November 3, 1994

anniversary_1994nov31-161x300Fourteen years ago today I married my sunshine!

After high school hopping for awhile Jason started at our school a couple of months into our senior year. On the first day he attended economics class the teacher told him he could sit at the end of my row. He instead sat in the empty desk in front of me. He later told me he did so because he thought I was pretty (awww so sweet). We shared a book during class since he often “forgot” his book in his locker. One day he wrote on the top of my page, “Will you marry me?” I told him not until he gave me an engagement ring. That Christmas I found a card from him on my door step with a gum machine plastic ring in it. We went on our first date that next weekend. We played pool, went back to his house to meet his dad, and climbed up on the roof to see the stars. He was a perfect gentleman. So many boys our age at the time thought making out on a first date was standard. It was wonderful to hang out with someone who never pressured me or made me uncomfortable about physical expectations. I still remember the feeling of his hand when he offered to help from the roof to the garden wall as we climbed down. His hands have always felt as if they were made to fit mine perfectly. I still love the feeling of holding his hand.

We exchanged notes often during school. One day he gave me a note with something scratched out on the top. Being a normal curious teen girl I carefully erased the scribble and was able to make out what had been erased. It was the lyrics to “You are my Sunshine”. I pretended not to know what it said and asked what he scribbled out. He would not say. The song was stuck in my head though and without thinking about it I later began to hum the song. When he heard me he was surprised and asked what made me think of that song. I confessed I had been able to read what was written and with a red face he admitted fearing to look too corny since we had just started dating. The song has been our song ever since.

Jason left for the Marine Corp after high school and I went to college. We had talked about wanting to get married but were young. I wanted to finish school so I could be with him. I took classes year round to graduate in three years instead of four. In the beginning of my third year he got orders to Okinawa and we decided to elope. My sister was planning a wedding for the 12th of November. I knew she had a lot of work and expense involved, and well, we were doing things somewhat impulsively and there was no time before he would be on the other side of the world. We married during the week and since I am practical to the point of flaw we did not go on our honeymoon until that weekend because I had exams. My only regret is hurting our parents by not giving them the opportunity to share in our life changing day. We spent our first year apart while I finished school and he was overseas. When we finally got to live together we had already been married for over a year! [Just thought I would add… we tell our children mom and dad were foolish and they are not allowed to follow our example 🙂 !!! ]

anniversary_2000april301-182x300In May of 2000 we had our marriage convalidation in the Catholic Church. It was our public awknowledgement of wanting God in our marriage and to receive His sacramental grace.
Now we have eight beautiful children and are blessed with being able to fall asleep and wake up everyday together. Our life is so much more wonderful than I ever could have imagined fourteen years ago. I am looking forward to all the blessings, challenges, and quiet moments of what I pray will be a lifetime of growing old with my sunshine.

You are my Sunshine,
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are gray.
You’ll never know dear,
How much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.

Lucas’ Campaign Slogan

While talking politics with 11 year old son….

Mom, what would you call your campaign if you were running for president?

Mom in a grumpy mood from taking care of sick babies and a sick goat answered, “Shut up and do what I say because I am boss. People wouldn’t vote for me though. What would your campaign slogan be?”

“Life and the little things that matter.” He adds, “I would have to explain to people what it means. Life is to be pro-life. The little things that matter means those little things that matter to you but really are big.”

Mom asks, “Want to give an example?”

Lucas replies, “No, thank you. Maybe later.”

Whispers IV: A Yellow Butterfly

Whispers I
Whispers II: An Old Man in a Plane
Whispers III: Obedience
Whispers IV: A Yellow Butterfly

As a child sometimes my father took us out on our birthdays for dinner and dad alone time. These were very significant times for me. Being alone with dad meant great philosophical conversations. One particular conversation lead to some incredible wisdom even though at the time I thought it was an awful thought. My dad said that even when you are married and love your spouse you fall in and out of love all the time. He said the feeling of “being in love” comes and goes. He further went on to say what mattered is your commitment to love. I was a typical little girl and thought happily ever after meant feelings of endless mushiness. These words of wisdom helped me understand that when the “in love” feelings were difficult, to behave as if they weren’t. Eventually the feelings return, often even more intense. Those dry spells are what give a relationship strength and depth. Faith like love works the same way. When my parents divorced I stopped trusting the commitment part of love and protected myself from testing the “out of love” phase by never feeling the “in love” moments. In my mind I always knew God was there even when I denied He could be defined. When I began to go back to my faith I wanted to logically understand God and His Church, but it didn’t really occur to me to feel anything. I was ready for the commitment part of faith, but not the feeling. Loving God would mean risking feeling alone, rejected, and abandoned and if I felt those feelings how could I trust Him. I gave God my mind, but not my heart.

My first baby came in June of 1996. I was so grateful to finally have a baby to hold in my arms. Later that summer I received a phone call from my childhood friend’s sister. My friend Amy had been killed in a car accident. It was as if everything stopped. It was so unexpected I didn’t really know how to process the idea that Amy was gone.

John 11:35 And Jesus Wept.

My new baby and I flew from California to North Carolina for Amy’s funeral. Other than my grandmother’s death, I had never lost anyone close to me. I didn’t know how to behave or proper protocol for the situation. I was not at all prepared for the depth of emotion that her family was going through. The memories of the raw pain still make me cry and want to hold them all. I had been a typical teen the last time I had seen them. In the past they were background characters to my adventures with Amy. Now they were real individuals. People I had known all my life and at the same time knew not at all. I had the privilege of staying with Amy’s parents. Even in the nightmare they were experiencing they reached out to make me feel welcomed.

The night before her funeral Amy’s dad told me how he and his wife, as well as a family friend had separate experiences seeing a yellow butterfly and having comforting thoughts about Amy. Later that night I lay in bed staring at pictures on the wall; pictures of Amy’s family and our friends growing up. So many happy, fun memories stood out in dark contrast to the anguish outside the bedroom door. [There were also reminders of my sins. Some of the pictures were of a time in my life I regretted. This time would haunt me for years to come, but that is a topic for another post.] Amy’s dad’s story played in my mind again and again. Not only for the moment of peace it seemed to offer, but because in truth it was the most he had ever said to me. As I cuddled my baby son and cried for the loss of my friend I prayed that I could have my own Amy butterfly too.

The following morning we went to the church. It never ceases to amaze me, no matter where I go I always feel at home in a Catholic Church: the same liturgy, the same Jesus. It was a comfort to belong again to the Church of my childhood, the same Church Amy and I had gone to. Amy moved when we were in high-school. When she came to Florida to visit we would always go to Mass. Even when I was no longer attending regularly, when Amy was around we went. There was always something uniting about going together. During the funeral I sat in the back of the church and tried to absorb the meaning of everything that was happening. Just believing God was there was not enough. I found myself desperately wanting His comfort, His love. The desire to feel what I was going through really mattered to Him suddenly ached in my heart. The powerful emotions of the last few days were catching up with me. The inner parts of me that had long ago been locked up were longing to flow free.

When my parents were divorcing I prayed and pleaded with God not to let it happen. If I believed anything was possible with God then He would certainly save their marriage. With the absolute madness that followed their divorce I begged God to stop the pain. When the pain didn’t stop part of me shut down and figured it didn’t matter to God. No one had ever taught me that sometimes God says no or because other people are exercising their own “free will” pain happens despite God’s will. Our choices matter. I wasn’t 14 anymore and now I understood God cares even when we feel pain. Knowing God loved me wasn’t enough. I wanted to trust God. I wanted to feel love for and from Him. I wanted to risk praying for the impossible and trusting my faith wouldn’t disappear if I didn’t hear an answer.

As we drove from the church to the funeral a desperate feeling came over me. It felt as if time was running out and soon Amy would be buried and gone. It wasn’t a rational feeling. I found myself begging God for a butterfly. “Please God, if Amy is with you send me a butterfly!” Over and over the same cry was filling my heart. I stared at the coffin my friend lay in and had to have a butterfly before it was placed beneath the earth. I pressed my baby’s little hand firmly against the casket leaving a perfect baby hand print. I prayed that since Amy couldn’t hold this son to please let her hold in heaven the precious life I had lost last year. “Amy please tell God I need a butterfly too.”

Making my way from the large crowd that had come to say goodbye to Amy, I noticed several yellow butterflies off in the distance flying above the trees. I smiled, squeezed my baby tight and took a gamble with my heart. I prayed for the impossible. “God, that isn’t good enough. How do I know it is not just a coincidence? Yes, there are many more than asked for, but I just need one to know it is You.” No sooner had the thought formulated in my heart when a large yellow butterfly floated from the trees toward me. Everything was in slow motion. I did not breathe. I could not hear anyone around me. I stared with open eyes begging, needing, hoping!

My God’s whisper floated on the breeze, dancing in the air, passing between my face and the infant son I clung to. With the flutter of His breath felt on my check, I breathed again and the noise around me filled my ears. I cried out, “Did you see it? Did you see the butterfly?”

I felt God’s overpowering love.

Another friend came to my rescue and took me to the car before I further embarrassed myself and bothered everyone else at this most difficult time. I sobbed as she held me.

My heart had sparked.

me_and_amy.jpg

Happy Birthday Amy!

I look forward to being with you again in His presence someday.

Whispers III: Obedience

Whispers I
Whispers II: An Old Man in a Plane
Whispers III: Obedience
Whispers IV: A Yellow Butterfly

As a child I had always been a rule follower. If the sign said keep of the grass I used sidewalks, I didn’t talk out loud in the library or in line entering church,  and never got a detention in school. Rules taught by parents and teachers were there for my protection and I didn’t see a point in wasting time learning lessons the hard way. It just seemed practical, efficient, and logical. With the loss of my first baby and a conversation with a priest in a plane I had heard God calling me home and figured the best way to know what God wanted was to obey the few dos and don’ts of my childhood faith until my mind was more clear. If I stopped fighting the current, I knew I would have time to look around and find out where I was and where I needed to go; besides obedience was comfortable. There were issues I had with the Catholic Church, but I knew God was there.

My husband was not catholic. In hypothetical discussions he claimed not to have a problem with my raising future children Catholic, but once I became pregnant I started to worry that maybe once it was real he would. Eight months after losing our first child we were expecting our second. We also began to spend time with some neighbors who were raised Catholic, but were not practicing their faith either. They had one child. I don’t remember how the subject came up, but during one conversation about faith and needing to return to it, I asked what was needed to Baptize our baby at the Chapel on base. She had mentioned needing to baptize her child too and even asked if we would be the Godparents. It was very moving to me to be asked, even though at the time I didn’t appreciate the responsibility of the position. I was also very relieved when my husband Jason agreed to be a “Christian Witness” (Godparents have to be Catholic). We started attending Mass, registered at the on base Chapel as parishioners and signed up for the Baptism class. When Jason said yes to being a “Christian Witness” he took his responsibility serious enough to at least understand what it meant. (Thank you Sherri and Gil for planting a seed.) I also made an appointment with the priest.

The baptism class was not very memorable, but my appointment was. Like the priest in the plane, this Father was an older man. Because we had decided on my sister and her husband as Godparents we opted to baptize our baby back in Florida so our extended family could be together. [On a side note it meant waiting till he was several months old when my husband had leave. We now hate to wait more than a week before baptizing little souls. For one of our more recent children we baptized the baby the day after I was released from the hospital.] Needing Father to sign a letter for my sister’s parish saying we were parishioners at our church and had taken the baptism class there, I went in to speak with Father alone. I was very nervous. Other than the priest in the plane I had not spoken one on one with a priest since childhood confessions. Father was warm and inviting and a little apt to forget what it was he was saying. We were talking about light subjects while father filled out the letter. When Jason’s not being catholic came up, I joked that we would convert him eventually. Father shocked me with his reaction. “Don’t you try!” Ummm… pretty sure priests are supposed to want to convert people. He gave me some incredibly wise advice and my knee jerk reaction to respected authority was to listen.

My preaching could hurt our marriage and would most likely turn Jason off to the faith. If I wanted him to ever convert we were to never argue about his faith. As his wife I was to pray privately and be a positive example of my faith. I had made my choice to marry someone who wasn’t catholic and it would be unfair to expect him to change now. In case anyone might think he meant we should not spread the Gospel and encourage people to join Christ’s church that wasn’t the point. This wise old man had seen a lot of couples over his many pastoral years. As Jason’s wife my nagging him to convert would turn him off. The first mistake with demanding conversion would be changing the rules after the game started. Secondly, Jason needed to be the leader of our family’s faith; it was his responsibility as the head of our household and a follower of Christ. I needed too for him to be the leader, even though at the time if it had been stated to me this way my feminist training would have bitten off someone’s head. [If you’re foaming at the mouth and seething with anger or just think I am some poor subservient twit feel free to write to me and we can discuss the issue, but that isn’t what this post is about.]

With a very thin foundation as to the whys I began to do the few dos and don’ts of my faith that I knew. It was obedience that was allowing me to hear whispers that were guiding me to understanding the many issues I had with the Church and even the issues I hadn’t yet realized I had. Going through the motions of relearning to practice my faith felt right, but not warm and definitely did not feel like a burning passion. With the exception of confession I was trying to be obedient. God’s presence was felt in my heart, but not his love. It would take a yellow butterfly to ignite the flame and time to create a burning fire.

Providing for Children

As a financially challenged large family the question of what activities and “normal” American experiences to provide for our children is especially magnified. What opportunities least stress our financial and time limitations?Which are best for their development? Will they be social outcasts if they don’t own an ipod, cell phone, or team uniform? My catholic-rural-mom-of-eight ideal on what constitutes real world knowledge has significantly changed from my former South Floridian and secular liberal state university student perception.

If I rate my children’s education and social development on their knowledge of Hollywood creations, sport team stats, current music hits and politically driven environmental theories my children would fail miserably. When I die and face God I do not fear he will tell me I failed as a parent because my kids were not culturally popular or “in”. The development of their souls and their ability to do God’s will is challenged by trying to “be cool”. In order to blossom into strong individuals with the ability to stand against wrong and to perform good works requires being counter cultural.

I hope to provide an environment which develops a healthy knowledge of God’s beautiful creation. By understanding God’s physical creation, it is easy to foster a sense of respect and awe for the world we live in. It saddens me that so many children fear our world and feel as if they are hurting the world merely by existing. People have been disconnected from the earth and no longer understand the beauty of being part of it. They see it only from the outside and falsely, perhaps even arrogantly believe they can and need to control it.  Not realizing their God given place in creation they worship it instead of God. Animals, trees, even dirt become more important then eternal human souls. Children feel guilty for being human. Many believe that eating the flesh of animals is sinful and cruel; the same flesh that protected God’s people during the Passover, the same flesh that our Lord shared with His disciples. This mentality is manifested in the elevation of pets to the status of people. Loving a dog is seen as more important than loving one’s neighbor.

By limiting the influence of modern culture and exposing my children to true art (not pictures made with dung), beautiful music (without lyrics about using other people’s bodies), and quality literature (not the feminist, new age spiritualism, casual sex is healthy garbage) I hope to inspire their imaginations. By giving them opportunities to be part of the cycle of life by raising their own food, caring for animals, experiencing nature with all its beauty I hope to instill in them a sense of responsibility to care for creation. By giving them a constantly growing knowledge of their faith I hope to cultivate souls that love God and choose to do his will. By providing them with an education I hope to develop minds capable of thinking for themselves and having empathy for others. By loving them and their father I hope to set an example of how people are to treat each other. I pray my children will have the conviction to go out into the world and be a force of strength, goodness and joy for a weak, lost, sad society.

How others see my children does not matter, so long as they have faith, hope and charity; along with the ability to act with prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. Oh ya, when I forget this and freak out that my kids don’t “do” enough please wack me upside the head. Thanks

September 11

A day pregnant with emotion: pain, shock, fear, and conviction are only a few. As September rolls around the anniversary of the acts of terror bring about deep emotional memories for me that have nothing to do with terrorism. September 11, 2001 as images of the terrible crimes against humanity were played over and over, I felt numb to the chaos and guilty for feeling sorry for myself when so many were having their lives ripped apart. I too was losing a loved one.

A child had been growing in my womb and it was ending in miscarriage. This was my second loss. I had three living children. I was struggling to nurse the youngest while my body warred against itself. Pregnancy hormones surged through my body causing nausea without the promised reward of a new infant to hold. Morning sickness and depression caused a severe weight loss making it difficult to keep my milk supply up for my then almost seven month old son.

A few weeks earlier I had begun to bleed. Not the spotting I had experienced with the loss of my first child, but rather an abundance and I knew it was over. In the ER an ultrasound was done and there was no fetal pole (heart beat). The ultrasound technician wasn’t allowed to say anything, but she didn’t need to. All that blood spoke for itself. The ER doctor called the OB I had with my last birth. I was newly pregnant and hadn’t even been in for my first appointment with this pregnancy. I was told to rest, what to come back in for, and to see my OB.

An appointment for the next day was made and I was told not to eat after bed time. Upon arrival I asked why I couldn’t eat and was told a D and C was to be preformed. Surprised at the revelation I declined the procedure. It is the same procedure as an abortion and can cause complications for further pregnancies. Miscarrying naturally was preferred. The OB responded with an annoyed, “What ever you want, but many women emotionally want it over with”. His reaction was so different from my doctor’s with my first miscarriage who encouraged letting nature take its course.

Weeks passed, the bleeding stopped, but the miscarriage had not yet taken place. With my first baby the same thing happened. First there was bleeding then nothing until sudden labor pains and the delivery of the placenta. The waiting was difficult. I accepted the loss, but was struggling with the hormones, nausea and weight loss. I lay on the floor of my room holding my sleeping baby, praying the child in my womb would come out so I could properly care for my other children. Knowing the baby was still in me was making it difficult to move on.

The whole world seemed to be mourning. Despair was tempting. I knew I had to do something. I talked with my husband about going ahead and doing a D and C. Not comfortable with the OB I had seen and wanting a second opinion on how to proceed I took my sister’s offer to visit her OB. Sitting in Dr. Lubetkin’s office with my sister I told him my story and asked what I should do. In a very matter of fact voice he told me, “You’re still pregnant.” Confused for a moment, knowing the baby was dead I wanted to know how to let the miscarriage happen. It took sometime for me to realize he thought the baby was alive. I begged him not to give me hope after all this time, and there had been so much bleeding… He decided to prove it.

We went to an exam room and an ultrasound was done. My “dead” baby was moving and leaping in my womb. Life!

Depression is something that comes naturally to me. It is an old worn out sweat shirt put on when I want to feel comfortable. Elation is unnatural for me, yet elated I was. How could this be? Why us? Not only did my instincts fail me, but the incompetence of others almost killed my baby. If I had done the D and C, not till Heaven’s door would I have known that my child was negligently killed. Thousands of people were crying out in pain, hoping to wake from a nightmare, yet God mercifully protected our child.

I was blessed to deliver three children with Dr. Lubetkin’s practice before moving to North Florida. Every September I ponder God’s plan for us. We can’t understand nor even fathom from under the tapestry the beauty of the image above. When it seems that life is all a mess and horribly wrong I remember in His hands the chaos underneath is creating the glorious finished product above.
May the souls of the faithfully departed through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

May the souls of the faithfully departed through the mercy of God, rest in peace.


Laura and Joanna
Cute for a dead kid isn’t she?

Whispers II: An Old Man in a Plane

Whispers I
Whispers II: An Old Man in a Plane
Whispers III: Obedience
Whispers IV: A Yellow Butterfly

The summer after I miscarried I flew home alone to visit my family. I had taken some magazines belonging to my husband to pass the time. One of the magazines was about short wave radios. An older man sitting next to me noticed what I was reading and a conversation began. It was mostly the older man who talked. I was shy and he was hard of hearing so it worked out. He began to tell me how during WWII he had operated a short wave radio in the Vatican. His story was fascinating and I was very embarrassed at my lack of historical knowledge. Toward the end of his story he mentioned how I might have guessed he was a priest. Uhg… so much for history AND my catholic faith. I never put the two together. (Thank you post-Vatican II-feel-good-no-substance-religious education.) He then asked what faith I practiced. I gave my standard noncommitting answer, “I was raised catholic.” He was a seasoned priest and knew what I meant.

I don’t really remember the details, but our conversation continued and I had mentioned losing the baby and knowing I should go to church again. He started to talk about how sometimes when difficult things happen in life we tend to get mad at God. I blurted out loud without thinking, that I could never be mad at God! I was afraid my baby died because he was mad at me for the sins I chose to commit. Noticing how much this disturbed me, he turned to me and asked if I wanted him to hear my confession. I am pretty sure my eyes popped out of my head and my faced turned red. My heart began to race and my eyes watered. Until that moment the Sacrament of Penance hadn’t occurred to me. Please remember too we were crammed into a plane and the man required me to almost yell in ordered to be heard. I turned him down even though my heart was screaming to do it. I remember him saying that God didn’t punish me by taking away my baby, but most of what he said was lost to my own thoughts. They were thoughts of embarrassment that people could hear us, how part of me wanted to find a quiet spot and talk to him alone, and how I wished I could remember how to make a confession (sin of pride prevented me from asking).

We landed and I had to catch my connecting flight. Father promised to pray for me. Some how even without confession a part of me felt more at peace. God had sent this opportunity. Even though I did not fully appreciate it at the time, I still knew beyond any shadow of a doubt God wanted me back.

Okay, I guess that really is not a good example of a whisper. God actually sent a shepherd to find me. I was just to ashamed to be found.

(Douay-Rheims version) Apocalypse 3:20 “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If any man listens to my voice and opens the door to me, I will come in to him and will sup with him, and he with me.”

He is knocking at your door too.