Lessons in Poverty

IMatterA red-haired girl, about 7, energetically dragged her prize — a rolling Disney princess bag — toward my table as her beleaguered grandparents followed, their arms laden with treasures of their own. Six panels of curtains, a leather jacket, an assortment of glasses. On top of this, a dizzying assortment of tiny, sparkly skirts and tees that were clearly intended for the little fashionista who stood in front of me, ready to check out. Her dirty face shone as she squealed again over each bit of clothing as my daughter loaded it in to shopping bags with a smile. I was so glad she’d decided to come; it had been a good day.

At 2:00 I dropped off Sarah (who promptly went upstairs for a nap) and picked up Christopher, and headed to meet the others at the Center for the Homeless, to unpack the trucks full of donations for the food pantry. I have never seen more boxed mac and cheese in my entire life, and made a mental note to start donating more toiletries — toothpaste, laundry soap, and aspirin had been much asked-for items at the Cove. I made a mental note to collect soda bottles and fill them with detergent for next time.

After spending a full day rubbing elbows with the neediest members of our community, first at the Shepherd’s Cove Clothing Pantry (Elkhart), and then at the
Center for the Homeless
(South Bend), I dragged my body home and collapsed on the couch. I was tired and sore all over from the lifting, bending, and stretching. But I had learned a few things as well.

Don’t forget to pray. I saw an elderly woman’s eyes tear up in front of me when I asked if I could pray with her. Her granddaughter was moving in with her, and she had just found out her kidney cancer was back. She grabbed both my hands as I asked God to heal her, and to keep her granddaughter safe.

Little things mean a lot. A little kid tripped and fell, and his mother and grandmother both had their hands full. So I went over and picked him up … and saw that this was precisely the wrong thing to do. So I set him down and did a little song and dance, and got a laugh, the boo-boo forgotten. At the end of the tally, little Richard waved at me. “See you next time!”

Fear can make you greedy. I’d often heard this in foster training, in relation to food hoarding, but it came back to me as I watched people bring 30 shirts and 20 pairs of pants to clothe a single child. I wondered why they needed so much … but quickly dismissed the idea. I had seen the mountains of unopened donation bags. There would always be more. If this is what they believed they needed to get by, who was I to say no?

It really does take a village. I was surprised to see how much “stuff” was available for the people who needed it. The problem was that there were so few volunteers to sort, organize, and help the clients that much of the stuff sat there for weeks, unopened and unused. Donating just five hours a month — a single Friday or Saturday — could make a real difference.

If you live in St. Joseph County (IN) and would like to volunteer your time, or if you live outside the area and want to make a donation to keep the lights and heat going, contact Sharlee Morain at shepherdscove@hotmail.com 

 

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Becoming Mom: Life, Full Circle

mom

Mom and me on a Girl’s Day Out. October 2015

It’s official: The Saxtons are about to add another place at the dining room table, and we’re going to become a multi-generational household. Heaven help us.

On November 17 I’m going to be flying with my mom from her memory care facility near Atlanta, to bring her on an “extended visit” with us here in Indiana. We’ve found an adult daycare and a fill-in caregiver for while I’m at work. And I try not to think too much about what she’ll say about my housekeeping skills. I’m hoping she’ll be so happy not to be where she was, that even our chaotic household will be an improvement.

If you have ever made the choice to bring a parent to live with you, I’d love to hear from you. What are some of the things you did to make the transition easier? If your parent has dementia (like mine), what are some of the things you wish someone had told you ahead of time?

 

 

 

‘Twas Once a Child

Sometimes when you are in the thick of things, just trying to get through a difficult day, it can help to read a story like this one and know that, even when a disability is for life, there can be happy endings! Thanks so much for sharing, Linda!

Raising 5 Kids With Disabilities and Remaining Sane Blog

cute-house-clipart-cute_red_and_blue_house

My daughter, Marie, has reached adulthood, having graduated from a residential program that had services for both her deafness and her mental health issues. This is the age of worry for any parent, especially one with so many challenges.

When she came to live with us at the age of seven and we were told she was “just deaf”, we could not have properly prepared ourselves for the roller coaster ride of a life she, and we, would have. She was a wild child, blonde hair askew, eyes angry, mouth so hungry she would hoard food under her mattress. She was very angry she had been removed from her mother, (for doing unspeakable acts which shall remain unspoken.) Despite providing her with a healthy, well cared for childhood, Marie’s disposition had been preformed. She would lie, steal, beg strangers for money, and reject all of our efforts to parent her…

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Even When…

Sarah 2005Today over at Extraordinary Moms Network I posted a little ditty that almost perfectly sums up where I am as a parent today. Go ahead and have a look … I’ll wait.

She’s fifteen now. Fifteen going on thirty. And I swear to you, there are days when we look at each other and wonder, How on earth am I supposed to live with THIS for three more years?

At least. Best case scenario.

If you ask her, she drew the short straw in the Mother Lottery. Her model yells (or yells back). Drinks (a glass of wine at LEAST twice a week, usually while daughter is giving me the stink eye). Is woefully unfashionable. Cramps her fashion style (“No, you may NOT wear black eye shadow”) and sense of propriety (“Yes, you must wash the pen design off your hands before Mass”). Worst of all: HER mom makes her do chores (like a SLAVE, like emptying the dishwasher and setting the table EVERY DAY and cleaning her room).

I’ll admit, I do get crabby sometimes myself. The only time I wake up without the sound of a howler monkey in my ears is when I’m on a business trip. Each morning I fall over the dog, who is cringing under my feet the moment she enters the room. There is not a lipstick, cookie, or bottle of nail polish I can buy that has a snowball’s chance in hell of winding up anywhere but in her room. She speaks, and the room turns blue. She sees her brother, and drama ensues (a fight or teary-eyed accusations of neglect, depending on the day). Her first mother tells me she was just like this at Sarah’s age, which she says to be comforting but actually terrifies me.

But here’s the thing … I love her. Her color. Her exuberance. Her insatiable need for love that induces her to cuddle up to me as close as possible on the couch at night, and plead for her father to tuck her in at night. I try to imagine what it must be like for her, to BE her. I see how she struggles. And I wish I could swish a wand and make it all better.

But that’s not what I signed up for. That’s not what love is about.

Almost fifteen years ago, we signed up for this. God knows if we’d known the wild ride in store for us, we might have run screaming for the hills. But we didn’t. So we didn’t.

Do I love her as much as I’d have loved “my own child”? I don’t know. There’s really no way to know. But this much I can tell you:  She has taught me, the hard way, what it means to really love someone. Because true love most often comes not in the shape of a heart … but of a cross. It means not loving because, but loving even when.

 

Crowned with Peace

Queen of PeaceToday was the annual PeaceFest at our parish, and Bishop Rhoades was the homilist at the event. He mentioned that this year marks the centennial not just of the apparitions at Fatima, but also the year the mother of Jesus came to be known as “Queen of Peace.” In his book, The Life of Pope Benedict XV, Walter Peters notes: “On May 5,1917, he decreed that the invocation, ‘Queen of peace,’ be added to the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary.”  [pp. 224-225]

This fascinating icon, which I found on the Villanova University website, was written by Father Richard G. Cannuli. It depicts a woman of Middle Eastern origins, reminding us that Mary is revered by both the Christian and Muslim traditions (the Qaran refers to her as “Maryam”). And so it is fitting to ask her to pray for peace in the world for all her children. But in these recent weeks, I’ve found myself thinking about her more and more often, wondering what she would say to us about the pathway to peace even within our own land.

During her own lifetime, the Holy Land was a hotbed of political unrest; zealots and Romans and simple families like her own just trying to survive in a climate often full of conflict and tension. As she saw her own son begin his public ministry, how she must have prayed as she saw him get drawn into the political turmoil. Where did she find peace, at such a time as that?

As I watch my own children grow older, and their own lives erupt in conflict and confusion, the temptation is to rush into the middle of it, trying to solve their problems for them, trying to make them choose prudence. But at 15 and 17, that isn’t always going to happen. And so, when I cannot protect them … Mother Mary, stay close by, and pray for us all. Give us the peace that comes from knowing One who is never surprised by anything we do, loves us just the same.

Zucchini Bread: A Memorable Summer Recipe

It’s that time of year again … zucchini season! This flavorful bread is a great way to use up oversized (and overly plentiful) squash hiding in your garden. Enjoy!

Life on the Road Less Traveled

Blueberry Zuccini BreadBusy, busy weekend. Blueberries picked. Check. Zucchini shredded. Check. Now it’s time to get down to business … Zucchini Bread and Blueberry Butter!

Aunt Suzy’s Zucchini Bread

Note: If you’re looking for something low-calorie or sugar free … this isn’t it. But it’s wonderful for breakfast! (Thanks to “My Name is Snickerdoodle” for the image … mine wasn’t nearly so photogenic because I left the house to go school shopping, and my DH took it out of the oven a bit too soon!)

3 eggs
2 cup sugar
1 cup oil
3 tsp vanilla

Mix these together in a bowl. Then add . . . 2 cups grated zucchini.

In separate bowl combine, then stir in gradually . . .

3 cups flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp b soda
1 tsp salt
3 tsp cinnamon

Finally, stir in whatever combination of “add-ins” you like (if you add the…

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Jesus of the Bleeding Knees

San FernandoThe morning after #CWCSanAntonio, I ventured downtown to the San Fernando Cathedral just in time for the ten o’clock Mass. As I entered the nave, my eyes were immediately drawn to the image on the crucifix.

In churches all over the world, the Lord is represented hanging on the cross, the Lamb of God who laid down his life to atone for the sins of the world. The nail prints in his hands and feet, the crown of thorns, even the spear wound in his side … all these things I’ve seen hundreds of times. And each time these wounds call out to the faithful, drawing us to ponder and adore.

But this … this was the first time I can recall seeing the bleeding knees of Jesus.

It brought me up short. It reminded me that this Lamb was not quickly dispatched on the altar, and did not try to squirm away when he saw what fate was in store.

No, this Lamb persevered. He shouldered the full weight of that awful instrument of death. He knew full well what was in store. Three times he fell under his load, bloodying his knees and adding insult to injury. And three times he raised himself from the ground, until at last he was lifted to endure that final indignity, stripped bare and dying a slow and painful death. The death of a criminal. And he did it all for you … and for me.

Oh Jesus, I adore you. Help me to follow faithfully … and to persevere like you.

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul?

What wondrous love is this, O my soul!

What wondrous love is this, that caused the Lord of Bliss

to bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,

to bear the dreadful curse for my soul?

(American folk hymn, public domain)