Lake Reflections

“Draw, Antonio; draw, Antonio; draw and don’t waste time.” 

― Michelangelo Buonarroti

Today is Pentecost and I completed my novena to the Holy Spirit. I am certain I am missing more than a million pieces of heaven rushing toward me. Yet, here in this lake retreat I am celebrating what I can catch like my boys who run after their bubbles so mesmerized by the way they float and sparkle. 

I am mesmerized, enchanted and basking in the Advocate on this glorious day. Last evening at Mass, Fr. Chis at St. Martin in Vicksburg gave a homily I will be re-reading and re-living in my mind and heart all the while wishing Pentecost was celebrated for an octave like Easter. His homily unleashed love towards me I cannot fathom but also cannot deny. This love, I interpret to be a light upon the beautiful gifts of the Holy Spirit and we all possess them...we all walk around the grocery store with this love. We endeavor to get dirty in the garden with it’s joy. We hug out children with it’s gentleness. 

One little morsel of my novena was about my gift of writing which I play with and love passionately; yet I feel more like a woman from a love song who suffers from longing for a lover she cannot have. In my younger years my gift was lauded and I was awarded repeated titles of editor, won contests...etc. Then, in college where I assumed I would burst forth in a grand writing career, I experienced the not only roadblocks but near death to my dream in a professor’s disparaging assessments of my work. 

Throughout the anticipation and duration of the novena my children have been a part of my prayer. Luke physically handed me the Good News Catholic newspaper of our Diocese and inside is a posting for freelance writing if you have a sample. Due to my blog and my recent publication in ICEA’s Journal I have that to present. My youngest, Zachary handed me random book on Soul Writing I purchased a long long long time ago before I could even dream of little boys in my midst and just a  glance at a few pages took me home to my heart’s calling. And my middle man, Ryan has been repeating every song, every line of every movie lately and whatever anyone else around him says to him including my nightly proclamation to him, “Ryan, God made you perfectly.” To which he now responds, “Mommy, God made You perfectly too!”

I have been sitting in this heavenly atmsosphere and this morning, the celebration day of Pentecost, which is the birthday of my church I cherish, I come across my favorite book about writing by Annie Dillard.  I don’t think of this book as the least bit spiritual regarding the faith that I need to live my life but it is spiritually written for me and my writer’s soul. Annie Dillard advises if you think you should save something that is the ultimate clue to embrace it and use that inspiration. She seems sent to me to give me a message. She quotes the artist Michaelango who left a note to his apprenitce which captures me from inside the prison of doubt and illuminates my freedom to write with his passionate advice, “Draw Antonio,; draw and don’t waste time.” 

Love; A Blanket of Grace

More than anything, a mother of faith wants her children to be close to God, healthy and happy. Since September the little ones I prayed for have been plagued with illness. No time to even wonder why all the sickness magnetized to our doorstep-just forge ahead with caring for them, appointments and perseverance.

Nine years a mother I know that I haven't learned it all; yet much of my peace in the abundance of suffering around us I know well from the love God sent me all through other times of illness. During my father's long health battle the patience of my roommate, apartment mates and college friends covered me with solace. As my mother battled leukemia, my new husband made a 6 hour round trip car ride in the cold of winter to wipe my tears. My precious friend sat two days with me in the hospital room as she suffered the effects of the harsh medicine that healed her. Threats on loved ones lives bring us to our knees. Presence of love softens those moments as they appear, disappear and return again.

Our firstborn son's health worries stretched our hearts. Love and support came flowing toward him from the Benedictine sisters convent in the form of prayers. My childhood priest prayed over Luke and anointed him after Mass. A mother of a classmate arranged the whole prayer service upon seeing us for a moment at church. His cranial diagnosis of fused plates meant brain surgery. Yet, in no time astounding news that he did not need that surgery shocked us and relieved us. A short pause and then the announcement of a severe heart murmur threw us again. A very large hole in his heart, (VSD) was causing him much trouble eating and growing. Just as we thought he was improving he had to begin medication. If that didn't work he would need open heart surgery to repair the hole.  Soon he was truly out of the woods. In that time we received 2 prayers shawls knitted and sent with prayer cards. Tucked in his diaper bag, one blanket went with us everywhere. The other stayed home so we had prayers no matter what. Then, as that storm was quieting, our baby soon need to visit the U of M for cranial study. He was prescribed a helmet to help shape his head. We were told he would need to wear this for 2 years for 23 hours a day. Learning to take this on and off and judge his progress was full time work. An angel from our church made the weekly trips to Ann Arbor with us and helped our little man endure the long rides as his helmet was measured and readjusted.  Just as I was cracking under the stress of driving tough Michigan weather, we were told his helmet wasn't doing the job, it was actually not the best thing and  a quick 6 week stint was all it took to get his head growing properly. We no longer had to go to the U of M and his specialists there were ecstatic with his progress.

Relief, exhaustion and abundant gratitude lead us to a novena to the Holy Spirit which we prayed and then sent to all our family, friends, and religious community in thanksgiving for the way their prayers had covered us like a blanket of protection and comfort in all the months of medical visits and various frightening diagnoses.

Those months of stress were lessons not just to accept sick times but reminded me that God is Grace. Even in the midst of trials so hard on the human heart the thin thread of a blanket becomes the clear evidence of God's love.

Time and time again I cannot deny the grace present to me through friends and family. God nudges people both dear to my heart and on the fringe of my world to get to me. Together, each little quick prayer, each card, phone call and hug knits all together into the covering I need around me to not only survive, but grow through the unexpected.

These recent piggyback illnesses have made me feel weak and ask God if this is my new normal? And just as I could have been sucked in to searching up new diseases on the internet for my toddler, God found a new way to remind me of his love. He found an incredible way to protect me from my fears and anxiety and use even my smallest gift as a way to blanket me with his astounding love. My friend invited me to partner with her in an endeavor writing an article for her Wonderfully Made birthing course. Tony and I took the class with each of our 3 sons. Her faith in me renewed my weary spirit. While typing away did not diminish the shock of my youngest son's intestinal infection diagnosis; hearing the words of the holy spirit flowing from her and working toward something so valuing of human life, I received God's outpouring love once again.

Sickness still lingers as I reflect on these last few days. There have been more hours of crying today than laughter. My precious boys will eventually get healthy. These winter days will give way to better times. My boys physically blanket me with their little bodies and I am confident the Great Healer hears my prayers.

Hope

Family life has swelled to a wild degree with illness for my youngest child and timing it at Advent has left me feeling we have started the season without the usual traditions I love. Our Advent wreath is still buried in the basement and we are closer to lighting the second candle at Mass than I am to finding it at the moment.

Much to my delight, I am blessed to have God assist me in seeing the Hope of Advent in nontraditional ways this year. Technology has helped my prayer life and I have been enjoying praying novenas that arrive in my email box and I can read them on my phone while waiting for doctor appointments or in car line at school when I am early because the baby wouldn't nap unless I put him in the car! The third novena I am in the midst of is blowing me away. (It has also taken the stigma I had placed on 'old people pray novenas' in my head an placed that notion in the trash can I call "unhelpful thinking").

My home lacks the organization and pleasant comforts of nice order due to a kitchen re-model on hold and sickness that grounds me to the couch or car to go to appointments. Yet, my Hope is greater, stronger and more alive than I can express. God is in my Mess. God is working even in my chaos. My open heart has room for surprises and invitations that I might otherwise miss if I were focused on my temporal circumstances.

It is with such clarity that Mary saying YES to giving birth to Baby Jesus is the model for me when  I am confused and doubting. I have practiced saying "yes" to things that frighten me lately. I am so grateful for the the nudges of my friends and family in my life. What holds us back is not letting Hope in to our hearts. This tiny blog that maybe 4 people have read has given me freedom to be myself. It has given light to my writing that otherwise would only be seen by the fibers that hold the pages of my journal together.

If I were to do a soap opera-esque montage of all the Hope I have experienced and people I may or may not have listened to I would have an hour long special. Moments shared....faces of angelic souls who have brought me to this moment of joy I am feeling today would be seeing halos over their heads as I  thank them for the love and support present to me through friendship, family, faith, heartache, joy and wonder. With Gratitude I thank you my angel friends and loved ones for the Hope you have seen in me and shared to bring me happiness and light!

Lovingly, Colleen

Today is my Dad's birthday and I love to think of him in a joyful way on this date. My Mom said Yes to marrying him later in life just as Advent was about to begin in 1972.Their hope in starting a life together later in years allowed me to be here. I loved hearing stories of my parents lives before they married. Their unique story and the family members they admired were told to me so many times I formed a lot of my life on the legend of people I never met. My grandmother on my mother's side is probably the reason my Irish worry is noteworthy but she is the deepest part of why I look for the good in people. My mother's stories of how she believed in her talent as an artist more than anyone else, forgave everyone no matter the infraction, and offered peacefulness even if it resulted in her own discomfort were inspiring to me. My Grandmother molded in my mom a woman of positive energy and strength I admire endlessly. My Mom believed in me and my writing and supported me in my youthful and lonely efforts to force my high school to keep a dying newspaper and literary magazine alive.( I will have to blog about my Mom in a whole other   theme!) Everything is connected, everyone is connected, our hope flows forth and I celebrate the Hope of the life my Dad spread in his lifetime and lives on now. <3

Crazy Love: Mommylove

Van Morrison's 'Crazy Love' was playing in my head at 2 am as I decorated for Zach's one year party. Only, as the hours passed my rewritten  mommy version took over as I saw my little guys face in my head as I hung paper decorations with teddy bears all around and thought of my old aching feet and suddenly painful knee telling me to go to bed. Mommylove is one of the greatest and most amazing love feelings I have ever known. With the exception of grief, the power of this motherly love is one of the strongest and fiercely amazing experiences that has ever flowed through me.

Friends cheer me on in my love of parties. I smile because 'party' is such a common word and experience; but for me it is the vehicle of shouting, rejoicing and inviting everyone to know I believe in miracles and that life is so much more precious and fragile than we acknowledge as we fumble through daily routines and dirty diapers and potty training.

I invite my family, my friennds, all the children, my Zach especially today to see the light of God's love through me and in the outrageous ideas I come up with to celebrate that God thought it was a great idea to create that awesome person and I get to be his mom.

Party on!

Our Family Lights my Life

Tonight I am missing my husband who is back in the state where we met working on a short project. We toyed with making the journey with him as we have done in the past. Initial excitement followed with reality of small children, a baby cutting a tooth, schedules in place and Luke's long awaited belt graduation ceremony this week. Loving each other far apart is challenging and makes sense only with the faith we cherish wrapped around us. Our oldest son tells everyone plainly, without reservation that "Fireproof" is his favorite movie. He asks us every weekend if we can watch a Christian show. Every night before we have our last hug of the day I ask Luke, "How are you going to shine your light tomorrow?' If we don't thread our days and nights with a plan how can we get through what life hands us?  I need to hear him say what he plans to do with his light to give me something to look forward to in life. Most of the time he says, "smile" or "be happy" and it sounds so simple. Yet, it is so easy to get in a fight with a sibling over a Wii remote and who gets the first toaster stick or the seat next to the baby. And then when they do smile and laugh and giggle I celebrate the way the plan is working!

When I think of how I want let my light shine in logical terms I make lists about health plans and organizing clutter and a better system for laundry. As I rewind the day I think my Mommy light actually works better in a whole different way. At the playground when it was time to go, instead of ordering the boys to tear themselves away from friends and fun I suggested we look for mud puddles on the way to the car. God willing we didn't find any but the joy and light in their little faces hoping to discover a huge one made me tempted to pour my water on some dirt to let them have a splash.

Our light touches each other in gentle ways and in lasting moments. Tony brings such a bright light of love with him when walks in the door every week after a trip away. These wiggly guys are the lights I need to keep busy and growing in the midst of the complications the airplane schedules and client demands wield upon our attempt to make family first. Tony will have to miss the ceremony honoring Luke's accomplishment of becoming a First Degree Black Belt Recommended. There isn't a twist in this story like in the movies. We could defer to being bitter, but I have learned over the last 6 years with my husband away most of the week that focusing on where we bring each other light and love is more healing.  We would rather have all 5 of us squished on a couch and  I have my nights where I am teary and emotional but we always end by praying and it just brings me back to the meaning and depth of what we are all about. If Christ can die on a cross for me, the ultimate light....  I can make it through the traveling life.

Inspiration

Francis Christopher and Therese Jules,
our littlest lights,


Breath of life

Beat of heart

Stirings from heaven

Lingering touches of peace

Constant inspiration
exists

Hope

Soulful connections
energize

Faith

Unseen

Grace felt

Tender healing

Eucharistic visit

Love

Saintly community

With me

Holy

Moment

Gifts

Ours

Home

Mary and Jesus

Amen

Francis Christopher and Therese Jules
A Mother's Love Remembers
 July and August 2007

Your lives, so brief and sweet. Our hearts welcomed you and broke losing you. Your presence gave way for two lives to come. We know you live in heaven and watch over all your brothers here in this life. My heart is so grateful for you, my arms still wish to hold you, thank you for the light you brought and shine forth now. Trusting in God's loving arms to hold  you, Love, Mommy

"Tell me a Story" Moments of Grief

Tumultuous waves of memorial grief are part of my story.

 In college I would go into the dorm room of friends and say, "Tell me a story." It was met with eye rolls or smiles at my seemingly silly invitation. (My heart is designed to care sincerely about the stories we live and it was my way of exploring back then). My senior year of college I would be inducted into a new world. Not just beginning a career but the rite of passage to losing my father to metastatic melanoma. Tomorrow would be my parents 38th Wedding Anniversary and on the eve of this lovely union one of those waves of grief is flowing toward me.

Dad listened to all of my stories. He was my inspiration for being present to someone. He never said, "Tell me a story" or even, "What's up?" He was just always there. He didn't go to meetings,  have dinners or cocktails after work, or join clubs and organizations. Work, then home to be with us every single day. Sitting with me quietly or getting animated and full of gestures of exuberance after a few beers and discussions of life and dreams with me on the couch while I did homework or told him the latest idea I had for myself are vivid moments to me today. Dad modeled peaceful presence...and after a few Hamms Lights a lot of joyful banter!

Moving toward the hardest parts of his illness he told me a few reflections that never leave my soul. These treasured comments are alive in me so strongly because the conversation between us was taken away bit by bit as his illness grew and affected his brain. It wasn't so much the exact words he would  share ; "I have had a great life. I have a beautiful wife and great children." It was the gratitude in his voice that still sings to me when I get sad and wish him here.

Many times since he has moved to Heaven, and when I feel tugging to just be with him and his wisdom, I would go and sit near his chair and imagine him there as I shared my new story.  The practice of his quiet presence of not asking a million questions was available to me even in his physical absence. Losing his loving smile in front of my face has stretched me to use my other senses. Dad's example of appreciation in his most pain filled days has made me look at everything as though he has personally had a hand in sending me all the gifts I enjoy here by divine partnership with Heaven instead of in the grumble of "he didn't get to see this." It is as though he is experiencing my story in play by play mode and the distance seems instead like presence moving from inside my heart outward into life.

The last words he said to me when he arrived home by ambulance for hospice have held me together on nights like this when grief, which seemed so tucked away safely in a journal, comes loudly pounding into each heartbeat. Perfectly calming the wild wave, I remember how Dad looked gently at me  with that sparkle of grateful light as they lifted him high in the air through the doorway on his cot; his mouth whispering, "I love you. Pray." Simple advice or wisdom? I am comforted for now. He is as close as my next prayer or "I love you" to my children.