I Almost Cried At Dinner Tonight

If you're a mom, you just live for this stuff...

Click here to find out why I went running for the camera

Why I Am Catholic

Living in Wheaton, we Catholics are just a wee bit on the defensive. Unlike Chicago proper, we are the minority here. Certainly, there is no persecution or anything malevolent occurring. Actually, it's quite the opposite. I have wonderful neighbors whom I respect and admire. I've said it before: I'm really happy here. The reality, however, is that Wheaton, Illinois is largely comprised of evangelical Christians. And sometimes you just want to be around more people who believe and worship like you do.

Maybe that is why I'm really pleased about our newly elected leader in our little town. He is Wheaton's first Catholic mayor. How silly is it that I feel like we scored one for the team? Joking aside, I am told that this is big for these parts, the so called "golden buckle of the bible belt". As recently as 30-40 years ago, some Catholics had a hard time in this once "dry" town. Some felt ridiculed and mistreated by their fellow Christians. That's hard to imagine now but I don't doubt it is true. The Catholic Church has always had detractors.

The slights that you occasionally witness now are mild but noticeable. Sometimes even kind of funny. When we considered buying another house in the neighborhood, the builder proudly noted that one of the art nooks could proudly house "one of our Catholic statues". I just started laughing and he turned three shades of crimson. I asked him if he also had any ideas about where in the home we could dedicate our shrine to the Blessed Mother.

When I started parochial school in 1975, my grandmother was fearful that her mother-in-law, my great-grandmother Whistance, would find out and be upset. Lord only knows what those nuns were bound to do. They worship idols and saints! Great grandma was a certifiable holy roller. A card carrying member of the Assembly of God. Her great-granddaughter at a Catholic school? Let's just say the subject was avoided.

The fact is that I have loved my Church from the first day I entered Queen of Apostles (San Jose, California) in Fall, 1975. As a child, I felt great warmth, guidance, and love there. It was literally a salvation, a sanctuary from my chaotic, sometimes scary home life. I never felt limited or stifled by the routines and structure. If anything, I found solace. I knew that in this loving, nurturing environment, I was safe and protected. Far more than I was at home. Through their teaching, I knew that life as I then knew it was not a road map for the future. I could do anything and be anything because God had a plan. It was up to me to simply listen and follow through.

As a young adult, I lost my way as many do. Like a wayward child, armed with youthful arrogance, I wanted to go it on my own. I wanted to do it may way. So, I eschewed what I then perceived as rules intended to subjugate. It took me many years to fully realize that God doesn't impose rules to spoil our fun or to arbitrarily impose control. Rather, like the best parent, He knows what is best for us. And He gives us the free will to do it our way, even if such choices are destructive and empty. But there is always redemption once you've found your way. And love. More than we can possibly imagine or understand.

I truly appreciate the pageantry and ritual of the Church. It serves to remind all of us that the worship that we engage in is far larger than the life we know; it is truly elevated. And our ultimate salvation is not of this world. Signs and symbols all around to remind us that God's love is both ethereal and immense.

The Catholic Church has gravitas. It's not a start-up with a questionable future. Blue chip all the way. I can remember visiting a Pentecostal church as a child and witnessing their form of communion. Saltine crackers on a plate. Even as symbolism, I thought they missed the point. I remember thinking that they forgot the ham and cheese.

We recognize Communion as a gift from God, his actual body and and his blood. Receiving Communion is an intimate and reverent act. Children are taught for lengthy periods of time in order to participate in the Sacrament. We remind ourselves during the Mass, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you but only say the word and I shall be healed".

Yes, there have been many problems in the Church, especially over the last several years. I'll address that in another post. Suffice it to say, all families have problems but you just don't up and leave your family. You work it out and you keep trying, the best way you can.

We're a Catholic family and happy to be so. I hope to be worthy of all the blessings that we receive on a daily basis. And I hope to see more of us in Wheaton in the years to come.

Church Sign Wisdom

There is a church here in Wheaton (one of dozens) that posts a pearl of wisdom on their lawn marquis. I don't know the denomination. In fact, I don't even know the name of the church. But I just love their drive-by messages. So, I'll try to share when I can. Here is this week's:

Autograph your work with excellence.

Another one from quite awhile ago comes to mind:

Don't confuse busyness with fulfillment.

More to come.

Miraculous Kindness

Today I thought about an incident that still baffles me. Three years ago, when my Grandfather was in the last stages of a terminal illness, I had a brief but unnerving phone conversation with a family member in California. Up to that point, everyone was somewhat optimistic about the illness being "kept at bay". We could not expect a cure but perhaps it could be treated and maintained in remission. I was informed that that hope was overly optimistic and that Grandpa was not doing well at all. Seeking confirmation, I called the doctor at V.A. who advised me in a less-than-delicate tone that if I wanted to see Grandpa while he was still living, I should get on a plane. Now.

I was not hysterical but I was really, really sad. Ethan must have been napping; Jim was at work. It was the middle of the day and I was alone with my thoughts (This was before McKenna was born). And then I heard knocking on our mud room door. Generally, neighbors and family use that entrance. Solicitors, charity fund raisers, and missionaries are the only folks who use the front door or the "main entrance". So, thinking it was a neighbor, I went to the mud room and, to my mild surprise, greeted a stranger.

He was a genial young man in his early twenties, clean cut with brown hair. Honestly, at that point, I thought I was in for a heaping helping of Mormon or Jehovah Witness hokum. What I got, however, was something very different. He simply said that he was passing our house, felt a sadness or that we were somehow experiencing a hard time. He looked at me directly and told me that everything was going to be alright. And then he walked away. That was it. No Bible thumping, no caricature filled handouts foretelling the end of time.

This was three years ago and I still don't know how to process the encounter. None of my neighbors knew about the information that I literally just received moments before this man knocked on my door. So, it's not like a well intentioned neighbor informed him that I might need some counsel. There is nothing about our home that screams "troubled occupants". In fact, quite the opposite is true. How could this complete stranger know to stop? What compelled him to do it?

This much I do know...A gentle, kind man sought me out to provide a smile and some comfort, however small. How he knew to stop, knock on my door and provide solace to me, an unknown woman, is a mystery. It doesn't haunt me but I think about it from time to time. I have tried to rationalize the whole thing by surmising that he saw me through my kitchen window, speaking on the phone and appearing distraught. Perhaps he intended to give me a spiel but then recognized my demeanor and decided to back off and simply render some badly needed cheer.

Any way you cut it, it was a lovely, unexpected gift. How very blessed I am to live in a town where people genuinely still care about one another. Because of this, I'm learning to part with untold layers of California cynicism. In the middle of my life, I am seeing miracles that I never took the time to notice before. Goodness can just sneak up on you and sometimes even scare you when it is unexpected or when you are not accustomed to it. You wonder what the angle is. Out of sheer habit you almost find ways to dismiss or minimize it. On a really dark day, I might even ridicule it. I'm learning though.

I now think angels appear in all kinds of subtle, vicarious ways, working through people's routine thoughts and actions. And then again, maybe an angel can just skip all of that and simply knock on your door.

Either way, kindness in all forms is truly divine.