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everyday parenting as spiritual practice

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Scripture & Parenting

the day before Christmas

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Wherever they are, they have traveled far. Not at home, known and comfortable. Not on the road, exhausted from the journey. Arrived but unsettled. No room in the expected places, no welcome in the usual way. Whatever they expect, they can only imagine. Preparation leads to prayer's edge: picturing what might be, trusting what could come, unknowing until inhabited. They have seen the shift to parenthood from outside, but never for themselves. They cannot know until they arrive. However she feels, today is the last day like this. Feeling his kicks and squirms, marveling at the stretch of her skin, carrying the heaviest weight her body will hold. Tomorrow will bring transformation for both of them. Whatever she knows, control is not hers. Mysterious forces guide birth, and his will be the most sacred. Turns out the baby's lungs trigger labor, the pneuma within us, the Spirit wanting to breathe. However tomorrow looks, it will turn upside down. Scripture does not mention a … [Read more...] about the day before Christmas

beloved. be loved.

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A beloved theology professor of mine in college used to start each class with a simple prayer, repeating, "Be still, and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10). One line spoken slowly, one word dropped each time until there was only "be." Years later, a favorite writing teacher did the same during a week-long workshop. Let us pause each day to breathe into the spaces between the words.  I took their wisdom to heart, prayed these lines with children and adults. Always searching for more Scripture that can be stair-stepped with perfect simplicity.  Now I've found another. . . . Beloved, we are God's children now. (1 John 3:2) The first Scripture I ever memorized, for an all-school Mass. The first time I ever got to proclaim the Word, second grade if memory serves. White mimeographed reading pasted onto construction paper. I had to yank the microphone all the way down and perch on pink saddle-shoed tip-toes, and even then I could barely see over the ambo. But the thrill … [Read more...] about beloved. be loved.

crusts & crumbs: God with us

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Crusts & Crumbs is a new reflection for Sunday evenings: thoughts on today's Scripture from parenting's perspective. If you're hungry to connect faith and family, let’s chew here together. "The Lord, your God, is in your midst" (Zep 3:17). Do we remember this, when we're together at table or party? Do we call the truth to mind, as we're racing through airport or freeway? Wherever two or three are gathered, there is God in our midst. Even a family of two - a married couple, a single parent with child, a grandparent and grandchild - are full family. And, Scripture says, full presence. "For great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel!" (Isa 12:6) The space between us is sacred, then. We hug and kiss, or jostle and fight, or bristle and ignore. Dynamics between family members are hyper-charged this time of year, Hallmark movies and holiday cards plastering perfect smiles on our edgy expectations. Can we measure up to our own hopes, let alone our culture's commercialized … [Read more...] about crusts & crumbs: God with us

crusts & crumbs: pray, hope, don’t worry

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Crusts & Crumbs is a new reflection for Sunday evenings: thoughts on today's Scripture from parenting's perspective. If you're hungry to connect faith and family, let’s chew here together. "The anxieties of daily life." Is there anything more ordinary? Preaching on perplexing signs and terrible fears that will signal the end of times, Jesus speaks words of caution: "Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life" (Luke 21:25-28, 34-36). We laugh and swat away the first two, easy enough. But the last? Who among us is not dogged by anxieties? How could they be dangerous as drunkenness? Worry walks hand in hand with the work of raising children. From the beginning parents circle round small concerns and shrink from larger fears. Will the child be safe? Healthy? Strong? Worries change as children grow and parents age, but anxiety is still wound tight with love. How could we possibly parent without worry? But … [Read more...] about crusts & crumbs: pray, hope, don’t worry

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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
True confession: I never noticed Epiphany. We thr True confession: I never noticed Epiphany.

We three kings, endless rounds at church. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh; got it. Magi made it to the manger; let’s clean up now.

I mistook it for a child’s story, a charming end to Christmas. I missed all the angles of light it waited to shine.

Scripture offers a thousand doors by which to enter any story. If you think you’ve got it All Figured Out, turn around and try another. The Word holds infinite mysteries we have not yet uncovered.

You might discover truth you never expected—an epiphany waiting for you.

(And if you want to dig deeper, I’d love for you to join us on retreat this week!)
Spent the second day of the year staring at these Spent the second day of the year staring at these two hard, glorious truths. Winter makes the most beauty from the coldest nights, and what looks like death is often the beginning.

I stared up into frozen trees for five full minutes, looking like a fool, and I stared into tiny roots of the dying seed for even longer.

Here was God whispering the same truth, with wind blown ice crystals and wheat stalk seeds. You can only glimpse a sliver of the creation you are becoming. Just wait till the wild full bloom is born.

#newyearprayer #catechesisofthegoodshepherd
A viral poem. A premature baby. Birth and death, m A viral poem. A premature baby. Birth and death, masks and murder, a jarring jumble—like nearly every day in 2020.

But still the joy of new life at the center, even with the hard world edging all around.

I expected none of it, all the news that turned the year upside down.

But neither did I expect the truth and hope I found from so many here.

I tagged a few of the friends and voices I have been grateful to listen and learn from this year, changing from what they are teaching me.

Let their words & work & witness encourage you.

Drop your favorite accounts in the comments below, so we can follow them, too?

Here’s to hope, brimming on the horizon. The new year won’t change everything, but it will change us—and we can change each other.
Reminding myself today, to bear light & hope into Reminding myself today, to bear light & hope into a weary world. 🕯
It took all of Advent for me to notice us behind t It took all of Advent for me to notice us behind them.

Beholding in our own exhausted joy.

We never could have prepared for the suffering surrounding that birth. We had no idea how much harder everything was about to turn, on the cusp of the world about to change.

It took all year for me to see that they were showing us that way, too.

Through the impossible.
Through the dark.
Trusting together.
We use short-hand for “the shortest day of the y We use short-hand for “the shortest day of the year” as we inch toward the solstice, but it feels like the opposite.

Darkness stretches longest.

Once upon a time when I used to drive to pick up kids from school (and to think I grumbled! what I wouldn’t give now), December always brought the days when I had to gear up to turn the transmission.

Yes, it’s already dark at 4:30 p.m. Yes, you can venture back out. Yes, you can do this.

Even in these longest, darkest days, you can keep going.

I am writing in the dark right now. Not just because 5:00 a.m. is the sole silent hour left in my day, in a house brimming with humans, every last one prayed for. But because I don’t know what comes next.

None of us do.

The anxiety and uncertainty that dawned last March have become a way of life, our eyes glazing over headline and headline, one unbelievable story after another that would have stopped us in our tracks in years past.

We joke, we snark, we sigh or scroll—all signs of overload. Our minds and bodies cannot take anymore.

What will next year hold? What will Christmas feel like at home, alone or apart? Will New Year’s bring hope?

I don’t know.

But I know we can learn how to do much more in the dark than we thought possible.

So here’s to the longest darkness of the year. Tomorrow will bring more day and we will find more light. The smallest slivers and merest minutes mean the most now.

May we hold tight to the light. May we trust that darkness will not overcome it.
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