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saint of the week

Last Thursday my family and I finally made it to reconciliation.  We had tried to go a few times before, but something always happened.

You know those icebergs that always titanic your plans, sick kids, work, sick parents, work, forgetful moments and did I mention work?  It is important to me that we all go as a family.  My 4^th grader still gets nervous as does my newly catholic husband.  So we went to a church in a nearby parish to go to confession because like I said, it finally worked.  I was unsure as to whether this was a service or not, irregardless experience has taught me (especially when it involves children) that you need to get in as quickly as possible.  So, we positioned ourselves accordingly, at the end of the pew near the confessional.  As we waited in the silent church we could hear the priests talking and laughing in the sacristy.  My nervous 9 year old asked, "What is that?"  I could not resist the opening and besides, I was going to confession in a few minutes, so I replied, "It's the priests in the sacristy.  They are making their plans.  I think that they are gunning for you.  They are saying "Hey see that little girl in the silver vest, let's get her!"  First her eyes got wide, then she just popped me in the arm with a "MOM".

 

 As it turns out there was a service first, it was beautiful.  Contemplative, concise and on a level that worked for both adults and kids.  Then, it was confession time.  On cue my husband darted from the pew and began the line down the side aisle.  Turns out another line formed down the middle aisle.  So, we would have to alternate.  Immediately an elderly woman sprang from the center aisle and entered the confessional.  It seemed like she was in there an eternity.  My kids kept giving me concerned looks.  I whispered to the woman behind me in line that I thought that in a service like this we were not supposed to go into a lot of detail and that if we had something heavy, we should make an appointment given that there are 25 people waiting.  She smiled and shrugged.  Ten minutes later the woman emerged, alternating in line, it was my son's turn.  He opened the door for the "screen" side and stepped in.  As he was closing the door a woman from the other line scooted into the "open" confessional.  To avoid an unwelcome scenario, I opened the door and grabbed my son.  Apparently taking turns doesn't apply when you are not on the playground.  We then waited another 10 minutes.  This time when the door opened my son, who is not usually a fast mover, set the record for getting into the confessional.  From there things went smoothly until my daughter came out of the confessional.  My husband and I were still in line.  She plopped down in the pew across from us, sitting behind my son.  She folded her arms and with a giant sigh said, "I am supposed to be nice to my brother!"  My son dropped to his knees, folded his hands and looked up to heaven and said, "Thank you God!" She then stuck her tongue out at him.

The woman behind me in line (who was cracking up) said to her, "you'd better get back in line."  I , too, had a hard time containing my self.  Finally it was my turn, when I came out my daughter said (in a much too loud voice), "Gee mom, I thought that you'd be in there a lot longer than that!"  The woman behind me laughed out loud as did the people behind her and my husband.

 

Having done our best with our sacramental duties we left before we created any other disturbances.  Walking up the sidewalk, my son said, "Gees, It was like a Matrix movie trying to beat that lady into the confessional.  That was it, I lost it.

I laughed to the point of tears.

 

Driving home my newly Catholic husband turned to me and said, "That was nice."  I smiled and agreed.  He said, "We should have kept the paper that prayer service was on."  I smiled and agreed.

I said to him, "How did this make you feel?"  He said "Good, it made me feel good."  "Yeah", I said, "That's what confession is supposed to do."  Then after a long moment he said, "I hope that lady that pushed Jesse out of the confessional, confessed that!"  We laughed the entire way home.

 

As we enter into Holy Week, make it a point to go to confession, if you have not already done so.  As my husband said, "It makes you feel good."

What are you waiting f

Saint of the week

Saint of the Week

                                    Blessed Luigi and Marie Beltrame Quattrocchi

 

Yesterday was a banner day at my house.  Actually I should be thankful as I felt that I had been lacking material for the "Saint of the Week" and was stressing over it.  So God in His infinite goodness gave me yesterday.

 

Yesterday was the kind of day that all mother's pretend not to have.  It is the day where we are thankful that there is not a hidden camera crew putting us on reality TV, because if there were, we'd be locked up. 

 

I really do not relish this kind of day, and have to admit that they are few and far between (although my kids might feel otherwise, especially my 9 year old who looked so surprised when I came out of the confessional last month and said with all seriousness, "Are you done already?  I thought that you'd be in there a lot longer!")

 

Basically my day yesterday boiled down to my schedule being totally shot, my son complaining about no less than seven major things of the day, my having a boat load of work to do and not being able to get to it and the phone ringing incessantly.    Truly these are all small things in the grand scheme of life.  But sometimes it is the small things that seem like Chinese water torture.

 

It all started well, with prayer as always, then, went down from there.  At the end of the day it felt good to melt into my lazy boy and be mindless.  I felt badly for not being the person that God wants me to be.  I felt badly for not being the mom my kids need me to be.  I felt badly for my husband who walked into it all.

 

Recently I was reading about Blessed Luigi and Marie Beltrame Quattrocchi.  They were born in the 1880's and died in the 1950's and 60's respectively.  They had four children.  They lived in Italy though 2 wars.  They lived simple, God based lives.  Their family was indeed, church.  They were welcoming, focused on community, charitable and loving.  Theirs was the family that prayed together and stayed together.  They were a couple who knew how to love and respect each other through the best and worst of times.  No wonder they are destined for saint hood.

 

Today I pray for their intercession.  I want to achieve what they did.  I want to do more than just survive the Chinese water torture.

 

 

saint of the week

OT A SAINT OF THE WEEK BUT A GOOD LIFE LESSON.

 

About six weeks ago I was enjoying my early morning hike through the woods with my dogs.  It was a very chilly October day.  So chilly in fact, that it was snowing. I did not mind a bit.  I like mornings like that.  As usual, I was praying the rosary.  I was half way through the Luminous mysteries when my cell phone rang.  I know that you are probably thinking:  why take your cell phone?  Well, two reasons:  one is that my home schooled kids are, well, at home and if they need something they can call me.  Secondly, I once had an asthma attack and even though I made it home, I feel better having the phone.

 

So, anyway, my cell phone rang.  I paused.  The little voice in my head said, "Don't answer it!"  I saw that it was my mother.  My little voice spoke again, a bit louder this time; all the while Funky town (my ring tone) is playing.  The daughter in me over ruled the little voice, I answered.  It was just a general "what's up" kind of call.

 

As we chatted I approached a hill.  No, not a hill, more like a cliff since it had about an 80 degree drop.  I have been down this hill a hundred times.  I started down.  It was seconds before I lost footing on the snowy and muddy bank.  If you remember the Wide World of Sport 'agony of defeat', I probably looked something like that.

 

Gasping at the bottom with extreme pain in my right knee I found the phone in the weeds and told my mother that I would call her later (not mentioning the fall of course).  I tried to move, but the pain was extreme (this from a woman who had a 10 pound baby!).

I laid there with the snow falling on my face for a while trying to figure out my next move.  There were two ways home:  back up the hill I had just fallen down and another way which was twice as long but half as steep.  I chose the first.  I slowly stammered to my feet.  My leg was bleeding badly.  To this day I don't know how I made it up the hill, but I did.  When I got to the road I shuffled from mailbox to mail box.  I tried calling my kids but accidentally dialed my husband.  Turns out he was not at work yet, but doing an errand nearby.  He came home immediately.

 

After a long day of stitches and x-rays, it turns out that I had no structural damage to my knee.  Soft tissue damage, yes, but structurally I was fine.  My doctor attributed to the many years of martial arts and the numerous lessons on balance and falling. (Yes we do actually learn how to fall).  Maybe so, but I know that something got me back up that hill.

 

Most of our saints had to learn hard lessons too. But like gold tested in fire, that is how we are formed. I believe that God helps those who help themselves.  When bad things happen you can lie on the ground and cry or you can pick your self up and look for help.  It may take a while to heal.  You might even have a scar, but you will be stronger for the lesson learned.

 

My lesson?  Don't bully your little voice.  It's there for a reason.

 

Closing thought:  God's got your back.

 

 

Jamie