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everyday parenting as spiritual practice

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Here, Too: the new Lent book

2 Comments

I remember where I was sitting when I got the idea.

In the middle of a writing workshop on time and place in memoir. How to deal with challenges of chronology and context.

As often happens, my mind leapt from the question at hand to a brand-new idea.

What about a book on the times and places that God meets us?

I mentally wandered away the class for fifteen minutes, scribbling in the back of my notebook. Metaphors and memories, stories from Scripture and stories from our lives. On the road. In the desert. At home. In the storms.

I scanned the list, satisfied. Something there, for sure. But I remembered my own time and place, turned back to the teacher, closed the notebook, and forgot all about it.

Until Jenna and I got to talking about Lent last year.

Thanks to the work of a team of beautiful writers and a brilliant designer, that book is now brought to life.

Here, Too: Where We Meet God is the Blessed Is She Lent book for 2020. A journey through seven places in our lives where we can encounter God.

In the desert. At home. On the road. In the storm. On the mountain. In the garden. At the tomb.

Each week a different writer reflects on stories from her life that illuminate the theme. I gathered Gospel stories and Psalm prayers to guide our meditation.

And I got the chance to reflect on each of the times and places that I first brainstormed years back, inviting us to wonder together: where and when do we encounter God?

How might we find God here, too – wherever we are today?

Here, Too is now available here from Blessed Is She. Our Lent books sell out fast, so get your copy today.

If you’d like to pray through Easter, you can grab this combo deal that includes a copy of Risen: 50 Ways to Celebrate Easter. You can use this Easter book every year, and I have new ideas up my sleeve for how to refresh our prayer together all the way through Easter.

I look back on the birth of that book, an idea conceived in the middle of a writing workshop, led by the author of a memoir that helped convince me to have another baby, even as she made the opposite decision.

Here I am now, looking ahead to a Lent that will take me from pregnancy to birth to newborn days once again.

Another journey through unexpected ways God meets us.

I can’t wait to walk this way with you.

Photos by Therese Westby.

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Colleen says

    13 January 2020 at 12:08 pm

    I am a paid member. Do I need to order the bundle. I don’t wsnt to miss this.

    Reply
    • Laura says

      16 February 2020 at 3:59 pm

      Hi Colleen – so sorry your comment went to spam somehow! As a member you’ll get the book sent straight to you, but if you want the bundle, you’d need to order that separately. Hope this helps – thank you!

      Reply

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About Laura

I’m Laura Kelly Fanucci. Mother, writer, wonderer. This space is where I explore mothering through writing. It’s where I celebrate how God shows up in the chaos of raising children. It’s where I love to build community with readers like you. Read More…

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thismessygrace

Mother, writer, wonderer.
Seeker of God in chaos & life with kids.
Author of Everyday Sacrament & Grieving Together.
Glimpses of grace & gratitude.

thismessygrace
I want to tell you what it means to weep with thos I want to tell you what it means to weep with those who weep.

It means you will be changed. You must be changed.

Weeping with those who weep does not mean passing the thin Kleenex of your pity.

Nor does it mean steamrolling their grief with your opinion.

Nor does it mean telling them to pull themselves up, be strong, or get over it.

It means you plunk yourself down next to them, quiet yourself, listen and let yourself be moved.

Which means changed. Which means converted.

This is why the exhortation is holy. Why we call it God’s Word and not just A Nice Thing To Do.

We read Romans 12 at our wedding. “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” Had we known then what we know now, would we have spoken words of weeping on a day of rejoicing?

Absolutely.

Our calling as Christ-followers is to be transformed by the suffering of others—and to do what we can to lessen their pain. We are here to live the breadth and depth and sorrow and joy of what it means to be human.

If you see the staggering sorrow around you and wonder where to start, sit down near the mourning, quiet yourself, listen and let yourself be moved. What they want most is to be heard and honored, supported and seen.

Weep with those who weep.

Do not seek to minimize, justify, or dismiss. Do not seek to save yourself from the mess. You are already part of it.

But you can be part of the healing, too. When you weep with those who weep.

Then ask God to show you what to do next.
Where can a mother go to grieve? She craves comfo Where can a mother go to grieve?

She craves comfort for body and soul. She seeks the sanctuary of safe space. She wants the wisdom of women who have walked this way before. She needs time to honor her love, remember her child, and wrestle with her grief.

This May, I want to offer this space of solace.

Oasis is a virtual retreat for grieving mothers. On May 1-2 (Bereaved Mother’s Day), we’ll gather to create a place of prayer and support.

In the comfort of our own homes, we’ll reflect with simple, creative practices to connect with God, each other, and our children. Together we’ll share Scripture, small groups, and space for reflecting in peace and quiet.

We’ll drink from the Word. We’ll find beauty in art and song.

We’ll learn from other mothers who understand the loss of a child.

We’ll keep finding a way in the wilderness together.

Oasis is a crossroads of connection on our journey. A place where we can pause and be refreshed. A moment’s rest where we can seek God’s peace and presence.

You can make this retreat right in the middle of your life, joining us for as much as you need.

Registration is now open on my website. Sliding scale fees & scholarships are available if you need. You can also gift the retreat to a grieving mother you love.

Whether you lost a baby before birth or a child in adulthood, your story matters here.

Step into the comfort of Oasis.

#griefsupport #grievingmother #griefretreat #childloss
Coming to you Friday morning. A big piece of my he Coming to you Friday morning. A big piece of my heart, ready to welcome you in.

Today as I sit in quiet anticipation, I’m remembering echoes of The Day Before.

The day before birth, waiting and wondering whether baby was on the way.

The day before death, hoping and praying for peace and the power of a miracle.

Tomorrow holds slivers of birth and death, all woven together, tight to my heart.

It’s a new creation I’ve dreamed about for years, but never got to bring to life until now.

Most importantly, it’s my prayer to you—that you know you aren’t alone in the broken places.

Coming soon.
The year after our daughters died was filled with The year after our daughters died was filled with stunning skies.

Violet sunsets and rosy dawns. Navy stormclouds and lavender evenings. Buttercream wisps and pewter fogs.

I spent hours that year craning my eyes up, tilting my head back to take in the wide view. Had I never looked up before, never noticed the shifting seasons in the stars?

The world was ripped open, jarring and raw—but the year of violet skies was a sole beauty.

Grief can peel back parts of existence you did not know before. We call it darkness or depression, heaping layers of shadow upon realities that reach beyond words. But what it is runs deeper: the gold-flecked vein of life cutting through the gray stone of loss.

We are shining. We are barely scraping by.

As spring unfurls into shocking buds and pale green hope, I keep remembering that wild palette of horizons five years gone.

Bruised skies, slashing rains. Watercolor sunsets bleeding into night. A pale peach sunrise so breathless and perfect I thought it might be the last on earth.

And then it wasn't. And then the next day rose and set anew. Life keeps going, even when ours stops. Equal parts blessing and curse.

We get to choose so little of what happens to us. But we have the power to notice.

Seeing can be enough to save a life.
Spent Holy Saturday musing on mothering & grief. H Spent Holy Saturday musing on mothering & grief. How birth can be like death (and death like birth). How food can become Love.
Easter Monday is for the rest of us. The slow to Easter Monday is for the rest of us.

The slow to believe.
The skeptics. The doubters.

The ones who can’t run to see for themselves.

The stuck. The uncertain.
The lost or forgotten.

The quiet who shy away from the crowds.

Easter was spotlights and sugar and singing. But remember: this season is only beginning.

You are not too late, too lost, or too gone.

You’re part of the reason this long way rolls on.

So if you rise grateful—that holiday’s over—or if you sink deeper, dreading the dawn:

Today (and tomorrow, all 50 days after) are here to remind you that this road is long.
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