I love ...

I love silhouetted pine cones 

and tiny green seedlings 

and cows by the fairway 

and easy-to-find golf balls.

Watching the Wayward

Sometimes, children stray. The reasons may vary—it could be due to drugs, or rebelliousness, or self-destructive behavior—but to the parents longing for their child to come home again, the feelings of helplessness and despair can be consuming.

In her book, Watching the Wayward, Wendy Gorton Hill shares her journey on what it is like to be the parent of a prodigal. It is honest and raw. Beautiful and uplifting. And her heartfelt, beautifully written psalms reflect a journey which is often painful, sometimes despairing, but always steeped in faith.

Much like the Psalms in the bible, Wendy uses her poems to lament, praise, despair, and celebrate. They teach, but also serve to remind us that all things are possible with God.

In her psalm, Frequent Flyer on If Only Airlines, Wendy explores the “if only” scenarios concerning her son. If only this had happened instead of that, if only we had done this, if only we had known. Those two words—if only—bring such pain when contemplating a past that cannot be changed, but by the end of the psalm Wendy replaces her if only statements to only if, thereby putting everything in God’s hands. Only if we turn to God will we cease to stray, only if we are emptied can we be filled, only if we acknowledge our need will we seek Him as a source.

In Dancing With the Worst-case Scenario, Wendy explores how imagining the worst, or making assumptions, is like being pulled into a two-step dance, whirling and twirling to the music of fear and dread. She begs the Lord to break in on the dance, to lead her in a new kind of dance. One of safety and peace.

By the end of the book, Wendy has come full circle as a parent of a prodigal. Her psalm entitled Surrendered gives everything back to God, which segues perfectly into The Gift of Prodigal Parenting in which she expresses gratitude for the lessons this journey has taught her. But it is the last psalm, Conveying Comfort, which reminds us of the true Christian spirit of turning one’s pain into comfort and hope for others.

Along with the psalms, Wendy includes supplemental scripture and journaling questions, all of which encourage introspection. Watching the Wayward is not only a book for parents of prodigals, but for all parents as we watch our children make their way in this world.

Wendy Gorton Hill website

Watching the Wayward on Amazon

1,449

Today was Timothy’s LAST day of work at Publix!

He started work April 2020, worked through a pandemic lockdown, over three summers, during two soccer seasons, and on countless weekends and holidays.

He bagged groceries and carried out groceries. He worked as a cashier, monitored the self-checkout lane, and cleaned bathrooms.

He logged 1,449 work hours.

And today was his last day. Thanks to those who marked the occasion—the Casellas with a generous tip, Liz Klebba with a jar of Nutella—and to all those who stopped to chat with him these past two years and who took photos of him at work and sent them to me.

He’s not totally hanging up his apron. Publix will welcome him back next summer.

In the meantime, aside from sleeping in every morning, he’s looking forward to a beach trip with friends and spending a day at the track with Xtreme Xperience where he will drive an Audi R8 supercar.

And in three weeks . . . VROOOOM! Off he goes to college.

I love ...

I love red

and white

and blue

and barbecue.

Hanging up the Robes

This past Saturday was Timothy’s last time serving at Mass. When Fr. Ross asked Timothy to stand and be recognized for his eight years of service, I was emotional.

Altar serving was always something our sons did. Nicholas was first, followed closely by Jonathan. For several years the two brothers served together on the altar until Nicholas left for college. Jonathan served alone until he left for college.

And then it was Timothy’s turn, and a photo taken before serving at his very first Mass shows a little boy, wearing a robe with sleeves down to his knuckles, looking slightly terrified.  

When each of our boys started high school and thought about quitting, Joe and I talked them out of it. After all, we told them, we are at Mass anyway so why not use altar serving as an opportunity for stewardship? And so, they continued serving at church, at a few weddings, and at several funerals.

Last Saturday, when Timothy served for the very LAST time, there was a young boy who was serving for his very FIRST time. And I took a photo—the young server, smiling and drowning in his robes, and Timothy, over six feet tall, ready to hang up his robes.

As a family, we are at a strange juncture of looking to the future while reminiscing about the past, of saying goodbye to traditions and routines, and hello to changes and new beginnings. High school graduation is behind us, college begins this August, and in less than two months our “baby” will be gone and Joe and I will be sitting alone at Mass.

I suppose that is why I was emotional.

As much as change can be exciting, it is different, you know?

And it takes some getting used to.

I love ...

I love hanging lanterns 

and sun-dappled pebbles 

and frogs that hang out 

and rustic front doors.

A Conversation about Bananas

During our son’s freshman orientation this week we were inundated with information. Speakers, break-out sessions, information tables, pamphlets, handouts. Our conversations revolved around classes, and tuition, and dorm fees, and dining plans, and … it went on and on. By the time we left our son at Russell Hall while we spent the night with my brother and sister-in-law, we were googly eyed.

But then I had a sweet conversation with my sweet eight-year-old nephew which provided a nice (and humorous) contrast to all that boring, grown-up college talk.  The conversation was about bananas.

Now, I like bananas, but I cannot stand banana strings—those long strands, which can be thick or thin, that dangle from a just peeled banana. If you know, you know.

 Some people are not bothered by the strings. Joe, for example. Once he peels a banana, he will eat it strings and all.

Ack. Bleck. I cannot watch or even THINK about it without triggering my gag reflex.

On the other hand, after I peel and discard a banana peel, I then spend several minutes inspecting the banana for any errant banana strings. I turn it over and over, poking here and there to make sure there are no strings. Only when it is string-free will I eat it.

So, at my brother’s house I was peeling a banana when I noticed my nephew watching me intently, a funny look on his face.

“Sometimes I don’t like bananas,” he said, with his mouth full of a freshly baked pastry. “You know those stringy things? They make me cough.”

And he made a face. 

“Whoa. Buddy. I totally get it!” I told him. “Banana strings make me gag.”

We then spent several minutes talking about banana strings and how gross they are and how they cause gagging, coughing, and pukey feelings.

Best conversation of the day.

 

For my nephew ...

Why did the banana go to the hospital?

It wasn't peeling very well. 

~~~~~

Why do bananas have to wear suntan lotion?

Because bananas peel!