Speak to Me Sunday: Memory and Hope (First Sunday of Advent)

Before Mass last night I reflected on the past few days of our family gathering and how, despite a tumultuous 2020, there was still so much to celebrate. And the fact that Thanksgiving slides effortlessly into the Advent season, a season which embraces memory and hope, is just as it should be ...

Readiness in Memory and Hope

Yesterday I pulled out my 2021 planner, something I do every year at this time. It's a beautiful planner. There are pages with quotes and blank spaces to write down goals; most importantly, 365 empty squares are lined up like stepping stones going forth into a year of tomorrows. 

It dawned on me how, in big ways and in small, each of those stepping stones leads me on a journey propelled by Time which marches forward in seconds, minutes, days and years.  With every breath, with every step, with every thought or action or prayer, I am on a journey.

We are all on a journey.

Sometimes the journey is planned and carefully mapped out, but other times it yanks and pulls and drags us where we do not want to go -- through illness, incarceration or grief as we recognize what without understanding why. 

Sometimes the journey can be a battle with inner demons of self-doubt, alcoholism, or drugs. Sometimes it calls us to foreign lands, a new career path, marriage, or a religious vocation. 

Often the journey is exciting and adventurous, but just as often it’s a whirlwind of ordinary with carpool, dinner, laundry, work, and children.

I turned the pages of my brand new planner, and as I filled in the squares with birthdays and anniversaries and family trips, I saw all the empty squares more as stepping stones of hope rather than blank squares of the unknown. 

I then looked at my old planner, at the squares of yesterdays which were once tomorrows, and saw stepping stones of memory.

Tonight, we will light a candle to mark Advent’s passage, and I am grateful for this season with its gift of time to both recognize the journey and reflect on it -- to gather and learn and step forward in readiness. In his book, Seek that Which is Above, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI) describes Advent as a connection between memory and hope; that is, the healing memory of the God who became a child, and the hope that memory brings.

Memory. Hope. A readiness to journey onward.

Isola San Giulio

The Way of Contemplation

"Every journey begins near you"

Speak to Me Sunday: The Man in the Fog

One morning, during a recent vacation in the mountains of North Carolina, Joe and I went hiking. It had rained the night before, so our footsteps made no sound as we walked along a trail carpeted with sodden leaves. The air was cool, but still damp, and a thick fog, or mist, swirled around us. We could not see the path ahead.

As we hiked, my mind went back to a disagreement my husband and I had the night before. As far as disagreements go, it had been quickly resolved; in fact, if you were to ask me what it was about, I truly do not remember. But that morning in the mountains my thoughts, like the fog enveloping us, swirled heavy and dark. I was not mulling on the disagreement itself, but on the memory of the disagreement and how it was indicative of the atmosphere blanketing our lives these past few months. The pandemic, the travel restrictions, the mask controversy, and a contentious election had been (and still are)  fraught with bickering, squabbling, finger pointing, and protesting, all of it done with the righteous indignation of people serving as both judge and jury against everyone except the person looking back in the mirror, the ensuing consequence pitting brother against brother, friend against friend, city against state, and people against government.

The hike was energizing, but my mind, heart, and spirit were tired. I turned inward and began to pray. About nothing. About everything. I was not even sure what I was praying about. My prayer was not neat, or eloquent, but just words exhaled with every step as we silently climbed up and up.

Suddenly, like the parting of a curtain, a man emerged from the fog in front of us. He was alone, carrying a backpack and a trekking pole. We exchanged pleasantries—how are you, good weather for hiking—and then asked if he could give us a book. I hesitated for a fraction of a second and then said, “Sure. Are you an author?”

He was, in fact, an author. As he opened his backpack and pulled out a book, he explained he was also a retired pastor who currently trains and mentors pastoral leaders. I thanked him as he handed me the book, and he said goodbye. When I turned around to see where he had gone, the fog had already swallowed him up.

I looked down at the book. The cover featured a watercolor drawing of a hiker, carrying a backpack and trekking pole, and at the top was the title, Finding Your Place in the Father’s Heart.

The title alone spoke to me, and just like that I realized I had been going about this all wrong. In trying to sift through the turmoil, in my feeble attempts to make sense of a nonsensical world, I had turned inward with whispered prayers and questions, my introspection swirling fog-like until, like the mountain pathway I was hiking, I could not see the way.

But it was not my heart I needed to turn to, but my Father’s, not so much to find answers, but to find myself.

Turning my introspection outward, I appreciated how the fog, while preventing us from seeing the road ahead, did not impede our hike; that the pathway revealed itself with every step I took.

And there, on top of a mountain in North Carolina, on a remote hiking trail engulfed in fog, I recognized this as the dramatic moment that it was. Sometimes parables and beatitudes and morals are adequate to teach and console and show us the way, but sometimes they offer ambiguity and require interpretation when we are simply yearning for clarity. 

Sometimes we need a little drama—a thunderbolt, choirs of angels, the temple curtain torn in two.

Or a man emerging from the fog on top of a mountain in North Carolina.

Thanksgiving Games

No matter how you plan on celebrating Thanksgiving during this, The Year of Covid, it might not be a bad idea to go back to the holiday ideals of hearth and home. Family and food. And gratitude. 

This year we will celebrate with our family outdoors; Covid aside, it seems especially appropriate to break bread together while surrounded by Nature's Bounty. 

Because despite everything 2020 has thrown at us, there is still so much for which to be thankful. 

And it's important to remember how to have fun. To laugh and be silly. So no matter how you are choosing to celebrate, here are some fun Thanksgiving games we did last year. Nothing fancy, but just good old fashioned games to stimulate conversation, generate laughter, and inspire some good natured teasing.

1- Pictionary, the Thanksgiving version: a dry erase board set on an easel, Thanksgiving-themed ideas to draw, and two teams. Have you ever tried to draw a green bean casserole?

2- The Turkey Bowl: a bowl, some blank papers, and instructions to write down one thing about yourself that most people don't know. Later, take turns reading the entries aloud and guess who wrote it. Here are just a few things we learned about members of our family: 

I can't stand sweet potatoes no matter what form they are in. 

I got pulled over once for running a red light.

My favorite ride is Slinky Dog Dash.

I once crashed my Segway in Rome.

The first time I ran my dishwasher in my apartment, I used dish soap and flooded my kitchen with bubbles.

Once, I was sitting on my bed and the globe from the overhead lamp fell off and hit me in the nose. Nobody believed me.

I secretly love inflatables.

My favorite television show of all time is Fargo, Season Two.

I used to pretend my droid was a baby.

I used to have a crush on Tommy Lee Jones.

3- Photo Booth: some corn stalks, a bench, and fun Thanksgiving photo props. Look how fun this was (and notice how Nonno tried to steal a kiss).

4- Count the Kernels: a large vase of Candy Corn, slips of paper to guess the number. The prize was a Lego Turkey Brick Headz. (Of course, the exact number of Candy Corn was disputed when it was discovered that some people had been eating some of the Candy Corn, thus skewing the total number ;-) (Sheesh. The simplest game turned into a THING.)

5- Cornhole: Because we are outside, and anyone and everyone can play. Just look at my sweet nephew demonstrating the finest Cornhole technique ...

1. Too far away     2. A little closer     3. Perfect distance!

6- Finally, our family's Thanksgiving prayer (you can find more tips at my post, How to Host Thanksgiving Outdoors.)

Our family has celebrated Thanksgiving in many ways -- inside, outside, at grandparent's homes, at the beach, and even in Italy. But no matter where we are, we always read our family's Thanksgiving prayer. It's a special prayer, written by Lino Villacha, and my mother became pen pals with Lino through her best friend who was a missionary in Brazil. Lino's poem, Obrigado Senhor, is a prayer thanking God for everything he had -- and when you read his words in light of the fact he suffered from leprosy and lived in poverty, it puts things in perspective.

In his poem, Lino thanks God for healthy limbs when so many are crippled; for a voice that sings when so many are mute; for hands that work when so many have to beg; and for a home to return to when so many don't know where they are going. And as we read the poem reminding us to celebrate what we have instead of focusing on what we don't, it's always the last two lines which capture the essence of Thanksgiving: It is wonderful, Lord, to have so little to ask and so much to be thankful for.

The 2020 Pumpkin Tower

Here is how I decorated for fall this year (and it should be noted that I did all this YESTERDAY):

1. Removed the spring wreath from the door.

2. Hung up a fall wreath.

3. Purchased pumpkins for a tablescape. 

I may not have been into fall decorating this year, but I am especially proud of my pumpkin tower. I had intended to cut the stems from the bottom pumpkins to make a straight tower of varying pumpkin sizes, but after I first stacked them to see how they would look ... well, a haphazard pumpkin tower seemed appropriate for 2020. I left the stems intact. 

That's it. I'm ready for Thanksgiving.

Well ... aside from all that COOKING. 

Speak to Me Sunday: Things Unseen

We look not to what is seen but to what is unseen;

for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal.

~2 Corinthians 4:18

The problem about trying to live in this world is there is so much that is unseen, and it is those unseen parts that are often the most relevant.

Once I was driving down the road on a busy Friday afternoon, the traffic pinning me behind a terribly slow driver. I was beyond irritated. I had places I needed to be, things I needed to do. But I could not get around the car and I truly believed the driver was purposely ruining my day.

And then we happened to pull into the same strip mall. And then I noticed him emerge from the car on two artificial legs. And then I saw him hold on to the car as he walked to the trunk and pulled out a walker. And then I saw him use his walker to maneuver slowly to the storefront. And then I sat in my car, ashamed.

I had judged that man based on what I could see: a slow car, driven by an elderly man, one who braked constantly and took forever to execute a turn. All of that was true. My eyes had witnessed this. 

And yet, I made a sweeping judgment and thought I knew everything about this man.

Benjamin Franklin once said that whatever is begun in anger ends in shame, and the anger I had felt behind the wheel was replaced with shame when I realized that what I could not see had been much more important than what I could.

I just had not bothered to see beyond what was presented to me.

How much of what we “see” is just the tip of the iceberg? How many times have we made sweeping judgments based on what we saw on the news or read in a newspaper article? How can we presume to know anything if we only look with our eyes? Or if we narrow our vision? Or, if we look, but do not see?

During Mass tonight I was thinking about all that is unseen in the world: things like a thought, air, and sound, but also things like a soul, a belief, and tomorrow.

Unseen things like faith, hope, and love.

The very fact I was sitting in church before a God I could not see reminded me how so much of what is beautiful in the world is, in fact, unseen. Philippians 4: 6-9 reminds us of this with the call to love what is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, gracious, excellent, and worthy of praise. All these unseen things which, paradoxically, become seen when acted upon.

Ultimately, so much about life is walking by faith. Not by sight. Not by what we believe. Not by what we are told. But by faith. Sometimes, walking with faith is all we get. And we are tested. And so we are tempted to take what we have and run with it, to assume and jump to conclusions and make sweeping judgments.

But sometimes, when we are walking in the darkness and clinging to that faith, when we are patient and truly looking beyond, God’s grace shines through and allows us to see the entire picture—such as when God showed me the entire man, and not just what I saw with my eyes.

It is only when we look for “the rest of the story” that we are able to look beyond what is in front of us.

And see the unseen. 

Speak to Me Sunday: Choose, Create, Give

Once Upon a Time there lived a king who offered a prize to the artist who could create the most beautiful painting depicting peace. Many great painters from across the kingdom sent in their finest works. One painting in particular caught everyone's attention. It was a painting of a calm lake surrounded by majestic, snow-capped mountains. Overhead, the blue sky was dotted with fluffy clouds that were mirrored on the lake's surface. Everyone agreed that this painting, more than any of the others, portrayed peace.

But when the king announced the winner, everyone was shocked. He awarded the prize to a different painting, one which featured mountains that were rugged and bare; instead of a crystal blue sky, the heavens were dark and angry with flashes of lightning. The overall effect was stormy rather than peaceful. 

The people gathered around the painting, trying to understand. And then they looked closely. In the corner of the painting was a tiny bush growing in the cracks of a rock, and in the bush a mother bird had built a nest. The entire painting was an angry swirl of grays and blacks, and yet the mother bird had created a place of peace. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chances are you know someone who voted for the opposite candidate; chances are that a cashier, dentist, pastor, or neighbor had political views opposite of yours; chances are that this election cast seeds of dissension among friends and even family members; chances are that someone made a sweeping judgment based solely on party affiliation.

Chances are you are tired of it all. 

For months we have been living in a heavy atmosphere of accusations and lies coming at us from every direction; for months we have been caught up in a pulsing, breathing riptide of discord and strife; for far too long we have thought in terms of Us versus Them. 

Maybe it is time to take a deep breath and decide how to move forward, no matter how you voted. 

Maybe it is time to create a place among the angry swirls of black and gray and choose a peace you create. 

And from that place, reach out to friends and members of your family; reach out to the cashier, dentist, pastor, and neighbor. Reach out to all those who, before the storm, used to matter and show them how to see color even among the angry swirls of gray and black. 

Eleanor Roosevelt once said that it is not enough to talk about peace, but to believe in it; that it is not enough to believe in it, but to work at it.

And it is hard work. You will have to do it despite people calling you weak, or a traitor, or naive, or gullible. But what those people do not realize is that you are simply choosing to do things a different way. 

Peace. Do not wish for it.

Choose it.

Create it.

Give it. 

*story is adapted is from All Time Short Stories

Friday Favorites (vol 14): Favorites and non-Favorites

1- Favorite Thing about Our New Car:

Keyless engine start and keyless entry. Oh my goodness. This is the BEST THING EVER! Now, I realize this is not a new thing for most of you, but it is for me. It is WONDERFUL. I can now run errands and never have to pull the car keys out of my purse. Awesome. Wow. Quite literally life changing.

2- Least Favorite Thing Maybe Ever (but with the Cutest Animal Photo Ever): 

Walking along the canal I came across a snake in the process of swallowing a frog. The bottom half of the frog was still hanging outside the snake's mouth. Yeah. Not the high point of my day. 

I do NOT have a photo of this (I was too busy gagging), so I leave you with this happier one ... the Blue-Footed Booby. 

3- Favorite Ugly Christmas Sweater:

Is it too early to start thinking Christmas? As far as I'm concerned, we need Christmas from now until the New Year. So bring on the tinsel and peppermint and never-ending loops of Jingle Bell Rock. Bring on the ugly Christmas sweaters. 

I embrace it all. 

4- Least Favorite Selfie, Definitely:

I don't know, but I think the lighting was all wrong. 

5- Favorite Inspiration for this Political Climate

This one, from Charles MacKesy who wrote the most delightful book: The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse. 

Tootsie Roll Math

This year for Halloween I was very, very clever. I purchased ONE BAG of candy, divided the candy into individual treat bags, and then placed everything in a basket on our front porch for any trick-or-treaters. We then headed to Saturday night Mass. 

When we returned home, all the candy was gone. Hooray! No more candy meant no Tootsie Roll binging for me. Later that night, though, I commented on how this was the first Halloween when we were not digging through a huge pile of candy. "A Halloween with no Tootsie rolls ... that's just sad," I lamented.

The next night Timothy returned home from a shift at Publix.

"Look what I have!" he announced. "All the candy was marked half off." And he then handed me a 3.5 pound bag of candy with an assortment of Tootsie rolls (the fat, skinny, bite-sized, and flavored), Tootsie Pops, and boxes of Dots (which I also love). 

Timothy may have been dressed in the Publix signature green golf shirt and apron, but he was my Knight in Shining Armor. 

Now, note the photo below. The three poung bag is down to half a pound. 

Did I eat all that candy? 

Don't be silly. Of course not. There are TWO other people living here, you know. 

But I will say this: According to Google, it takes a 1/4 mile run, or 550 steps, to burn off one small Tootsie Roll. 

So excuse me while I go find a calculator. I have some serious math calculations to make ...

From Boys' Room to Guest Room

Now that the older boys are on their own, we decided to give their room a complete overhaul. We sold their beds, we sold their desk, we moved the wall shelves up to the attic. Before long we had an empty room. It was a clean slate, a blank canvas, and we set to work. 

And we could not be more pleased with the results. 

After painting the walls a light gray (Pale Oak by Benjamin Moore), we decided to use twin beds for this room. We had two queens and a king in other bedrooms, so using twin beds (but in an XL length) would give us more sleeping options for guests. Simplicity and clean lines were my inspiration, and I found exactly what I was looking for at (of all places) Home Depot. 

I scoured antique stores for furniture, ultimately finding a beautiful nightstand/dresser combination. Eventually we will add a small dresser and a fabric chair along one wall, but for now this will be fine. 

For the walls, I wanted to do something that reflected the history of this room, so I hung up a collection of black and white "sneaky mom" photos. If you don't know, "sneaky mom" photos are those I take of my guys from behind to avoid them complaining about having to take another photo. I found the watercolor in an antique store, and although I'm not sure it is Rome, it could be so it came home with me. 

Here's a list of where I purchased everything:

Iron Beds (Home Depot)

Comfort Tech Mattress (Costco)

Mattress foundation (Amazon)

Mattress topper (Amazon)

Duvet Cover (Amazon)

Window Panels (not photographed) (Bed Bath & Beyond)

Gallery Frames (Target)

Decorative throw pillows (Hearth & Hand with Magnolia)

Ceramic lamp (Target)

Nightstand/Dresser (Saavy Shopper) 

Watercolor (Saavy Shopper)

If these walls could talk! When we moved into our house 22 years ago, the boys shared a room. They each slept in a car bed made by Papa, beautifully crafted with headlights that reflected light. I handpainted an old dresser in fun primary colors and used decorative drawer pulls. The boys had plenty of floor space for Thomas trains, Hot Wheels race tracks, and Playmobile castles. 

Fast forward a few years and we considered giving them each their own room, but they wanted to continue sharing. So I purchased a pair of antique beds, Nonno built a wall-to-wall shelving unit, and the little boy room of yesterday became a room they could grow into. The shelves provided space for sports books, trophies, cd's, and book collections (Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, C. S. Lewis). A desk along one wall was perfect for homework, and if one was using the desk, the other was sprawled on the bed reading. The room was rearranged a few times, but basically stayed the same until Nicholas graduated from high school.

Once Nicholas was gone, we converted the twin beds into a king bed, using this opportunity to upgrade for our Masters guests. It was Jonathan's room up until he graduated from college. (This is the only photo I could find; it is not a good one, but you get the idea.)

And now we come back full circle. Stay tuned, because the kitchen is next ...

The Wheels of Democracy

It was just past midnight on a sweltering July in Washington. My friends and I had just spent the last few days exploring the nation’s capital, and on our last night we headed out after dark to see the monuments in all their illuminated glory.

We walked for miles in temperatures that hovered in the mid-90’s, even at midnight. Starting near the Washington Monument, we walked around the Tidal Basin to the Jefferson Memorial, then to the FDR Memorial, the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial, the Korean War Veterans Memorial, and over to the Vietnam Memorial. We saved the Lincoln Memorial for last.

Exhausted, we climbed those steps and stood in the glowing lights that cast shadows on a pensive Lincoln looking across the reflecting pool to the Washington Monument and beyond that, to the U. S. Capitol. A place that was buzzing with tourists just a few hours earlier now echoed with our footsteps, and we embraced the solitude and the silence.

It was the summer of American history because once we returned home, I began reading Ron Chernow’s book, Hamilton. At 700+ pages it is a hefty book, but I was fascinated to delve into the question of “Now what?”—the question our Forefathers faced after the Revolutionary War. They had won the battle against England, but now had to wage an entirely different battle of forming a new government, one that reflected the ideals for which they had fought.  

And make no mistake, it was a battle. The Constitution had to be written, each word and phrase argued and considered and voted on. Everything from our justice system to our banking system had to be established. Our Forefathers did all this knowing that every decision, every treatise, every law, and every statute carried the weight of a fledgling democracy and would reverberate through future generations.

And here we are today. Considering the political division marking this present election, it is easy to think this is unique to our times, but our country has been through this before. Often. Take, for example, the election of 1800, which was particularly contentious and caused citizens to gather in public squares to argue and protest. During that time, anyone could publish essays, verbal attacks, or scathing accusations no matter how ridiculous or outrageous. None of it had to be substantiated. Anyone could say Anything about Anybody. And they could do so anonymously. You can imagine the discord, chaos, and vitriol.

Discord, chaos, and vitriol. Sound familiar?

This week my parents came over and, like most conversations lately, the topic turned to politics: the good, but mostly the bad and the ugly. “What’s wrong with people?” my father asked at one point. Then Timothy, who at 16 years old is learning to form opinions, said he had THE ANSWER for what was wrong with the political atmosphere today.

“This. This is what is wrong,” he said, and held up his iPhone.

Welcome to the World of Instant Opinion. Through tweets, blogs, Facebook, or Instagram posts, Anyone can say Anything about Anybody. Opinions and commentaries are hurled into the wind with the touch of a button, and cell phone cameras are brandished as weapons, recording and broadcasting every brawl, traffic stop, argument, or civil unrest. The venue for fostering discord may be a little different than it was in Hamilton’s time, but the results are the same.

Alexander Hamilton once wrote that nothing could be more ill-judged than that intolerant spirit which has, at all times, characterized political parties. Those words, written in 1787, are just as true today. Discouraging? Not really. If anything, this demonstrates that despite all the discord and chaos and vitriol, both yesterday and today, the Wheels of Democracy continue to turn. For over 200 years the system has worked. It is not perfect, but it works. Even when a desired outcome is not achieved, the system works. 

And we need to trust it, for to do otherwise defies the democratic ideals upon which we stand. 

So on the eve of this presidential election, I return to that sweltering July night at the Lincoln Memorial. In the memory of that silence, while the city slept and Lincoln pondered, I stand firm in the eye of this political hurricane and take comfort that, no matter the outcome, it will be okay. Life will go on. We will continue to work, and play, and argue, and love. The sun will continue to rise and set.

And if you listen very carefully, you can hear the Wheels of Democracy turning, turning, turning.

Let us, then, fellow-citizens, unite with one heart and one mind. Let us restore to social intercourse that harmony and affection without which liberty and even life itself are but dreary things.

     ~ Thomas Jefferson, First Inaugural Address, 4 March 1801

the Lincoln Memorial

the Jefferson Memorial