Category Archives: women

Putting It On the Line for Love

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line dancingAre you a line dancer? No, me either — not usually. But today I’m gonna “put it on the line for love” for a good friend of mine, and invite you to join me.

Today I got a wonderful note from a dear friend — Friend A — who has had her fair share of heartache this past year. One line in particular warmed me from the inside out, “I admire how you continue to write, putting it all on the line for love.”

Her note was particularly timely, as I’d just gotten off the phone with ANOTHER friend — Friend B — that made me want to beat my head against the desk. We’d had one of “those” conversations, yet again. The problem hasn’t changed, nor has this person’s motivation to do something about the problem, other than auto-flaggilate. Which if you think about it is as painful to do as it is to watch.

“Look,” I finally said to Friend B. “Right now you have a choice. You can’t change ____, and you can’t change ___, but you CAN change one thing: how to spend the next hour. Set a goal for yourself, and while you work, try to think of 3 things to be thankful for. When you’re done, see if you don’t feel better!”

When I was done with the “tough love,” it was time to “put it on the line.” I reminded Friend B of all she had been through in the past year — all the loss, all the stress, all the pressure — and suggested that perhaps it was finally time to deal with all the feelings that had been set aside in order to deal with the immediate crisis. “Sooner or later, you have to deal if you want to get to a happy place. Talk to someone who understands these things. Let it out. You’ll be glad you did.”

Buck up, Buttercup. It’s time to dance!

As women, we sometimes forget to take care of ourselves, whether in the heat of crisis or in the aftermath. Sure, we need to eat right and exercise and rest. But we also need to release that little pressure valve inside us, setting up little victories for ourselves, slipping off those ratty old house slippers and donning our leather-soled dancing shoes.

By now you may be wondering what line dancing has to do with all this. In the chapter “God and Godiva” of Hallie Lord’s book Style, Sex, and Substance, Karen Edmisten suggests we “dance in the kitchen” — and thank God for the “raw and energizing power of music.” Excuse me … I think I’m gonna go dance now. “Line dancing,” if you will.

stuck for good

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“If I had any other choice, I’d leave.” It’s funny, really, how many times I’ve heard that phrase recently. It’s been spoken in several contexts, but always with the same conclusion: Circumstances beyond their control were keeping them in situations that were otherwise . . . just short of intolerable.

Listening to the sad stories, I was struck by how much they had in common:  In every case, the pain of the present was caused by an injustice of one kind or another. And in each case, their reason for not rebelling absolutely against said injustice was the same:

In a word, love.

For love we hunker down for all kinds of reasons: to provide, to protect, a promise kept. For a spouse, a parent, a child. We endure the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the unjust. All because love compels us to stay.

Here’s the thing: There comes a certain point in life when you realize that running away only delays the inevitable. Because sooner or later, everyone takes a place under the celestial microscope of suffering. In truth, it’s the only way for the really important virtues to take root and grow: humility, detachment, and faith. Plodding through the valley of shadow, we glimpse a sliver of light on the horizon and allow ourselves to hope, however faintly, that better times are in store.

We are stuck, to be sure. But it’s only a matter of time before we find our way back for good. In the meanwhile, we dive, knowing that even in this awful, uncomfortable, frustrating place, there are lessons to learn. There are people to love. There are infinitesimal fragments of grace.

Thank you, God.

 

A Mother’s Faith

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This morning at 3:00 I woke up, angry. I stared at the ceiling, railing over circumstances beyond my control. Over a justice system in which there is no justice for those who need it most. Over the helplessness of being unable to protect or defend a twelve-year-old boy from the powers that be. I wonder, Blessed Mother . . . Is this how it felt for you to stand beneath the cross?

My stomach was in knots. I got up and went to the dining hall for a cup of tea. Then I vented in an angry email to my dear husband. That didn’t make me feel better, so I went back to bed and punched a pillow.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I didn’t know my roommate, apart that she was an elderly woman who has a healing ministry. “I’m good at listening,” she said.

She was right. She listened. And passed me a tissue. And listened some more. And asked if she could pray. And then, she spoke, gently and calmly.

First, she stood against the powers of anger and fear and helplessness. That last one really got me … for that is what had me in its grip. Then she asked the Blessed Mother to wrap my son in her mantle, so he would feel his mother’s love and protection. And she asked Michael to ward off the evil forces that are tormenting him.

In that moment, I felt the anger melt away, and my heart grow light.

“Talk to him now,” she said. “Talk to your son. Even though you are not biologically related, you are connected to him spiritually in a powerful way, and your angel speaks to his angel. He can feel you with him, and he can receive message in his spirit from you. Speak to him now — I’ll leave you in peace.”

And so I did. I spoke to him, heart to heart, in the privacy of that room. I realized, in that moment, that part of what I was feeling was undoubtedly Christopher’s pain and fear and anger. Ginny affirmed this. “And when you feel those things, ask the Blessed Mother to take them to her Son . . . and to transform them into love and peace, to send back to your son. God chose you as the mother of those children. He has given you everything you need to take care of them. All you have to do is ask.”

And so, on this first day in the Year of Faith, I held out my hand . . . and asked for the miracle I needed.

What miracle do you need today?

Signs and Sacraments: When a Dress (or a Heart) Is Something More…

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Parachute Wedding DressThe other day I came across this heart-warming story about a young Jewish couple, interred in one of the work camps during World War II. She wanted to be married in a white dress, and he wanted to make her dreams come true. Sixty years and dozens of brides later, the dress was showcased in the Holocaust Museum. Made from a parachute, the well-worn dress became a symbol of love and hope in a time when hatred and despair prevailed.

Like many of the signs and symbols of our lives, the worth of this sacramental of love far exceeded its monetary value. I recently broke down and replaced my three medallions — tiny silver likenesses of St. Teresa of Avila, St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, and St. Scholastica (Benedict’s twin sister). One was actually irreplaceable — I had purchased the original in Avila when my husband and I were in Spain eight years ago. I lost them in the move a year ago, and only now have reconciled myself with the idea that they are never going to materialize . . . So I got a new set when I decided to start blogging again. This time, I added a tiny St. Christopher medal. Somehow, he is never far from my thoughts these days.

The sacramental worldview — informed by the belief that God gives us extraordinary graces through the tangible universe — is an intrinsically “Catholic” one. The God who reached through time and space to relate to us through the Incarnation, by enfleshing himself as one of us forever altered the way the physical universe interacted with the metaphysical one — including the communion of the saints.

One of the most important ways we can lead our children to God is by making the family of God  more “touchable” — engaging all the senses in order to better understand who God is, and what he wants from us. These points of connection, like my faith medals and the heirloom wedding dress, are important signs of life and faith, pointing us not only to where we have been but to our ultimate destiny.

So, moms, what are you going to do this week to make signs of God’s presence come alive in your children’s lives?

Thoughts of a Working Mom (to Be)

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Anyone re-entering the workplace after taking time to pursue other goals — college, family, or writing the next Great American Novel — knows that finding the ramp back to the fast track can be a daunting experience.  (For those who live in Michigan, it’s more of a “painfully slow” track, but I digress.)

Coming up with a plausible explanation for any gaps in the resume is one thing; being able to articulate how these non-revenue-producing endeavors have contributed to one’s personal bottom line is something else.

So this past week, I’ve been thinking about my vocation as a wife and mother, and above all as a child of God.  Even the word “vocation” is more complex for me now than it was when I was single.  It is infinitely easier to look “together” and “successful” without a captive audience to witness those less-together moments. As a single adult, I led the worship team and managed sixty projects a year.  As a wife and mother, I sat in the church’s “cry room” and aspired to a shower before dinner.

Here’s the thing:  As time went on, I discovered more than a little overlap in the life lessons I”ve learned between the “two me’s.”  For example:

One day at a time.  Projecting too far into the future based on one’s present circumstances can be problematic for mothers and editors alike.  As a new mother, I had to pull focus from “building a writer’s platform” and concentrate on the immediate challenges at hand (like getting that aforementioned shower).  My kids needed me to be fully present.

Now this lesson takes a very different form: I try not to obsess over the “big picture” of what God has planned for my life. Instead, day by day I take up the challenge at hand, always trying to remain attentive to that still, small voice of the Spirit. A Spirit who often speaks to me through my own family.

Rest in the knowledge that God knows me best, and loves me anyway.  Like most people, I have at times wished that life had a rewind button.  As a mom, I’ve cringed over my children’s boisterous behavior in public. My inner critic howled over the injustice of going from choir director to cry-room dropout in just a few short days.

Now, having come I’m through the worst of it, it’s alot easier to silence that inner critic where other people are concerned. Not that I have a flawless record. Like most people, I’ve said and done things that — in retrospect — were cringeworthy. And yet, my children have taught me something about God’s unconditional love, which helps me to extend tolerance and grace to others.  

The Iceberg Principle:  Human beings are like icebergs: There’s a lot more than meets the eye. These “hidden mysteries” inform and motivate both our actions and reactions.  However, with time and effort it is possible to develop an instinctive sense of the “danger zones.”

For example, I can always tell when one of my children “forgets” to take a certain medicine or has had a bad night.  The brother-sister banter is edgier, with shriller howls of protest. Cereal turns to mush as the kid in question makes umpteen trips to and from the breakfast nook. Directions go unheard and unheeded. As the mom, I understand why this kid is acting like a gerbil on crack. It’s not intentional, but aggravating nevertheless.

The Iceberg Principle applies in the workplace as well, motivating us to invest on a personal level with those on our “team.”  If we fail to do this, behavior that a friend might interpret to be  “collaborative” (or “proactive”), to a casual acquaintence might seem “lazy” (or “egotistical”).  Misunderstandings (or being misunderstood) is an occupational hazard for those who refuse to map out  those hidden layers.

What do you think? Have you made the transition from stay-at-home to either work-from-home or work-away-from-home?  If so . . . are there any aspects of parenting that have made you a more valuable employee?

“What Do You Do?” A Mother’s Pondering

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Today at Mommy Monsters, I posted a little introspective (hopefully  not too self-indulgent) bit on personal transitions and changes.

For many of us, the innocent question “What do you do?” is not as simple as it sounds. So many of us have lives that are fragmented, bits and pieces of obligations and expectations that never seem to end.

Are you feeling a bit fragmented today? Listen to these soothing words from the Book of Isaiah, a man who knew something about being over-extended and over-whelmed, leading the Children of Israel out of captivity:

 “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”  (Isaiah 41:10)

“Sex and the City” A Microcosm of Real Life?

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Today on “Catholic Connection,” Teresa Tomeo was discussing “Sex and the City,” the new movie based on the hit television series starring Sarah-Jessica Parker and company.

Teresa mentioned a study that was conducted on young women (not yet married) about how “Sex and the City” influenced their own dating life. Perhaps predictably, the effect overall was a negative one … and some felt that it glamorized the ultra-feminist perspective that “a gal should be free to ‘have fun’ and do everything [including bed-hop] a man can do.”

The thing is (having watched the show a time or two myself), I can recall several story lines in the show that would suggest that this is not a case that even the author of the series has been able to pull off convincingly:

* Carrie (SJ Parker’s character) gets her heart broken NUMEROUS times with her compulsion to secure the lasting affection of her favorite “Bad Boy” (Mr. Big). Although judging from the movie trailers she does manage to get her man in the end … what lasting happiness can she expect to find with a serial philanderer whose previous marriage she was largely responsible for ending — and who drove away the one man (Aiden) who was clearly far better suited to marriage and family? The Parker character is not a strong, confident, centered individual who wins Mr. Right after a careful evaluation of his suitability as a life partner; her heart is a tatter of scar tissue, held together by an obsessive fear of winding up alone.

* Miranda (Cynthia Nixon), a strong corporate lawyer whose career is derailed when she becomes impregnated by her on-again, off-again lover Steve (David Eigenberg), chooses life for her son Brady (yeah!) … and (give or take a few bedhops as the child is passed back and forth like so much baggage) finally winds up with Steve and his crazy mother. In Brooklyn (which appears to be a Manhattan career gal’s version of purgatory). The thing is, the live-in housekeeper, weekend brunching in the city with the girls, fabulous house, overly accommodating boyfriend/husband, etc etc. is so far removed from the life of most single mothers’ experience, I find her storyline more than a little implausible. And irritating.

* Charlotte (Kristin Davis), obstensibly the most “traditional” character looking to secure a husband and family. And yet she, too, is a fragile soul. Her first marriage to a well-monied doctor dissolves when her baby obsession wears holes in her marriage big enough to drive a triple stroller through (a story line that provides food for though for those of us who yearn for a child). Weeks after her divorce, she converts to Judaism to snag Harry (who initially repulses her because of his back hair and eating habits), husband #2, and like everything else, she dives into the trappings of her new faith, braiding challah and making matzo balls with gusto … but with little thought to the God behind it all. Finally, she and Harry adopt a little girl from China.

* Samantha (Kim Cattrall) is the uber-feminist with the most “manly” (from the feminist perspective) appetites. And yet, you don’t have to watch more than an episode or two to see how guarded, broken, and desperately lonely her heart is. She keeps up with the “men” she beds … by sacrificing everything that makes her most womanly. It takes a bout with breast cancer to wake her up and make her evaluate her life with her boy-toy “Smith.” Sure, he shaves his head in solidarity when she loses her locks to chemo … but will he still be around twenty years from now, when she’s well into her sixties and Charlotte’s daughter is back from college?

I’m not suggesting that we should all run out and see the movie … frankly, I’ve already seen more than enough of these four women to realize how much the young women around us NEED the friendship of women like us (instead of talking amongst themselves). Women who have navigated the relational minefields and are working to build a stable, secure family despite our many mistakes.

On the other hand, these story lines do raise questions that young women do well to consider, if only in their own hearts: Are their own dating habits, acquired over decades of “no strings” encounters, going to mellow into, in the words of Sam’s friend Carrie, “… ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t live without it love”? Love that keeps the husband gazing warmly at his wife’s photo on his desk instead of the perky new secretary’s caboose? Love that trusts (with good reason) when an “old friend” blows into town for a week? Love that perseveres when one or both lose that six-figure income and they need to start paying for college and/or a triple bypass?

Now, the fact that I am a happily married woman with two children, in some circles, disqualifies me to ask these questions … They are dismissed as the prejudicial rantings of a smug and sexually straight-laced religious fanatic. It doesn’t matter that I was thirty-five, with my own share of heart scars and regrets, when I married (having moved across the country at least partly to escape the toxic tango with my own “Mr. Big”). It doesn’t matter that I actually know enough about SATC from having WATCHED it that I can point out these tell-tale story lines that (let’s just say it) were not of MY making. I just calls them as I sees them.

Some of you may be reading this and mentally (or even physically) be taking me off your blogroll because I am more in touch with the secular culture than any good Catholic should be … or bringing up issues that are totally irrelevant to your lives since you would no more watch SATC than force-feed your family from the compost heap. I understand that … and I freely admit that there are many of you who are much farther along the trail to perfection than I am (and who write primarily for others who are similarly advanced in the spiritual life).

And yet, it is my sincere hope, my earnest prayer, that someone will see themselves in this post and … make a different choice. Because the scars are real, painful, and lasting. How much better to avoid the wound altogether! And how good to know that, even if we make the wrong choice and find ourselves bleeding, we have not necessarily consigned ourselves to a lifetime of damaged relationships.

We can choose again. Make different choices. Smarter choices. Choose to break the toxic relationship patterns. Choose to stop, just stop. Choose to stop dating until our own issues are resolved and we are in a healthy place to start looking for the husband God wants to give us. Choose to stop obsessing about pregnancy, and invest in our marriages as they are RIGHT NOW. Choose not to put a child’s life in jeopardy with IVF experimentation. Choose adoption.

These are real-life choices you will never regret.