Incessant Love (A.K.A. Where I fall short)

My reality right now consists of inquisitive, and incessant children.  And I mean incessant!  Take for example last night: On the ride home from daycare Lilly asked me no less than five times if I had any lotion, despite the fact that I answered her EVERY.SINGLE.TIME.  By the end my answer was certainly louder than necessary, as I was ready to change it to, "No, if you can't even listen to me, forget about any lotion!"  While it may seem innocent or funny enough (it did to me the first time too), trust me, it's frustrating!  Much of my frustration comes from the fact that this is a VERY common scenario (the times I have to answer repetitive questions a day seems to outnumber the amount of times I assured my daughter that I had lotion).  It is almost a given in our household right now that we will have multiple interchanges that includes a repeated question, incessant questions, and the obnoxious string of "what is that?", "what you doing?", "how'd you do that?" and we can't forget the never-ending-variety of "why?"'s.  Inquisitive toddlers do not lend themselves to simple answers, nor to one time answers, as is so often the case for us lately.  

It's a tough reality.  One that tries my patience daily.  One that at times I've not been sure I could live with.  Yet it's a reality in which I recently discovered GOD is using to teach me more than I knew I didn't know about the striking reality of love in my life. The lesson came to me all the way from Greece.  Watch:

 A Father,  a Son and a Sparrow

With the "joys" (heavy on the sarcasm) of repetitive questioning in our family's reality right now, oh how I resonated with this video!  I was right there with the son - ready to give up, to walk away, to raise my voice and say something not necessary just to get away from the questions (and the same answers) again!  And then...GOD called me back to reality.

Not the reality of my inquisitive, incessant children.  But the reality of His love. 

What must it be like to love someone so much that despite their every flaw, their aggravating inability to listen when you try to tell them something, and their constant desire for more, more, more from you, you still can't help but grin and hug them?  What must it be like to rejoice so much in the one you love, that even after a frustrating exchange, you put it down in your journal so that you can remember for years to come the time you got to spend with them and all that they are to you (flaws and all)?  What must it be like to answer every question your child asks - no matter how many times they ask it - with an answer that actually says "I love you!"?  What must it be like, to be that good of a parent? 

I don't know.  I'm not one.  This is where I fall short: My lack of patience.  My frustration with having to repeat myself.  My not wanting to have to explain things I think they should already know.  My inability to share joy even amidst frustrating circumstances.  I fall short in a lot of ways as a parent (not to mention as a spouse, a minister, a friend, etc.).  But as I see this model of GOD's love for us through the gentle father in this video, it seems that most of all I am falling short in the Godliness of love. 


Another reminder of this came to me this past Sunday, in the Gospel reading for the fourth Sunday of Lent. GOD the Parent loves Her children - in all the ways I will always fall short.  As does GOD the Son.  In John's Gospel, Jesus is faced with a situation that reminds me of an inquisitive and incessant child.  From the disciples asking him questions and still not quite getting what he's been trying to teach all along; to the neighbors who didn't believe and argued amongst themselves whether the blind/not-blind man was really the same person; to the Pharisees and their never-ending-quest to trap and disregard Jesus; to the Jews questioning the blind man's parents and himself.  So many questions, so much disbelief.  So many inquisitive toddlers wanting to know, but not wanting to hear the answer.  So much blindness.

I can only imagine that Jesus was right there with this (video's) son - ready to give up, to walk away, to raise his voice and say something not necessary just to get away from the questions (and the same answers) again!  

But that's not his reality.  Not the reality of His love. 

Instead, despite their (and our) every flaw, and aggravating inability to listen to all he was trying to tell our world, he.... loves, is patient, grins and hugs us each time we fail to "get it," and makes sure that the story of his love is written in history in such a way that we can remember for generations to come the time he spent with us and all that we are to him.  Even amidst a frustrating exchange, he answers each question that was asked with an answer that says "I love you!"  

Not only does Christ answer his own reality of incessant children with patience and love, but he IS the answer.  The Father sent the Son in response to our incessant wonderings.  When we want to know how to act - answer: see the Son.  When we want to know who to love - answer: see the Son.  When we want to know if things will be ok - answer: see the Son.  When we want to know if it's ok to be mad at others or if we can treat others poorly when they make us mad - answer: see the Son.  When we want to know if we are loved and who loves us - answer: see the Son! 

Christ was - and continues to be so - the answer to our world's questions.  He was - and continues to be so - the hug to our world.  Over and over and over again, as many times as it takes.  The answer is always Christ.  The answer is always GOD's love. 

This fourth week of Lent I am grateful for this awakening to my reality.  The reality of incessant wondering - that of my children, but also of my own.  The reality in which I am the inquisitive, incessant child.  Of the many, many times I repeatedly ask GOD, "Why?"  Or ask when it will get easier, where the patience is I have previously asked for, what GOD is doing, or how I get better at things.  And yet, unlike my current reality that resonates with this video's frustrated man, GOD continues to offer a more powerful reality - one in which I am so loved that no matter how many times I ask GOD those same (incessant) questions or make the same (incessant) pleas again and again, no matter how many times GOD could say in a raised voice, "I have already answered that question; LISTEN already!", instead my LORD just smiles each time and hugs me, rejoicing in all that I am to Him (flaws and all), with my name written permanently on His heart.  I am grateful for this reminder of the truest reality of my life right now.  The reality of where I may fall short, but where GOD will never falter.  The reality of incessant Love.  

This week I am trying to embrace the Divine love for me more fully.  So that in turn I may share it more fully with those I love.  And the next time my kids ask me (no less than five times I'm sure), "What is that Mamma?", no matter what I say, or how many times I need to say it, I will try to let my answer tell them, "My love!"  

It won't be easy.  I will fail.  I will ask GOD (again!) for help.  But hopefully when I do, GOD will still grin and hug me, and say as many times as necessary:
A sparrow.
A sparrow.
A sparrow.
I love you.


That is a reality I can live with.  

Waiting to Hear

It was the scariest few seconds!  Every time.  Sitting in the doctor's office, the cold gel on my stomach, waiting for the Doppler to pick up the "thump-thump, thump-thump" sound I was so longing to hear.  After our miscarriage I could not go to a doctor's appointment for our next children without the memory of that first silence creeping in and fear taking hold.  It was usually only a few short seconds, if even that long, but it felt like an eternity.  Felt like time stood still, every time, while I waited to hear and know that they were still with me. 

And of course, when I would hear it, I couldn't help but smile.  It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard!  Every time.  

I was recently thinking about these moments of silence and fear, and the joy that comes with hearing that one simple sound.  And I  couldn't help but wonder what other sounds we wait to hear, long to hear, need to hear, fear the silence of.  Simple sounds, that can make a world of difference.  Sounds we're afraid we may not hear. 

I love you.

You're beautiful.

Well done.

You're not alone.

Those messages that let us know that someone is still with us. Will always be with us.

* * *

I think "You're forgiven" may be another of those sounds.  It's not one we often hear.  The idea of forgiveness today seems to have been simplified to a basic "that's ok" or "don't worry about it," if any words of forgiveness are spoken at all.  Yet do we, as humans, still long to hear that we're forgiven?  While it may not be as obvious a longing as some of the other messages we wait to hear, I'd still like to think so.

I'd still like to believe that we value our relationships enough to desire to know that the other is still with us, in a peaceful and loving state.  I'd like to believe that we still value ourselves enough to want to know that we are fully worthy of another's love and relationship, despite our downfalls.  I'd like to believe that we value our GOD enough to long to know that we are living in the example He set for us.  I believe we wait, we long, we need to hear we are forgiven.  Perhaps we even fear the silence of that message. 

Perhaps the silence and waiting has been so long that we don't even realize any more how beautiful a sound it can be.  How life-changing it can be. 

Or perhaps, in many ways, as much as we fear the absence of that message, we may also fear hearing it.  Precisely because it can be life-changing.  

Being forgiven means making decisions and living in a different way.  Means challenging ourselves to be better, to strive as hard as we can (even though we will still fall short no doubt) to be worthy of those words.  Being forgiven means our relationship taking on a new level.  Means knowing how hard that forgiveness can often be to give, and therefore how deep the other's love for us is to have offered it.  Hearing we are forgiven isn't a sound that can simply pass through our ears and roll off our backs.  It means being ready for change - but a change for the good. 

Like the sound of my children's heartbeats, hearing that sound means things are about to be very different!  But despite the challenge that may mean, it is a wonderful kind of different.  The best kind.   Those "thump-thump's" of my growing little ones made me excited for change.  Because I knew that the change meant life.  Meant love.  Meant everything (challenges and future struggles included) was going to be ok, because GOD's will for me was of goodness.  I knew that was what GOD desired for me, even more so than I was desiring it.  Forgiveness can be the heartbeat of love in our relationships; reconciliation the life blood of our communities and world.  I believe that is what GOD desires for us, even more so than we may desire it for ourselves.  It is a sound we should not fear to hear, but fear the silence of. 

* * *

Tonight is my parish's Lenten Reconciliation Service.  And I imagine, as in past years, it won't be a packed house.  This is a Sacrament that seems more and more to get lost in our society.  I have had many discussions - with youth and adults alike - during my years in ministry about what this sacrament means and why we (do we?) really need it.  There are certainly those who struggle to understand.  There are those who have given up on it all together.  And those who have never really given it a chance to begin with. 

And I must confess (no pun intended) even for me, a full and faithful believer in the Sacrament, I seldom receive it.  Quite seldom actually.  But still in my heart I love the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Perhaps because forgiveness is a sound I long to hear, have waited for what feels like too long sometimes to hear.

Perhaps because in a world where we seldom hear the sound "You are forgiven," the Sacrament allows us to break the silence with that wonderful message.  A sound that in its simplicity also carries the complexity of other wonderful sounds:

I love you.

You're beautiful.

Well done.

You're not alone.

A message that helps us know that someone, an incredible and loving GOD, is still with us.  Will always be with us.

While I may not be the best example of this, and while it may be difficult for me to explain, I believe in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, because I believe that the "thump-thump" of GOD's  heart beats for us.  It comes to us through the "Doppler" of the Sacrament to tell us we are always His, are always a treasured part of Her life.  It comes to us to let us know that everything is going to be ok, and there is a divine will of goodness - of life and love - waiting for us.  Hearing that message just may change things; but it is a change we all need, we all deserve, we all long for. 

No matter if it's been seconds, or what feels like an eternity, I believe we all long to hear this sound.  And it can be the most beautiful sound!  Every time.  

“There is no love without forgiveness, and there is no forgiveness without love.”

~ Bryand McGill ~

Giving Up: A Mother's Lent

Lent got off to a rough start this year.  Between being sick, having sick kids, having a sick husband, and therefore having gone for weekS without sleeping through the night or cleaning the house, on top of a crazy work schedule, followed immediately by a broken down vehicle and husband's broken glasses...I entered Ash Wednesday convinced that I had already given up enough to last through the 40 days before they had even begun! 

Yet despite my grumblings, I still found myself, as usual, thinking about what I should "give up" this year.  I always have such good intentions.  I think long and hard about what I really need to give up to draw closer to Christ, or what I really need to take up in order to be more Holy.  Not just what's convenient or 'standard,' but what I REALLY should do.  It has to be perfect.  I want so badly to have the deep, transforming experience that Lent promises.  And I used to be very good at Lent, always feeling renewed and better by the end.  Yet somehow, these past several years, I seem to have fallen short.  Between the running and the fatigue of having a young family, by the time I find time to figure out that "perfect" thing for me to give up, let alone find time to take on what I think I should that year, it's practically Holy Week already, so I end up just giving up on the idea of giving up. 

This year as I stewed in my own self-pitty at the difficult weeks of late, and reflected back on the past few years of unsuccessfully deep Lents, I found myself thinking a lot about what I HAVE given up.  What I have had to give up these past years as a mother...

I've given up my prayer time and some of my favorite prayer practices, which just aren't a reality anymore in a busy household shared with others.  I've given up my body, and what feels like all chance to have muscle again, as a result of having to give up some of my favorite exercise habits, along with giving in to plenty of "I'm too tired or don't have enough time to eat healthy" episodes.  I've given up a lot of financial security in order to be sure my children are well cared for, instead of being sure I have things like theater, movies or even eating out with my family or friends that I once enjoyed; I've given up having a social life, at least with any kind of regularity.  I've given up sleep - years and years and years of sleep!!!!  I've given up time alone with Mike, and have practically let go of the memory completely of what it used to feel like to have his undivided attention, let alone of offering him mine.   And, as an introvert trapped in an extrovert's house, I've given up the quiet time I used to treasure and so often need.  I've given up my time, my space, my preferences, often my needs, and sometimes, it even feels, myself. 

I have given up a lot to take on this role of Mother, and even more to try and do it well.  These sacrifices are likely a large part of why my recent Lents have been difficult to focus and follow through on the commitments I think will bring me closer to Christ and who he wants me to be.   

Because it's hard to focus on ME as a Mom.

But this first Sunday of Lent, sitting there in the pew with two extra squirmy toddlers doing their best to test the boundaries, as I found myself thinking of yet another sacrifice I make regularly - "I have given up getting to go to Mass, even when I'm here!" - something hit me.

The Scripture readings spoke about temptation, and help us see that giving in to temptation is making it all about "ME."  The serpent tempted Eve by telling her what SHE could have, what SHE could gain, how things could benefit HER.  And she gave in - not for the common good or promise of wisdom for future generations, but let's face it folks, for herself.  And in Matthew's Gospel, Satan tries tempting Jesus with various offers to make HIM more powerful, to prove HIMself wonderful, to make all the world HIS.  But where Eve (where we) forget about the other, and focus on ourselves, Christ recognized that it's not about himself; it's about something GREATER.  It's about the whole, about the other, about GOD's will for the world.  As Jesus looked out from the mountain top at all the kingdoms of the world in their magnificence, he knew they weren't for him; he knew they belonged to so many others as well.  Christ shows us that the world and what we do (or don't) sacrifice in it should be about "them." 

Yet here I was, wrestling with my little ones in the pew and giving in to Satan's wrestlings in my own life, tempting to make it all about ME.  This Lent was off to a bad start because I was tired, because I didn't feel good, because I was stressed.  The past few Lents have been unsuccessful because Kateri didn't gain wisdom, because Kateri didn't feel renewed, because Kateri didn't benefit.  This Mom's life is hard because she has to give things up.  And yet Christ is constantly calling me (and called me especially loud and clear this Sunday) to let go of the idea of "me," and focus on "them."  Why see my sacrifices as burdens, when I can see them as gifts given to my husband and children.  Why focus on what I don't have now, when I can focus on the life, health and values my children will have for years (hopefully generations) to come.  Why focus on who I used to be, when I can focus on who they're becoming.  Why think about giving up, when I can think about what I have received, from Christ, in the process. 

There in the pew I hugged my wriggling daughter, tickled her tummy to make her giggle loud enough to get those looks from other church-goers I usually hate, and made up my mind about what to give up this Lent - I'm giving up on giving up.  Because all that I have given up the past four years, including my "successful" Lenten practices, HAS brought me closer to Christ and who he wants me to be - it has brought me the role of a mother! 

There is nothing I can imagine doing that would draw me closer to my creator; nothing I can fathom giving up that would make me holier.  

This Lent, I thank GOD that it's hard to focus on ME as a Mom!  And I pray that the remainder of these 40 days will keep reminding me of that.  (and no doubt my wiggle-bugs will too)

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm a lucky Valentine, how about you?

To my first Valentine, Mi Miguelito:  Thank you for loving me, for being my partner in crime on everything good and bad, and for always having a hand to hold.  Thank you also for the gift of my other favorite valentines, our beautiful children and the incredible way you are their Dadda – I’m so glad they take after you!  I love you Mike!

To my second Valentine, my Little Man:  I can’t imagine my life without your constant conversation, your incredible insight, and the way you better than anyone else in my life always know exactly when I need a hug, even if you’re the not-so-great-reason I need it right then!  Thank you for telling me you will “always love me” even if I’m mad at you.  And for all the great things you do that make me not mad, but incredibly, incredibly proud!  I love you Adrian! 

To my third Valentine, my Beanie:  You were God’s shining grace in our lives when you arrived a few years ago, and have continued to be so.  You share so many things I don’t deserve – from the best hugs ever, to the way you love everyone from Dadda and me to your brother and baby dolls.  Thank you for sharing God’s sweetness, energy, smiles, thoughts, silliness and snuggles all through your own!  I love you Lilly!    

To my fourth+ Valentine, my (big) family:  From those couples who started it all a few generations ago, to those parents who continued it in their raising and loving me, to those siblings who help me understand life’s realities from reconciliation to gut-splitting-laughter, and even to those extended family members who just know how to be not just family but friends, and how to be there for one another no matter how far apart or how BIG our family gets – here is to my (big) family and all the ways they have lived and shared love over the years!  I love you all!