tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8082140217805534352024-02-19T07:44:38.134-05:005 and Counting...Musings of a Missionary Mommy5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-59768332803327272602016-05-18T15:45:00.000-04:002016-05-18T16:26:26.083-04:00In the Orbit of Mother I'm under the weather today. Nothing serious, just a bad cold. Unfortunately I am still improving my immune system so a cold sort of really knocks me off my feet. While I know what I need to do to get over this nuisance of the nose, throat, and chest variety, whether or not I can do it seems to depend a lot on my children.<br />
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Inevitably, when I need rest, quiet and immobility, I am reminded that my children orbit around me.<br />
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Mothers are like the suns of their little domestic universes. Everything revolves around them. Husband, children, even pets, they all find harmony in a synchronous orbit around mother.<br />
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Yesterday I needed to put myself to bed and try to sleep this thing off. So when husband came home I finished making dinner and then tried to turn over the household to him and put myself in bed. Within ten minutes the first of my little orbiters came in to tell me absolutely nothing important. A few minutes later another skipped in to simply "see if I was asleep" and was relieved that I was not. Not long after that I was treated to another visit from my youngest. He thought that perhaps I needed to be entertained and snuggled so he moved into "close orbit" and splayed himself across my chest while talking nonstop about origami. Soon after this, my husband came in. He couldn't find something. I told him where it was. Then he came in again wondering how to store the left-overs. Then he decided to do the bills sitting next to me on the bed. At this point I gave up the idea of sleeping - which was good because next came the parade of children giving me origami tulips and cat faces.<br />
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I could have gotten mad. I was admittedly a bit frustrated. But I am mom. I am wife. I am, quite literally, the center of their universe. This is something for which I am both eternally grateful and constantly terrified of messing up; but it is as it should be.<br />
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One day my children will be grown. It is happening too fast as it is with two of them on the cusp of the teenage years. They will outgrow this small domestic universe of ours. My boys will seek out their own lives. They will find a new "star" to become the center of their orbit. As they should.<br />
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My daughter will grow and learn and mature into a woman I hope will understand the important role she will play in a family of her own. A role no one else can fill. The role of wife. The role of mother.<br />
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Mother.<br />
This exhausting, beautiful, real, raw, self-emptying calling that makes you alike to the sun, and as full of love as the moon.<br />
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And I will one day be able to put myself to bed without interruption, without small feet running to check on me, and I will miss these times. I will miss their need to simply be near me. The security they feel in knowing mother is there. She is awake. She is watching. She is present. And they are in my orbit.<br />
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So I turn to Our Blessed Mother.<br />
Mary, Star of the Sea. Mary, Morning Star.<br />
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We have a beautiful statue of Mary in our home right now. It is by far my favorite depiction of Mary. The statue belongs to my grandmother but she loans her out to our family members. Whenever she comes to visit I find myself doing the same thing that my children do. I place myself in her orbit. It is enough to be near. To be able to glance at her as I go about my day. To feel her presence and the security that comes with it. I actually contemplated placing her on a table in my kitchen because that is where I spend so much of my day!<br />
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More than the presence of a statue though, there is a comfort and a peace that comes from being near Our Lady. She is Mother. The most perfect of Mothers. She offers us all the comfort, the protection, the encouragement, and the help we could possibly need; and she does this because she constantly directs us to THE Son. Her Son. I love the quote from St. Louis de Montfort, <b><i>"If you put all the love of all the mothers of the world into one heart it still would not equal the love of the heart of Mary for her children." </i></b><br />
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She understands the unique sacrifices and the gift that is Motherhood. She can distribute to us the Graces we need to accept our role in our families, to be the "sun" in whose orbit our family finds peace. If we place ourselves near her, much as our children do with us, we will find all the help, all the perseverance, all the love we need to be mother.<br />
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Mother. <br />
Mary. <br />
Mother for mothers.<br />
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5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-87907871589793270392014-03-03T23:33:00.000-05:002014-03-03T23:33:03.053-05:00Pruning<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Courtesy of <a href="http://www.elivingtoday.com/ArchiveArticleDetail.aspx?ID=2362" target="_blank">this link</a></td></tr>
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These last few months have been a season of "pruning." I don't know why I continue to be amazed that whenever I try to really surrender, to really remove from myself everything that is not pleasing to or of God, that God does nothing less than swoop in and start pruning. Like a master gardener finally given access to an over-grown garden and a pair of pruning shears, He takes to my soul and therefore the rest of my life, with gusto. Its also amazing (though it shouldn't be) that even what could be seen as the smallest of things take on the greatest significance when being pruned by the Master. Equally amazing is how I seem to fail so miserably at just letting myself be molded. Letting myself be the overgrown shrub in need of attention. I suppose this is where humility comes in. In a way this is also one of the many things God was teaching me. Its easy to want to be the rosebush. To want to be the prize of the garden show. (Is the metaphor getting tiresome yet?) But God isn't asking us to be those things. "Be perfect, just as our Heavenly Father is perfect" doesn't imply that we have already achieved perfection. It implies that we have to strive for it. Christ didn't come for the perfect people. He came for you and me and the rest of sinful humanity. That's why we need to be pruned.<br />
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With Lent upon us I can't help but be thankful for this unexpected but much needed season of refining. It reminds me that Lent isn't about what we are giving up. Its about making room for what we have to gain. Lent is about de-cluttering ourselves so we have room for Christ to dwell within us more deeply, more fully, more freely. Mortifications, sacrifices, they are supposed to be making room for Him. This isn't a loss. This is an immeasurable gain. "For my yoke is easy and my burden light." These words are ever true, even if they present a paradox. Have you ever felt this lightness? This easy yoke? Anyone even tacitly striving for holiness knows that following Our Lord is not easy. Yet, when He asks us to do the seemingly impossible and we Trust Him enough to follow, the resulting lightness of spirit, the interior joy that follows is without words. The absolute peace that dwells within - peace that cannot be shaken by external storms or events. It is not Christ who piles on the heavy burdens. We do that to ourselves when we do not make enough room for Christ to carry those burdens with us. <br />
Imagine a long wooden beam across your shoulders. You are carrying it - heavy, weighed down. Next to you on either side are all the things you are attached to, all the things that clutter up your life: unhealthy relationships, mass media, love of money, greed, vanity, gossip, idleness, pride, laziness, a desire to have "things" you don't really need, compulsions, tendencies towards uncharitable words or thoughts...the list goes on. You're surrounded! Now, what if you were to start to remove some of these walking companions? What if you were to purge from your life unhealthy relationships? Vain attachments? Laziness? As these things begin to fall away from you, you suddenly have more room next to you. Who do you think steps in to help carry your load? The Master. <br />
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But you are still dragging along with you some of those clinging attachments, some of those disordered tendencies. Christ can only carry the edge of the beam and it still feels a bit heavy. What to do? Yes, detach yourself some more. The more you are able to detach yourself from the things of this world the more room you make for Christ to come in and take your burden, until you and He are so close that you can't even feel the weight of the beam anymore. The beam is still there, but you are no longer carrying the weight of it; because you have made room for The Master.<br />
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This is what Lent does for us. It is what seasons of pruning do for us. It is what we are called to over and over again. Living a life fixed on Heaven is living a life of perseverance. We must constantly allow ourselves to be worked on, to be pruned. Constantly checking those "walking companions" and making sure we make room for the Only Companion that matters. <br />
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I leave you with these musings on the eve of Shrove Tuesday as we all prepare for a season of expectant sacrifice. I pray that you will enter this Lent with the thought of what it is you are about to gain, and not what you are about lose.<br />
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And as an aside, thank you for reading. Writing helps me to make sense of things. It helps me to process and to articulate what my heart is trying to tell my head. It humbles me that others would want to read these bumbling attempts of mine to articulate the awesomeness of the love of our God and the privilege that it is to serve Him.<br />
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Peace! 5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-68216364221532213572014-02-09T22:25:00.000-05:002014-02-09T22:25:13.079-05:00Prayer for Invisibility<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 16.309091567993164px;">Sometimes I am so struck by the reality of my own nothingness I feel ashamed to have thought that I was ever anything more. Dear Lord, give me the Grace of Invisibility and may all Glory go to Him who is All that Is.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 16.309091567993164px;"><br /></span>5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-6674100738423461762013-11-27T15:34:00.000-05:002013-11-27T15:34:00.137-05:00Pope Francis is Not Marxist: A Response to Response to RushI don't often post links here, however, I wrote about Rush Limbaugh accusing Pope Francis of being a Marxist on my <a href="http://daughteroftheheavenlyking.wordpress.com/2013/11/27/a-response-to-rush-limbaugh/" target="_blank">other blog</a>, so I wanted to give you fine readers and followers the chance to read it.<br />
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So here is the link to "<a href="http://daughteroftheheavenlyking.wordpress.com/2013/11/27/a-response-to-rush-limbaugh/" target="_blank">A Response to Rush Limbaugh</a>." Or, in other words, "Why Pope Francis is NOT a Marxist.<br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-45512801915868603402013-10-30T10:22:00.002-04:002013-10-30T10:23:16.361-04:00Home Sweet HomeI would like to tell you a story. Its a true story. About our home. Now this may sound boring to you, however if you have read any of the other stories on this blog you'd know that our lives are anything BUT boring.<br />
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Five years ago my husband was being honorably discharged from the Marine Corps after serving two enlistments (that's 8 years for you civilians out there). We were living on a military base at the time, and of course had to move as you don't get to live on a base or post as an enlisted (ahem, not officer) service-member unless you are active duty. The trouble was we had no idea when or where we would move. We new God was telling us our time as a military family was up, but He was keeping us in the dark about the rest!<br />
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We eventually discerned that we were to move to the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. Through a series of what some would call random, but what we knew to be Providential events my husband became the Executive Director of a non-profit that had stalled and was charged with resurrecting it. This at least provided us with some sort of income potential (though it wasn't enough to really live off of). We knew that we were eligible for benefits from the Veterans Association upon discharge so we were planning to use that as rent to get us on our civilian feet. <br />
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As the days wound down and "moving day" approached, we STILL had no house to move to! We were praying, trusting, and feeling a bit like Shadrach, Mishaq, and Abednego in the fiery furnace! Finally the day before we were to move out (we had the boxes packed and the u-Haul ready!) we took a last-ditch, Hail Mary trip to the area the non-profit was to be located. We were shown a few dirty, broken down apartments that we knew we could not raise 4 children in (I was pregnant with our fourth at the time). We walked back to our car confounded. What were we to do!? <br />
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My husband sat behind the wheel and prayed aloud to St. Joseph. He asked God to show us. Right in front of us was a Realtor's Office. We looked at each other. Why not!?<br />
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We entered the office and my husband explained the situation to a wonderful Realtor while I entertained our bored but very patient children. The next thing I knew we were being shown 3 different homes - a single family home with a yard, a townhome, and an apartment. All were just in our rental budget, all were move-in ready, and they were in the perfect location. My husband and I discussed it. We told the realtor that the single family home with a fenced in yard was perfect. He contacted the landlords. We sat in his office for a few hours while the details were worked out. We faxed over an application, made phone calls and wrote a letter explaining how we would be able to pay rent every month. The lovely realtor told us he would call us as soon as he heard from them.<br />
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We began the 2 hour drive back to the base. Praying and trusting. At 10pm the Realtor called. He said the landlords had agreed and would meet us at the house the next day to finalize paper work and give us the keys! We had a home!<br />
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We moved in the next day! God came through - and in truly Divine fashion, He showed off a bit - giving me some very obvious signal graces that led me to not doubt for a moment that He had orchestrated everything.<br />
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That was five years ago.<br />
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Now, we are still living in the same house, except we OWN it! No less than another miracle, I assure you. Our former landlords said initially that they weren't interested in selling. Well, after 5 years, their minds changed! The offered to sell us the house for an INSANELY low amount! Well below market value. We were told we had to either buy it or move as they are trying to streamline their lives a bit and didn't want to be landlords anymore. We had no idea how we would be able to buy a house! We had declared bankruptcy 4 years earlier when the NonProfit that hired my husband cut costs by letting him go, and then the economy crashed around us. Yet, we stepped out in faith and, not knowing anything about buying a home, with my credit in the gutter (almost dying is VERY expensive - I am still paying medical bills!) we kept trusting and putting one foot in front of the other.<br />
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For reasons beyond understanding, we were approved again and again. Inspections, applications, loan officers, etc. Every time we got through another approval my husband and I would look at each other confounded. We closed on the house in July. It is ours. We never intended to be homeowners at this moment in time, but God had other plans.<br />
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In fact His plans have now placed us in a situation that we could have NEVER imagined. As more and more people are going on public assistance, as more and more cant find work, as ObamaCare is destroying income, we are stable, we are somehow isolated from it. As if we are in a bubble of protection that is sheltering us. We got OFF public assistance, we, for the first time ever, have enough to live off of, we are finally able to pay the long over due medical bills that I accrued after all our losses. My husband is moving up in his job into management. His company has done so well even during the horrid economic slide that it isn't changing insurance policies! None of this is our doing, none of it we could have foreseen. It is simply a result of following along one step at a time, the path that God placed before us.<br />
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If I had to guess, I would say that Mary is quietly behind it all. Protecting her children. Mary has more and more (especially since after Lolek's death) been calling us to trust her motherhood. When I was little I remember reading messages that she gave to different people - Fr. Gobi, Garabandal, Fatima. One thing stood out. She said those consecrated to her, those who place themselves beneath her mantle of Motherly protection, will be taken care of. She will watch over and protect them. As I write this post I cant help but remember that promise. I see firsthand how she has kept it. I see how abandonment to God and trust in His Mother's intercession has kept us from experiencing so much. Sure, we've had our sufferings, and yes, out share of pain and loss. But those losses, those sufferings those crosses, they all had a purpose. Drawing us to deeper trust, to deeper conversion, to a deeper faith so that we may more boldly walk forward amidst all that is going on around us, confident in the Love that Our Father has for us and in His Mercy and Providence. <br />
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I don't know what the future holds. I have stopped trying to figure that out. I do know, that right now, I sit here in my slightly messy, "just the right size for us" house and I am confident that whatever it holds God will be in control and we will continue to Trust Him and hold His Mother's Hand as she leads us ever closer to Him.<br />
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<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-71707804744766785612013-06-14T13:59:00.000-04:002013-06-21T21:22:00.967-04:00Sarah Therese<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">As any of you who have read this blog before probably know, I make many more re-birth announcements than I ever thought I would. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Way back when I started this blog I thought I would chronicle fun and moving stories of how we were growing our family. I never imagined it would turn out so differently, or that we <i>would </i>be growing our family - in Heaven. Yet, here I am again, wanting to relate the blessed and sad, the death and Heavenly life of another precious little one who has gone Home to wait for us In Eternity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I realize that many of you didn't even know I was expecting again as we kept it quiet and were only just starting to tell people. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was another traumatic experience however I have so much peace. I want to, in a special way, thank St. Philomena for her intercession and I know she was close by me during this time. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On Monday, June 10, 2013, I started to think things weren't right with the baby (though I had a nagging intuition for a while before that). I went to the ER after experiencing some troubling cramps and asked my husband to prepare the kids just in case. At the ER it was confirmed that there was no heartbeat or movement and that the baby had not developed much beyond 10 weeks. ( I was technically 12 weeks on Monday). I explained the situation to the ER doc and my past history. He was the SAME ONE who gave me such a hard time when we<a href="http://5andcountingmusings.blogspot.com/2010/09/pro-life.html" target="_blank"> lost Claire.</a> I prayed for him. He was much mellower this time and didn't make any comments that were hurtful. Thank you, God. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The whole time I kept praying "I trust You. I Trust You." and I asked Jesus to allow me to surrender to suffering that He may send. St Philomena's intercession was very evident as she made it clear several weeks ago that she would like to be a special player in my family's journey towards Holiness. (I have had a devotion to her since I was in High School). Unfortunately the doctors figured they knew better than I did so they sent me home. I knew from past experience I had at least 12 hours before things would get more dicey so I went home at 1am. The next morning I was up by 6am and calling my OB. He had off that day and I was instructed by the staff to wait until Wednesday morning for a D & C. I calmly explained that I had no reason to believe my body would wait that long. (And honestly, a D & C, while safer for my condition, is not ideal as I prefer to baptize and anoint my children.) I was told by an irate nurse to "just go back to the ER then." I abandoned the situation to God, praying over and over "Jesus I surrender to You completely, take care of everything" and I headed back to the ER. My dear friend, you know her as "Doula-Bestie-Extraordinaire", who was with me for all the trauma with <a href="http://5andcountingmusings.blogspot.com/2012/10/its-been-year-lolek-pio.html" target="_blank">Lolek's loss</a> (she was literally measuring cups of blood as I hemorrhaged) met me at the ER. By now I felt as though I was in early labor in earnest. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thankfully after about 2 hours in the waiting room a Tech-Assistant whom I had befriended last time I was in the ER (a few weeks ago for a suspected DVT - it was not! ) recognized me. He came out to see why I was there. I explained the situation. He disappeared and 5 minutes later returned with a wheelchair. "You shouldn't be out here" he said and he told me he found me a room with the "really good doctor who listens." What a blessing!!! He was right too. She (the doctor) is the first who has EVER listened and grasped my situation. After explaining everything to her she responded by saying, "There is no way I can send you home." I was so relieved I thanked her for understanding and for listening to me and burst into tears. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She arranged with the OB on call to find me a room for observation to stay in until the scheduled surgery, should I somehow make it that long. I waited for 13 hours (DBE and I managed to find creative ways to entertain ourselves!) in the ER before a room on the pre-surgical unit was secured. They gave me morphine which slowed the progression of labor. I was of course not allowed to eat but I snuck some water. At 9pm I was moved to the pre-surgical unit for "observation." I explained to the nurse what to expect and let her know that I was progressing more rapidly and doubted I'd make it to the morning. She looked slightly concerned as she wasn't an L & D nurse and had limited mother/baby experience. By 1am I was extremely uncomfortable. I decided worrying was useless and once again abandoned the situation to God. I was prepared to deliver my baby, I had all my baptismal supplies and a small box for her body. But if God so chose, I was ready for the D & C and would be at peace with it. I Trusted His Providence. I was able to sleep for half an hour. Then my water broke and I knew what was to come. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I will spare you the gory details. Lets just say, I delivered Sarah's tiny perfect body. Baptized and anointed her. Kissed her and held her. Then carefully, Doula-Bestie placed her in the little box. Being the amazing Doula and friend that she is, she had spent the night with me. She donned gloves and prepared for the worst, which very shortly followed. I talked the shell shocked nurse through what to do. (how many chux pads to get, what to expect, how I needed to be upright, that I would need a bag of fluid to help my BP and heart rate as I was already mildly tachycardic... I hemorrhaged badly, as I expected. I of course retained the placenta. After a very short amount of time the nurse and the tech realized I wasn't exaggerating about what I told them to expect and how bad it would get quickly. They had to call the OB on call 3 times before they convinced him I didn't need to be "observed" and that I would in fact bleed to death unless he came in for an emergency D & C. So after an hour I was finally brought down to the OR for the procedure. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am glad to say I retained my sense of humor through it all, and managed to make the nervous nurse and </span><br />
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">tech laugh. The nurse thanked me for "teaching her so much" and explained that she had no experience with "mother-baby" emergencies as she mostly dealt with patients who were there for bariatric surgery or occasionally a heart procedure. Rarely did she get "real emergencies" like me. I of course mashed on my uterus the entire time, knowing it would at least help with the clotting and hemorrhaging, and remembering that it also helps me to not pass out. I am infinitely thankful for "DBE" who was helping with everything and helped to explain to the nurses what my situation was - as she witnessed it all first hand and close up the last time. (But this time she could at least wear gloves and didn't have to call 9-1-1, I was already in the hospital!)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Eventually I was prepped and the anesthesiologist satisfied. The OB showed up, I explained I had retained the placenta and would continue to hemorrhage. I reminded them that I could not have Pitocin as it increased blood clot risk and asked to be given lovenox or heparin immediately following the surgery to prevent another PE. They agreed. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All day I had been praying the Stations of the cross. I love them. I was wheeled into the OR but not put under immediately. Instead, for some reason they prepped me while I was awake. I was laid on the operating table, my arms were stretched out to either side and strapped down. I was strapped to the table. My legs were stretched out in front of me. I was unable to mash my uterus and felt myself bleeding even more uncontrollably. I was in so much physical pain. And then they removed my gown to put on all the monitors. I lay there, in the shape of a cross, bleeding, naked, and in pain. I was so moved all I could pray was "Thank you." Finally they brought the anesthesia over and I was put to sleep. Is it possible to be facing ones mortality (yet again!) and yet feel privileged? Because in that moment, as crazy as it sounds, that is what I felt. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When it was all over I was given my lovenox, it was confirmed I had retained the placenta. I was eventually brought back upstairs. I slept a little and woke up to call the Funeral Home. I was able to sleep holding Sarah's box. I made sure to keep her body moist. The wonderful Funeral director came to take her body and I spoke with him for a while. He has managed all our babies' burial services and is so kind and compassionate. I cried healthy, sad tears of finality as I handed her to him and he and his wife left my room. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am now home recovering. I am more sore and in more pain now, as I am experiencing the effects of the surgery - they seem to have positioned my legs badly and I have torn and pulled muscled in my thighs and bruises on my arms where they strapped me too tight. I have shortness of breathe upon walking even a few steps, and dizziness which will wane as I build back my blood supply. After having not eaten for 36 hours I am gaining my appetite back. I am very pleased to say it has been 48 hours post hemorrhage and I have not thrown a clot. I thank God and St Philomena for her intercession!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I feel as though I should be falling apart. But I am not. I recognize that I miss my baby and have moments of healthy grief over my loss. But early on in the pregnancy it occurred to me that I should not pray for her to be allowed to be born full term and alive, especially if that is not what God had planned for her. Who am I to deny any of my children Heaven?! So instead I prayed that God's Will be accomplished and that I be given the Grace to accept it, whatever it would be. I believe He answered those prayers tenfold. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can see His Hand at work in all the circumstances surrounding Sarah's delivery and death, and in the way I was allowed to suffer, without the fear I thought I would face. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am human, and find myself battling fear of another Pulmonary Embolism every so often, and dealing with some hormone-induced anxiety whenever I get short of breathe, but that is nothing compared to what I think many people expect me to me experiencing. (and after my PE I have found that a level of anxiety associated with symptoms and past experiences is normal. So I can recognize it for what it is and move on).</span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can only attribute it to God's goodness and His Mercy and to St Philomena's help and I praise God for His goodness. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Some links you may find of interest after reading this story: </span></div>
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<a href="http://www.philomena.org/patroness.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">St. Philomena - story and devotion </span></a></div>
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<a href="http://pelianito.stblogs.com/files/2010/08/Novena-of-surrender-to-the-will-of-God.pdf" target="_blank"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Novena of Surrender to the Will of God</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://innocents.com/shrine.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Where all our babies' Names are inscribed - The Book of Life</span></a></div>
5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-90368166805647457482013-05-03T12:32:00.000-04:002013-05-03T12:32:04.370-04:00Some Thoughts About Mary"May is the month of our mothers." I remember reading this when I was in First Grade, right before our First Friday Mass for the month of May began. I had been practicing for weeks. I was the student who was chosen to read the before-Mass meditation. Every year it was the same, "May is the Month of our Mothers." Every May this same sentence runs through my head. So I figure its an appropriate time to write a bit about Mary. <br />
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I've had two rather profound (if I do say so myself) thoughts about the Blessed Mother that I shall share for your own discernment and prayer.<br />
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Mary, until lately has been difficult for me to relate to. Until my rather dramatic experience when she truly became my Heavenly Mother I honestly didn't even much try to understand her. It was losing <a href="http://5andcountingmusings.blogspot.com/2010/08/our-sorrowful-mother.html" target="_blank">Claire</a> and then losing <a href="http://5andcountingmusings.blogspot.com/2012/11/its-been-year-part-ii-gift-of-pe-and.html" target="_blank">Lolek</a> that really brought me into a much deeper relationship with her, and has given me a much greater understanding of her. I was pondering Mary once again as I was praying last night. I was recalling how whenever I am pregnant (which if you read this blog you know is actually quite often!) I start to feel distant from Mary. I began to prayerfully explore this. Then it was as if a veil was lifted and I was given such a profound understanding - one I had never had before! I realized that pregnancy always made me feel distant from Mary because, according to St Bridget and to theologians, Mary did not experience your "typical" pregnancy. Being free from original sin, she therefore did not experience the physical effects of it - such as the pain in childbearing etc. In fact according to the Revelations of St. Bridget, Mary was basically in prayerful ecstasy when she delivered the Christ-Child. This is NOT my experience of childbirth! But Mary DID experience something far more profound. In my prayer I saw Mary at the cross. She was in pain. She was uniting her will to God's but she was in profound pain, "And a sword shall pierce your heart." She was at the foot of the Cross looking up at Her Son. She had just walked the Way of the Cross with Him and now she was surrendering Him to the Father. "My child, I have labored and I have given birth to my Son who is now to enter Eternity." She said from the foot of the cross. Of course!! Mary's life was one long "labor." <br />
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Often I have thought how labor and delivery so closely mirror the Paschal Mystery - the suffering, the dying to self, and the birth of a New Life. Mary's whole life was the Paschal Mystery. The Word became Flesh within her womb and she delivered the Savior. She was told at the Temple that a "Sword would pierce her heart" and she carried with her for Jesus' whole life the knowledge that she wold suffer as she watched and loved her Son as He Redeemed the world. Mary's whole life was about giving birth to our Salvation - not just at Christmas, but at the Cross. What a profound insight! What a gift! How incredibly small and insignificant my labors seem in comparison now. What is a few hours compared to 33 years!? I am in awe of our Lady. I am humbled by this new understanding.<br />
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This new understanding and deeper regard for Our Lady came on the heels of yet another revelation about our Blessed Mother.<br />
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I have been earnestly walking down the prayerful road of Contemplative Prayer. I have been reading St. John of the Cross and St. Theresa of Avila, and a book by Fr. Dubay on Contemplative prayer. It has been amazing and beautiful. But I was stumped when it came to Mary. Neither St. John nor St. Theresa really mentioned her. Yet, Pope John Paul II, who is considered a great modern contemplative had a deep devotion to her, so I knew she had to fit in somewhere. But how?<br />
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So I brought it my Spiritual Papa, Bl. John Paul II, and asked for his wisdom. "Mary is the exemplary contemplative." Umm..OK... but how? "The indwelling of the Trinity was not only Spiritual for her, but physical." Of course! **Lightbulb** That makes sense! Why didn't I think of that!?<br />
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Contemplative prayer is all about the union of the soul with the indwelling Trinity, a unity so profound it is as if there is a flow - a conduit open between the two. It is a connection at once to Heaven, where the soul exists both within the person and yet in Heavenly reality, united with God. Mary experienced this in the most physically profound way possible. Not only her soul, but her whole being was connected to the Godhead as Christ was growing within her. Mary needed only to contemplate the baby she carried - as every mother does - and as she did she was at once united with Heaven in a deep and mysterious way. <br />
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This was a beautiful new understanding for me to ponder. It also gives me a different way in which to enter into contemplation. How much practice my babies have given me already! Any mother can tell you that as soon as you see those pink or blue lines on the stick your very reality is changed forever. You are constantly aware of a person inside you, that your body is not the same, and that you are not alone. How similar this is to contemplative prayer - to being united with God even as you go about every day life.<br />
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How thankful I am to Our Lady for allowing me to better understand her, and how grateful I am to Papa John Paul II for patiently teaching me about our Heavenly Mother. <br />
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I hope that maybe these small, humble insights will bring you closer to our Heavenly Family as well.<br />
<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-88404742121322912212013-02-01T00:11:00.000-05:002013-02-01T00:11:20.282-05:00My Amazing, Crazy, Unpredictable, Blessed LifeIt occurred to me that many of my posts have been about the crosses and sufferings that God has seen fit to send me. I want you, happy reader, to get a fuller picture. Yes, I have had what some would call "great suffering." Yes, I have lost four babies, and buried two of them. Yes I almost died. Yes we have had our share of hard times, "for worses" and difficulties. Yes we are often times scraping bottom and relying on God to provide for us. But there is SO much more.<br />
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My life is amazing. <br />
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I am extremely blessed to have no regrets. OK, that's not entirely true. I have one regret. When I was to attend the Marine Corps Ball my dad and brother dropped me off. They wanted to see the Marines. I was in a silly state of mind - nervous and excited - and I did not pay attention to them. I didn't realize that they were going to come into the hotel where the ball was held, and I went in ahead of them. Then when I realized they were there and looking for me, I was already inside and being swept along into the ballroom. I feel as though I ignored them and hope that I did not hurt my dad's feelings. The thought of hurting his feelings makes me want to cry. <br />
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That's it. That's my regret. Seriously. I have lived on this earth for about 30 years and I have one regret. <br />
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I have often made decisions that have bewildered friends and family. Sometimes they didn't seem to make sense. But I do not regret them. Quite the contrary. I have lived my life - my whole life - as far back as I can remember - with the conviction that God loved me so much that He would show me how to live and what He made me for. So when I felt He was leading me, I went. No I ran. And I never looked back. I prayed my way through school, through college, and into my vocation. When I wasn't sure what God was asking of me I asked and asked and asked until I was certain. Then I did it. <br />
Living like this didn't always make "sense" but to me it has never mattered. God points, I go. And its an adventure!<br />
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I am so blessed to be able to to say that in living for Him and following Him, I have had the privilege of not only serving, but also living with women who faced a pregnancy crisis and their babies. I have run retreats, and workshops in different states and Canada. I have met members of the Curia, three, four and five star Generals and the Commandant of the Marine Corps.<br />
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I have given talks and speeches. Wined, dined, and rubbed elbows with Congressman and Senators and Governors. I have ridden freight elevators with Presidential Candidates, have contacts in Government agencies, influenced the political process, drafted legislation, met and worked with amazing, dedicated people from across the country, and across the Atlantic. I have become a respected Conservative Political Consultant, with a modest name ID.<br />
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I have been in the presence of Blessed John Paul II not once, but twice, stood in the Portiuncula in Assisi, and in the catacombs of Rome. I have met priests and bishops from across the continent, and sisters from around the world. I have had the ear of Bishops, the friendship of Theologians. I have dined and relaxed with actors and actresses, celebrities, and celebrated personalities in the Pro-Life world. I have been honored with recognition and thanks.<br />
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I have a husband who is in so many ways my hero. He has overcome so very much, and is working so hard to be the man God created him to be. It is a wild and crazy and blessed privileged to be along on the journey. <br />
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I have had four amazing, natural, midwife attended births - one of them at home. I am proud of my femininity and my ability to nurture New Life. I have 4 beautiful, wonderful, smart and confident children on earth. I am able to homeschool them and watch them grow. I have four darling intercessors in Heaven, my little ones who went Home to stretch our family into Eternity. It is an honor to be the mother of saints.<br />
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I have traveled to the Caribbean, to Europe, and to Canada. I have seen beauty in the mountains the oceans, and the farmland. I see God's artwork in the sky. I have witnessed miracles and seen God's healing first hand.<br />
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I have the most incredible family and friends. <br />
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None of this I asked for. None of it I sought. It is purely and simply the result of following God, one leap of faith after another, where He would have me go and doing what He would have me do.<br />
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This life isn't easy. You've probably read enough of my posts to know that its sure has had its crosses and sufferings. But it is still amazing. Without the crosses and sufferings, I wouldn't be who I am today, nor would I have the relationship with Christ that I do today. Following Him is an adventure - full of twists and turns and surprises. It is not always easy, sometimes it hurts, but its always amazing, crazy, unpredictable, and blessed.<br />
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<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-33459367522550315782013-01-28T14:49:00.002-05:002013-01-28T14:50:38.069-05:00Here We Go Again - Bing MaryWhen I first started this blog I was newly pregnant with Claire. I thought I would happily blog about the joys and trials of pregnancy and then about the adventure of having 5 and hopefully more children. I was blissfully ignorant of the world of infant loss and miscarriage and naively assumed since my first 4 pregnancies were uneventful that all mine would be. Boy was I wrong.<br />
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At that time my biggest fear in life was miscarriage. I didn't know how anyone survived it. Then Claire died and I learned that I was strong enough to hold my tiny baby in my hands and attend her burial service. Then I figured she was my "1 in 5" - one in every five pregnancies statistically ends in miscarriage. I felt relieved that I'd "never have to go through that again." Until Francis. He taught me that nothing was certain and that all life, even if very brief, is a gift to be thankful for, and that blessings can come in very unexpected ways. I secretly hoped I was done with loss and pondered how "those women" - the ones with multiple losses - endure. I pondered this until Lolek's death and all that I went through facing my own mortality squarely in the face. Losing Lolek taught me how to surrender and quite simply changed the paradigm through which I view life, faith, prayer, and God's Will.<br />
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Imagine then how it felt to find out that despite doing everything spot on perfect as far as NFP and avoiding pregnancy goes, I felt when that faint blue line showed up on the EPT. <i>Thy Will be Done! </i>That was the prayer for the little one whom we named "Baby Bing." <i>Thy Will be Done</i>. Not <i>please let this one live,</i> or <i>don't make me go through another loss again</i>, nor <i>I'll name the baby after a really cool saint if he or she can just live</i>, or even, <i>I've had enough suffering, God, can You please just let this be normal? </i>Simply <i>Thy Will be Done</i>, often with an added,<i> and please help me be surrendered to Your Will, and only content to know that whatever comes of me or this pregnancy is what You want for my own sanctification. </i>There is freedom in praying that way, and it took quite an ordeal to teach it to me. I was happy and content to be pregnant again.<br />
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Of course it wasn't a piece of cake. Thanks to Lolek and my subsequent PE I immediately needed to start injections (self administered) of blood thinners. I couldn't use my beloved midwives and instead needed to use not only an OB/GYN but also a hematologist and internal medicine doctor as well. This is quite a sacrifice for a girl who does not like doctors (no offense - there are some fantastic ones!) and who thinks birth is a natural, normal event not usually requiring medical intervention. Well, unfortunately I am the exception to that rule. So it was off to the races and blood draws and early ultrasounds and doctor after doctor.<br />
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Through it all I made sure to make memories with this baby. I didn't know how long I had with him under my heart, so I made a point to consciously make memories. Bing and I did Christmas shopping together. We spent Advent together, he was with us on our family outing to "Bethlehem" and the live Nativity. I am so thankful that we made these memories because it was at one of the ultrasounds that it was determined that Baby Bing was not growing. In fact he barely made it beyond implantation. Bing was conceived and lived long enough to begin the whole process of developing what would be his gestational sac and placenta but he ceased to develop. God wanted another soul. This is called a "blighted ovum" in medical terms. My body recognized pregnancy and since the sac continued to develop I endured 10 weeks of pregnancy and all the wonderful puking, nauseated, hormonal bliss associated with it.<br />
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Since I have a a very well documented history of almost dying after a loss I was advised to go for a D & C. I was hesitant at first, wanting to make absolutely certain that a teeny baby wasn't "hiding." (In early ultrasounds it IS possible to receive a blighted Ovum diagnosis only to see a baby a week or two later. From my research this seems to happen about 40-50% of time depending on the date of the "diagnosing" ultrasound.) After confirming that there was no longer a baby, and that the sac was losing its integrity, I agreed to do a D & C. There was no baby to bury and I was hoping it might avoid some of the drama I had experienced in the past. Unfortunately that wasn't entirely the case. Drama seems to be a specialty of mine.<br />
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While waiting to hear from the OB to schedule the procedure I cracked a tooth and needed emergency root canal surgery. While in the endontist's chair, after having my mouth numbed and all the scary stuff that was to somehow fit in my mouth explained to me, I started cramping. I excused myself and went to restroom. Yes. My body was beginning its miscarriage "labor." I got myself as ready as possible and hurried back to the dentist's chair. They continued with the root canal while I silently counted how long the contraction cramps lasted and prayed I wouldn't hemorrhage in his chair. (Hemorrhaging is a specialty of mine.) As soon as he was done (it took longer than planned as there were some complications - of course) I called my OB who wasn't there. So I headed to the ER as per her earlier instructions. Once there I spoke with the OB who was filling in for her. He did not understand, nor try to understand, my "special" circumstances and sent me home. So I went to a different ER. They were fantastic and understood right away why I was there. They didn't want to have me come in after it was too late and need a transfusion (been there, done that!). The magnificent doctor was prepping me for an emergency D & C. Except it was midnight and the OB on call didn't want to come in. In fact, he (or she) refused. The ER doc valiantly tried to convince them otherwise. To no end. His hands were tied. He was so frustrated and truly was concerned for my health. "I don't want to see you back in here in an hour or two needing bags of blood." I was grateful that he understood my situation. But I had to leave. I was scared.<br />
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I managed a few hours of sleep and called my OB's office as soon as it opened. Thankfully she was back. "Go to the ER NOW." Were my instructions. I refrained from grumbling "I tried that already!" Doula Bestie Extraordinairre, who had spent the night with me in the second ER met me at my OB's hospital. It was very nice. They "got it." They understood. They knew exactly why I was there and why I should not be allowed to miscarry at home. I felt better. The ER doc dispensed with what he called "unnecessary exams" and got right to the point. "No use waiting, we need to get you on the OR schedule and get your OB over here. I'm on it!" and he literally bounced out the door. From then on they all knew I was a ticking time bomb.<br />
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The funny thing about miscarriage is that despite what doctors tell you, its childbirth. You have contractions, your body follows the same pattern it would if you were laboring to give birth to a healthy full term baby. Everyone expects tons of blood and guts but that doesn't happen until your body is actually expelling the contents of the uterus - and if your baby was far enough long, you will birth the baby first and then the rest - just like normal, healthy, childbirth. Before that you will generally lose your mucus plug, then perhaps spot. But not much more. Unfortunately its been my experience that miscarriage and second trimester loss contraction cramps are WORSE than the ones I endured giving birth to my live children. <br />
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I was offered pain meds. They made me loopy and able to ignore the pain, but they didn't stop the pain. The day wore on. I hadn't eaten since 2pm the day before. The contraction cramps were getting closer together and more intense. Doula Bestie was keeping an eye on me. Eventually I was transferred to the pre-Op area and prepped for the procedure. The contractions were right on top of one another. It was a race against time, and if time ran out, well at least I was in a hospital I knew what would happen - and it would not be pretty. I was terrified of hemorrhaging. Terrified. I tried to pray <i>Thy Will be Done</i>, but its hard when you're scared. And I was scared. Eventually I gave up. <i>Hold my hand, Mama </i>I prayed in my head. The last time I had been in the hospital Mary truly became my mother, and she helped me surrender. I knew she could do it again. I was increasingly uncomfortable - no rest or relief between contractions. Then the hot and cold flashes started. I denied to myself that I was in transition. Then I hiccuped and Doula Bestie said, <i>I bet you're in transition </i> (She's<i> good</i>) and I continued to deny it - which of course if what every childbirth educator worth her salt will tell you is "self doubt" - a sure sign of transition. So I denied that too. Despite my valiant attempts at denial (I do that during all my births) I knew I was really up against the clock. I fought the fear. I needed to surrender it. I didn't want to. (Why didn't I learn this lesson well enough the first time around!?) The anesthesiologists were coming. Whew. I began to think I made it just under the gun. And then it happened. The hemorrhaging started. The anesthesiologists were at my room and there I was, losing it - in every way possible. I started shaking and burst into tears. Poor Doula Bestie leaped into action. She worked to calm me down, and explained to the bewildered and startled anesthesiology team why I was freaking out and bleeding everywhere. They got a move on. One gave me a tranquilizer which I think was actually the sedative because things got fuzzy pretty quickly after that. "Let's get you into the OR right now and take care of this" said another. Doula Bestie whispered everything would fine and I finally surrendered. I could feel myself continuing to hemorrhage as they wheeled me down the hallway. "Ok, Mama, He wins." I thought to myself. "I get it now."<br />
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And then I woke up.<br />
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Groggy in post-op. I blinked. I didn't really remember anything except random faces in the OR, bright lights and an oxygen mask. That was it. I noticed that my hair had been taken down and arranged nicely around me on the pillow. I was nauseated and had a massive headache, but I wasn't bleeding profusely. I was on my second bag of pitocin and I could feel it working its magic. It was over.<br />
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I learned an important lesson thanks to Bing. Surrender means that you must surrender even your fear. And that new fears need to be identified and surrendered too. Fear prevents you from accepting God's Will. I had much peace during the short time I had with Bing and that was because I was actively seeking abandonment to God's Will and total surrender. When I had to face my biggest fear, and probably the only one I had left, I was paralyzed. I was too afraid to Trust God fully. So I turned to His Mother. She got me there. But He first allowed me to experience the very thing of which I was most afraid - because I needed to learn that I must surrender even my fear and my emotional wounds to Him. It was a powerful lesson, and one I can say that I am thankful for.<br />
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The kids asked to name the baby "Bing Mary" and I couldn't argue it. Somehow it fits. He will have a place in our family just like the brothers and sister who preceded him into Eternity. I miss him. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to watch him grow and learn and change and to see the person he was to become. My heart grieves for his loss, even as I can have peace knowing that God had other plans, and His plans, though mysterious, are perfect. <br />
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I miss baby Bing, as I miss all my children who have been privileged to look on the majesty of God's Face before me. I realize I am one of "those women" now - the very ones I was afraid of becoming- the ones who have endured loss after loss. And somehow I can find peace with it. Somehow, and it is only through the Grace of God, I know that I am and will continue to be OK, even if I must face more losses in the future. I know now that nothing is outside of His Will and that He works for our good, and in the future, I will heed the lessons my teeny baby taught me - to surrender fully to His loving and perfect Will - no matter what.<br />
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<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-72340698087439875692012-12-13T00:09:00.001-05:002012-12-13T00:09:45.741-05:00'Tis the SeasonIts that time again! Time for the obligatory Advent post! No seriously folks, I have some things I have been pondering this Advent so far and wanted to share. I have been pondering Christmas Decorations. The outside ones. No no no, wait, I know what you're thinking, <i>Gee Laura, that's really profound..NOT! </i>Just hear me out.<br />
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For me, its all about context. You can argue over whether or not Santa comes to your house, Baby Jesus leaves presents, or the Three Wise men bring three gifts and leave them under your tree, the point is that we give, we take joy in giving, and we receive joyfully. In the right context this teaches us about God's Love for us - He freely gave us His only Son, and He chose to do so in a very human, intimate way. Presents under the tree remind us that God's gift to us was free and mysterious, wonderful, anticipated, and yet a surprise. The evergreen of the Tree symbolizes the never-endingness of God and His Love. Advent decorations remind us of this special time of year and they help us wait with anticipation - just as the children of Israel did long ago. <br />
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Outside, traditionally, lights and ornaments literally "lit the way" for the Christ Child. Outdoors the flickering candles gave way to colored lights and pretty white lights, but the concept of lighting the way for the Child Jesus to come to your home on Christmas remained. Now, though....<br />
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Can anyone tell me what the heck an inflatable Santa in a <i>BATHTUB</i> has to do with <i>ANYTHING</i>? I mean seriously, a bathtub. On your front lawn. With a presumably naked Santa sits. Happily. How in the world is that even Christmas-related!? When did bathing on the front lawn cease to be creepy? Especially in 30 degree weather? <i>Especially</i> for old, bearded men? My friends, we have come a long way from lighting the way and waiting for Christ's birth. For that matter, what does Santa opening the door of a trailer have to do with Christmas? What about Hunting Santa - complete with shot gun and camp print suit? (Yes this is another inflatable decoration I have seen with my own eyes!) Did the designer forget that Santa owns...wait for it...REINDEER? What did he do this year? Go all sportsman and shoot Rudolph? If we put that thing in our yard my kids would be grief stricken - Santa with his own reindeer in his sights. And don't even get me started on Outhouse Santa...(yep saw that one too.) What has this to do with Christmas!?<br />
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Nothing. It has nothing to do with Christmas. Its a gimmick, a marketing ploy, a funny (and tacky) lawn ornament that holds little meaning other than it may get a good laugh from childless neighbors. <br />
It is a symptom of a dumbing down of Christmas. A move to replace what Christmas is really about with commercialism, adult humor, and secularism. I mean why put up an outdoor Nativity when you can have Santa in a bathtub, a giraffe wearing a Santa hat, and light up palm trees instead! All while your house blinks in every color of the spectrum to loud rock music! Now THAT'S Christmasee.<br />
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I'm not down on Christmas lights or decorations. Don't get me wrong. We have one of our trees outside wrapped in colored lights and some lights in the windows. Decorations, twinkling lights, they add to the mysterious wonder of Christmastime. This isn't bad. The wonder, the "magic" of Christmas helps us to somehow grasp the wonder and mystery of God-made-man. Its why I encourage our children to experience the wonder and joy and "magicalness" of the season. Someday they will be better able to grasp God's majesty, mystery and awesomeness because I have let them have a taste of it in a way they can grasp. But garish blow up lawn ornaments and lights blinking so fast they cause passing motorists seizures isn't part of the program. No thanks. I'll keep our Christmas in context. After all, if it doesn't somehow point back to Christ's Birth, and God's amazing and Mysterious Love for us, what is the point of it all anyway?<br />
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And that my friends, is my Advent Rant!<br />
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Happy Advent and Merry Christmas!<br />
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<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-36450404668049299602012-11-17T22:25:00.001-05:002012-11-17T22:26:16.822-05:00Lolek's FriendsAs promised! I want to introduce you to these amazing women!<br />
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It has taken me a little longer to post than I would have liked, but sick children demanded my attention!<br />
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Now that all are healthy again, I want to take some time and introduce you to the ladies who have become my "Virginia Family." You already met my doula-bestie-extraordinaire, but I absolutely MUST tell you about the rest of the "family!" <br />
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After Lolek was born and I was rushed to the hospital, Doula - Bestie -Extraor... wait, how about we use DBE? OK, so she put out the word on Facebook and phone for prayers. Immediately and unbeknownst to me, ladies started praying and organizing. One, we shall call her Fortitude, even came over and checked on the house, made sure Lolek's body was OK (his body needed to be kept on a wet towel in his special box in the refrigerator.) Well, they were preparing to bring meals and to help prepare for Lolek's burial when I ended up BACK in the hospital with the PE and Pneumonia. That's when "Lolek's Friends" was really born.<br />
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As I was getting hooked up to heart monitors and being told to not move, my poor shell-shocked husband was left juggling children, and home, and cleaning up the incredible mess almost dying makes. (who knew?!) He was sleep deprived, worried, and all of a sudden Mr. Mom. So DBE started a thread on Facebook. It included friends - some of whom I hadn't met yet - some from out of state, and my mom and mother in law. These ladies got to work. DBE would visit me in the hospital and post updates. They used a meal planning website and organized meals for a MONTH for my family. Dear Hubby was so relieved to not have to cook while I was in the hospital, and I couldn't cook once I was out. They took turns coming to visit and brought me yarn and gummi bears (all I could stomach eating for a while). They prayed with me, they prayed for me, and then they cleaned my house!! Once I was home, one dear "sister" whom we shall call Battwoman (dont ask) drove down from upstate New York with her 3 children and baby to help us out for a week!! Talk about love!<br />
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Lolek's burial was approaching, and I was back in the hospital. We wanted to celebrate his short life. My family was driving in, and I KNEW my house must have been a disaster. Poor Hubby could only juggle so much, on top of grieving for his baby son, and worrying about me. Never fear! One night, I am told, women and husbands, kids and acquaintances, descended on my home. They deep cleaned, scrubbed, bagged clothes, organized closets, switched the seasons for the kids' clothes, cleaned out the fridge, nuked my bathroom, vacuumed, dusted, decluttered - my husband said he was in awe. Some of them he had never met before, yet here they were, completely cleaning our house, bringing us meals, watching the kids so he could come visit me. I felt so very loved! I felt taken care of! I was so very humbled.<br />
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Most of them attended Lolek's burial. The photos that one of the ladies took - she should be a professional photographer and we shall call her Jules. She is from across the street and our kids are friends - the photos showed so many people! So many children! There were about 20 children at Lolek's burial! Just children! Sitting in the hospital, looking at the photographs I was filled with such gratitude. What a blessing these ladies and their families are! <br />
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Soon a facebook group was formed where we could expand and pray and help not just ME but each other. It was suggested that we name it "Lolek's Friends" because he was the person who brought us all together. I cried. How beautiful! My little Lolek had a purpose!<br />
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I pray for his intercession daily, and I know others who do too. They have told me he is strong intercessor. One of the ladies, we shall call her Patience, wrote a Litany to Lolek Pio. I have included it at the end of this post. <br />
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If only we knew at the time how much we would need each other for support and prayer and help. Each lady, I don't think there were any exceptions, had a cross to bear this last year that required the support and the prayers and the assistance of all of us. We aren't talking small things here either, we're talking big, scary, life changing, and painful things. Its as if God used Lolek's death and my health crisis to bring us together because He, in His Wisdom, knew we ALL would need it.<br />
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I am so thankful to Him and so thankful for these ladies! Just this last week I got a call from "Fortitude" who took it upon herself to order a headstone for Lolek to let me know it was in. She knew it was heavy on my heart and God gave her some special Graces that prompted her to order a stone for him. I can't tell you how incredibly happy it made me. I wasn't able to be there for his burial but can now be there for the stone to be set, and then Lolek's Friends can celebrate not only his life, but the comfort and joy and strength that he allows us to give each other. <br />
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Before closing, I would like to call your attention to <a href="http://healerinyourheart.com/" target="_blank">Healer in Your Heart</a> . Vanessa or "Patience" is one of Lolek's Friends. Last December her husband was diagnosed with a Grade 3 Mixed Brain Tumor. Some of Lolek's Friends have formed <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TeamMcArthur" target="_blank">Team McArthur</a> and we are working and fundraising to help the family through this time. Please take a look at the website and offer your prayers and support. <br />
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Vanessa is also the Friend who wrote the Litany of St. Lolek Pio, which I pray daily for these ladies, their intentions, and their families.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<b>Litany of St. Lolek Ricketts</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By Vanessa McArthur<br />
<br />
Lord, have mercy... Lord, have mercy<br />
Christ, have mercy... Christ, have mercy<br />
Lord, have mercy... Lord, have mercy<br />
<br />
Perfect gift... pray for us<br />
Intention of God... pray for us<br />
Consecrated by God... pray for us<br />
Perfectly formed... pray for us<br />
Fearfully made... pray for us<br />
Fruit of the womb... pray for us<br />
Knitted in the womb... pray for us<br />
Welcomed gift... pray for us<br />
Answer to a petition... pray for us<br />
Fullfillment of a request... pray for us<br />
Arrow in a quiver... pray for us<br />
Gracious blessing... pray for us<br />
Heritage from the Lord... pray for us<br />
Gift from the Lord... pray for us<br />
Dweller of Heaven... pray for us<br />
Saved by Christ's mercy... pray for us<br />
Called from the womb... pray for us<br />
Called by name... pray for us<br />
Baby Green Chocolate... pray for us<br />
<br />
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us<br />
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us<br />
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us<br />
<br />
Let us pray.<br />
Almighty God, in your infinite wisdom and love you brought Lolek Ricketts into
the lives of his parents, siblings, and friends. You chose him to be a beacon
of hope and light to all who longed to meet him, and used his spirit to bring
together a group of faithful friends. As we pray for each other on earth, may
we have the help of his intercession in heaven. We ask this through Christ our
Lord.<br />
Amen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-17340356631940415072012-11-03T00:28:00.000-04:002016-11-03T23:22:39.075-04:00It's Been a Year, part II: The Gift of a PE and Pneumonia<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbMmyy_b-W2qShaihynLo2T7za5T6HHxoSPlxqF8DeKk5VCAP9J3LIpehVSDZ0LWqSrq_K7cuNnfih_pq82BmtTHirXBKGGdAwySY8EJkzc6KeiKcvlRQhFzKR4RbAdpFhRpbzfCSNICC/s1600/Pope-John-Paul-II.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbMmyy_b-W2qShaihynLo2T7za5T6HHxoSPlxqF8DeKk5VCAP9J3LIpehVSDZ0LWqSrq_K7cuNnfih_pq82BmtTHirXBKGGdAwySY8EJkzc6KeiKcvlRQhFzKR4RbAdpFhRpbzfCSNICC/s1600/Pope-John-Paul-II.gif" width="232" /></a>So I ended the last post by saying that Padre Pio and Pope John Paul II were going to be playing a bigger role in my life "very soon." I have always had a very strong and special devotion to St. John Paul II. As a child I used to ask God for sufferings to offer for the Pope and experienced a closeness with him that is hard to describe. After his death I mourned his loss and started a private devotion to him while praying for his Cause for Canonization. I also asked him if he would accept me as his Spiritual Daughter. His answer was "First you must make My Mother your Mother." Of course he was talking about Mary. I had always had a hard time with the Blessed Mother. I prayed my Rosary, I honored her, I wanted to love her, and perhaps by an act of will I did, but it always felt flat. In my heart I hadn't surrendered to Her Motherhood. Well, Papa JPII got me thinking. I desperately wanted him to accept me as a Spiritual Daughter so if he said to make Mary my Mother well, OK then! I began begging her to help me do this. At the same time I was given an incredibly strong sense that were anything "really bad" to happen to me, BL (now Saint). John Paul II would save me. I didn't know what this meant, and quite frankly was a little rattled by this revelation that I was given while in prayer. I thanked him for looking out for me and asked for his continued intercession.<br />
<br />
This all began about 2 month before losing Baby Lolek. Shortly before Lolek's death Padre Pio started "popping up." He does this when he is letting us know we are going to need his help. So I took the hint and began a novena to him asking for his protection. When everything happened with Lolek I knew Padre Pio was interceding, and I clutched a prayer card of his throughout the ordeal.<br />
<br />
The day after I was released from the hospital I was experiencing some very intense chest pain. I had felt pretty woozy and lightheaded when they discharged me but was told by the nurse to expect to feel weak and to feel a heavy discomfort in my chest because of all the IV fluid. So when I felt pain I recalled the words of the nurse and tried to ignore it. The pain worsened throughout the day. Perhaps it was my milk coming in? After losing Claire my milk came in and it hurt. Maybe it was anxiety? I always get post-pardum anxiety. Maybe its just my body recovering from trauma? Maybe its all of the above? As the day went on the pain only intensified. It became hard to breathe. I couldn't inhale. I felt like I couldn't catch my breathe. It must be anxiety. This is the worst attack I've ever had.... I thought to myself. Curled up on our big chair with a blanket I just struggled to breathe. Walking made me dizzy and feel faint. Wow. I lost a lot of blood, probably normal.... <br />
<br />
I coped with these strange symptoms all day. I mentioned them to my husband but tried to assure him that almost dying the day before was enough "badness" for a while - I was sure I'd be OK with some more rest. Except I couldn't breathe! I managed to make it through the day with as little exertion as possible. OK, no exertion at all. I tried to go to sleep that night. My husband was restless and spent the night awake watching some movies in the living room. I think I had given him quite a scare! I lay in bed alone trying to get a good breath. I once again thought of the nurse's warning, "It will be uncomfortable and feel heavy." Boy, she wasn't kidding! I tried to lay still. After the 3rd Rosary I drifted into an uncomfortable sleep. At about 4 am I shot bolt upright in bed - searing pain across my midsection from the bruises I had gotten after all the "mashing" the day before. I was gasping for air and clutching my chest. Blinding pain was ripping into the left side of my chest and I had the distinct feeling that I had stopped breathing. I gulped air, each gulp causing pain that made me dizzy. Pope John Paul II's face flashed in my mind. I tried to steady my breath. I couldn't talk. My heart was pounding so fast! Slow breaths I commanded myself. This must be another anxiety attack. What else could it be? After about 20 minutes of slow deliberate, painful breaths I put my head on my pillow and started another Rosary. I was thinking of John Paul II. I fell back into a fitful sleep only to wake up a short time later with the same awful sensation - gasping for air, clutching my chest in searing pain. John Paul II's face again in my mind. I didn't know what was happening but I DID Know that the "something really bad" had probably just happened. I sat still, heart facing, trying to breathe through the pain in my chest. I couldn't talk, couldn't move. What was going on!? I calmed down and tried to chalk it up to anxiety again, but I was a little scared. And there was NO WAY I was going back to sleep! I sat very still in my bed, waiting for the sun to rise. I may have dozed, in and out. My husband went to sleep as the sun was rising. I told him what happened. He looked concerned. I told him I'd see how I felt and then call the doctor if necessary. He said to wake him if I needed to. I managed to get breakfast for my kids. I walked slowly - every movement made me dizzy and made breathing more difficult. <br />
<br />
Once noon hit I couldn't take it anymore. I called the number on my discharge papers from two days before and left a message for the doctor. Then I curled up on the chair with a blanket and tried to breathe. My kids were a great distraction. My husband woke up around 2:30 and at 3pm I got a call back from the doctor. "If you are experiencing shortness of breath or chest pain you need to go to the ER, now." I told her what the discharging nurse had said to me. She wasn't impressed. "You need to go to the ER. What that nurse told you doesn't apply anymore." I didn't really know what that meant but I told Dear Hubby we had to go to the hospital. Our friend came over to keep an eye on the kids and we were off.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wfoT2-P1f7HMn9Lz1lXB3UX20YY_B3765pGQrNEprZHAfsPCokCklD7VF7NiMb79mqCEIejzb7JlKL9zBxX0cJNMdX8yMtlC7KrDf8Op1BaMs-6Q9InoRGouCLh5rHEPhXNlyPwP4nqB/s1600/ctscan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wfoT2-P1f7HMn9Lz1lXB3UX20YY_B3765pGQrNEprZHAfsPCokCklD7VF7NiMb79mqCEIejzb7JlKL9zBxX0cJNMdX8yMtlC7KrDf8Op1BaMs-6Q9InoRGouCLh5rHEPhXNlyPwP4nqB/s1600/ctscan.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
I will spare you the details of the Er trip. The highlights included a dubious doctor who thought maybe my hemoglobin was low, and then a full oxygen mask, a heart rate dangerously high, blood pressure issues, X-Rays, a CT Scan (which I HATED!), an ultrasound of everything below my belly button, including my legs and feet, and eventually the dubious doctor poking his head into my room saying, "You're a MESS!" It turned out I had a Pulmonary Embolism AND pneumonia. PE in the right lung, pneumonia in the left. Our priest came and gave me the anointing of the sick. I was instructed to NOT move at all. Apparently my heart rate was so erratic that movement of any kind made it spike dangerously high I was started on heparin, a blood thinner, and given something for the pneumonia, which they said was "hospital induced." I had an OB come and consult because the doctors were afraid the blood thinners would make me hemorrhage again. I was so scared!! After getting started on everything I was admitted and taken to the cardiac ICU. It had been 2 days since I had been in the ICU in the ER after losing Lolek. I couldn't believe it. <i>What in the world was happening to me?!</i><br />
<br />
The doctors were not very forthcoming with information. I had a PE which I knew could kill you, and I was in danger of hemorrhaging, which could kill you. The pneumonia seemed parochial at that point, and I refused to dwell on the fact that my grandfather had died from hospital induced pneumonia. My husband had to go home to take care of the kids and I dictated a list to him of items to bring back in the morning. I assured him I'd be fine and knew the kids needed him. So I put on my brave face and joked through the oxygen mask, "Well I get breakfast in bed tomorrow!" ("If I live that long" I added to myself, fear creeping into my thoughts.) Hubby said good bye and I sat in the bed as a cascade of nurses came in. Apparently in a cardiac ICU you get lots of attention. I tried to adjust myself and my monitor started beeping. A nervous looking nurse ran over. "Honey, you CAN NOT move. Your heart rate is way too high." All I had done was try to adjust my position! Great. So if the PE doesn't kill me, and the anticipated hemorrhage doesn't kill me, and the pneumonia doesn't kill me, I will end up sending myself into cardiac arrest by accident and THAT will kill me. All of a sudden I felt very vulnerable, very out of control, helpless and terrified. I apologized. She looked at me, "Your heart has had a work-out what with the heart attack and all."<br />
Heart attack? What heart attack? I looked at her puzzled. She looked back. The PE is in the right side. It had to go through your heart to get there. You're lucky you are alive." I thought back to the night before- sitting up in bed clutching my chest gasping for air. "OH! THAT'S what that was!" I was stunned. I was 29 years old and had already had my first heart attack. I didn't know whether to be proud or mortified. Instantly I thought of Pope John Paul II and in that moment I understood. <i> He had saved my life.</i> I had absolutely no doubt. That thing was stopping up my heart and through his intercession it didn't kill me. I silently thanked him. So grateful.<br />
<br />
I asked the nurse for my purse and slowly and carefully (so as not to speed up my poor heart) took out my worn prayer book. Pieta Prayer Book, in case you were wondering - my favorite. I also took out my rosaries, Padre Pio and JPII prayer cards, and my Holy Water. I clutched them. The nurses explained that my bed had to remain at a certain angle and I couldn't adjust it. They messed around with my IV lines, gave me a catheter (ick), increased my oxygen, and drew some blood. Then they instructed me to yell or press my call button if I thought I was bleeding to death, told me not to move again and left. I was alone. <br />
<br />
Now, I won't go into detail about the next 7 days in the hospital. They had to draw blood every few hours, so by day 3 my arms were full of bruises and my veins didn't want to cooperate. My blood thinners took a while to get in the "zone" where its safe (too little thinning and the clot can break free and blood can't move past it, too much thinning and well.... its bad). The first 4 days I wasn't allowed to move more than my arms, and even then I had to be careful. I will never forget laying there at that awful, uncomfortable 30 degree angle and wondering if I was going to die. Would it hurt? Would anyone be there with me? Was I ready? Why wasn't I excited at the prospect of Heaven? What about my kids? That's where I would get stuck. My kids. I was Mommy. I had to take care of them. Sure I thought about dying and getting to meet my three in Heaven, but my ones on earth needed me! I finally understood why so many prayers ask for the "Grace of a happy death." I pray them very sincerely now.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/N3Q5CxQ24bA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Those first few terrifying days I look back on now with great thanks. God was working on me. I was, for the first time in my life, completely helpless. I couldn't fight my way out of it. I couldn't "suck it up, offer it up, and deal." I couldn't even breathe without the oxygen mask! I realize now that those days are when I learned about contemplative prayer. It was as if God taught me the amazing way to pray under fire. It wasn't until months later that I realized that was what I was doing, how I was praying was contemplative. I was so excited! What a Grace I had been given! I also learned that I needed to surrender. I was afraid to. I knew I was afraid to. I was offering it up for my family and for my husband. I was not complaining. I was thanking God for the pain, for the fear, for the uncertainty, and yet I couldn't completely surrender. I prayed the Stations of the Cross over and over again. I found such comfort in them. I knew I had to mourn my baby, Lolek, but I also knew that I couldn't yet. It was as if my mind said "one crisis at a time, and this one is more immediate." Besides my husband was making arrangements with the funeral home and the Church, I could be at peace knowing he would get the burial a child of God deserved. <br />
<br />
One thing that was astounding to me were the insane conversations I would have with doctors. They would come in every day to check on me. I saw about 13 different doctors over the course of the first 7 days I was there. THEY ALL told me I needed to decide what birth control to use. A conversation would go like this:<br />
Doctor: Hello Laura, how are you feeling<br />
Me: Hello. I still can't breathe and I have a lot of chest pain<br />
Doctor: Well that will take a lot of time. Your INR (how thin the blood is) is still off so we have to adjust your dose again.<br />
Me: OK<br />
Doctor: Now, lets talk about Birth Control for a moment.<br />
Me: No, that's OK.<br />
Doctor: Dr. So and So tells me you refused birth control yesterday.<br />
Me: Yes I did! *smile*<br />
Doctor: That is not wise. You see, blood thinners can cause birth defects and pregnancy can cause blood clots.<br />
Me: So can Birth Control<br />
Doctor: Well, that's not exactly true<br />
Me: Yes it is. It says so on the hormonal BC inserts. Why in the world would you want me on BC if it causes them? I ALREADY HAVE ONE!<br />
Doctor: Well, it would be irresponsible of you to take a risk of getting pregnant<br />
Me: BC isn't fool proof. Besides my husband and I use a natural method and we use SELF control instead.<br />
Doctor: That's not really a smart idea.<br />
Me: Excuse me? I am a Roman Catholic. My faith teaches me that Birth Control is not only harmful to me, but its harmful to my marriage, to society, and to my soul. AND I BELIEVE IT. I practice my Faith. I am very upset that every day I get a birth control lecture even after asking the nurses to notate on my chart that it is not to be discussed with me. There is nothing you can say that will ever change my mind.<br />
Doctor: Well its your decision but it is not a smart one. If you get pregnant you have to come off the blood thinners and go on a different medication and you will need a high risk OB/GYN. Plus, how many children do you have now?<br />
Me: Four on earth.<br />
Doctor: My goodness. All with the same man?<br />
ME: YES!<br />
Doctor: Don't you think that's enough?<br />
Me: I think its not for me alone to decide, and its none of your business.<br />
Doctor: Very well, we are done.<br />
<br />
At that point a nurse will hurry in and tell me my blood pressure was too high and I would explain that it was the doctor's fault. <br />
<br />
So these were my days. Plenty to offer up, and yet, I was still holding something back. <br />
<br />
When I was released 7 days later I got home late afternoon. My mom was there with my sister. My kids were so happy. I was exhausted. I was very weak, and still couldn't breathe. I felt like I had been run over by a bus. I got set up on the overstuffed chair and cuddled my kids. I felt terrible. The next day I still felt awful but managed a shower. The kids had an early bedtime. I decided to sleep on the chair because it was comfortable for my breathing. As I tried to doze off an all too familiar sensation made me hurry to the bathroom. I was hemorrhaging again. A lot. In half an hour I was back in an ambulance heading to the hospital. It had been less than 12 hours since I was discharged. <br />
<br />
The blood thinners were reversed to stop the bleeding. This put me at risk for another clot and made my pain level higher and difficulty breathing worse. An ultrasound revealed what they thought "might" be a retained bit of tissue. I was told to not eat or drink in case I needed a D and C to remove it. I was admitted again but since the cardiac unit was full I was put on a Bariatric floor.<br />
<br />
The poor nurses there didn't know what to do with me. All the equipment was too big for me - it was designed for obese people getting bariatric surgery. After all my problems I weighed about 118 pounds - hardly obese. Still those nurses were wonderful. They knew I was hungry and wasn't allowed to eat, and they didn't have monitors for my vitals so they came in to check as often as they could. Some dear friends came to pray over me. They brought relics of several saints and along with a few other friends, including my amazing "super-doula" best friend we prayed. Through the course of the prayer I began to feel very strange. I had been given a drug that was supposed to help expel the retained tissue, but came with the risk of further hemorrhage. The doctor had told me we still couldn't rule out a D and C and would I consent to placing an IUD while getting the procedure. I practically shouted her out of the room. "NO! STOP TALKING TO ME ABOUT BIRTH CONTROL!" She was very upset with me and told me she hoped I didn't hemorrhage but if I did, at least I could get another transfusion, and she left.<br />
<br />
As I began to feel strange, I thought to myself, here it comes. I'm going to bleed to death right here. There are no monitors so the nurses won't see that my BP is dropping and my pulse is racing. I began to feel faint. I hadn't eaten in 36 hours, and I'm sure that didn't help. I couldn't see straight, my heart was pounding. I started to get tunnel vision. "Surrender, Laura." I heard a whisper in my heart. "Make my mother your mother." Papa JPII? My friends were praying. I felt like I was dying. "Mama!!! Mama!!! I surrender! Help me Mama! I give up! God can have me if He wants. I surrender. Please, be my Mother. Help me to love you as my mother, help me surrender completely to God. If its His Will that I die now, then I accept it. Please hold my hand Mama, I give everything to God. Everything. My life, my health, my kids, my husband, everything." I was screaming in my mind. I felt as though I was saying it out loud. And in that moment, Mary became my Heavenly Mother. I had broken through. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdBhYwSNQbB48E-tjyhBS2DxPmMw_jZ5aJ9AYUj8F33cXPQZ22rgikEkQYkVCLptBgZGsBx0lLbWrvwboviXSguyEMOOBxgF8gDgbcd1GfilTk-LJqfH-b0v-vNC_O7qPmAeyWwXRJj8G/s1600/fatima.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdBhYwSNQbB48E-tjyhBS2DxPmMw_jZ5aJ9AYUj8F33cXPQZ22rgikEkQYkVCLptBgZGsBx0lLbWrvwboviXSguyEMOOBxgF8gDgbcd1GfilTk-LJqfH-b0v-vNC_O7qPmAeyWwXRJj8G/s1600/fatima.jpg" width="315" /></a>My pulse quickened, the dizziness intensified, and I felt as though I couldn't breathe. I could tell I was about to hemorrhage. "Call a nurse," I whispered. My friends looked worried. They pressed the call button and went into the hallway. Two nurses came running. "I'm not OK." I told them. "I feel like I do before I hemorrhage, and I want to pass out." They started checking vitals. The looked worried. Very worried. They called another nurse. One left to make a call. The other two ushered out my friends. They shut the door and brought over a portable commode. Lets prop you up on this and see what happens. I agreed. I prepared myself for the inevitable gush of blood and what I knew would be me passing out afterwards. "You have to hold me up," I said. The nursed could see I was so dizzy I couldn't even sit up without help. "We aren't leaving your side," they said. And so I glanced upward, asked Mary to give me courage, and resigned myself to the very real sense that I was going to die that night. <br />
<br />
Then a strange thing happened. I sat propped up waiting for the worst. Instead of a rush of blood the only thing that my body expelled was a piece of tissue. It looked to be the size of the retained tissue that the ultrasound had revealed. I was flabbergasted. So were the nurses. You see, it just doesn't work like that. You don't just expel a bit of tissue and NOTHING else. Not post pardum, not when you have been hemorrhaging. The dizziness began to wane. Tunnel vision went away. The nurses put me back in bed.<br />
<br />
"See, I am your Mother." I heard her whisper in my heart. With complete clarity I understood. Mary had just kept me alive. She had saved my life. It was my final act of surrender that made it possible. I was filled with gratitude. Immense gratitude. I can't write this without crying. That night, Mary became my mother, and I learned that surrender - ultimate surrender - is a freedom. Not something to be feared. <br />
<br />
Shortly after this experience the nurses came in to tell me I was being transferred to the Cardiac Unit "where I belonged." Soon I was back on the cardiac floor in the ICU for a few days, and then to the regular cardiac floor before being sent home. All told I had been in the hospital for 16 days.<br />
<br />
I had an ultrasound the day after the night when Mary saved my life to check on the "retained tissue" and wouldn't you know, they couldn't find it. The whole time I had the distinct feeling of Mary's presence. It was as if she was letting me know that just as I wouldn't leave one of my children's sides were they in the hospital, neither was she leaving mine. I had the most profound peace. I was no longer scared. I didn't really know what would happen to me yet but I was not scared. I was at peace. I was still in a lot of pain and I still couldn't breathe, but I had peace. I remember realizing that I had done as John Paul II said. I made Mary my Mother! And as I thought these things, in my heart I knew I had a new Spiritual Father as well. I was overjoyed! There I was with my oxygen cannula on, the anti-clot balloons on my legs, heart monitors all over, two IVs, and bruises up and down my arms, grinning like a fool. Our God is an amazing God.<br />
<br />
In my next post I would like to introduce you to some very amazing, very special, extremely dear friends without whom I couldn't have survived the hospital tedium, or recovered once home. They have become my Virginia Family and I thank God for them every day. So, next time you will meet "Lolek's Friends." 5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-91408109498370625742012-10-31T00:23:00.000-04:002016-11-03T23:18:08.335-04:00Its Been a Year, Lolek Pio Its been a year. A whole year. I haven't been able to blog about it until now. A year ago tonight my tiny baby son was born at home, Eternally Asleep. He was so tiny. I was only 13 weeks along with him. His nickname was "Baby Green Chocolate" and we gave him the name of Lolek Pio. My dearest friend was there with me. She is a doula by trade and to have her there with me was such a blessing and such a grace. We had found out the night before that Lolek was no longer alive when she accompanied me to the Emergency Room. She held my hand as the ultrasounds tech's silence spoke volumes. She drove me home and we collected supplies. She spent the night at my house as my kids spent the night at hers with her amazing Husband. (My husband was away that weekend and didn't get back until after Lolek had been born). She taught me how to crochet the next day as we waited for contractions to intensify. She helped me clean his tiny body after he was born and she helped me Baptize him. And then she basically saved my life.<br />
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After Lolek was born I had about a half an hour with him. I held him, cleaned him, anointed and baptized him and kissed him. I had prepared a tiny coffin for his body and I placed him in it after I had held him as long as I could. My friend took a few pictures of him for me, so I could remember him (like I could ever forget). After half an hour and after he was safely in the coffin, I realized that I didn't feel well and that I hadn't delivered a placenta. When he was born he was attached to his umbilical cord and I had to cut it. So I knew there was a placenta and a cord that needed to be delivered - albeit small ones. Lolek's coffin was placed in the fridge on a shelf I had cleared for him (I know it sounds wrong, but its the best thing to do if you are waiting for a funeral director to come and take the baby's body for burial arrangements.) I told my friend that I hadn't delivered a placenta. Thats when I realized that I was bleeding - a LOT.<br />
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Things happened very quickly after that. With Lolek Pio anointed, baptized, and safely awaiting the funeral director my mind was able to shift to survival - and that is exactly what it needed to do because I was hemorrhaging - badly. In an instant my friend switched from concerned bestie to super-doula. She got me into my bed flat on my back. No sign of a placenta or cord. She felt my uterus. Way too soft. She mashed on it - lots more blood. Lots. By now there was blood everywhere. It was in the bathtub it was in a garbage bag we had placed over the toilet for the very purpose of collecting it (midwife trick). It was all over my bedroom - buckets, bowls, if I hadn't been feeling like passing out I would have made a Halloween joke. Doula extraordinaire called my midwife. She talked her through a few things to check. It wasnt looking good. Then my midwife instructed her to measure the blood. Yes, my dear dear friend was elbow deep in my blood. I cannot express to you the very deep humility I felt and appreciation I have for her. She measured: 1 cup, 2 cups, 3 cups, 4 cups, 5 cups, 6 cups....and there was still more. After measuring six cups the midwife cut her off. She was concerned. Still no placenta. By now I was mashing and squeezing my poor uterus - trying to keep it as firm as possible. I knew if I didn't I would quite literally bleed to death on my bed. "I think we need to call 9-11," I said. My friend agreed. She called. I mashed. <br />
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She took over mashing as I heard the sirens. Sirens. They must be worried. <br />
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The EMTs came in and God bless them, didn't barf. There were two seasoned EMTs and one newbie on the squad. I thought he was gonna pass out. "That's a lot of blood ma'am," he said, ashen. They took some vitals and did NOT look impressed. I was instructed not to move as they made a hammock out of the bedsheets and carried me into the hallway where the stretcher was. My husband was on his way home. I asked my friend's husband, who got to the house just after the ambulance did, to call him and tell him to go to the hospital. Then away we went. I was quite dizzy and very lightheaded but I was determined to keep mashing. I instructed on of the EMTS on how to "mash" on my uterus. He had never done it before. I explained that I would bleed out if he didn't. The poor newbie looked scared again. As soon as the doors closed they rolled out, sirens wailing, speeding. I figured this meant things were pretty bad. Usually the sirens don't go unless there is a real emergency. The driver didn't even slow down for the traintracks!! He just yelled "tracks" and the EMTs in the back with me held me down as we flew over them. Then they got my IVs going - one in each arm and put me on full oxygen. I was having trouble staying awake and fought it as hard as I could. I kept mashing. I could hear the EMT call in to the ER. He sounded gruff. He said a lot of code words I didn't understand but I DID hear "tachycardic" a few times and "crash cart." That was enough to give me a bit of an adrenaline rush. The ambulance sped on.<br />
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I remember at one point time sort of stood still. I was laying on the stretcher and I was praying in my mind. I was asking for strength and for God to give me courage. I kept thinking of my children. All of a sudden I "saw" Jesus. I don't exactly know how to describe it. It was in my mind but out of it. Clear as day. Jesus was on a horse. He was dressed as a Knight in Shining Armor. He was wielding a big sword and a lance and He was fighting. I distinctly recall just KNOWING that He was fighting for me. And then it was as if WHOOSH I rushed into the fast paced present again. The ambulance arrived at the hospital and the EMTs jumped out. I kept telling them I was Catholic and that I needed a priest. They were busy. They jogged me into the hospital and we took a route I had never taken before - bypassing all the desks, all the rooms and went into a special room. I found out later it was the ICU "Crash Unit." As they wheeled me in I saw 7 nurses all scrubbed up ready to pounce. One was holding the paddles of a crash cart - ready to go. It dawned on me that the reason I felt so awful was because I was in pretty bad shape. I kept mashing.<br />
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They transferred me from the stretcher to the hospital bed and POUNCE! every nurse in the room went to work. I had my clothes cut off me as someone else was putting in another IV, I was being checked all over, vitals taken, oxygen started again, the doctor appeared at my side. Laura, I am doctor so and so. We need to get your permission for a transfusion if you need one. I gave it. I didn't have a choice. Not if I wanted to live. I told him that I had a retained placenta. I kept mashing. I told the nurses they needed to mash on my stomach. They were so busy getting me prepped and waiting for me to flat line that no one heard. So I kept mashing. Eventually they let my friend back. She took over mashing for a few minutes. The doctor asked us to stop mashing to see what would happen. It wasn't pretty. Lets just say I didn't know I could "squirt" blood like that. Poor doc. He told me I could go back to mashing. Then a poor tech said he needed to do a blood draw so they could get my blood type for the transfusion. I was actually snarky and told him he could stand at the edge of the bed and catch it. He turned pale and I apologized, holding out my IV intubated arm to him. He hurried away. <br />
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Unfortunately though that last dramatic blood loss made me very woozy. I was seeing double and couldn't tell which way was up. I started to shiver all over. Uncontrollable shivering. I was going into shock. Still I kept mashing. The doctor kept calling for bags a blood. It wasn't coming so he sent a tech to "go and get it. Now!" When the tech came back they started my transfusion - using the biggest needles possible. Then they started a Potassium drip - which burns like nothing I have ever felt before - on the other arm. I kept mashing. I was still hemorrhaging Finally after what seemed like ages but was really about an hour and a half the OB on call came in. Immediately she got me set up. The nurses were trying to keep me awake and the one on "standby" with the crash cart kept moving closer. She said there was no time for a D and C to get the retained placenta, I had lost too much blood and didn't have time to get to an OR. She looked at me, "I am going to have to go in and scrape it out. It's going to hurt, but we don't have a choice." I nodded. They got me set up in a makeshift way. The nurses were afraid to move me as any movement sent my heart rate dangerously high. And God Bless her, that OB, she got the job done. We didn't even have time for pain killers. <br />
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I laid there in blinding pain and I kept thinking of the scene in Braveheart where he gets disemboweled at the end. "Freeeeeeeeeedom" I whispered into my oxygen mask, laughing at myself. Then I started shaking again. Finally, finally, after quite a bit of time, the OB was confident that she had gotten everything. She gave my uterus a good hard mash and squeeze. It hurt so badly after being mashed and scraped and pounded on all night long. Then she gave me two shots of pitocin. I could feel the blessed contractions start! FINALLY!! They hurt like heck but I was so happy to feel them that I almost didn't care. If they hurt they were working!!! I didn't have to mash anymore!! I hadn't flat-lined, and I was alive!<br />
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My husband eventually arrived and was let back to the ICU with me. I was holding my friend's hand as he walked back. I am sure from his angle it looked like a war zone. (The hospital collected buckets of blood too). I, however, was being cleaned up a bit by some nurses and had blankets piled on my to try to stop the shaking. I felt so cold! The crash cart nurse put the paddle down. She leaned over, "I can't believe you never passed out," she said, "I was watching your vitals the whole time and I am stunned I didn't need those," she referenced the paddles. "Jesus was fighting for me," I whispered. She smiled.<br />
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I stayed in the Crash Unit for a while longer as they waited for me to stabilize a bit. They did an ultrasound to make sure there was nothing left behind and gave me some more pitocin. Then they gave me some uber-painkillers. They made me feel like I was floating on the ceiling. <br />
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I spent the night on two IV drips. I didn't sleep. The Potassium burned its way through my veins making it impossible to sleep, and my legs felt funny. They hurt and then they would go numb, and then they would ache. Nope, no sleep for me. <br />
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The next day my husband went home and met the funeral director. He gave him Lolek Pio's coffin and made arrangements. Later that night he came and picked me up. I was told I need LOTS of rest and to drink and take some iron supplements. I was still on the very low blood volume side of things and needed to take my time as my body caught up with itself. <br />
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I went home and saw that my husband had cleaned up the mess. He remarked later that he couldn't believe the odor the blood had. "It smelled like Chrism" is what he said. He was expecting a foul or nauseating odor and instead, he kept insisting it smelled like chrism. "You smell like chrism too" he said to me more than once - even after I had showered! He also said he felt very strongly the presence of Padre Pio. This didn't surprise me. Two weeks before losing Lolek, Padre Pio was making it known that we were going to need him. So when I started to sense that things weren't right with the pregnancy I immediately knew who to ask for intercession! That is why Lolek's middle name is Pio. He was very near me as everything happened.<br />
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Little did I know that Padre Pio and Pope John Paul II were about to play an even bigger role in my life.... but that is for another post!<br />
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Baby Lolek Pio, I miss you and I long to hold you. I ask that you look down on us and along with your brother and sister who are also in Heaven, pray for us and for our friends and family. Amen. 5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-55815794956811040662012-08-18T00:58:00.000-04:002012-08-30T19:26:00.206-04:00Musings on TV, Mom Guilt and GrossnessThe other day was my daughter's annual check-up. In the course of the visit her pediatrician was asking the normal questions and I was answering. (Can I take a minute to say that I LOVE our pediatrician? That is saying a LOT since I generally don't get along with any doctors and am one of "those" patients/moms who is educated and outspoken when it comes to medicine and health). So in between the doc's good natured ribbing of my usual refusal to vaccinate and my telling him of my reasons for going mostly Paleo with the kids' diets he asks, "How much TV do your kids watch?" I blinked at him. "We don't have a TV," I responded," but occasionally I allow them to watch a DVD on the computer or a show on Netflix." He got a big grin on his face and held out his hand for a high-five. "Put 'er there," he said as I slapped his hand, "Excellent!"<br />
We wrapped up the appointment with a clean bill of health and his promise to look over the latest info on the connection between vaccines and gut damage and I happily announced that we would see him in a week for the boys' check-ups. (Did I mention that I love this guy?) <br />
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"Mommy, why did he ask if we have a TV?"<br />
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"Well because TV isn't really good for children."<br />
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"Oh."<br />
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This got me thinking. <br />
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Later in the week I was talking with a friend who asked if I ever let my kids watch TV. I responded the same way I did to my pediatrician. "But," she persisted, "do you ever let them watch too much?"<br />
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This got me thinking some more.<br />
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During the Olympics we saw some of the games on my inlaw's TV while we were visiting. It was fun to watch the athletes and to see America excel. It was NOT fun to see the commercials for NBC's new show <i>The New Normal</i>. (<a href="http://www.nbc.com/the-new-normal/">http://www.nbc.com/the-new-normal/</a>). A show about a gay couple who use a surrogate to gestate the baby they plan to adopt, despite the objection of the surrogate's "uptight, conservative (read "Republican") mother."<br />
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More thinking.<br />
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I decided to check out the new mini-drama <i>Political Minds</i> and the series <i>Downton Abbey</i> as I had heard good things about both and since I have an interest in politics, and I love a good English Period piece. I was enjoying both of them until the somewhat unexpected "love scenes" between what turned out to be the closeted (and not so closeted) gay characters.<br />
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Much more thinking.<br />
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I consider myself to be a tolerant person. I don't judge, and quite frankly, I don't care if you wish to label yourself according to your sexual orientation. I prefer to be friends with someone based on WHO they are not WHAT they do in their private moments. This being the case, I am friends with individuals who claim a different orientation than I do, and I am grateful for their friendship, and glad they are part of my life. I do however have to tell you that when I see two men making out I have what others would call a "negative reaction.". Sorry if that offends you, but its the Truth. I literally have to look away. Its not the <i>people</i> who disgust me. Its the <i>action</i>. Let's be clear on that before I start getting called ridiculous names. <br />
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So what does all this have to do with TV? Well, the reason we decided to not have one was two fold. The first reason being that there is so much sexualized junk that it didn't seem worth the bill. The second was because we didn't want our children to grow up in front of the television. After reading so much about how detrimental it is to a child's brain development it just didn't seem worth it to me. That's where the mom-guilt comes in. You see, I DO sometimes allow the kids to watch too much on the computer. "Screen time" is what we call it. Whether its my son watching things on Netflix from the Discovery Channel or my daughter watching "Queen Esther" I do let them see too much screen sometimes. And I feel guilty about it. I especially feel guilty about it when I am dealing with a large amount of stress - like recovering from hospitalization or recovering from severe anemia (which exhausts me completely) or trying to deal with a family crisis. These are the times when, yes, I admit it, the screen becomes a babysitter. After they have read through all their books, colored all they can color, played all the games that we can think of, when I need to deal with everything else life is throwing at me without a child hanging on my leg, the screen becomes a lifeboat. There. I admitted it. I feel guilty as heck, but I suspect that I am not alone in this guilt-ridden admission. <br />
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Now, my kids are all over the age of three, which is a magic age as far as screens go. Before reaching the age of 2 1/2 I really do keep the kids from the screen....well, except for that one time..... and the time before that.... humpf. Bad Mommy. More guilt.<br />
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As I wallow in my self-imposed, guilt-laced thoughts, it occurs to me that at least not having a TV has kept my kids from the other reason we decided to not have a television: content. On the computer I have a filter and parental controls set as strict as they can get. My kids cant even access a search engine. Sorry, Google, my children don't use you. This coupled with the fact that if they are viewing a screen I am IN the room with them means that the content they view is going to be safe and under Mommy's control. In my opinion, especially as my kids get older, THIS becomes more important than having a little too much screen time occasionally.<br />
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If we had a TV I would have NO control over content. Sure I could monitor the programming, but commercials? They are a wild card - and from what I have seen and heard, they are getting wilder. If my experience with the new push to mainstream the homosexual lifestyle is any indication, TV programs are just going to get more and more deviant, and push the envelope. This is sadly calculated. TV, media, and movies have always been used to advance a social agenda. They are used to desensitize and normalize lifestyle choices that are not yet mainstream but that are well on their way. Its the media version of cramming a cultural change down our collective throats. This, to me, is disingenuous at best, and down right disgusting at worst. And I won't participate. <br />
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Do you know why I have such a strong reaction to two men grasping and clawing and kissing each other? Because I am NOT desensitized and I am having a NATURAL reaction to an unnatural act. (To be fair, if there was a scene between a man and woman and same types of behavior were displayed I would be equally as mortified because I am not desensitized to the types of intimate displays that belong in a married couple's bedroom and are meant to be shared ONLY between the two people - not an audience). THIS is what I want for my children. I WANT them to be sensitive to inappropriate sexual displays, to violence, to evil, to meanness, to ugliness. (Real ugliness, not superficial - see <a href="http://5andcountingmusings.blogspot.com/2011/03/good-bad-and-ugly.html" target="_blank">this post</a> for an explanation).<br />
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If we are raising children to see with the eyes of Christ than we cannot allow them to be desensitized to things that ought to repulse them. This is sadly the agenda of far too much media programming. It makes our job as parents difficult and unpopular at times.<br />
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I remember growing up that I wasn't allowed to view many (OK, ALL) of the TV shows that my peers were. I realize now that my parents were being wise and prudent. Thank God I respected them and heeded their rules. I have a good understanding of right and wrong, good and bad, and a solid command of social issues that would have been confused had I indulged my young and immature mind by consuming the confusing messages of the pop-culture programs. I must now do the same for my kids. Hopefully someday they too will understand!<br />
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<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-79363859310339524952012-07-25T17:33:00.002-04:002012-07-25T17:35:11.454-04:00Ramblings about Faith, Poverty, Politics, and the Will of GodI am sick of politics. <br />
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As many of you know I have been heavily involved in politics for almost 2 years now. I worked on 2 Presidential Campaigns and helped to start a Consulting and Web-based Campaign Solutions Company that is now operating in almost all 50 states. In short, I climbed the political power ladder fast. But I'm sick of it. Politics, at this point, does nothing to excite me and even angers me. i am so disenchanted with the ideologies and polarization. I'm not liberal. Heck, I'm not even Conservative. I'm <i>CATHOLIC!</i><br />
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You see, I never WANTED to be in a position of influence. I had no aspirations of riding in freight elevators and walking through the maze of a hotel kitchen on the way to an event with a Presidential Front-Runner. (Although I WILL admit, that stuff was pretty fun - like living out a scene from <i>The West Wing). </i>I began my foray into politics simply because I was scared for the future of my children and I wanted to <i>do</i> something about it. I started out just tweeting (yes, I tweet - follow me @DOHK!) in support of a candidate and then one thing led to another and before I knew it I was helping with policy and message, organizing volunteers on a National scale and running the State of Virginia for the campaign with 11,000 volunteers waiting for my direction! Yikes! That's a long way from the Twitterverse!! Then that candidate left the race and I began to work for the next front-runner. That was a National role! Double yikes!<br />
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Now here I am working on the company that was the brainchild of the collective experience of some of us who worked together through the two campaigns, talking to Senators and Congressman, Governors and Campaign Staffers and I am feeling as though its time for me to move on.<br />
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But move on to where?<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my coworkers. I have made some amazing friendships with some Faith-filled people across this nation and for that I am so thankful. I have had experiences I never could have thought up in my imagination and learned a lot of valuable lessons about myself.<br />
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The most valuable lesson I have learned is that despite it all, I am still "Mommy."<br />
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For almost 2 years I have been juggling homeschooling, the house, the job, the campaigning, and my marriage. That is a lot of juggling. Throw in there that in November I suffered some very serious health problems that almost left my kids without their Mommy and well...... it may be time to simplify! Yet I feel a very deep obligation to my fellow political types who prayed me through my illness and offered me their friendship, their support, their time and even their financial help at times. So if I cut this tie, it will sting. <br />
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Still this has been growing on my heart. I find myself seeing more and more reasons why I need to be moving on and leaving all I have set in motion in other (probably more!) capable hands. <br />
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I hear it in my son's voice, "Do you have to have <i>another</i> conference call? Now?"<br />
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in my daughter's voice, "Why cant we spend more time on the computer - you do, even if its for work."<br />
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in my three year old's voice, "Mommy can't do a fun thing now because she has to work."<br />
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Some women can do it. I managed it for 2 years. But now that the work I am doing is no longer flexible and cant be confined to naptimes and after bedtimes, my kids feel the difference and that simply can't be.<br />
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So in my heart I think I know what I must do. Now I have to make my head listen.<br />
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God decided to throw me some help in the form of a very powerful book called "Happy are You Poor." (yep that's us alright!) by Thomas DuBay. Wow. Just Wow.<br />
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I will caution you - if you read this book with an attitude of prayer your life will never be the same. It can't be. It will cause you to examine EVERYTHING in a completely different context. The context of the pure, unadulterated Gospel Truth that has been sadly watered down - so much so that we (even us uber-catechized) Catholics have never considered it.<br />
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The book deals with Evangelical Radical Poverty. Now you see why so many of us have never considered it? Radical Evangelistic Poverty? I am sure most of you have never heard of it outside the stories of St. Francis. St. Phillip Neri and the Cure d'Ars. ( I know I hadn't!) But it is a Gospel Calling - for ALL Christians. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3-1X_baraj7uu6OpE-ICCK_qZ7s9KZQXeaXA-fybV38WbeoewTnAs5FgjaMscrMb-49etFEfpvgyuOu2vfBFyhZTjvXPWVMqEcKN2n5BSlJeaLJKTM0zU4WO4JfvmlwANlFb4eGBrSZf/s1600/tdubay_happyareyoupoor_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3-1X_baraj7uu6OpE-ICCK_qZ7s9KZQXeaXA-fybV38WbeoewTnAs5FgjaMscrMb-49etFEfpvgyuOu2vfBFyhZTjvXPWVMqEcKN2n5BSlJeaLJKTM0zU4WO4JfvmlwANlFb4eGBrSZf/s320/tdubay_happyareyoupoor_lg.jpg" width="222" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This book can be ordered <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Happy-Are-You-Poor-Spiritual/dp/0898709210/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1343251711&sr=8-1&keywords=Happy+are+you+poor">Here </a></td></tr>
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My husband and I have been pouring over the pages and deciding what we need to change in our lives so that we can live this Gospel calling. Of course this led me to once again consider my position in politics. <br />
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I have been saying for a while now that we need to change the Culture here in America if our Nation is going to survive as Founded. I had hoped that I could help bring that about through my political work. That is one of the reasons I stuck with it for so long. Now, however, I have a completely different perspective. Oh yes, America needs a complete cultural re-vamp, but its not going to come through politics. Nor will it come through legislation. It going to be from the inside out.<br />
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I am completely convinced that it will happen when we Catholics learn how to live our Faith radically - ALL aspects of it - and through living it, we will encourage change. (Thats why the Radical Poverty that Christ calls us to is called "Evangelical.") <br />
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So that is my goal. The problem is where to start! I have so much on my heart that I would like to do, and thanks to my political work a lot of skills that I bring to the table. I have a heart for ministry, and a knack for writing, speaking, running things, organizing and social media. What do I do with all that!? <br />
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I have some pretty wild, big ideas about how to really begin living this Evangelistic Poverty and what sort of Ministry I would like to do. Perhaps I will share those in another post.<br />
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For now, though, I think its starts with getting back to basics. Making sure that life is centered on Christ. Asking God the Father for guidance, and being open to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. It starts with returning to being "just Mommy" and taking off some of the extra hats. It starts with reading an extra bedtime story to my kids and having a few days go by before any of us pick up a laptop or look at a screen. It begins with prayer. It begins with making the changes that my husband I feel are necessary to live Gospel Poverty. Sitting in Adoration, and teaching my children that we are Pilgrims on this earth, traveling to our real Home. Then slowly the rest will become clear and we will see what amazing adventure God has in store for us next!<br />
<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-79873565856651640942012-06-16T01:35:00.002-04:002012-06-16T01:35:19.985-04:00A Thought About WorrySomething to think about:<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">“We don’t actually have much control over the way our kids turn out. Genes do a lot of the deciding, and the owner of those genes does most of the rest. Some kids let parents have a great deal of influence; others don’t. Either way, people blossom when we love them, not when we worry about them. Worry just teaches worry.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;"><em>- Martha Beck</em></span></div>5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-40972899626634015782012-02-29T18:53:00.001-05:002012-02-29T19:15:09.444-05:00Marriage on FireI am sitting on the floor in front of our wood burning stove enjoying the warmth. Its a cold, wet day and the house has a chill. We heat our home with the wood stove, and so sitting here I am getting the first of the warmth that is sure to spread throughout the house. My husband has been working odd hours for a few years now and so the bulk of the fire duty falls to me. At first this was exciting. I would trample through the snow and wind to the wood pile, gathering an armful and then trudge back to house, convinced I would have made a great pioneer or first settler. Then I'd build a great fire and be pleased with my pyromania prowess. But sometimes its not that easy to get a roaring fire going. I think of these things as I stare at the flames. This fire stove always gives me something to ponder.<br />
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Tonight it has me musing on marriage. <br />
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Marriage is a lot like this fire. <br />
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To get the fire burning strong, it takes a lot of tending. It takes care and attention. So does a strong marriage. <br />
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The fire won't build itself, and left too long alone it will burn itself out. So will a marriage. <br />
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Sometimes just one piece of wet wood, or rotted log can ruin a strong burn. Similarly, resentment and misunderstandings can rot a marriage, ruining its flame. <br />
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I have noticed that when the wood is wet, when its not perfect, when it hasn't been seasoned, the fire needs MORE tending and MORE attention. This is true for marriage. When you hit the "for worse" (and everyone does) this is when you need to work even harder on your marriage. Its when you tend to each other and each other's needs even more. Its the only way to grow strong again - my fire taught me that. <br />
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Sometimes I am fooled when I look at the blaze in the stove. It seems so strong and so steady. So I ignore it. I get distracted, and assume its OK. Soon it is barely a smoldering pile of ash, and it takes even more work to build it back up again. So too with marriage. We have a tendency to take our spouse and our marriage for granted when things are going well, when we feel strong. But this allows for inattention and inattentiveness. Before long, we are in a bad place and our marriage needs even more work than it did before. <br />
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Don't let the flames go out! <br />
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Sometimes despite my best efforts, the fire is slow to catch and difficult to burn. But I tend to it anyway. I can't give up! My family relies on the heat from the fire! I can't let them freeze and I can't let them down! Marriage isn't always a fairy tale. In fact it hardly ever is. Instead some marriages are difficult. They require extra tending and care, and sometimes despite the best efforts of one or both spouses, the marriage is slow to grow strong. Don't give up! Just as my difficult, slow to burn fire will eventually become a strong blaze, so will a marriage that is difficult - with enough work, enough patience and tending. <br />
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Some things will put out a fire immediately. Throw water on a fire of any size and it will go out, The wet ash will also make it impossible to start a new one. The old, wet ash must be shoveled out and a new fire started. Some things are like water to flame in a marriage: infidelity, bitterness, total neglect, and disrespect will put out the flames completely. A marriage dampened under one of these will take a lot of time and care to rebuild. A lot of "shoveling" and soul searching and trust building has to take place first. But just as a fire can be rebuilt, so can a marriage. <br />
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I stare at the fire. It is burning well now. A solid, strong, steady burn. I could keep this fire burning for days, weeks, even years if I give it the right amount of attention, the right amount of patience and the right amount of tending. Despite the setbacks, the damp wood, the distractions and the wrong assumptions I might make about this blaze, I can see that what it needs is perseverance, patience, care, and attention to keep burning. Very much like a marriage.....<br />
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**This post is dedicated to my cousins, Caitlin Cardona and Kimberly Sharkey, who are both preparing to start "fires" of their own. <3 **5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-52227677218592270172012-02-22T00:55:00.001-05:002012-02-22T00:58:31.658-05:00Lent and Little OnesIts just me and the little man. Awake. At 12:14am. So I guess Lent has officially started. Since I am awake and musing about what the next 40 days have in store I thought I would muse out loud, well, in cyberprint anyway! <br />
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The kids and I had a few chances to talk about Lent and what its all about today as we ran our errands. I am excited that the older two are old enough to remember "traditions." For instance when I reminded them that today was "Fat Tuesday" (Mardi Gras) and the day before Ash Wednesday, my 6 year old immediately got out the "sacrifice jar." "Mommy, we have to get the rocks!" He is talking about the small driveway rocks (we have used dried large beans too) that we keep in a big bowl next to the sacrifice jar. Every time one of the kids makes a sacrifice they get to put a rock in the jar. On Easter Sunday when they wake up, the jar will be empty of the rocks and full of jelly beans. Its a great visual reminder of sacrifice and redemption - how God takes our sacrifices, that don't feel good - like rocks - and He turns them into beautiful prayers which obtain Grace, which is good - sort of like jelly beans - for us! <br />
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The kids also reminded me that we need to make this year's Stations of the Cross. Every year I print out coloring pages of the Stations. The kids each get a few to color and then we cut and paste them onto construction paper. Every night of Lent we pray the Stations together, with the kids taking turns leading. Its fun to see how their coloring, and their interpretations, change every year. (I am sure "Punch-less Pilot" will "fly his plane" into Jerusalem again this year, and maybe he will "take martial arts lessons to learn how to punch!") <br />
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A big change this is year is that the kids are all (well except for Noah) old enough to give up something and understand why its a good thing to do. They collectively decided to give up watching "shows." (We don't have a TV but they do have some shows they are allowed to watch on Netflix and on DVDs on the computer). I am very proud of this Lenten endeavor, and also believe it will greatly benefit them. I promised that we would make more library trips as a way to ease them into the idea of making this sacrifice. What is more important to me, though, is that they understand WHY we give things up. Once again, by explaining it to my kids, I have gotten a glimpse into the pure simplicity and total SENSE that our Faith makes. <br />
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At dinner (pancakes with lots of toppings!) I asked them to tell their Daddy what they were doing for Lent. They proudly announced they were giving up "shows." "Why?" I pressed them. The older two explained, "Because when we give up things we like its a sacrifice, and giving things up shows God that we love Him more than we love things." "What else?" I asked. "And it also trains our souls and minds to be able to say no, so when there is something bad we have to say no to, we can! " "Yeah! It makes a good habit in our souls and minds!"<br />
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I beamed. <br />
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See, its not enough if my kids go through the motions but don't grasp the <em>why </em>. Its the <em>why</em> that makes all the difference. Its the difference between "because Mommy says so" and them wanting to do something because they love God and know He loves them. That's what Lent comes down to for all of us. Do we go through the motions or do we seek to allow God to love us? By removing distractions and bad habits, by practicing penance and abstinence we are opening ourselves more to His Love. We remove those things in ourselves that prevent His love from reaching us, and that prevent us from even noticing that He loves us. THAT is what Lent is for - it prepares us for that scandalous, wondrous, LOVE affair called Easter. <br />
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Maybe my kids don't yet grasp the Scandal of the Cross. Maybe they don't fully understand the utter agony Christ suffered on our behalf. But they ARE aware of His love for them. They DO know that something awesome happened on Easter (and it doesn't have to do with a bunny, although I am sure he is coming again this year). As they get older they will understand more fully, and we will make new traditions. For now though, I am happy that as we embark on these 40 days, my little ones will be giving it their all and trying their best to fill up that Sacrifice Jar! <br />
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Its not always easy to be on the ball looking for the teachable moments and taking the opportunities to show them God's Love. But these days, when their characters and consciences are forming, when they are developing habits for the Liturgical Year, are too important to waste. All too soon they will be grown and have their own Lenten Traditions. So until then I will be happy to hear more about "Punch-less Pilot" and hear my 4 year old imitate the "weeping women of Jerusalem" (apparently they say "weep weep weep weep"). And I will secretly watch as they raise their stuffed animals from the dead and crucify half naked G.I Joes. They are "getting it" and more importantly, in their own way, they are opening their hearts to the Love that pours forth from the Cross. THAT, my friends, is pretty awesome. <br />
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May you all have a Blessed Lenten Season as you look forward to the Joy of Easter. <br />
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<br />5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-39413971048590553802012-02-10T22:29:00.001-05:002012-08-25T23:11:00.248-04:00Noah and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very bad THREES!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I survived the "Terrible Twos" with Noah, the star of more than a few of the posts here. I thought it would be smooth sailing - onto potty training and sleeping in his big boy bed! Oops. I forgot about "three." Noah is my fourth and youngest child on earth. You would think by now I would have conquered the Mommy Amnesia and would be hunkered down for the Horrible Threes. The "Twos" are just a practice run - three is when it gets REALLY interesting. Now it is all flooding back. <br />
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When my third child and second son turned three he began what we called the "only in public tantrums." He was an angel at home, but as soon as he set foot in a store or market, WHAMMO! He was on the floor writhing and screaming, wailing and yelling. Shoving himself all over the floor with his feet while I hid, waiting for it to pass. (It passed at three and a half.) Yes, those were the "threes" with Ben. <br />
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His older brother was never a tantrum thrower, he preferred to climb - and taste - everything. His threes were spent scaling the furniture, scaling the windows, climbing the walls (literally) and then jumping off whatever it was he had conquered; then he would sample everything: 'Oh a rock!' lick. "Hmm, hay," crunch. "Sticky stuff from a caterpillar," slurp. Yes he was the taste-testing climber. <br />
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My oldest was a very particular three. She had to have everything arranged just so, and was generally happy - until she wasn't - and it was then that she would throw the most beautiful tantrum - eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth open wide AND NO SOUND! She was our "silent tantrum thrower." It was magnificent. <br />
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Noah, however, is going to be a whole new experience. He is just plain destructive. Mischievously destructive. He has the benefit of older siblings, so he is QUITE the talker with an impressive (and scary) vocabulary, very inquisitive and curious, and thinks he is older than he really is. This is NOT a good combination. Especially with a sick Mommy. <br />
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Yes, I have pneumonia, and am quite under the weather. This, however, doesn't stop Noah. He sees it as an opportunity. "Mommy can't breathe and is stuck on the couch? Excellent!" And there goes the family size grated Parmesan cheese - ALL OVER the kitchen, and in a bowl, and in the computer keyboard..... "Look, Its SNOWING!" and he gleefully licks it off the floor. "MMM delicious!" He smiles at me with grated cheese all over his face. My sick self sighs. Well, its just cheese right? I sink into the chair and let him go to town, burying his trains in piles of "snow", filling bowls up with the cheese so he can stick his face in it and eat it "like a cat." Eventually I summon the strength to get the vacuum. He claps and dances as we "suck up the snow" and then "suck off" his toys, cleaning them of the cheese. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACdSv-vgUS0ipNVMN-edUtiJkmOp-zaRjIgJMfBVUIzb3g-WB0xDjcnUg8oGL1SxG77dWfLPpWv-rydQNJ7vxXBTW9VVvompfXYZX_6RP02RY-hnmnQXLusirnPDPP5SZKD58l61tCfCp/s1600/Snapshot_20120122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACdSv-vgUS0ipNVMN-edUtiJkmOp-zaRjIgJMfBVUIzb3g-WB0xDjcnUg8oGL1SxG77dWfLPpWv-rydQNJ7vxXBTW9VVvompfXYZX_6RP02RY-hnmnQXLusirnPDPP5SZKD58l61tCfCp/s200/Snapshot_20120122.JPG" width="200" /></a>I flop onto the couch, trying to breathe normally, and he is off on another adventure. This one involves spraying the Toy Room with Lemon Juice. It smells very fresh and clean now. <br />
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Next its on to stealing gummy bears. I find him hiding in the closet, mouth and fists full of the little bears, about to be eaten. He grins at me and darts out of the closet. I manage to wrestle the candy from his fists, and he is off to bigger and better things.....like shoving play doh in his ears and eyes. "I'm being a pirate!" "Pirates don't put play-doh in their ears." "Oh." and he is off again. This time eating the play-doh. I hear my husband in the next room, "Noah, we don't eat play-doh!" "Oh." and his little feet come running full speed into the living room. He grins at me, with play-doh in his teeth. Yuck! <br />
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No worries though, because a few minutes later I find him on top of the kitchen counter stealing more gummy Bears out of the cabinet they were hiding in. The gummy stuff will get the play-doh out of his teeth, right? Because his toothbrush is currently shoved so far down the drain I don't think I can get it out..... and yes, he shoved it down there, clogged the drain, turned on the water and flooded the bathroom..... what is it with Noahs and floods!? <br />
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Speaking of floods, I thought a hot bath would help me breathe better. So I filled up the tub, poured in some baking soda, and sat in the quiet steaminess, trying to breathe better. All of a sudden a happy face peers at me. "Hi Mommy! I am going to help you!" and he shuts the bathroom door, trapping the two of us inside. He grins again. "You need toys!" and into the bathtub goes a bunch of toys - dinosaurs, plastic things, and cups. "You need more of this!" and he dumps ALL the baking soda into the tub. "Noah, Mommy doesn't need anymore help!" "Yes you do! Here!" and he squirts a Thomas the Tank Engine bath toy at me - cold, nasty, filmy water hits me in the face. Gross. Cold. Next thing I know he has stripped off his clothes and removed his diaper. "I am coming in too!" And in he climbs before I can feebly call my husband (who is washing dishes and can't hear me anyway). Now its the two of us in a bathtub filled with WAY too much baking soda. He is happy as a squirmy clam. Then come the anatomy questions. "What are these for?" "They feed babies?" "Can I taste?" "Why don't they work right now?" "How come I don't have any?" Then the conversation moves below the belt. This is even more hysterical. "Why don't YOU have anything?" "Why do I have TWO parts than hang down?" "Are they attached?" "Why does it float?" "Can I make it big?" "Will it fall off?" Eventually, anatomy questions exhausted, I get out of the tub and leave my wet, squirmy, newly-minted three year old for my husband to tackle. Soon he is dry and ready for more action!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmwYGBTeVY2SGLU1ldkuDpyKJ1jtRk4wlESA3zilId4-Z6ZklSAChqMg7egn9M7hvnRMSNb29CK328rFQJEXuzJjDZZ_uC53VGwoJZVz7TzJVjeLQbQiAj2Gw83aXwy0J4G2aVuoIHcfr/s1600/257px-Dyson_cleaner_dc07_arp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRmwYGBTeVY2SGLU1ldkuDpyKJ1jtRk4wlESA3zilId4-Z6ZklSAChqMg7egn9M7hvnRMSNb29CK328rFQJEXuzJjDZZ_uC53VGwoJZVz7TzJVjeLQbQiAj2Gw83aXwy0J4G2aVuoIHcfr/s320/257px-Dyson_cleaner_dc07_arp.jpg" width="137" /></a><br />
As I try with futility to rest in quiet, I discover Noah has taken all my candles and built a precarious tower - using a St. Francis statue and a statue of the Blessed Mother to prop it up. I carefully unstack the candles and inspect the statues for damage. That's when I notice that there is salt all over the small alter we have. I follow the salt trail into the kitchen where Noah is emptying the rest of it into one of his toy trains' coal cars. Apparently his trains run on salt. <br />
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Out comes the vacuum. Again. <br />
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And this is how it goes. One day is more destructive than the next. He gets into everything; his mischievous little grin lights up his face when he has been caught red handed stealing food, or pennies, or his siblings' toys. I know I have even more destructive days ahead, but for now, its time to hunker down, and realize that he is going to grow out of the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very bad Threes all too quickly, and that blessed Mommy Amnesia will hit once again.5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-92012328734756827492012-02-06T21:22:00.001-05:002012-02-22T02:08:07.092-05:00A Letter from a Sex Addicts WifeWe talk about a lot of issues that face our families here. One of the silent killers of family life is pornography and sex addiction. I thought for some perspective I would publish a letter from a Sex Addict's Wife. No names or detailed information is included to protect the identify of this poor, brave woman. (reprinted with permission). <br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Dear *******, </span></em><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I can't do this anymore. I have given you almost 10 years of my life and you have wasted them. I have given you children, a clean home, dinner on the table, and encouragement. I have been your biggest cheerleader, your biggest fan, and your biggest support. I have believed in you when no one else has. Yet, here we are. I am at the end of my rope. Your addiction and your inability to really work to fight it have destroyed everything we have. Or did we really have it? Was it an illusion? Have you just been using me all these years? That's what it feels like. I feel like a giant rug that you walk all over. You have stolen the best years of my life and you didn't even notice. All those times I tried to look nice for you. All the wasted effort I put into keeping my body healthy and fit. All the stress I put on myself to lose baby weight and get back that "flat stomach" you say you like. (by the way that is the ONLY compliment you ever have paid me about how I look....and it was 2 years ago.) </span></em><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Well, I am done. I have children to protect. When I discover that you are looking at porn with them around or in the next room you leave me no choice. I have given EVERYTHING to this marriage. I have sacrificed and cried, prayed and cried some more. I have singlehandedly managed the house, while you wasted our money. I have taught our children and raised them to respect you, even though you don't respect them. I have soothed their broken hearts when you raise your voice or ignore them. I have protected them from you when you were so out of touch reality that you were scary to be around. I am done. NO ONE should be forced to live like this. I have dignity. I am a child of God and you treat me like trash. Maybe you don't intend to, but you do. I have given you chance after chance to heal, to find treatment, to get sober. I have given you more chances that most ever would. Yet you throw them back in my face. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">No more. I can't play this game or ride this roller coaster anymore. I love you more than I can possibly articulate, but you are hurting me. Every day. I can't make myself a victim to your addiction, and I can't allow the kids to be victims either. They deserve so much more than that. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">So there you go. That's it. After all these years of praying and hoping this is what it comes down to. Leave. It has become obvious that you aren't going to truly find recovery or healing living here with us, so find a place where you can. I pray that you WILL find healing and health and sobriety and come back to us whole and happy. That is in God's Hands. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I will always love you. I still believe you can be healed. I still believe you can find sobriety and recovery. I do not believe you will find those things if something big doesn't change. Obviously being at home isn't working for any of us. I pray that by leaving us you will find what you need, so you can come back to us a whole and changed man. I will pray for you every day. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">My heart is broken. I hate that your addiction has forced me into this position and I resent having to be the one who draws a hard line in the sand. I want this 'thing' out of our lives for good. It is poisoning all of us. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I love you.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Your Devoted Wife,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">**********</span></em><br />
<br />
I hope that those of you who can identify with this woman's situation will draw strength from knowing you are not alone. We must all pray to end this scourge upon families. If you feel as though you are in a similar situation, please know that there are resources avaible to you and support for you. A google search of "Sanon" will find you a lot of information, as will <a href="http://www.purehope.net/">http://www.purehope.net/</a> .5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-16692758989384687882012-01-08T02:44:00.002-05:002012-01-08T02:44:53.719-05:00I don't usually do this but I would like to ask you to read someone else's blog this time:<br />
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<a href="http://theholywannabe.blogspot.com/2012/01/sobering-start-to-new-year.html">http://theholywannabe.blogspot.com/2012/01/sobering-start-to-new-year.html</a><br />
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This is a dear friend of mine (yes I even scored a shout out in this post) and she wrote so eloquently on about the very thing I was going to say that I figured I would share what she wrote with you.<br />
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The bottom line is, our friends are literally in the fight for their lives and we are humbly asking for your prayers and if you are able to help in any way, for your help. <br />
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Please read the post: <a href="http://theholywannabe.blogspot.com/2012/01/sobering-start-to-new-year.html">http://theholywannabe.blogspot.com/2012/01/sobering-start-to-new-year.html</a> <br />
and prayerfully consider if you are willing and able to show Christ's love to this family.<br />
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Happy New Year. May 2012 find you experiencing peace and joy and counting your blessings. <br />
<br />
After reading this post <a href="http://theholywannabe.blogspot.com/2012/01/sobering-start-to-new-year.html">http://theholywannabe.blogspot.com/2012/01/sobering-start-to-new-year.html</a> you may find this prayer helpful:<br />
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Novena Prayer to Bl. John Paul II<br />
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O Blessed Trinity<br />We thank You for having graced the Church<br />with Pope John
Paul II<br />and for allowing the tenderness of your Fatherly care,<br />the glory
of the cross of Christ,<br />and the splendor of the Holy Spirit,<br />to shine
through him.<br />Trusting fully in Your infinite mercy<br />and in the maternal
intercession of Mary,<br />he has given us a living image of Jesus the Good
Shepherd,<br />and has shown us that holiness<br />is the necessary measure of
ordinary Christian life<br />and is the way of achieving eternal communion with
you.<br />Grant us, by his intercession, and according to Your will,<br />the graces
we implore,<br />hoping that he will soon be numbered<br />among your
saints.<br />Amen.5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-89532906314635558762011-12-23T04:03:00.000-05:002011-12-23T20:40:48.206-05:00Waiting and HopingI'm sitting here with a jumble of thoughts. Its been a while since I have been able to post and I am happy to do so once again. Really there are so many things that I could talk about but I think for now I will settle on my Advent Musings, as Christmas is a few days away and I have much on my heart and mind.<br />
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Since my last post this summer a lot has happened. I started working for Presidential Campaign, ended up working for a different one, got pregnant, delivered a tiny baby boy after he had ceased to have a heartbeat at 13 weeks, suffered very serious complications, faced death no less than three times in 10 days, and discovered how truly blessed I am. <br />
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Sure we are still broke, we are constantly too low on fire wood to heat the house, and I am still recovering and this is going to be our leanest Christmas yet, but I know I am blessed, and I need to count those blessings. <br />
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This last week of Advent has seemed purely purgatorial for so many people who are dear to me. I am not exaggerating!! Its as if God decided to allow an awful lot of suffering before He brings His Peace and Mercy and Christmas. <br />
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This makes me ponder what it must have been like to have lived before the first Christmas. What must it have been like to have been waiting for a Savior and not know when He would come? What must it have been like to have been in captivity, in slavery, wandering a desert, living under a brutal king, all the while WAITING for the One who was to come?<br />
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How lucky we are that we KNOW there is a Christmas. We KNOW that our Savior came, and that He comes anew at Christmas time. What Hope we have because of this knowledge, and how blessed that we can have that Hope. A secure Hope. <br />
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Isn't that what Christmas is about? Hope. Real hope. A tiny baby came to save us all. God loved us so much that He allowed Himself to become man, and God the Father gave us His only Son, knowing He would suffer. For us. That is the truest form of love there is. The Love of God for His Son and for us - His children. That should give us enormous Hope for whatever we are facing - and I know so many are facing so much. <br />
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This end of Advent leaves me waiting for good news from several hospitals where family and friends are spending the Holiday this year. It leaves me hoping doctors appointments, breathing treatments, and surgeries are successful. It leaves me waiting. And hoping. And knowing that on Sunday we will celebrate the reality that Christ came. He came whether we were ready or not. He came in the middle of every day life. He came quietly and changed the world. He came for you and for me. And He will never abandon us. <br />
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So this last week of Advent I anticipate and I wait and I Hope. Really, when you think about it, that just about sums up Advent. <br />
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Merry Christmas, everyone.5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-25767246503254977442011-06-12T01:48:00.002-04:002011-12-27T21:05:23.825-05:00An unexpected Blessing! Thank you JP2!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You may have noticed that I haven't been writing much lately. That is because the infamous Noah -the star of a few of these posts broke his leg 4 weeks ago! My poor little baby boy (well, he is 2, but still!!) broke his beautiful little leg! He was going down a tube (covered) slide and on the way down, on his Daddy's lap, he stuck his leg straight up, catching the rubber of his sneakers on the top. His leg stuck to the top and wedged there - as he was sliding down. Ouch. Big Ouch. <br />
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One ER trip, one orthopedist, and a lot of tissues for a weepy Mommy later, Noah had a full leg cast. It was green and he called it his dinosaur leg. If you got too close to him he would raise it up and make it roar. It broke my heart! For the first 3 days he wouldn't let me out of reach. I actually got out my Moby Wrap and wore him around so I could make food and go outside. It was terrible to see him so uncomfortable. <br />
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The night he broke it, and we came home from a rather traumatic hospital trip full of X-Rays and splints, high doses of pain medicine and fiberglass wraps, I was terrified. How does one care for a 2 year old, who never sits still, with a broken leg? How do I take care of my <em>other </em>children? This was a brand new Mommy challenge. Noah slept in bed with me that night (actually he is still sleeping in bed with me....he really liked the idea!) and as I looked at him sleeping with his leg all propped up I thought of John Paul II. He had just been beatified. I have a very special devotion to him, and have been close to him since before I was in High School. I immediately felt the need to ask him for his help. So that's just what I did. I got out one of my prayer cards that was blessed by theh late Holy Father when I saw him in Rome in 1996. My other kids joined me in asking Bl. John Paul II to fix Noah's Leg. And you know what? He did! <br />
I would like to share with you that story and what an unexpected and wonderful Blessing it was! <br />
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Here I have a copy of what I wrote to some friends and family the day of Noah's 2 week Check-up for his leg (a break which we were told would need <em>at least</em> 4-6 weeks to heal iin a full leg cast):<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>Noah had his 2 week check up for his leg today. The doctor was somewhat flabbergasted when she looked at today's Xrays and saw that the 2 breaks are completely healed. "I've never seen this type of break heal so quickly - even in a small child," she said, "I don't know what to do!" and she stared at the XRays some more. I, however, was not as surprised, simply because when Noah broke his leg (he had a good crack in his tibia and a spidery fracture and some bowing in his fibula) I began praying to Bl John Paul II to heal it quickly. I had a prayer card that was blessed by him when I saw him in Rome in 1996. I placed it over his break inside his cast at night. Today I was practically giddy as we waited for the XRay results because I knew it would be good news! Since the Doc was so confused as to what she should do and all I could do was laugh as Noah swung his "broken" leg around she decided to take off his big cast and look at it. When she came in the room after it was removed she started examining the wrong leg saying, "Hmm there is some bruising." When I pointed out that she was examining the wrong leg and that the bruising was an ink smudge and an old black and blue mark, she took a look at the "broken" leg and said, "Oh my, it looks perfectly fine!" She asked him if it hurt to which he responded by kicking it, laughing, and trying to jump on it. Ultimately she decided to put him in a short leg cast "because that's what I would normally do, and I've never encountered this situation before." She admitted though that the short leg cast doesn't even cover the part that was broken (!) and that its really for "insurance and malpractice purposes" more than anything else, "because his leg looks completely healed even though it shouldn't." </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>I never gave him homeopathy to promote bone growth because I couldn't find it, and was confident that Bl. Papa JP2 would fix him. He never had or needed pain relievers after the day the break occurred. I gave him Arnica for the first 2 days (before his big cast was put on) to reduce swelling, and that was it. I am completely convinced that through the intercession of Papa John Paul II, Noah's leg is perfectly fine, and he has to deal with the short cast purely as a formality and to appease a very confused doctor. </em></span><br />
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<em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>Another interesting thing is that the whole time we were at the Orthopedist Noah kept asking to go to Church! He told all the nurses he was going to church and kept asking me to go. He NEVER asks to go to church. Ever. I promised him we'd go when we were done. When we left the Orthopedist we went to our Church and into the Adoration Chapel. Noah was very quiet and content (also rare). He blessed himself with Holy Water, blew Jesus a kiss and I asked him if we should say thank you. He nodded so we said, I love you Jesus, thank you John Paul 'second'. Then he blew Jesus another kiss, and looked at me whispering , "OK, go home now." I smiled at him and that's just what we did! Perhaps his little heart understands...I'd like to think so.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>Thank you, Bl. John Paul II!!! We Love you!</em></span><br />
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.5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-79910155346317843582011-04-18T23:38:00.001-04:002011-04-18T23:44:23.960-04:00Holy Week; Mommy Style"He's dead."<br />
"Wait, here comes Jesus!"<br />
"Get alive again!" (in a deep 'Jesus Voice')<br />
"He's alive, He is 'risened' from the dead!"<br />
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This may sound like a reenactment of Jesus raising Lazarus, or maybe the Easter Story. But its not. It is my children playing with their dinosaurs and Thomas trains. And a Jesus doll. Or maybe its a GI Joe in Barbie's nightgown....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjLhZ26O87jOCLqGhv7TI1J0uqSEOlVFyRnX9gkfLFHHcLuzipaoGOJ-ZZ2w-eKZfS1nljarEptLspMbFPp3Rhh_G3HEZ9mqopSu8OfqYW8yeTJMzrBniNPej9Bc745GokNReywv0sxmG/s1600/Christ_off_cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjLhZ26O87jOCLqGhv7TI1J0uqSEOlVFyRnX9gkfLFHHcLuzipaoGOJ-ZZ2w-eKZfS1nljarEptLspMbFPp3Rhh_G3HEZ9mqopSu8OfqYW8yeTJMzrBniNPej9Bc745GokNReywv0sxmG/s320/Christ_off_cross.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>This is the beginning of Holy Week. Random toys being "Raised from the dead" is a pretty good indication that Easter will soon be upon us.<br />
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There was a time in my life when Holy Week was spent in quiet solitude. Intense meditation. Contemplative sadness and melancholy. I would spend Holy Thursday reading all the Gospel accounts of the Last Supper, watch Jesus of Nazareth, and silently mediate on the Eucharist and Christ's sacrificial suffering - knowing what was to come. Then on Good Friday I would spend the hours of noon to 3 completely silent. I would walk the Stations of the Cross at Church. At Franciscan University I loved their woodsy Station Walk on the hill. I would read all the Gospels again - this time the Passion of Christ. Next would be the Revelations of St. Bridget. I concentrated on Christ's account of His Passion and Death. The day would continue in quiet melancholy. Saturday would be much the same, until the evening when the Vigil Mass began. Seeing the candles lighting the darkened Church, and then the Beautiful moment when the Lights come on - He is Risen! Alleluia!<br />
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I sigh wistfully at the memories. I am sure someday I will once again have the luxury of immersing myself completely in Holy Week. I hope so. For now, though, my "Easter Experience" is far different. This is because I am raising small children. Holy Week has taken on a whole new dimension of "sacrificial suffering." While I would love to mope and meditate, completely lose myself in the awesome Scandal of the Cross, I can't. Not when there are diapers to change, children to school, Band-Aids to be put on with a kiss, meals to cook, lessons to drive to, and young hearts to train up in Holiness. So more often than not, its a prayer and a wistful look at my bookshelf full of great texts by Holy men and women. A sidelong glance at my prayer corner, and back to reality as the little one tries to crawl all the way into the Wood Stove (again), dumping a box of cereal all over the floor on his way.<br />
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At first I was tempted to get frustrated. After all, this is Holy Week, don't I deserve the "time off" to do the things I like to during this unique week in the Liturgical Year? Then that thought came back and smacked me in the face. How selfish of me! Of course this is Holy Week, and yes there are things that would be meaningful to me, but some of them are not practical with small ones underfoot. THIS, right now is my path to Holiness. How can I best unite myself to Christ's Passion this week? By embracing the crosses of Motherhood. By putting aside what I want to be doing, and instead taking the opportunity to teach my children why we call this week "Holy." There will be times for prayer, and contemplation. They may not be when I would choose, but I can recognize an opportunity and take it. I may not have the luxury of planning out my own personal Holy Week schedule, but I will have the chance to enter into the great Mystery - the Holy Scandal of Christ's suffering, death, and Resurrection. It may be while I am vacuuming up spilled cheerios, or mopping up a gallon of dumped water, but I can take this quiet time to prayerfully "multitask." <br />
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I can accept the added humility of having my littlest one melt down at the Penance Service in front of all the praying people, only to have him accompany me - clutching my neck lest I put him down - into the confessional and <i>repeat</i> <i>everything</i> I say - loudly. I can suffer through another viewing of Veggie Tales' Easter Story (it gets a little old after continuous viewing for 4 years strait!) I can tell and retell the story of Christ's Passion - paying special attention to St. Peter cutting off the Servant's ear, because that's my 3 year old's "Favorite part," and only to be interrupted every few words with questions and comments.<br />
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"Well, how many thorns were there?"<br />
"I think 'Punchless Pilate' needed to take Martial Arts. Then he would know how to punch."<br />
"I think Simon of Cyrene was called "Si-Cy"like a nickname." (Um, OK?),<br />
"Mommy, what's a cock and why does it crow?"<br />
"Mommy why does it say "ass" in the Bible? Why did Jesus ride on one? Isn't that a fresh word? What was Jesus thinking?"<br />
"When He made the first miracle with bread turning into His body, did a part of His body come off?" "Did they drop Jesus when they took Him off the cross?"<br />
"Did they put only one nail in His feet because they ran out?" and so on, and so on. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4mVdVLLc4eHGlAAPtOhJVRTV4HCLSbNQ795wcrG4Vu7Xf3zVA7kVW3hWaUTkTDuwP-bMfj-BMr4hc6fVgMAvFHBDG18Yl1b03aH8pt51W6Pf9mLFbDEuac6i4ZSXAXtUKrGLJ4BfzNpC/s1600/resurrection-of-christ-1700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4mVdVLLc4eHGlAAPtOhJVRTV4HCLSbNQ795wcrG4Vu7Xf3zVA7kVW3hWaUTkTDuwP-bMfj-BMr4hc6fVgMAvFHBDG18Yl1b03aH8pt51W6Pf9mLFbDEuac6i4ZSXAXtUKrGLJ4BfzNpC/s320/resurrection-of-christ-1700.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>This is my Holy Week. It may have its frustrating times, but honestly, all that pales when I see my kids "raising their trains and dinosaurs from the dead." On some level they are beginning to understand. I am thankful that its not all "Easter Bunny and Easter Eggs." While that infamous oversized rodent will be making his way to our house this Sunday, its not the <i>only</i> thing in their minds. When I glance into the toyroom and see them pretending to wait outside "Jesus' Tomb," When they begin to clap at the "Miracle" during Mass (Transubstantiation) and proclaim (albeit loudly) that "It happened! The Miracle Happened! Its Jesus' Body! Just like the Last Supper!!" I know that in their own way, they are entering into the Paschal Mystery too. <br />
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Maybe I don't get to experience Holy Week the way I would choose to, but I do get to experience it through the eyes of my children; and in all honestly, that can be good enough for me.<br />
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May you have a Truly Holy Week, and Joyous Easter!5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-808214021780553435.post-38268209300751171962011-03-15T00:07:00.002-04:002011-03-16T09:04:52.812-04:00The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMmPtLNR99Cyd60CnLNf7lNSzCPHi4VfNy-1jKAOL0zqA0yKl4kPJbRx6HvHCoDvO8GfTcx14aIOw868ifS57sot7gJEPhZ-tiaAChg7up_ZOtmyJP8pcM8UN4iMPlnZQsmJOnw9qnhTt/s1600/100_0180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMmPtLNR99Cyd60CnLNf7lNSzCPHi4VfNy-1jKAOL0zqA0yKl4kPJbRx6HvHCoDvO8GfTcx14aIOw868ifS57sot7gJEPhZ-tiaAChg7up_ZOtmyJP8pcM8UN4iMPlnZQsmJOnw9qnhTt/s320/100_0180.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Recently I have begun to reflect upon the impact of ugliness on our children. No, I am not talking about a person who may not meet our cultural standards of "prettiness" or "handsomeness." I am referring to ugliness as the opposite of beauty. In a more philosophical sense. I know, I know, this is a Mommy blog, and I am attempting to write on philosophy - perhaps a grand undertaking considering that I will write this amidst the chaos of a semi-clean house (but hey, I'm OK with that now...see the previous post!), and diaper changing, and meal preparing, and homeschooling, but I can give it a shot! You see, its an important thing to consider as parents. Beauty and ugliness; bear with me as I dive into the filed away lessons I learned in my college philosophy classes! <br />
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Beauty has long represented that which is good. It is a metaphor for goodness, and since God is good, we can say that true beauty also points us towards God. Now, lets be clear about what beauty <i>is</i> and <i>is not</i> here. Beauty is not what our culture refers to as "hotness." Its not superficial. The beauty I am referring to is what you witness when you see a magnificent sunset, a gorgeous garden, something that takes your breathe away and leaves you in awe and wonder, something that brings you peace and happiness - even if just for a moment. Like how my husband feels when he gets his first glimpse of me in the morning...OK, maybe not. <br />
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Beauty is hard to quantify, hard to define, but we all know true beauty when we see it, and if our hearts are right, we can recognize God as the beginning and end of the beauty. Take a sunset. When we witness a breathtaking sunset, we can recognize God as the artist of such a sunset. We can also recognize His love for us - for Who else but a loving Father would create such beauty simply to make us happy. God is a show off. He loves to show us how much He loves us, and beauty is one of the ways He does this. Nature is full of Beauty - just look at the sky, a garden or a single perfect rose. Art conveys to us beauty - both in nature and in the human form. Don't get me wrong, seeing a beautiful man or woman can in fact draw you closer to God - not tainted by lust or jealousy - the human being is created in His Image after all! God created beauty - in nature, in persons, so that we could get a glimpse of Him and His love.<br />
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Conversely, ugliness has traditionally been a metaphor for evil. If beauty points us towards God and His love, ugliness does the exact opposite. If God is the end of Beauty, than Satan and his evil is the end of true ugliness. Now let us also be clear on what ugliness is. Ugliness is the absence of beauty. It too is not superficial. It is deeply rooted anti-good. Our language here gets in the way or our understanding. Generally when we say something is "ugly" we are simply referring to it being not nice to look at; but real ugliness is much deeper than that. It is the antithesis of goodness and beauty, directing us away from God. If beauty is the metaphor for good, than ugliness is the metaphor for evil.<br />
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Why am I bothering to bring this up on blog for moms? Because we have a responsibility to teach our children how to recognize beauty and ugliness, good and evil. I believe that this task has become much more difficult, even since the time that we ourselves were children. <br />
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Nowadays there are so many confusing messages about what is good and beautiful, and what is bad and ugly. These messages come packaged in books and movies, TV shows, magazines, fads, and fashion. I may sound like I am pining for the bygone days (or even for an earlier era in which I did not live) but things used to be much more cut and dry. Think of some of the old children's books, and their illustrations - "Goldenbook" selections for example, and books illustrated by Eloise Wilkin, or old movies and their imagery or animation, or think of the appropriate clothing for different occasions. There is a huge difference!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaku7UVsXUSTgjwXIKVuT-8WOd3dKqXkVrYWAGwuWBW0-8ko7GN2Z7nDpQOTz7vuj1twNaxVjwa_DH88VgIe_1LJr3PrFsRFHJSfj71YCtt_mb5oERxQMlkO7C9hnUSRID6wweg48iPS3K/s1600/Sleeping_Beauty_Game_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaku7UVsXUSTgjwXIKVuT-8WOd3dKqXkVrYWAGwuWBW0-8ko7GN2Z7nDpQOTz7vuj1twNaxVjwa_DH88VgIe_1LJr3PrFsRFHJSfj71YCtt_mb5oERxQMlkO7C9hnUSRID6wweg48iPS3K/s320/Sleeping_Beauty_Game_01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Let's take a closer look at a few examples to help me make my point: One of my favorite examples is the story of Sleeping Beauty. Let's use Disney's "animated classic" for our example since its most likely that we've all seen it. In that movie we are shown very clear depictions of good and evil. Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty) is beautiful - not only does she have flowing hair and lovely features, but she is gentle, kind, generous, sweet, and loving - in short, she is virtuous. You see, her beauty is a metaphor for her goodness. Scenes involving her include cheerful happy backgrounds, or a beautiful forest. The Prince who eventually rescues her is handsome (masculine word for beautiful) and brave - and literally given the sword of Truth and the Shield of Virtue. On the other hand, Maleficent, the evil nemesis, is ugly. There is <i>nothing</i> beautiful about her. Even her voice is given a timbre that is displeasing. Whereas Sleeping Beauty's castle is lovely, Maleficent's Castle is ugly and dark. Her cohorts are gargoyle-esque, and deformed. There is nothing pleasing or even remotely beautiful about her or anything associated with her. This disparity is purposeful. This type of illustration clearly defines what and who is good and who and what is evil. A child watching the movie may not understand all the metaphors or symbolism, but he or she will easily identify who the "good guys" are and who the "bad guys" are. <br />
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This clear cut good vs. evil is important for children, because they see the world in a very black and white way. They are still forming their consciences, their own understanding of good and evil. Seeing this played out in literature, on the screen, and even in more subtle ways in modern media can help a child to internalize and understand that there are some things that are always good, and some things that are always evil. Learning how to identify these things helps a child to grow in to a virtuous adult with a well formed character. Older children can be exposed to this obvious and healthy juxtaposition in C.S. Lewis' <i>Chronicles of Narnia</i>, and J.R.R. Tolkien's <i>Lord of the Ring's Trilogy</i> and <i>The Hobbit.</i> <br />
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On a more subtle level, being exposed to beauty helps a child to develop an appreciation for real beauty - and likewise, an abhorrence to <i>counterfeit</i> beauty. Do you want your son to grow up respecting women and not treating them as objects? Expose him to real beauty. So many young men and boys fall victim to pornography and promiscuity because there is something in them that is yearning for beauty - and yearning for the the God of that beauty. Do you want your daughter to dress appropriately and not flaunt her beauty in a worldly way? Expose her to true beauty. Remember that beauty always points towards God. If a child is never exposed to this Truth, never experiences the whisper of God in something beautiful, he or she will search for this Truth in all the wrong places. <br />
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Beauty and ugliness are also metaphors for right and wrong. For ages stories about right and wrong - lessons - have been cloaked in the disguise of fairy tales, folklore and stories. In so much classic children's literature the brilliant illustrations clearly depict good and evil, right and wrong, using illustrative and literary techniques that make the good and right beautiful and pleasing to look at, and the wrong and evil disfigured and grotesque. Once again this is an effective way that children are exposed to the ideas of right and wrong, good and evil.<br />
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Now take some of the modern day media and literature that our children are exposed to. While there may not be anything intrinsically wrong with it, we should pay close attention to the subtle messages that are being sent. Some parents may think I am being too paranoid here, and some may take issue with my assessment of certain TV shows and books, but I stand by my assertion that there is a war for our children's hearts and minds, and this war is waged by the Father of Lies - who would like nothing more than to corrupt our children and confuse them from their infancy. <br />
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Have you noticed that some TV shows for children are just plain weird? I mean terrible animation with strange multi-colored (as in purple and pink and green) characters with disproportionately sized body parts- even though they are supposed to human? Other TV shows have unidentifiable characters - human-esque, but not quite. These images are jarring and confusing to children. We write them off as entertaining, but I fear that they can actually be moor damaging than that. Jarring and ugly media desensitizes children to true ugliness. It preps them for accepting more and more twisted and grotesque images, which in turn desensitizes them to true wrongness and evil.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnu1lV4lPQVAAd1xuCysmsjwBc10qUNwGrmdDID0ca0VwKFvV0DEDlkrAgGuaDLRnQPhV1Ft4lCJzHN2r3j0XNSykcDK3aaJbMGLXFhJC3byVETJ266fDJrjAtO_GkD2AuQ3oxnmpUvfv/s1600/Coat_of_arms_Hogwart_with_motto.svg.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnu1lV4lPQVAAd1xuCysmsjwBc10qUNwGrmdDID0ca0VwKFvV0DEDlkrAgGuaDLRnQPhV1Ft4lCJzHN2r3j0XNSykcDK3aaJbMGLXFhJC3byVETJ266fDJrjAtO_GkD2AuQ3oxnmpUvfv/s320/Coat_of_arms_Hogwart_with_motto.svg.png" width="320" /></a></div>This is actually one of the cautions I have for parents who allow their children to read and watch titles from both the <i>Harry Potter</i> and <i>Twilight</i> series. Its also the basis for the objection that I have to titles that depict dragons - a classic metaphor for Satan - as friendly and helpful, and ugly, disfigured witches as "good" (Glenda the good witch from the Wizard of Oz would be an exception because she looks more like a Fairy Godmother than a witch). I may sound nit-picky, but left unchecked, this type of literature and movie media can plant seeds of confusion and doubt in impressionable minds. Consider this excerpt from a review of Harry Potter (the full review is linked to below and I strongly encourage you to read it!):<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">On the surface, the Harry Potter tales fit right in with Goosebumps, Rugrats, and that gooey cerebral-like matter designed for throwing upon walls. Yes, pre-pubescent boys, especially, can think this stuff is pretty neat, hence there is a huge market for it. But if we want our children to love truth, goodness and beauty, then why are we buying them products that encourage their tendencies toward the grotesque? Of course, all great literature illustrates the dark side of human existence; however, the best authors do not intend darkness itself as entertainment. Like shadows in a landscape that make the bright spots all the more brighter, evil in fiction should serve as a contrast to the good. Perversely, Rowling presents her dismal world of the occult as a circus. Worse than that, she offers it as a desirable alternative to her caricature of normalcy.... </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">I nevertheless consider her smorgasbord of magic, yuck, and gore an unfitting package for the truth. Moreover, her stories create the impression that some of us, like Potter and Dumbledore, could learn to handle occult powers and wield them for good. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">This is a grave error, for our intentions, however noble, cannot transform an objective evil into a good.(a)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And this review also lnked to in full below:</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of the greatest problems of the Harry Potter craze, as I see it, is the tremendous confusion between good and evil it is bound to generate among the youth, especially in the already-relativized ambience of our days. Children not only need absolutes, but seek them. (b)</span></span></span></span><br />
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As parents we have enough trouble from the continuous cultural bombardment that our families are under - constantly seeking to erode and undermine our values and beliefs. Its too easy to assume that planting the kids in front of a "children's TV show" or letting them stay up late to read "children's or young adult literature" is safe and not deserving of our scrutiny; and honestly wouldn't it be nice to have something that we didn't need to be wary of once in a while? But the Truth of the matter is that its our job - its our vocation - to guide our children's tastes and to limit what they can and can't consume when it comes to movies, books, and such. They may balk, they may complain, but they will never doubt that you love them or that you have their Eternal interests at heart.<br />
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When I am faced with a situation in which my kids want to watch or read something that I object to on the ground that we have just discussed, I take the opportunity to explain to them my reasons why I object. They may be young, but they grasp the Biblical exhortation of Pillipians 4:18:<br />
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<h3 style="color: #333333; font-weight: normal; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Finally brothers, [sisters] whatever is TRUE, whatever is HONORABLE, whatever is JUST, whatever is PURE, whatever is LOVELY, whatever is GRACIOUS, if there is any EXCELLENCE and if there is anything worthy of PRAISE, think about these things. " </span></span></em></h3><div><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></em></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I use this quote to help my children understand that everything we do should help us to love God more - even when we are doing something leisurely. <i>"</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows" (James 1:17). </i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> It is helpful to introduce children, even young ones, to the idea that we should seek to please God with all of our actions - even when we are "just watching TV." If something we are watching seems to be "too confusing" and makes it difficult for us to decide who is acting like they love God, perhaps its not worthy of our attention. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It takes some time, but if your kids are anything like mine they will take to this line of thinking with zeal (and occasionally go overboard!). We even have a list of perfectly harmless songs that my oldest son and daughter have deemed "fresh" just because of the sound of music! (Fresh is our family word for 'rude' or 'sassy' or 'inappropriate.') As they get older I am not necessarily opposed to allowing them to read what I consider to be more 'questionable' titles (whatever the <i>Harry Potter</i> and <i>Twilight</i> of the next generation may be) as long as we discuss them together, so we can decide what literary devices hold true God's Truth about beauty, and as long as they have by then developed the critical thinking and analytical skills necessary to identify the disparities in what they are reading or watching. In other words, when they have formed their consciences and grown up enough to notice for themselves the obvious incongruence that may be present in what they are reading. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For now though, my kids are young sponges, and they see the world as being very cut and dry. I believe it is my duty to protect their innocence, and to help them firmly establish their understanding of right and wrong before exposing them to literature and media that may undermine my efforts to help them form their consciences. If you feel the same way, navigating the TV, internet, and book stores can seem daunting. I have compiled a short list below of some resources and tips that you may find helpful:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">**Update** You may dismayed to check out this excellent blog post about the latest creepy (and totally inappropriate!) girl's toys. Think Bratz dolls - undead. Serisouly.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://storiesforthehomeschoolheart.wordpress.com/2011/03/16/ugly-girls/#comment-128">http://storiesforthehomeschoolheart.wordpress.com/2011/03/16/ugly-girls/#comment-128</a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For Reviews on Movies, TV shows, music and more with a Christian Perspective:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://www.pluggedin.com/">http://www.pluggedin.com/</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Catholic Kids Shows:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://www.ewtn.com/tv/kids/index.asp">http://www.ewtn.com/tv/kids/index.asp</a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*Stay away from the Tolkien rip-offs that are really just cheap "fantasy" that are rife with confusing messages about good and evil. Tolkien's works are so magnificent because they are a complete Christian allegory - and the imagery he uses very clearly depicts good and evil.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(a) Is Harry Potter Good for Our Kids? (Review quoted above) <a href="http://www.catholiceducation.org/articles/arts/al0070.html">http://www.catholiceducation.org/articles/arts/al0070.html </a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(b) Harry Potter and the Problem of Good and Evil (review quoted above) <a href="http://www.traditioninaction.org/HotTopics/d003ht.htm">http://www.traditioninaction.org/HotTopics/d003ht.htm</a></span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Twilight for Catholics? <a href="http://catholicmediareview.blogspot.com/2008/12/twilight.html">http://catholicmediareview.blogspot.com/2008/12/twilight.html </a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Discussion on Moral Ambiguity of Twilight: <a href="http://forums.catholic.com/showthread.php?t=471332">http://forums.catholic.com/showthread.php?t=471332</a></span></div>5 and Counting...http://www.blogger.com/profile/07254715805855566558noreply@blogger.com0