Today’s assignment for the little girls’ school was to make a birthday card for Mary (Our Savior’s Mother). Amelia and I were discussing where to set up the cards and a statue of Mary when Jane popped around the corner. In a very matter of fact voice she asked, “What if the devil comes steal the cards?” Amelia backed me up when I said we would have to invite Michael the Archangel to protect them.
Author: Jessica
Whispers
Whispers I
Whispers II: An Old Man in a Plane
Whispers III: Obedience
Whispers IV: A Yellow Butterfly
For many people there are dramatic events, life altering moments that propel them to change course or aid them to return to the right path. This has not been the case in my life. God instead sends me little whispers and I am ashamed to admit I am often not listening. There are times when I heard but misunderstood. I have called out to God in pain and often felt abandoned and alone. I prayed for help and seemed to have not been heard. As a teenager struggling with my family’s divorce I used it as an excuse to distance myself from the church and eventually God. When I lost my first baby the unbelievable need to feel God’s presence again was awakened in my heart. An encounter with an old man in a plane was an ignored whisper. The baptism of a Godchild was a start home out of obedience. A yellow butterfly was a gift of love allowing me to open my arms and embrace a God I had hurt and wanted to be close to again.
I started to spot while driving with Jason to his new duty station at the M.C.A.G.C.C. in Twentynine Palms, CA. We spent six weeks in a hotel room waiting for base housing, knowing I was going to miscarry and waiting for the inevitable to happen. I cried mostly and hoped that a miracle would happen and my baby would be alive. I didn’t want to leave the bed for fear that I would miscarry in public. At nineteen weeks I finally miscarried. I delivered the placenta alone in a very cold hotel room bathroom. The details of that delivery are the clearest I have of the nine (update: now ten) I have been through.
Later that week, knowing that it was over, I hopped on my bike with a map and rode around the small town for the first time. I needed to find the church. I had to sit with Jesus. I needed to know I would see my baby someday and that there was meaning to all this pain. I was drowning with the grief and guilt that this happened because I had turned from Him. I found the church. The front door was locked and I was too shy to ask around if there was an open chapel. It was enough to sit outside and know He was there present in the Tabernacle. Even as I questioned my catholic religion and couldn’t make sense of Jesus and how is death saved us, my heart still knew the Eucharist was Him! I would like to say that it was some divine moment and I instantly returned to the Sacraments, but I had a lot more baggage to deal with. God is ever patient and faithful even when I am not.
Sisters of Faustina Farm
After washing in preparation for Mass to celebrate the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary the girls decided to play Sisters of Faustina Farm. I am not sure how jumping on the couch and yanking off each other’s habits are part of a religious vocation or the “rules”.
Lunch Time with Mr. Tourtoise
The dirt road leading to my property is about ¾ of a mile. This was the fourth Gopher Tortoise we saw on the way home from one of our doctor appointments. I really love living out here!
While typing this post…
A couple of land surveyors arrived at our home to barking dogs, goats trying to jump into their truck window and chickens hoping for a handout. As with 99% of the people who have driven up our road, they were lost. I really do see the humor in a land surveyor not knowing where a particular property is located.
Something I did not think I would have to say today….
“Get out of the pot before you jump off the table!”
This was said to three year old Sarah who was found sitting on top of the coffee table in a pot. She attemted to jump with her bottom still squished inside the pot. Too bad I didn’t have my camera.
My Man
While growing up, thanks to “modern feminism” men were the butt of jokes, things to put in their place, unnecessary nuisances to be tolerated, and servants of feminine whims yet oppressors… College was a bastion of men/masculine hatred. I even had a professor tell male students they were not welcomed in her issues in counseling women’s course, but she had to let them in! I was not immune to the propaganda and even felt it necessary to keep my maiden name when I married in order to “maintain my identity”. I have long since been cured of that stupidity and now proudly share a name with my husband.
I was very fortunate to have an outstanding role model on what a real man is in my father. If it were not for him I may have been completely brainwashed and become one the many angry, bitter, blame-it-on-a-man women out there. Many of the early problems adjusting to marriage had to do with my believing men are suppose to be like women and that he was responsible for my feeling happy. Thanks to my father, influential authors such as Dr. Laura, and continuing to learn more about my catholic faith, the years of gender education have eroded away and I am blessed to be able to see what an incredible man I married.
My man works hard at a job he hates (one of two jobs I might add), in the heat of a Florida summer for little pay while we try to start a company of our own. He comes home tired and stressed with the burden of trying to provide for a family of ten, yet he comes home with a happy greeting for me and all our loud children. He sits on the couch and gladly listens to all their stories about their day. He takes the time to make sure he listens to my day too and doesn’t burden me by complaining about his. When he works late he often comes home to babies demanding mom’s attention and has to make dinner for himself. He always makes sure to make enough for me to have a snack with him. He gets up early, makes me tea, and helps the children giving me the luxury of staying in bed and cuddling the baby a little longer. When he has off he doesn’t do the many things he would enjoy for himself but instead does things with the kids that they enjoy.
My man is willing to forgo having “man toys” (new computer, cool tools, ATV, boat, television reception/cable to watch football) in order for me to stay home and take care of our children. He never makes me feel as if I am not contributing to our family by not making a pay check, but rather he makes me feel as if I do more then him by taking care of the home and children.
My man is patient with my “feminine mood swings”, especially when I am pregnant. He is always willing to listen to me ramble on and on about nothing. He is affectionate and gentle. He is a strong man and his gentleness is all the more beautiful because of it. When I remember to silence my constant babbling he opens up to me and shares his thoughts and feeling. These are some intimate moments missed by women who treat their men as shallow and incapable of “real” emotion, or women too selfish to respect what they think.
My man is handsome, strong, reliable, responsible, loving, and fun! I enjoy spending time with him. He makes me feel beautiful, feminine, competent, needed, safe and happy. My man is more kind and patient with our children then me and is wiser in his discipline and guidance with our older children especially. I admire, depend on, desire and love my man!
Happy Father’s Day and Birthday My Man!!!
I think the following images are in chronological order… :0
High school and boot camp and dating.
Married before children (well at least before they left the womb)
A young family…
A growing family…
and growing (two more since this pic)…
For more recent pics you will have to scroll down and read old posts 🙂
Differences between the first and the eighth birth.
1st Very afraid of the unknown, read lots of pregnancy books and go to birthing class.
8th Anxiety over the very known! I don’t mean to trivialize what our Lord went through during the Agony in the Garden, but when you are preparing to give birth after experience the pain of previous births you somewhat understand the fear of pain but still having the desire to suffer through it for the miracle. Labor is fun compared to Jesus’ suffering, so I don’t sweat blood; but do often wish the cup could be taken away!
1st Unsure of what to expect and don’t know how to best handle post birth complications.
8th Know what you want and find out that by politely, confidently, and not defensively speaking up you get what you want without any arguments.
1st Even though a natural birth was wanted, panic and feel that labor pain needs to be avoided. (Had drugs with the first three, epidural with the next three and finally naturally with the last two)
8th Learn the that by offering up every contraction for a specific intention and focusing on that intention during the contraction will allow an incredible peace and spiritual strength to endure the pain to be received. (Notice it doesn’t take the pain away only helps to tolerate it) Of course having the kids come out really quickly helps. I must also admit that I have not mastered offering up “after pains” and enjoyed my purple pills post birth; maybe with the ninth….
1st Expect husband to read your mind, be all comforting, take care of everything just the way you would.
8th Learn to just ask for what you want, remember your commitment to care for his needs too, appreciate all the little things he does that you didn’t notice before because you were to busy expecting him to be you!
1st Look at baby for hours and wish someone could see and appreciate every baby movement or noise with you.
8th Look at baby for hours and have many other little someones who love to see everything the baby does too.
Morning Fight
Scene: Mom in bed suffering from morning sickness (yes, even in my eighth month…uhg). Several children in the next room can be heard arguing.
Laura 6yrs: I don’t like you!
Jane 4.5 yrs: You don’t like Jesus then!
Laura (confused sounding): I like Jesus. I don’t like you and I am not playing with you anymore.
Jane (quietly and with cocky attitude): Then you don’t like Jesus.
Paul 7 yrs: Jane is right you don’t like Jesus.
Laura (upset and defensive): Yes I do! I love Jesus!
Blessed is the Fruit of Thy Womb
The children take turns reciting the decades of the Rosary at night. On Sarah’s night she still needs someone to say the prayers first and then she repeats what you say.
Mom: Blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.
Sarah: Blessed is the fruit of my womb, Jesus.
She repeats the prayer correctly when we use “thy” instead of “your”.
How to survive eight children in ten years…
Concentrate on these moments.