a shelf, a room)
               15 - 60 minutes

Saturday: deep clean bathrooms, change bedlinens & towels
                 45 - 60 minutes

Sunday: Sabbath rest
                24 hours

8 am, right after breakfast

Two years later, the house is pretty consistently "good enough". There are days and weeks when it is really bad, but most of the time, it's just a matter of keeping on top of the daily crisis areas, the things that spiral completely out of control without daily attention: laundry, dishes, toys and crumbs. These tasks add about another 60 minutes of work per day, but it's spread evenly throughout the day in small bits - and these tasks are also very generously shared with the little people who help create the need for them:)

Less than two hours later....

I have a strong daily routine for when to cook dinner, when to read to the kids, when to pray, and when to brush my teeth (the important things!) and a much looser weekly schedule for my evenings - one night is for grading papers, one is for a Holy Hour, one is a "date night" with Richard, one is "family board games", etc.... Basically, I've realized that if something is important to me, I need to schedule it or it may not happen. Life is busy and the urgent, the immediate (and the internet) will swallow all my time unless I have already dedicated portions of it to what I value or what will contribute most to the sense of well-being in my life. Disciplining myself to follow a routine that I have created is not nearly as hard as living with chaos and the crushing sense that I'm not following through on the things I value.


I share this post not because I have it all together, but because I do not, and I have found the concept of routines to be a great tool for creating order out of the chaos. For me, one of the most stubborn areas of "not growing much"  in my vocation is finding balance -for example, between being extravagantly present to my children during the day while also attending to the tasks that need to be done to foster a sense of order, well-being and peace in the home. Slowly establishing routines has been an immense help in growing in discipline, in making sure that certain goals are met and in making sure that other goals do not completely take over.  And that's something that anyone can benefit from, regardless of gender or vocation.

my army is complete

The wee folk are finished! I stayed up way too late two nights in a row and loved every minute of this project!  I finally decided that (as much as I wanted a "young St. Patrick") he was just just going to look so much more "right" if he had white hair.....

At first, my white-haired, bearded St Patricks looked like Ninjas. I was near despair. 

Then I found an online tutorial about painting faces and facial hair on peg dolls. Phew. 

The final product looked mostly like this. None of them have their high-gloss spray yet, so they are not as shiny as they will be, but they are otherwise done. Unless....I figure out some way to incorporate some sort of "breastplate" into the doll. But they are probably done.

Maria wanted to take a picture of me with my completed army and crazy morning hair.

And she wanted the picture included on the blog..... 

And now I'm in need of a new project.

 Which is why I placed my order yesterday for some more plain wooden pegs.  

For this:

Actually for this, times two. One set for my kids and one set for my sister's kids. 

Maria really really wanted to help with the St Patricks - and I did not let her - so I am going to let her 

paint some angels and shepherds for this project. I thought we'd do a couple of pieces together each week of Advent and have a complete set by Christmas. Right now I'm thinking big:  Mary, Joseph, Jesus, a HOST of angels, a BUNCH of shepherds, shepherdesses and shepherd children, 3 wise men, a drummer boy. I already own several small plastic sheep and a donkey from a Fisher Price nativity play set that my kids used to love to play with so much that I was never allowed to put it away during the non-Christmas seasons of the year. (They ended up losing two kings, the camel, Mary and Joseph in New Zealand, but we still have the animals.) 

Ok, before I end up with more Vaseline on the sofa, or something worse.... Happy Thanksgiving to all! 

(pegs ordered from Casey's Wood Products)