Five minutes late (aren't we always these days). Smudged nametags, courtesy of Crayola markers. Pile of coats on the end of the pew (will it ever be spring?). Loud whispers requesting books as soon as the lector starts to read. Why can't we sing that psalm again - I like that one. Puzzle pieces scattered on the floor during the Gospel. Homily about poverty and divorce and addiction and all the wants we bring before God. Tears over who gets to put the envelope in the collection basket (next Sunday remember to bring two). No, we are not going to the potty like that little boy. Because you went before Mass and you can hold it, that's why. Eucharistic prayers for a bishop at the center of the latest sex abuse scandal. Whining about how hard it is to keep standing (I know, sweetie, I get tired, too). Eyes that light up at the Our Father - I know this one. Shaking hands with every person within lunging range. Can you be gentle for the Sign of Peace? Headlocks between brothers broken up … [Read more...] about this is church right now
toddlers
morbid? motherhood & mortality
"Mommy, I don't want to die." His big blue eyes stare up at me, full of - what? Worry? Seriousness? Wonder? We've been revisiting this conversation for months, variations on a theme: Mommy, I don't want to go to be with God. Mommy, I want to live to be 100. Mommy, I don't want you to die. He hasn't yet brushed with death, not in the aching loss of one he loves. But he's a curious child, and his love of numbers and wonder about God swirl together to stir up questions of how old God is and how old people can be. All of which added up in his head to a budding realization of finitude in the face of the infinite. What do I say? Blunder through the typical lines about how I hope he'll have a long life, and then when his life is done, he'll get to go be with God in a new way, and God loves him even more than any person ever could, so wouldn't that be amazing? Except, of course, it's all strange and skeptical enough to make wise adults anxious. So why would any precocious preschooler … [Read more...] about morbid? motherhood & mortality
here is the prayer
We're back in the tundra today, snow heaped so high by the mailbox you can barely see to inch the car onto the icy street. Wind whips through the front door when I crack it to let the dog limp inside, paws frozen by the sub-zero ground. The forecast for the foreseeable future goes like this: freezing, bitter, worse, terrible, painful, record-breaking, complete surrender. "Isn't March supposed to be spring soon?" he sighs when he looks up from his coloring book. 24 hours ago we were beach-side, bare feet in the sugary white sand, skin browning in delicious sun. Hours in the pool every morning watching our frozen children melt into slippery fish. Blue skies and palm trees and a taste of life where winter doesn't hurt. A day into our southern sojourn, my latest piece ran at Practicing Families. One of the many to-dos that never got done before we snapped the suitcases shut was to write something here that would tease you to read it, because I was surprised by how much I ended up loving … [Read more...] about here is the prayer
to witness: the toddler
His careful movements caught my attention out of the corner of my eye, as I emailed and meal-planned and sorted the mail and remembered wet laundry in the washer and half-checked the clock to see when we needed to leave. Slowly he lifted the oversized magnifying glass to his eyes, peering down at the book on the table in front of him. Gently he brought the glass down towards the page. Then raised it back up again. Turned slightly from where he stood. Saw a pencil next to the book. Peered down again. Brought the lens up towards his face. Then lowered it to watch the perspective change. For fifteen minutes he did this. Silently. Carefully. Moving gradually from table to chair to couch, inspecting anything and everything that might be of interest. The texture of fabric. The color of pictures. The edges of corners. At first I noticed. But then I stopped to see. Here he was the quiet observer. The gentle soul. The patient scientist. He was mesmerized. He was watching. . . . Evangelists … [Read more...] about to witness: the toddler
