Recently, our Catholic paper published a fantastic issue centered entirely on the Church’s consistent ethic of life. It served as a good reminder to readers that the pro-life issue encompasses more than abortion, for which I am deeply grateful. As I flipped, I was searching for the resource page for families interested in adoption or making themselves available for foster care; and it was not there. 

It simply is not there.

There is a gaping hole in adoption services within the Church’s consistent ethic of life. I have heard this from hopeful adoptive parents for years, and have been personally frustrated that any hope I have entertained of enlarging our family in this way has been thwarted simply by the expense, or red tape of working through state programming.

For hundreds of years, providing care to children without families (for whatever reason) was the work of the Church. Creating opportunities for those children to be placed in loving homes was a vibrant ministry. This is no longer the case and there is a great deal of collateral damage in terms of families who dream of having children, who cannot. And children who dream of having families, who simply will age out of the system while they wait for the bureaucratic wheels to turn.

Echoes of social work classes I took back in the day have been coming to mind with frequency. There was always a tremendous emphasis placed on the baby boomers who would require resources, care, nurses, etc. in our lifetime. The current systems would experience a surge that would likely push past the breaking point of what the care industry would be able to absorb. We needed to be attuned to this, and ready to step up with creativity and awareness. 

In the wake of the recent Dobb’s decision, I cannot help but feel that we are approaching a very different sort of baby boom. In a new way, it is clear that we are not prepared for the surge of needs that are about to come down the pike, but we haven’t had decades to prepare for it in the same sense. Not that the resources aren’t available, but the systems are simply not in place. Which is shameful as the current number of families in the U.S. waiting to adopt is somewhere between one and two million.

‘Good news and bad news. The good news is we have all the money we need for the project. The bad news is, it’s still in your pockets,’ as my favorite tongue-in-cheek fundraiser put it.

I wonder if you have ever considered adoption as an option? Do you know families who are? If so, you’ll likely know that US private adoptions cost somewhere in the ballpark of $40k. In many cases, the adoptive family is required to make a website advertising their eligibility as a candidate and they can wait years (YEARS) to be matched with a child. That’s if they have the resources to shell out tens of thousands of dollars to expand their family (in addition to time off, paperwork, legal fees, agency fees, etc). What about the families with the desire and space for more children in their homes for whom cost prohibits the very idea of adoption?

Mainstream media is looking to the Church as a first responder in the recent turning of the tide when it comes to abortion laws in the US. ‘What is the Church going to do now that Roe has been overturned?’ I heard in one interview. A wise Archbishop responded: ‘The Church will do what it has always done to accompany women in crisis pregnancy situations, but we cannot do it alone.’ 

During the pandemic, while church buildings had closed their doors, there was an important distinction being made while criticism of churches closings cropped up. ‘The Church isn’t closed–we are the Church!’ That is as true today as it was in the early days of Covid.

In other words, this change is going to ask something of all of us. If we haven’t stepped up our game to support individuals in crisis pregnancy situations already (or any crisis situation), it’s time. 

“What we would like to do is change the world–make it a little simpler for people to feed, clothe, and shelter themselves as God intended them to do. And, by fighting for better conditions, by crying out unceasingly for the rights of the workers, the poor, of the destitute–the rights of the worthy and the unworthy poor, in other words–we can, to a certain extent, change the world; we can work for the oasis, the little cell of joy and peace in a harried world. We can throw our pebble in the pond and be confident that its ever widening circle will reach around the world. We repeat, there is nothing we can do but love, and, dear God, please enlarge our hearts to love each other, to love our neighbor, to love our enemy as our friend.” -― Dorothy Day

The Catholic Church holds all life sacred from conception to natural death and will advocate for life in all circumstances. However, without a major overhaul of accessible adoption options, Catholics (or anyone for that matter) are no more likely to avail themselves for the impending baby boom, no matter how pure and deep the desire to do so might be. It will simply remain out of reach. I suspect this is where the creativity of the Body of Believers is needed most urgently.

Instead of go fund me pages and yard sales, what if families could go to their parish and request financial assistance to become certified foster families, or to help fund adoptions? Creativity & awareness.

I think the good Archbishop is right about one thing, it is going to take everyone re-thinking and stepping up to support the women, men, and children most intimately affected by the Dobbs verdict who find themselves in uncharted waters; coincidentally that has a ripple effect. That might mean finding a local pregnancy center to support, accompanying families walking through new parenthood, or the emotional road of placing a child for adoption. At its core, I think living into this new era as the Body of Believers begs the question of each of us: 

Why not us? Could we make room for one more? 

Because at its core, that’s what love does. It makes room where there was none (think Advent). A longer table; more water in the soup. What greater witness could we offer than to open our own homes so that all would know the love of family (and that doesn’t just imply babies)? That instead of laws that are strictly pro-birth, we could embrace the all-encompassing title of pro-life. What if we resembled the shocking community of the early church that found people slack-jawed in its wake, murmuring: ‘Look how they love one another.’

There is no such thing as other people’s children. This is a reality I find myself grappling with in a new way. Maybe you do, too?

(For further inspiration, listen to The Highwomen’s Crowded Table) 

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Back in January, while in motivation mode, I used one of those word generators that would help give some focus to my year, some area of growth to focus on. The generator supplied a word like failure, brokenness, or death– something along those lines. I quickly pulled back from the whole idea and reminded myself that I don’t believe in those word generator things, anyway. Funny because there is some ironic nod to what was coming next. There would be some dying to plans I held onto; some uncovering of things I didn’t want to think could fail; feelings that things have fractured in ways that will be difficult to repair.

Oh, the perspective six months can bring.

Summer plans…

About that same time, looking ahead to summer months, we intended for this to be a ‘quieter summer’ compared to cramming everything in like we did last year.  But like you, we had no idea how true that would become.  In our minds, that was still to include a couple out-of-state visits, pool times, gardening, working our beehives, and a 10^th anniversary celebration. It felt manageable and needed after feeling like we got a bit carried away the previous year.

And here we are, nearly September. Some of those plans manifested. Many did not. Looking at my daughters’ school summer slideshow project, it seems she even enjoyed it. I’ll take it.

The plan for this year/month/week/day

Our kids started school last week in person which is a topic all its own. It’s not a decision we have taken lightly and I’m still not confident that there is a great option for students and teachers– even though I believe our school is doing everything within its power to keep our kids safe and maintain some sense of normalcy—if that can be achieved from behind a mask and without human contact. Although I am grateful for that, it is not a position I feel am emboldened to tell you or anyone else to make.  

Deep discernment

I knew this year would be emotional for me with both kiddos in school all day for the first time, but this dimension has made me question myself constantly. The fact that they have named this need/desire for themselves has required me to dig deep for some willingness to let them have a say in their schoolyear since they’ve had blessed little say in any decision making since last spring. Knowing we can always choose online learning, we let them take this step back to school so they at least have a context for what ‘in-person learning’ means this year.

I’ve got a good, hearty respect for those who have decided to learn from home with their children and all that entails, not to mention the creativity of schools and teachers who are facilitating this work; add to that a new awareness of the serious amount of trust required of me to put in those in charge of our children’s well-being, and theirs of me. This is not limited to school faculty, but the entire school community to discern what is best for their children, when to send them and when to keep them home.  It feels a lot like sending our beloved ones into a living experiment and that is honestly testing my limits. It also smacks of a deeper sense of community where my choices literally can/will affect so very many other people and I hope the gravity of that truth is felt all around.

On a deeper level, this feels like a place worth operating from on the regular.

Signs of life

At school pickup on Friday I walked by two distinct parents donning t-shirts that read: “#Blessed” and “Embrace the suck.” I had to laugh. We’re all doing the best we can with what we’ve been given. That said, I have noticed a couple of signs of life that are making my heart hopeful:

1. Kids are biking to school(!!!)

With all of the rigmarole with morning and afternoon drop-offs and temperature checks, families are figuring out that where possible, it pays to walk/bike.  While this does my hippie, planet-loving heart good, this is also a hopeful sign. While I and so many of my parent peers at drop off fit squarley into the ‘millennial’ category, kids on bikes (without chaperones) tend not to fit into the millennial parent context. The fact that every child is not being shuttled from place to place, but getting to experience the joy and independence, not to mention exercise, that getting from place to place brings, is a move in the right direction.

2. Kids are making new friends like their lives depend upon it—because in some ways they do.

My husband and I have been around and around on this. There are so many things our kids want to do that we say no to for one reason or another, so why are we consenting to their desire to go to school when there are perfectly good reasons not to? No matter that our pediatrician encouraged  us to send them, what matters more is that they have articulated a desire for community and camaraderie that they haven’t experienced outside of their home in nearly six months. If we can’t listen to and honor their request for community and socialization in the school setting, in all seriousness, where can we? They’ve got a read on what their social child hearts need, and it is others.

3. Kids have considerably lowered the bar on their expectations — and heightened their creativity.

In the past, summer has basically meant unstructured play, family visits, camping, and attending any and every free day option from the Science Museum to the Botanic Gardens. Add in some BBQs with friends, and we can pack the days and weeks full.

Having swept most of these options from the table, and upon realizing it wasn’t just our house that was suddenly skipping every event on the calendar, they accepted it. Instead of making grandiose plans at breakfast about what we should do today, only to be disappointed by remembering that that place is no longer open, they settle for playing in the basement, going to the park, running through the sprinkler. Not only did this take the pressure off as the one entertaining the troops, but it feels like a healthy step back for any one of us who seek near constant entertainment. This time is proving to be an introduction of sorts to the enjoyment of simple things.

4. Kids (and lots of other people) are writing letters.

Fitting, as the US Postal Service struggles to keep its head above water, folks have seemingly re-discovered not only the importance of communicating by letter, but the joy in receiving letters. We have had pen pals, chain letters, and post cards, flying in and out of our mailbox as a different mode of communication—and a sneaky way to slip summer school into a creative morning of play.

None of these hopeful signs makes me less lonesome for normal, but they do  point to a possibility that although ‘normal’ may not ever look the way it did, there is reason to believe that we just might be better, not worse, for the wear.

//

In case you didn’t get your financial fix from my last piece, stay tuned this week at Blessed Is She where I’ll be sharing a bit more. In related news, we’ve now participated in both the Faith and Money Matters Bible Study as well as the Journey of Generosity  online retreats, and would heartily recommend either (probably the Bible Study first).

Lastly, whether or not you are homeschooling, home-Massing, looking for a way to make Sundays stand out from the rest of the week while you work from home, or are in need of ideas to help explore the Sabbath, the Sunday Fun for Faith-Filled Families is available online for $2.95, or make it available to your entire small group/home school network/parish for $9.95. Humble thanks from me to you. (Click below).

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Esther, Ruth, Naomi, Rachel, Elizabeth, Anna, Hannah, Sarah–I love learning about these mothers of our faith! I love thinking about the women who have gone before us. And, I aspire to learn from them.

Blame it on my old soul. In the spirit of matriarchs, I decided to forgo the perfectly curated greenery image for this post, because at this point in the winter, this Christmas Cactus is a show-stopper in our front window: Coral & fuchsia in a season of muted browns and grays. 

I particularly love it because it reminds me of two important matriarchs in the life of our family. 

The pink cactus had been a Valentines day gift for my Grandmother in a cold and dreary Wisconsin February; she died the following day. It blooms each year in memory of her anniversary, without fail.

The coral cactus belonged to my husband’s grandmother and bloomed in her sunny dining room window in rural Indiana. When I received it after her funeral, I knew exactly where it would go.

Mingled up in my remembrance flower pot.

Besides the geographic distance between these two, I’m not sure these gals would have been natural friends: 

Sassy and introverted, proud Irish red-head until the end; motorcycle-rider, meets Church secretary and card shark, who was known to mow the lawn in pumps.

And yet, their legacies are permanently intertwined. In thinking of them, I was reminded of this excerpt from a collection of stories on women’s friendship in the rural west:

“I was doing my usual Cinco de Mayo garden digging when I unearthed two carrots–deep-buried, bright orange surprises with green stems. So, of course, I stopped digging to taste them: very woody but full-bodied carrot taste. 

Chewing on this fascinating find made me think of my granddaughter Alissa’s other grandmother, the one who teaches her how to scrape, slice, dice, blend, mash, and puree carrots. If Alissa were here with me now, the only tool we’d use before chomping on the carrots would be the garden hose.

And with the munching came the revelation: kids need both kind of grandmas. They need a grandma who teaches them to cook and a grandma who will eat anything; one to learn from and one to practice on…

There ought to be a word in English like the Spanish comadre; a word that means you recognize the bond, you declare the relationship to your child’s mother-in-law. Her hand raised the child your child fell in love with. There ought to be a word in English that kisses that hand, that says thank you for giving all the tools, skills, and love you have to help my child and yours build their life together; the differences between us, the diversity in us, only expand their horizons.”

– Claudette Ortiz, Woven on the Wind.

Variety of blooms

I love her recognition of needing a variety of things. I love that we can learn from Hannah’s prayerfulness, Ruth’s loyalty to Naomi, Esther’s wisdom, Sarah’s faithfulness, Rachel’s patience, Elizabeth’s trust.

And, I love the way these distinct lives or our fore bearers have begun to blossom together, if even metaphorically.

Now each year, all February long, life erupts, vibrant colors mingling. I love the thought that in our home, we hold onto something tangible they cared for, too. Of course, the houseplant isn’t the only thing; Their great-grandchildren bounce off the walls of this same room, proof positive that the legacy of these two women, who never met, lives on. As long as I live, I don’t think I will walk past the darned thing without being struck by the fact that these strangers, have unintentionally left behind a stunning heritage.

Would that I heed their thriving witness and seek to bloom with unlikely “comadres” in all circumstances.

Feast of St. Valentine

I hope you have a blessed Valentine’s day tomorrow. If you are in the market for any ways to spread the love, I’m writing on learning to be neighbor, inspired by one of my favorite books for Blessed Is She, today…. 

Admittedly, this vision of neighborliness is my New Year’s resolution. It does not have to be yours, too. The good news is, it can take as much or little time as you have. You do not have to be wealthy/single/married/empty-nesting/young/old to do this and do it well. Keep reading

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Happy New Year!

I hope this finds you adjusting to writing 20 instead of 19—or 2020 as my oldest warned me, so that time travelers do not come in and try to re-write history by post-dating my entries.

Food for thought, anyway.

It seems books are the way that I often choose to get my footing in a new year. I load up my library cart and hope that they popular books get delivered to me at a pace with which I can keep up (this is never how it works). I love making lists of the books I didn’t get to last year, suggestions I’ve received, or things I hope to learn about in the coming year—so if you have some recommendations, please share!

My top five books from 2019 include:

Island of Sea Women, The Nightingale, Educated, Everything Happens for a Reason & Other Lies I’ve Loved, Where the Crawdads Sing

In this library cart stuffing-frenzy, I also added Miss. Rumphius for our kiddos and was delighted by her message which I haven’t heard in ages:

Essentially when Alice Rumphius tells her artist grandfather her plans for her life she describes going to faraway places, and growing old beside the sea. He tells her that there is a third thing she must do: ‘Make the world more beautiful.’ She agrees, but has no idea what that might mean and the story ensues.

Like any good book reading mama, I asked the girls what they thought they might like to do to make the world more beautiful. Just like Alice, they sort of shrugged and said they couldn’t think of anything. As I closed the book, my oldest asked what I am doing to make the world more beautiful…

Funny how often we assume children’s books are for children.

I haven’t given her my answer yet, but I am savoring the question. The timing is ripe with possibility. Whether or not I’ve started with the task, it is liberating because we can start anytime, or every year–every day, even.

The short list for today includes:

           -Raising kiddos

           -Raising bees/flowers (as a side, here is a really thought-provoking article about modern           beekeeping)

          – On good days, sharing words in hopes that they land where they’re most needed

How about you? What beautiful thing(s) would you choose to leave as your legacy?

*For Miss. Rumphius, it’s lupines.

Prayer pledge

The image that has had my attention lately, is the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Admittedly it isn’t one I have spent a great deal of time with before, which is perhaps why I’ve been captivated. This is the theme for the 2020 prayer pledge for the month of January, put on through Blessed Is She. I am excited to share with you that I was able to contribute the reflections for the final week of January. It has been a real gift to read other writer’s insights on the same theme, which helps to broaden my own awareness of Christ’s penetrating love. (It’s not too late to sign up if you’d like to follow along! Subscribe here for daily prayer pledge reflections).

Whether you are seeking beauty in book lists, seed catalogs, cherished photographs, prayer, music,  dear friends; I pray that the New Year will provide a foundation for those things, and an invitation for new ideas!

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.

-John Muir

***

Lastly, if you’re already looking ahead to Lent next month and would like to participate in the Lenten journal through Blessed Is She, my friend Laura Kelly Fanucci is the reflection writer, and if you have read her work, you know it is soul-stirring. Orders fill up fast, so don’t wait. If you order, please consider using my affiliate link—thanks!

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If there is one subject I could spend a lot of time talking about, it would be children’s books. Maybe when I’m at a different stage in life, I will become a librarian. Until then, I’m content burning up my library card to discover new children’s books. And, truth be told, I often gravitate toward books as gifts, too. If you’re looking for new reading for littles, or gift ideas for kids in your world, read on. *I’d love your endorsements as well!

Board Book Favorites for Littles

Counting Kisses, Karen Katz

God Gave Us You, Lisa Tawn Bergren

Barnyard Dance, Sandra Boynton

Moo, Baa, La La La, Sandra Boynton

What’s Wrong Little Pookie, Sandra Boynton

Along Came You, Karona Drummand

How Many Kisses Do You Want Tonight?, Varsha Bajaj

1-2-3 Peas, Keith Baker

Jamberry, Bruce Degen

Goodnight Gorilla, Peggy Rathmann

The Snowy Day, Ezra Jack Keats

All Creatures Great & Small, illustrated by Naoko Stoop

Favorite Baptism/First Communion Gift Books

Look & Find Bible:  Gill Guile (Illustrator), B&H Editorial Staff (Editor)

Images of God for Young Children, Marie-Helene Delval and Barbara Nascimbeni

Psalms for Young Children,  Marie-Helene Delval (Author), Arno (Illustrator)

You Are Special, Max Lucado

Favorite Picture Books

The Mitten, Jan Brett

Hedgie’s Surprise, Jan Brett (anything by Jan Brett)

Mountain Day, Mountain Night, Anthony D. Fredericks

Sleep Tight, Farm,Eugene Doyle

Cowpoke Clyde Rides the Range, Lori Mortensen

Cowpoke Clyde and the Dirty Dog, Lori Mortensen

The Lorax, Dr. Suess

Pete the Cat, Eric Litwin

Can You Canoe, The OkeeDokee Brothers

Whose Tail on the Trail?, Midji Stephenson

Thunder Cake, Patricia Polacco

Ernestine’s Milky Way (Great gift for a 5 year old), Kerry Madden-Lundsford

The Song and Dance Man,Karen Ackerman

Guess How Much I Love You,Sam McBratney

Up the Creek, Nicholas Oldland

This Old Band, Tamera Will Wissinger (Hilarious western story-song to the tune of This old Man).

Tiki Tiki Tembo, re-told by Arlene Mosel

Blueberries for Sal, Robert McCloskey

The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams

Berlioz the Bear, Jan Brett

Mother Bruce,Ryan T.Higgins (about a bear who accidentally adopts 4 goslings while trying to cook them)

The Gingerbread Cowboy, Janet Squires

Search & Find:

Around the Town All Year ‘Round, Rotraut Susanne

New Readers

Usborne Phonics Readers (It’s likely you already know an Usborne representative)

I Can Read Series

Bernstein Bears

The Big Blue Book of Beginners Books

Next Steps

Magic Tree House Series, Mary Pope Osborne

Junie B. Jones series, Barbara Park

Nancy Clancy series, Jane O’Connor

Amelia Bedelia, Herman Parish

Older grades 3+

American Girls collections

Roald Dahl–particularly the BFG

Romona Quimby series, Beverly Cleary

Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder

Boxcar Children, Gertrude Chandler Warner

Fudge/Superfudge/Fudge-a-mania, Judy Blume’s

Read Aloud stories:

Charlotte’s Webb, E.B. White

The Trumpet and the Swan, E.B. White

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, & Chronicals of Narnia, CS Lewis

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Christmas Stories

Who’s that Knocking on Christmas Eve?, Jan Brett

The Cobweb Christmas, Shirley Climo

Pippin the Christmas Pig, Jean Little

How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Dr. Suess

Christmas Tree Ship, Carol Crane

The Elves & the Shoemaker,  Tiger Tales , Erica-Jane Waters 

Brigid’s Cloak, Bryce Milligan

Christmas Farm, Mary Lyn Ray

The Candymaker’s Gift, Helen Haidle

The Country Angel Christmas, Tomie de Paola

The Legend of the Poinsettia, Tomie de Paola

Cobweb Christmas, Shirley Climo

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Today we attended a Baptism for the newest member of the Body of believers. We also acknowledge that our firstborn has been a Christian for several years—part of the body of believers. What a magnificent and challenging reality that is to live into. We know this because there are days this reality is difficult for us to live into (am I right?). It probably feels less than magnificent, too. That is why we continually reach for books, music, Sacraments, service projects—anything beyond our own words to illustrate and reiterate the importance and beauty of what this means for her—and for us.

Complex & beautiful

Today’s feast of Our Lady of Sorrows is an annual reminder to me that what we have asked that our child be a part of is as complex as it is beautiful. I literally remember squirming at my kitchen table as I scheduled her baptism date because it seemed like kind of a depressing day to welcome my child into the Church (as if the reality of Mary’s suffering or the Paschal Mystery are any less relevant on any other day). I distinctly remember having this impulse not to have her initiated into something that foreshadowed…heartbreak.

Given a healthy amount of distance and afterthought, I can hear my good intentions as well as the complete backwardness of this line of thinking.

This faith that she has been baptized into is not a secret weapon against suffering. Applied appropriately, it is more or less a guarantee that heartbreak will be a part of the equation for her at some point, when the world she hopes for and the one she sees, do not touch. What I think this faith is, is our best attempt to be able to look reality in the face and remain moored to a foundation bigger and more hopeful than ourselves in the midst of that suffering. In dynamic and nuanced ways, perhaps we are condoning for ourselves (and our children) an intentional experience of wrestling with the things that would otherwise break us and leave us calloused if it weren’t for the truth we hold at our core that this is not the whole story.

Think for a minute about the complexities of truths that we are holding in tension right now—maybe just skim the headlines from today.

These are the days I imagine my own mooring is at work, and probably if we’re honest, when we do the most wrestling. Suddenly, the occasion to celebrate and remember her entrance into the church becomes an opportunity for me to renew my own baptismal call as ‘priest, prophet and king.’ I know she’ll enjoy her baptismal dinner and re-visiting pictures of the day she doesn’t remember.

Saying ‘yes.’

More than that I want her to be surrounded with healthy, whole folks walking around with their hearts outside of their chests, ready to give them away to people in dire need of love, acknowledgment, eye-contact. Although we are still talking about my daughter’s baptism, I recognize that ultimately I am talking about my own as well. I also know that I am of far greater use with my heart engaged than I am with it tucked safely away—hard as that is to put into practice. So I’ll leave you with Annie Dillard’s words that encapsulate the courage necessitated by this bold ‘yes.’

Why do people in church seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute? … Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us to where we can never return.”

—Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters (New York: Harper & Row, 1982), pp. 40-41.

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This summer has literally been the summer of the bumble bees around here. As a rule, I am always on the search for my girls (honey bees, not kids) out and about, but there is an added layer of delight when I find the busy girl to be one of the bumble bee family. I love their fuzzy bodies, the loud noises they make as they slowly cruise by, along with their gentle demeanor.

Due to some combination of last winter’s birdseed and my desire to grow the largest flowers humanly possible, our backyard has become a menagerie of goldfinches, bees, and squirrels. So much so that I had to cut stalks down to allow entrance into our compost bin, chicken coop, and to reach my beehives. Now I’m collecting sunflower seed heads to prevent an even greater patch of brilliant gold next year.

I may have overdone it a bit.

It is exciting because some species of bumble bees have been placed on the endangered species list. So finding an abundance of them is a good problem to have. 

Most notably, bumblers are almost exclusively responsible for the tomato crop. They are the only bees with the vibrating method of pollen collection–which is responsible for the bumble noise where they derive their name. Without bumble bees, in some locations people have taken on the role of pollinators.

These creatures are so highly specialized and fit for the work that they do, that Walmart now sells pollination wands for regions that don’t have enough pollinators. It’s a wonder then, that bumble means ‘to move or act in a confused manner.’

Bumbling

But, I resonate with the description a bit. Even as a write, I’ve got two other projects sitting open on the table next to me that I continue to rotate between. If someone were to have tracked our movement as a family this summer, it could easily be described as bumbling. Never before (and maybe never again) have we had the good fortune of moving around in such a manner. It was fun without a doubt, but coming home to the routine of school again has made me a bit discombobulated and clumsy.

Yesterday for example as I inserted my Love and Logic strategy of letting my kids learn the consequences of their actions and they were both late to school. The night before when I spilled my entire water bottle in my lap and sat in standing water on my way to church and walked in with pants wet down to my knees and up my back, or bringing a comforter to the laundromat without quarters or soap and making several trips to successfully wash one blanket.

I was discouraged by all of these events.  But I imagine there is a deeper truth hiding in the brambles.

Rather than bemoan the many hats I’m wearing right now, and probably you are too, I’m trying to notice the way that only I can accomplish the tasks that I’ve been assigned. Not that I’m doing them any better or worse than someone else–in fact most days my approach is neither aerodynamic or graceful, but purposeful and hopefully, fruitful.

I’ve probably exhausted the bee metaphors in this space, but if you’re needing encouragement in your clumsy efforts this week, channel your inner bee, especially if she’s a bumbler!

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There’s been a long radio silence on my end—not for any particular reason, just the ebb and flow of the end of the school year and change of seasons that make a gal’s creative juices available at all times to all people and my words don’t always make it out onto the keyboard.

I hope this finds you well and easing into June—the way I suspect June is supposed to be entered into.

Rested

May has held a long list of guests in our humble abode, and it’s been a treat. As much as I would like to change some of the dimensions of our space, I keep hearing from the people we invite under this roof, that they’re comfortable and rested when they leave, and there’s not much of a higher compliment I can think to receive. Fresh eggs, honey, and couches go a long way, apparently. So, when the itch to look at bigger spaces, or more updated floor plans strikes, I’m trying to remind myself of the gaggle of folks who have commented (without prompting) that they aren’t coming to see our home, anyway.

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• We split our bee hive in May—which means we now have two (!), and they still swarmed –so we were busy with our busy bees for a few days.
• We’re in the throes of Vacation Bible School, which packs a punch for being a morning camp!
• I’m sticking to my first ever, self-imposed summer schedule to coordinate our comings/goings, as opposed to my own free spirit that doesn’t mind the daily question: What are we going to do today?
• Doing hard things

One of the things on our list is Mass one day each week—not because it comes naturally, but because Mass is actually still a challenge for our gang. Mostly this has been successful, as our parish has a beautiful chapel where we celebrate weekday Masses, and the shorter version of Sunday helps, too (most of the time).

Community

Last week we walked in during the opening song, as usual. Breezing by families with many (more) children who seem capable of gauging time—unlike the mother of my children. Frustrated as I was by our inability to arrive promptly, I was touched by the community we found gathered that day: A lady in my Bible study, with a wonderful Polish accent, pulled out chairs for us to sit with her; my kids exchanged the sign of peace with my good friend’s parents, a woman from my bee club caught me to talk bees over donuts; ladies in line for donuts caught wind of our plan to play at the park, and gave us directions, since it was right behind her home.

Nothing groundbreaking or spectacular, but I think what I was struck by was a deep sense of place. It has taken a long time to notice this feeling, and I’m not sure it’s a permanent fixture, but I noticed it, and I liked it, and I hope that from time to time, I contribute to it.

Pentecost always comes at a such a timely place in the year, doesn’t it? It’s the literal breath of fresh air that pushes us into a new opportunity and pace.

Recommended Reading

In other news, I am part of a launch team for a new book by Shannon Evans, an author I really enjoy. It’s called,Embracing Weakness: The Unlikely Secret to Changing the World.  She writes from her own experience as a protestant missionary turned Catholic Worker, and includes insights from wisdom figures like Jean Vanier, Fr. Greg Boyle and Brene’ Brown. Beautiful, introspective thoughts and questions worth sitting with, so add it to your summer reading list. *As a side, I’ve discovered my library has a ‘Suggested for Purchase’ page on their website. I have requested A LOT of titles for purchase and have never been turned down, so even if your book budget is low, consider requesting from your library so you (and others) still get a chance to enjoy.

That’s all I’ve got. Happy June. Happy reading & (hopeful) slowing down.

Cheers to unannounced visits and backyard iced tea.

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The season of Lent is often referred to as a journey or a desert—a place to be navigated as foreigners on the search. The Old Testament stories remind us that there is no preparing for the events that unfold, or how they unfold in our own hearts. I’ve mentioned it before, but if you need something to get you in the spirit as we re-visit Passover, I highly recommend this poem by Alla Bozarth-Campbell.

Here we are standing on the last sturdy ground for the next three days. The week will continue, surely, but it begins to take on a somber tone as we enter Triduum—the three holiest days of the Church’s year.

Tomorrow evening, around the globe, the Church will gather at dusk, roll back its sleeves, and return to the surprising practice that jump started the first Easter. The Church will take on the posture of servanthood as it washes the feet of its community and breaks bread together.

This is the posture with which we’re reminded to begin: kneeling in service

Next, we move into the harsh reality of Good Friday. Fasting, silence, hearing Christ’s passion, perhaps participating in Stations of the Cross, Adoration of the Cross, Mass with no consecration—the only day of the year this does not take place.

The stage is set for despair.

The following night, we’ll gather again on the vigil of the third day—could it be? Candles blaze, lilies permeate the space, physical darkness turning to lights bright as day, banners, singing, incense, Baptism, and Alleluias resound.

This is no time for despair! In fact, we’re about to enter the longest period of celebration of the Church year—50 days of Easter!

This synopsis is not required for you, I know—we’ve done this dozens of times, right? And yet it’s the annual celebration that moves us, and flies by until we encounter it again the following year.

Both/And

I’ve been marveling about this despair-turned-joy whiplash for a month or so now, feeling a nudge to enter into this week with joy and expectation, certainly; as well as a deeper awareness of those for whom the enthusiasm of Easter Sunday falls squarely in their experience of heartache. It’s offering me an invitation to be ready to sidle on up to heartbreak, and to celebrate resurrection when it comes—even out of season. To read more on this, hop over to the Blessed Is She blog.

The post closing in on Holy Week appeared first on Unexpected Honey.

Grateful for the space

I’m finally sitting down to write after nearly a week of making room for a voracious stomach bug in this house. In a series of unfortunate events, my husband and I both woke to this little demon on the same night–hours apart from one another. This novel occurrence hasn’t come up before and I’m leaning hard on the hope that it doesn’t happen again. For as much Lysol as we’ve employed recently, everyone took their turn, and the latest victim is upstairs napping, now.

I’ll spare you the details, and only reflect on the fact that there’s nothing like being (temporarily) incapacitated and doing any kind of thinking when you otherwise ought to be sleeping; no time to contemplate the big and small things in life like that when faced with cold, white porcelain.

And so it is this week that I find myself immensely grateful for my washer and dryer, for Gatorade and the space and time to be sick.

These wheels probably began spinning while our small church community took our first shift at the emergency overnight shelter last week, hosted in a local church basement when the temps dip below 20 degrees. When a frail, sickly, guest arrived, we quickly realized how ill-equipped we were for any of the 37 patrons to be ill. We had access to little more than a bathroom to offset the discomfort of being ill or weakened from the elements.

Thankfully the biggest requirement for our guests that evening was rest. But where can these folks have the good fortune of getting sick? Or put their feet up during the day at 6 months pregnant?

Life-giving rhythm

I had originally planned to write about the beauty of the Zumba community that I’ve joined in the New Year. (Though honestly, I haven’t been up for that kind of gyration again just yet). I was struck one day last week about the way I’ve come to look forward to these hours as the most rhythmic, energizing, and diverse of my week.

Being a spoiled stay-at-home-mom, with an occasional window when my kids are in school, there is really no telling who I’ll find when (and if) I head to the gym: retired folks, people who work night shift, college students, etc. I expected an older crowd and wondered if I’d find camaraderie in that space. I have been so pleasantly surprised by whom I have found on these occasions—mostly women (but not all), older than me (but not all), folks with really great dance moves and people with zero inhibitions, people with differing abilities, and more cultural diversity in one room than in all communities in my life, combined.

So it is giving me life in lots of ways. I love the hugs and the music and my energy when I get to go and have been reflecting on what a gift this time is to me, probably unbeknownst to any of them.

Compelled toward gratitude

One of our go-to pastimes when we’re sick in this house is National Geographic’s: Planet Earth. Somehow I can justify binge-worthy amounts of screen time, when we can simultaneously escape our condition by beholding the wonder and beauty of the world. It’s such a grounding experience to be reminded that the world is so much bigger than what I regularly experience. In an unexpected way, each of these encounters has done that for me recently and I am grateful.

In an ironic, or providential bit of timing, I offered a reflection of the Feast of St. Blaise—on both the blessing of throats and the practice of being called out of ourselves in a way that delights the Creator. Hop on over to read the rest at Blessed Is She.

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***But wait, there’s more! For those of you interested in a Lenten Reflection book to walk you through Lent this season (Ash Wednesday is March 6th this year), the Blessed Is She journal went live last week and you can purchase on pre-order  discount and receive free shipping, here!

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