Wisdom of a Man Named Joe

Last weekend, we had a business fair at our church. I had a table set up there, and it was great to share my business with the people of my parish. I was doing free, quick, wardrobe analysis and consultations. I met a very interesting and confident man named Joe. He came up to my table and said, "So, what do you think of my image, never mind, don't tell me. I already know. My image is perfect, because I am made in the image of God. In fact, we all are, which means, nobody needs to hire you."

He got me thinking. He is right, we are all made in the image and likeness of God, and when we meet him one day, we will have perfect bodies, and no thoughts of insecurity. However, we don't all have perfect bodies and/or the confidence of Joe. I heard a lady speak at the women's conference yesterday, and she mentioned the Dove "Real Women" campaign from a few years ago. The campaign statistics showed that 2% of women label themselves as beautiful. 2%!!! This is crazy to me. I look around every day and see the beauty of the women I come in contact with. So different, and so "perfect." Even though we are perfect, and God sees us that way, and is crazy about us JUST THE WAY WE ARE, that doesn't mean we see ourselves that way.

So that's where I come in. You know, when I describe my business, I compare what I do to the show What Not to Wear. I should really stop doing that, because the way I approach the whole process is very different. I don't choose to tear you down only to bring you back up. I take the person and ask them about their insecurities. I teach them to love what God has given them, and to make them look and feel beautiful, no matter what their body type or perceived flaws.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all felt like Joe about ourselves? I would totally be fine being out of business if that's how we all felt! I would find something else to do. But thanks to the media, Satan, and original sin, we don't all feel that way.

A new friend asked me about my business not long ago. She said, "So do you think that a sweet little nun with a bulky habit, and no make-up needs your services?" My response, "Heaven's No!" That little woman has given her life to God, and is probably very confident that God loves her just the way she is.

I'm not out to make a little fashionista clone army. Just as God made us all look different, I think we should all dress different. I like to help people feel comfy in the skin they are in while wearing things that make them feel good about themselves (so sue me if for me these things happen to be skinny jeans, cool boots and trendy jewelry)!

So today, I challenge you all to tell yourself you are beautiful, and mean it. And if you don't feel it, go through your closet and put something on that makes you feel beautiful. Then thank God for giving you this beautiful body that is made in HIS image!

Finger Lickin' Evil

Do you know how hard it is not to lick the spoon after you've made chocolate muffins for your daughter's preschool? Well, it's hard. Ridiculously hard. Borderline heroic

Domestic Monastery

I borrowed this from my friend Laurie's blog. Good stuff if you have a minute to read. And, I have a friend who suggested a Ron Rolheiser book to me years ago. I started it, and decided I wasn't smart enough to read his stuff. I think I'll try again ;)
The Domestic Monastery

Written by: Ron Rolheiser OMI January 7, 2001

Carlo Carretto, one of the leading spiritual writers of the past half-century, lived for more than a dozen years as a hermit in the Sahara desert. Alone, with only the Blessed Sacrament for company milking a goat for his food, and translating the bible into the local Bedouin language, he prayed for long hours by himself. Returning to Italy one day to visit his mother, he came to a startling realization: His mother, who for more than thirty years of her life had been so busy raising a family that she scarcely ever had a private minute for herself, was more contemplative than he was.

Carretto, though, was careful to draw the right lesson from this. What this taught was not that there was anything wrong with what he had been doing in living as a hermit. The lesson was rather that there was something wonderfully right about what his mother had been doing all these years as she lived the interrupted life amidst the noise and incessant demands of small children. He had been in a monastery, but so had she.

What is a monastery? A monastery is not so much a place set apart for monks and nuns as it is a place set apart (period). It is also a place to learn the value of powerlessness and a place to learn that time is not ours, but God's.

Our home and our duties can, just like a monastery, teach us those things. John of the Cross once described the inner essence of monasticism in these words: "But they, O my God and my life, will see and experience your mild touch, who withdraw from the world and become mild, bringing the mild into harmony with the mild, thus enabling themselves to experience and enjoy you." What John suggests here is that two elements make for a monastery: withdrawal from the world and bringing oneself into harmony with the mild.

Although he was speaking about the vocation of monastic monks and nuns, who physically withdraw from the world, the principle is equally valid for those of us who cannot go off to monasteries and become monks and nuns. Certain vocations offer the same kind of opportunity for contemplation. They too provide a desert for reflection.

For example, the mother who stays home with small children experiences a very real withdrawal from the world. Her existence is definitely monastic. Her tasks and preoccupations remove her from the centres of power and social importance. And she feels it. Moreover her sustained contact with young children (the mildest of the mild) gives her a privileged opportunity to be in harmony with the mild, that is, to attune herself to the powerlessness rather than to the powerful.

Moreover, the demands of young children also provide her with what St. Bernard, one of the great architects of monasticism, called the "monastic bell". All monasteries have a bell. Bernard, in writing his rules for monasticism, told his monks that whenever the monastic bell rang, they were to drop whatever they were doing and go immediately to the particular activity (prayer, meals, work, study, sleep) to which the bell was summoning them. He was adamant that they respond immediately, stating that if they were writing a letter they were to stop in mid-sentence when the bell rang. The idea in his mind was that when the bell called, it called you to the next task and you were to respond immediately, not because you want to, but because it's time for that task and time isn't your time, it's God's time. For him, the monastic bell was intended as a discipline to stretch the heart by always taking you beyond your own agenda to God's agenda.

Hence, a mother raising children, perhaps in a more privileged way even than a professional contemplative, is forced, almost against her will, to constantly stretch her heart. For years, while raising children, her time is never her own, her own needs have to be kept in second place, and every time she turns around a hand is reaching out and demanding something. She hears the monastic bell many times during the day and she has to drop things in mid-sentence and respond, not because she wants to, but because it's time for that activity and time isn't her time, but God's time. The rest of us experience the monastic bell each morning when our alarm clock rings and we get out of bed and ready ourselves for the day, not because we want to, but because it's time.

The principles of monasticism are time-tested, saint-sanctioned, and altogether-trustworthy. But there are different kinds of monasteries, different ways of putting ourselves into harmony with the mild, and different kinds of monastic bells. Response to duty can monastic prayer, a needy hand can be a monastic bell, and working without status and power can constitute a withdrawal into a monastery where God can meet us. The domestic can be the monastic.

Home Sweet Home!

We got it! After a very long weekend, and even longer day today, we found out we got the house! We move in tomorrow. And thanks to my sweet sister, and precious son's help, you could eat dinner off my baseboards, and bathe in my toilets!

Patience and Trust

So if you would've asked me on Friday what I was doing this weekend, I would've told you I was moving into my dream house (seen above). However, not happening yet. Here's the story for those of you who don't know.

We went to close on Friday at 3:30, check in hand, pen ready to sign. Well the closing attorney told us that when the builder bought the land, he was to pay the neighborhood a marketing fee. Builder went under, never paid fee. So then the current owner bought the house from the bank. He went to sign the papers to sell the house to us and saw this fee on the papers. He said he wouldn't sign, because it wasn't his responsibility to pay, it was the builder's. And no, the fee is not small enough for us to pay it, just to get into the house. So needless to say, we couldn't close without his signature. Story to be continued. We didn't get out of there until 6:00, with no resolution. Hoping it all works out tomorrow, but may not.

So what did I end up doing this weekend? Canceling movers, fridge and furniture delivery, PODS pick-up, etc. Good times. BUT, I got to enjoy this BEAUTIFUL weather with my family. The sunshine gave us all a boost.

We were saying our family prayers the other night, and Tadd prayed for patience. Right when it came out of his mouth, I said, "NO! Don't pray for patience! God will give you opportunities to practice it!" Needless to say, we have been given that opportunity.

The good thing is, we both totally trust that God's will is going to be done in all of this, and we have turned it over to Him. So if he doesn't want us to have this house, we will know.

So we wait, and trust.

Ashes to Ashes...

and dust to dust. We hope you burn your britches when you jam with us (clap, clap), jam with us.

Ok, sorry for the cheer. I couldn't resist. This post is not about cheerleading, but about Ash Wednesday. The beginning of Lent, or the 40 days before Easter. Looking forward to Lent. The older my kids get, and start to understand, the more I look forward to it. There are so many teaching opportunities.

Just a few things I wanted to share about today (mainly so I don't forget these things in the future).

1) While at mass this morning, we were waiting in line for ashes. Hadley saw some people sitting in the pews who had already received theirs. She asked me what they were. I said, "They are ashes, and you are about to get some!" She said, "Ok Mama, I want pink ones!" So cute, she is such a girly girl. Only she would ask for pink ashes!

2) When I was about to drop Alex off at school after mass, he said, "Mom, are my ashes still there?" I told him they were, but a little faded, and asked him if he wanted them gone. He said, no, he wanted them there all day. I don't know about you other Catholic girls, but I was never proud of my ashes as a kid. In fact I think I always thought seriously about cutting bangs every winter to cover them up. No really, I think it was because I grew up going to Christian (but not Catholic) schools, and had very few Catholic friends. Not an excuse! Alex is in the same boat, and loves his ashes. Love that kid.

3) A man behind me in the grocery store said to me, "Enlighten me." I said, "Pardon me?" He said, "Enlighten me. What's on your forehead?" REALLY? I thought everyone knew about Ash Wednesday, even if you aren't Catholic. So I explained.

4) I told you my family gave up sweets for Lent. Well, Alex's teacher decided to share a cookies and cream (Alex's fav) candy bar with the whole class. He declined. He said it was so hard, and he almost cried. He even said another little girl in his class gave up sweets for Lent and she took a piece of candy. Like I said about teaching opportunities...this was one. I think he is learning about true sacrifice. He also said someone had steak for lunch...he had PB&J...no meat on Ash Wednesday. So proud of my little guy.

P.S. Nobody forced him to give things up. HE chooses what to do.

How Krispy Kreme Saved Me

Problem #1: Hadley, in new preschool. New teacher tells me on Monday that there will be a Valentine Party on Wednesday, and to bring valentines for the class. (I know what you are thinking..."Genius, it's that time of year. You should be prepared." In my defense, the month of February is crazy for us...3 birthdays 1 anniversary, and now closing on a new house...so Valentines isn't at the top of my list.)

Problem #1 Solved: Pick up one dozen donuts from KK, get 12 free valentines with coupons for 1 free donut on each. Done.

Problem #2: I ate 1/2 of the box of the donuts I bought to get the free valentines.

Problem #2 not solved yet. Donuts went straight to my arse.

Problem #3: Alex has a male teacher. He told us about the Valentine Party on Thursday the day before the party. Asked us to bring something, God love him.

Problem #3 solved: Picked up another dozen donuts (the cute heart shaped kind seen below), got 12 free valentines. Also, used the 2 leftover valentines to get me and Hadley a snack. That one went to my gut.

Problem #4: I walk in the class with a dozen donuts and valentines (no, I didn't eat these), and Alex is embarrassed that I brought Valentines. Apparently, 4th grade boys are too cool for this. I almost walked out the door with the valentines and got myself 12 free donuts with the coupons, but the kids talked me out of it.

Problem #4 almost solved by me yelling at my son (in front of the whole class) how he is ungrateful, and he needed to get over himself and quit trying to be so cool because one other boy didn't bring valentines. Changed my mind, and decided to let my sister get this year's Mom of the year plaque.

Moral of the story. My family is giving up sweets for Lent. I'm obviously addicted, and it will be the hardest thing in the world for me to sacrifice. Pray for us! I Heart Krispy Kreme (pun intended)!