No Place Like Home

The house on the property of The Church of the Presentation of the Lord, Montgomery, TX

Home: the place in which the family lives and grows--from cradle to grave. 

A welcoming front door, a porch for cool evenings, a kitchen that looks over a back yard, bedrooms around the edges, family space in the middle, a loft with gables and places to play and gather. 

You can see it in your mind’s eye, right? 

This particular home is not typical, though. It happens to be one of two buildings on the grounds of our new parish. The other building, a large barn-like structure will be turned into a temporary church.

So far, our parish has been using a hall for Sunday Mass and traveling to various parishioner’s homes each Thursday evening for a weekday home Mass followed by a potluck. 

Tonight our home Mass will be here, in this house. 

And, this house will be the spot in which Sunday school happens each week. 

For multiple generations, in this country, catechesis has happened in a Catholic school or parish religious education program. And, for many communities, that fact has tended to overshadow the family nature of faith formation. We have tended to forget that faith in God, a relationship with Jesus and a true love of His Church is actually passed on within the family. The parish only gives assistance to this task. 

So when I drive up to our new parish property and see this house, I can’t help but appreciate the symbolism, the subtle message to us all—catechesis happens in the home.

It is with the smells and bells of daily life that a person is imbued with the doctrines of the Faith and the virtues that support a faith-filled life.

First, the door through which loved ones enter and are greeted. In many homes, there is a holy water font there, a crucifix visible over the doorpost, the chalk marks of the three kings. Here we learn to honor our parents as the children rush to greet their father home from work; we put into practice marital love as we greet a spouse; we welcome guests as we step forward to shake a hand or take a coat. Here often, the biblical cup of cold water (Mt 10:42) is offered. 

The family room is where conversations occur about the day’s events, problems, joys, sorrows. Our knowledge of God and His will is applied to these issues. Games are played and children and adults alike learn to love each other even in disappointment and how to fight fair. 

In the kitchen, where the hungry are fed are the marks of the blessings in the family. Sippy cups, dirty dishes, food in the cupboard and a kitchen Madonna on the windowsill. Here is the place of certain smells that bring joy, or sometimes bring someone running. Here is where lots of motherly (and fatherly) prayers happen—desperate prayers about multiplying hours to get things done, and multiplying paychecks to keep the family fed. 

Somewhere in the house, perhaps the loft, is a spot where family prayer happens, where the Bible is read, where the feasts and seasons of the liturgical year are marked through art and linens borrowed from the dining room. Praying with the Church and worshipping God together as brother's and sister's in Christ. Here we connect with our heavenly family by invoking the saint of the day. 

Then there is the family table where daily prayers are offered in thanksgiving for blessings given. This is also a place of discussion about how God calls us to respond to what is going on the world—whether the “world” is our home that day or our government or a country far away.  Here the saint of the day we invoked in prayer is talked about and his story shared. 

At the end of the day, next to a comfortable bed, the family members reflect on their day—both the failures and the victories—begging forgiveness for the first and thanking God for the other. Peace descends, most nights, for at least a little while. 

And we know….

The steadfast love of the Lord 

never ceases 

his mercies never come to 

an end: 

they are new every morning; 

great is thy faithfulness. 

(Lam 23:3)

The Still Small Voice in the Earthquake

1 Kings 19: 11-12

We arrived in California just in time for a message from God. It was so clear. We were at a table in Ruby’s Diner waiting for our food. Though not everyone in the restaurant heard it, everyone at our table did. 

The message was a 6.5 earthquake, the biggest in California since the Northridge earthquake that jolted my roommates and me out of bed one morning in 1994. Growing up in California, you can almost get used to them.

However, earthquakes are an interesting phenomenon for modern man, who prides himself on his scientific mind, his ability to explain, predict, change his environment. We have apps that track our weather and we feel like we can predict to the minute when the rain will start and when it will stop or when the hurricane will hit. We joke about how wrong the weatherman was—as if he can possibly know exactly. 

But earthquakes are a different story. As a native Californian, I grew up with earthquakes and I can tell you how unsettling it is to realize how far science is from actually predicting earthquakes. Unlike in the case of a hurricane, we can’t get a notice about an upcoming earthquake so we can stock up on water and food. Scientists might say they see activity, movement along a fault, but that is happening so often that there is no way to really know. There is no radar for earthquakes.  In fact, in the case of the quake we felt at Ruby’s it was followed by “aftershocks”, until one came along bigger than the first and it because the real quake and our Ruby’s quake was a “pre-shock”. Hindsight is 20/20 in the science of earthquakes. 

So, back to the message from God. The most difficult fact for a human person to absorb is this: “I am not God”. All the way back to the Garden of Eden, our temptation is to overestimate our own power. We look around and see the plants and animals over which we have so much control. We see our fellow man and notice those whom we deem weaker or less intelligent and our pride is fed. Even when we notice those who are “higher up” in whatever scheme of things we are noticing, we wonder how and when we can reach those heights. 

An earthquake is a clear statement from God: “I am God, you are not.” 

When God the Son died on a cross the earth shook. And we knew. He is God, we are not.

An earthquake is a lesson in humility. When the earth is shaking and there is no way to stop it, and no way to escape it, it is easy to feel very small and insignificant. This is a good thing. We ARE small and insignificant in comparison to God. Without His constant attention, we would cease to exist. Science can tell us a lot about how an earthquake happens, but it cannot accurately predict or prevent it. Only God has that perspective since each earthquake happens within his permissive will and, in some way, within the design of His Universe. 

A day after our Ruby’s Diner message from God, came another stronger message. All we could do was ride it out, pray for those in danger, and remember: “He is God. I am not.”

Does Your Mother Exist?

If the neighbor kid says to your son "Who cares what your mother says, most people don't even believe she exists?"; what would he do?

If some high school science instructor challenged your existence in the presence of your daughter, what would she do?

If a college professor presents proof after proof in your son's philosophy course that you are just a figment of his imagination and that he has invented you out of a need for comfort in the face of uncertainty, what would he think? ₁

Chances are that your kids would laugh in the face of these challenges.

Even kids whose mother is absent from their lives would be unlikely to believe she didn't exist. There is at least some evidence in their world that she, in fact, existed, if only a birth certificate, or the fact that people they know have talked about their mother. Not to mention the fact that virtually everyone else acknowledges the existence of a mother.

The assertion is ridiculous on the face of it because we know and have a personal relationship with our own mothers. And virtually everyone else with whom we have contact also knows and has a relationship with a mother.

Yet, when a child's belief in God is challenged, many (if not most) children and young adults these days begin to waiver. Even those that have some intellectual underpinning to their faith may not stand up to the constant barrage of challenges to the tenets of the Catholic Faith and the Church's moral teachings, let alone the existence of God and His importance in their lives.

However, once a person knows, with certainty, that God exists and begins to develop a regular interaction with Him, then the challenges to faith, and the doubt of friends, and even family, are much less of a threat.

And, even a young child is capable of this certainty and this regular interaction with God.

The problem is that neither of those things can be given by schools, parish catechists, or even the Sacraments.₂

For a child, a real and personal relationship with God can only be nurtured in the home by loving parents who also regularly interact with God and to Whom they entrust their lives.

This is what we call Evangelization.

Catechesis is the unpacking and explaining of what God has revealed about Himself and His plan. It is crucially important, but it is not primary.

Moms and Dads...only YOU can evangelize your child. And you MUST do it if you have any hope that your child will grow into an adult of faith.

As a former teacher, catechist and trainer of catechists, I find it quite easy to talk about the Faith, and to teach my kids what the Church teaches about God. But rarely do lessons about the Catholic Faith turn into actual experiences of God for my children.

I am continually humbled by how often those glimpses of personal faith appear in the mundane moments of life. I see it in the midst of an argument with a sibling, a minor illness, or in the conversation that comes when the child asks one of those "Where does wind come from?" sort of questions.

Sometimes I see it during Mass, or while praying with them before bed, but most of the time it is in the rather ordinary moments. Grace moves in a child in mysterious ways and it takes the attention of a loving mother or father to help that child respond to those graces.

No religion curriculum, no matter how orthodox, or attractive, or intellecually challenging can make that happen.

No teacher, catechist or youth leader can make that happen.

Heck, parents don't even MAKE that happen. The Holy Spirit makes it happen. And parents are just there to shepherd the kid through the moments.

A parent's special knowledge of their child's heart, coupled with the grace of the sacrament of marriage make them perfectly suited to that shepherding of their children through the grace-filled moments whenever they come.

The good news is that even the most unprepared₃ parent can begin to nurture faith in their child. Step one is regularly interact with God yourself--He is watching and waiting for you to simply turn your attention to Him. Step two is to share that interaction with your child. Step three is to watch and listen to your child and help them to see God in their lives.

If you are doing these things then wherever they get their Catechesis--whether at home, school, or the parish religious education program--knowledge of Who God is and what He wants from us will make sense to them.




1-These questions and the line of logic in this blog post was inspired by this Greg Popcak article. 
2-The Sacraments are REAL, but they are not magic. In other words, they impart actual grace which depends upon our active response. This is why Sacramental Preparation is so important and why it is CRUCIAL that parents are the primary source of that preparation. We are best suited, by design, to help a child respond fully to Sacramental grace. 

'Tis the Season for "Making Memories"

Have you ever heard the story of St. Therese and her Christmas moment? She and her father and sisters had just returned from Midnight Mass and she was looking forward to checking out all the gifts left in her shoes by the hearth. As she went upstairs to put her hat away she overheard her father say, in an annoyed voice, "Well, fortunately, this will be the last year!" 

He was tired. He was weary of keeping up the little childish traditions.  

(Whenever I use an annoyed voice with my sweet kids I try to remember that Therese's father is a canonized saint!)

Needless to say, Therese was hurt, and felt tears come to her eyes. But she received a special grace that night that allowed her to put aside her own selfish feelings and turn them into joy and gratitude for her gifts. (The story, in her words is at the end of this post.)

What does that have to with Making Memories? 

First of all, it is interesting to note that the memory her father made about Christmas--one that stands out in her mind so much that it was written in the story of her life--is the night he complained about "making memories". 

I can so relate to this man sometimes. At this time of year it is so easy for me to get all caught up in the wonderful things other people do at Christmas time. It is on the blogs, and smeared all over Pinterest. It is in the commercials, the Christmas movies, even my own photos from previous years. 

And now that my kids are getting pretty big, I hear an idea for little kids and wish I had done that. There was a great one about revealing the truth about Santa Claus and I found myself wishing we had done Santa Claus so I could have had this great moment with my kids. I am sure they would be better people today if I had. Don't you think?

Suddenly, I am tired and cranky. And I begin to turn a little green, with yellowish eyes, and a weird hair thing going on on top. Like this......

Then he growled, with his Grinch fingers nervously drumming,

"I must find some way to keep Christmas from coming!

For, tomorrow, I know all the Who girls and boys

Will wake bright and early. They'll rush for their toys!

And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!

There's one thing I hate! All the NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Okay, maybe I am not that bad. I really love Christmas and would never wish it didn't come. And, for the most part, I enjoy every little thing that we do--our little family traditions. 

But sometimes I worry that I am Therese's father, speaking with annoyance, and making the wrong memory for my child. 

Yet, on closer examination...it wasn't his complaint that made the memory stick in Therese's mind, but the Grace of God that filled her heart. She remembers it as a moment of conversion. I am sure there were many Christmas's that her parents felt were beautifully done, picture perfect, and an amazing memory for her childhood. But this one makes it to the book.  

It was Almighty God, the perfect Father, who took her father's weakness and made into this great moment. Therese was prepared for the moment by the nurturing of her faith, bit by bit, through every day of her childhood. It was the things they always did that laid the groundwork. The everyday stuff. Prayer, Mass, striving for holiness, repentance and forgiveness, work, talking about God, reading about Him. 

Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store.

Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more!

And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say

That the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!

Maybe, if I stop and think about the whole concept of "making memories", I can remind myself that when we live life in a way that orients us towards the Source of all happiness, and with an eye to the place in which memories do not need to be made, the place where all that is good will be present to us and nothing will be fleeting, no joy will escape our grasp into yesterday---in this way we let God make the memories.  

It seems to me that, after all, the memories that matter are not the ones that begin "Remember that time we....", but really those ones that begin "Remember when we always used to....". Those are formative. They make us who we are. 

My friend Susannah makes a good point in her post, sometimes all we need to do to "make memories" is to name the thing that we always do. Declare it the tradition. 

If you usually begin to decorate on Thanksgiving weekend, say that "It's Our Tradition to decorate on Thanksgiving weekend."  They will look forward to it and it will suddenly become even more wonderful.  If you typically have pancakes on Christmas morning, call them "The Christmas Pancakes" and voila!  Instant tradition. 

And then let those things we always do be the build up to the memory that God wants to create. Make it the soil into which he plants the seeds that beautify the soul, like little Therese. 







A Christmas Memory from St. Therese:

It was December 25, 1886, that I received the grace of leaving my childhood, in a word, the grace of my complete conversion. We had come back from Midnight Mass where I had the happiness of receiving the strong and powerful God. Upon arriving at Les Buissonnets, I used to love to take my shoes from the chimney corner and examine the presents in them; this old custom had given us so much joy in our youth that Céline wanted to continue treating me as a baby since I was the youngest in the family. Papa had always loved to see my happiness and listen to my cries of delight as I drew each surprise from the magic shoes, and my dear King’s gaiety increased my own happiness very much. However, Jesus desired to show me that I was to give up the defects of my childhood and so He withdrew its innocent pleasures. He permitted Papa, tired out after the Midnight Mass, to experience annoyance when seeing my shoes at the fireplace, and that he speak those words which pierced my heart: “Well, fortunately, this will be the last year!” I was going upstairs, at the time, to remove my hat, and Céline, knowing how sensitive I was and seeing the tears already glistening in my eyes, wanted to cry too, for she loved me very much and understood my grief. She said, “Oh, Thérèse, don’t go downstairs; it would cause you too much grief to look at your slippers right now!” But Thérèse was no longer the same; Jesus had changed her heart! Forcing back my tears, I descended the stairs rapidly; controlling the poundings of my heart, I took my slippers and placed them in front of Papa, and withdrew all the objects joyfully. I had the happy appearance of a Queen. Having regained his own cheerfulness, Papa was laughing; Céline believed it was all a dream! Fortunately, it was a sweet reality; Thérèse had discovered once again the strength of soul which she had lost at the age of four and a half, and she was to preserve it forever!

Stop Saying "This is What Christmas Is All About" ...unless it is

I've got a seasonal gripe. It might make me sound Grinchy, but I can't help it. 

I keep seeing Facebook posts with a dubious claim. Sometimes it is a touching story of generosity, sometimes a pretty song. Or maybe it is just a beautiful holiday scene. Whatever it is, it starts or ends with:

This is what Christmas is all about!

Sorry. No, it isn't.

It is all over TV this time of year. I watch way too many Hallmark movies, as I said before. And the main characters of these sappy holiday TV-movies are constantly coming to the brilliant realization that baking cookies with kids is what Christmas is all about. Or that old fashioned decorations is what its all about. Or having coffee with your estranged mother, brother, father, boyfriend. Sometimes it is working with the poor, or gathering with the community to save an historical building, or saving a dog from...whatever. 

Now, I am not personally against baking cookies (proof is in my freezer), nor am I against having coffee with anyone, estranged or not. And, of course, I am not against caring for the poor, or saving historical buildings. And I like dogs. Really, I do. Don't own one, but, you know, dogs are fine pets. I don't want anyone to think I am anti-dog.

However....none of these things are "what Christmas is all about". 

So now, forget all those other TV characters and listen to Linus. 

Actually, I think there is another TV star who said it even better. Venerable Fulton J Sheen tells us what Christmas is all about in his book Life of Christ: 

No worldly mind would ever have suspected 

THAT HE WHO COULD MAKE THE SUN WARM THE EARTH

would one day have need of an ox and an ass to warm Him with their breath; 

THAT HE WHO, IN THE LANGUAGE OF SCRIPTURES, COULD STOP THE TURNING ABOUT OF ARCTURUS 

would have His birthplace dictated by an imperial census; 

THAT HE, WHO CLOTHED THE FIELDS WITH GRASS,

would Himself be naked; 

THAT HE, FROM WHOSE HANDS CAME PLANETS AND WORLDS, 

would one day have tiny arms that were not long enough to touch the huge heads of the cattle;

THAT THE FEET WHICH TROD THE EVERLASTING HILLS

would one day be too weak to walk; 

THAT THE ETERNAL WORD WOULD BE DUMB; 

that Omnipotence would be wrapped in swaddling clothes; 

THAT SALVATION 

would lie in a manger; 

THAT THE BIRD WHICH BUILT THE NEST 

would be hatched therein—

no one would have ever suspected 

THAT GOD COMING TO THIS EARTH 

would ever be so helpless. 

And that is precisely why so many miss Him.

DIVINITY IS ALWAYS WHERE ONE LEAST EXPECTS TO FIND IT.

The Famous Cookie Dough Analogy

Picture from this recipe.
This is not an endorsement of said recipe. 

So I was trying to think of something to write and I searched my computer for the word "blog".  I know I have lots of documents in which I have quickly scrawled brilliant blog post ideas, most of which never made it to the blog. This is mostly because, on second thought, they weren't so brilliant. Although some of the time, as in today, it is because I went back to the note and had no idea what the heck I was thinking.

Today I ran across a document called "blog/cookie dough analogy".

Now that is enticing! What brilliance lays buried there?

Whatever it was, it is apparently still buried. Here is the only sentence written on that page:

You can’t fix the cookie dough once you put that tablespoon of salt in it. 

Wow! Profound...don't you think?

I can't, for the life of me, remember what I thought was so brilliant about this and what analogy was coming from it. It could be that I thought there should be some great lesson in the destruction of cookie dough...I mean beyond "NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!".

I do recall the story behind it. It is family legend.

We were making cookies with my mother and I believe there were some neighbor kids involved, in addition to my sister. Legend has it that I added multiple tablespoons of salt to the batter. In reality, it was probably just one. I am sure I misread teaspoon as tablespoon and it couldn't have been any more than one.

My mother thought she would save the day and multiply the recipe to accommodate the extra salt. Apparently it doesn't work that way. The giant triple sized recipe still tasted bad.

Lesson learned...when the mistake is salt, and it is huge, just start over.

So....writing prompt: apply this to life.

This is an analogy for......

I won't eve try to apply the lesson to the election in any way...trying to make any statement without offending anyone is like adding a half a cup of salt instead of a half teaspoon...ruin that cookie dough!

Well, how about this....some days, as a mom, you start with a huge dose of saltiness. And...and....those days need a do over, start again, go back to the beginning.....

That's it!! (here I can imagine Lucy yelling and Charlie Brown tumbling over)

I think this analogy applied just today.

You know when you somehow get on the wrong footing with a kid. You start down the path of grumpy, challenging interactions. And your thermostat keeps rising and the kid's attitude keeps getting, ummm... saltier, and you are headed straight to a disastrous and disappointing day batch of cookie dough. 

That is when you need to stop the escalation, don't triple down on that "What did you just say?" or that "What did I just tell you to do?".

Just start over. 

Go back to the beginning. (Why do I picture a drunken Portuguese swordsmen when I say that?)

Somedays that means a little dash of humor, a moment or two of easy direction following, and an offer to help with that writing prompt. Some days it means someone (read: me) needs to be sent to her room to cool off. Some days it means some other one (read: kid in question) needs to cool down in quiet.

But most of all, what is needed is a fresh start.

For some reason I have this incredible urge to bake cookies right now.

Maybe the kid sequestered in said room would like to help.

Important "Lessons" Learned from Hallmark Movies

True confession---I watch Hallmark movies. Yes, those silly romantic movies staring old TV stars and written for every holiday. Sometimes you just need to be able to watch TV without worrying about what you might see or hear--no autopsies, serial killers, or nudity. Just inane dialogue with a happy ending. 

However, they are not all fluff. I have learned important lessons from Hallmark movies. Here are just a few: 

1. All good people love dogs. If someone does not respond with the appropriate cooing and fussing to a dog, they are a bad guy. You especially should never consider marrying that person. 

2. All good people work for charities or companies that produce alternative fuels. No exceptions. Okay...they can own a bakery, but they have to do it "from the heart" and for the shear "love of making people smile". 

3. There are only really three plots for romantic comedies: 

A: boy meets girl, falls in love, one of them moves away, comes back engaged to a dog hater, and then re-falls in love with original old flame. 

B: boy meets girl, they hate each other, then are thrown together in an uncomfortable situation in which they fall in love (usually happens over very short time....unless it is the next plot)

C: boy and girl of rival families who hate each other (rival business, family feuds, whatever) and fall in love but have to hide it from the family. Spoiler alert...in the rom-com version of this they don't commit suicide. They usually all become friends and the couple marries.  

4. If a father is sports-minded, his son will want to go to Art School. 

5. Similarly, if the son is NOT sports-minded he must want to go to Art School.

6. Deciding to get married is "taking a chance". If it is the right person, you will just know, and then live happily ever after. Unless you are unlucky and your spouse decides they really hate dogs. Then you are out of luck. Shouldn't have taken that chance, huh?