Fun at Shea

“Meet the Mets,
Meet the Mets,
Step right up and greet the Mets;
Bring the kiddies,
Bring your wife,
Guaranteed to have the time of your life!”

It was a gorgeous day, and a fabulous day for Mets fans. In a crucial game, the Mets beat out the Marlins 13-0, scoring in every inning but the fourth, with an almost-no-hitter spoiled for John Maines by Hoover in the 8th inning. Other unusual events included an all-out-brawl on the field in the fifth inning, and Jose Reyes refusing to run on his hit in the third. (We just watched the game again on the Mets Network, to get a better understanding of what happened with the fight, which was precipitated by Garcia’s aggressive pitching.)

The scene was full of excitement for all the children, especially the baby. In order to get to our seats in the top row of the upper mezzanine, we had to go up several escalators. The height was dizzying, and we all felt a little giddy from our partial fright. Looking through the metal grid behind us, we could see the skyline of New York and the busy streets below.

Above us were perched pigeons, which kept the baby quite entertained. (“They get to see all the games without buying a ticket,” commented my eight-year-old.) At eye level in front of us, my son counted thirty-four planes landing. Also in the background was the site of the new Mets Stadium, which you can see being constructed in my picture above.

All the clapping, “w-a-v-ing”, chanting, and standing ovations were a thrill to participate in. The kids are excited about sharing their experience with their friends. And I knew my husband would be in a good mood, at least as long as their current success keeps up through the play-offs.

Today is Day Four in the 40 Days for Life Campaign.

A Child is Born

In print for four decades, A Child is Born, by Lennart Nilsson, is a work of science, art, and beauty. Using pioneering techniques in microphotography, Nilsson was able to show the world what life looked like from conception to birth.

His images have since been widely used by anti-abortion activists.
The 4th edition, coauthored by Lars Hamberger, includes additional photographs with new-and-improved ability to see inside the womb . I used this edition to show my daughters how their little sister was developing. The extremely detailed text allowed me to go into as much or as little detail as they desired.

Also from Nilsson is the 1983 documentary Miracle of Life, which WGBH calls the "most popular NOVA of all time." You could, of course, watch the sequel, 2001 Life's Greatest Miracle, online for free. You can also read a NOVA interview with Nilsson on his techniques and other projects.

Today is Day Three of the Forty Days for Life Campaign.

Fathers’ Rights, Then and Now

In 1854, Elizabeth Cady Stanton addressed the New York State Legislature.
“. . . .4th. Look at the position of woman as mother. . . . The father may apprentice his child, bind him out to a trade, without the mother’s consent – yea, in direct opposition to her most earnest entreaties, prayers and tears. . . . Moreover, the father, about to die, may bind out all his children wherever and to whomsoever he may see fit, and thus, in fact, will away the guardianship of all his children from the mother. . . . Thus, by your laws, the child is the absolute property of the father, wholly at his disposal in life or at death. . . .”

The 1854 women’s property measure was defeated, and again Stanton addressed the New York State Legislature in 1860, on the very eve of the Civil War. She compared the plight of women to that of the slaves in the South.
“. . . .Cuffy has no right to his children; they can be sold from him at any time. Mrs. Roe has no right to her children; they may be bound out to cancel a father’s debts of honor. The unborn child, even, by the last will of the father, may be placed under the guardianship of a stranger and a foreigner. . . .”

Finally, the New York State Married Women’s Property Act of 1860 became law. The above wrongs were set aright with the following clause:
“. . . .9. Every married woman is hereby constituted and declared to be the joint guardian of her children, with her husband, with equal powers, rights, and duties in regard to them, with the husband.”

[These documents appear in History of Woman Suffrage, Volume I., by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and Matilda Joslyn Gage (Rochester, NY, 1881). The six volume were reissued (Arno Press, NY, 1969).]

That was then; this is now. As the saying goes, “You’ve come a long way, baby.”

I offer the poem below as a reminder to pray for all the voiceless fathers who have lost their children to abortion.

The Would-Be Father
By Elizabeth Kathryn Gerold-Miller

He knocked
at the door
of her parents’ home
and asked to see his beloved.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea” –
her father refused.
“But she’s carrying my baby” –
the young man protested.
“Not if I can help it” –
the older man replied.
“But I love her –
I want to marry her –
We can make this work!”
cried the lad.
“You’re poor
and uneducated
with no prospects –
you’re a loser,”
said the father,
and slammed the door.
And he was that,
but not by choice.
For there was nothing he could do
to save his unborn child.
They tore it from him
before he could ever know
the child that was his.
His soul filled with sorrow
and left a hole
that could never be filled.
He looked at fathers
playing football with sons
or walking with their daughters
hand-in-hand.
Decades later,
married with children,
and grandchildren even,
he would still wonder
what could have been.
“Precious baby,
he prayed,
Angel in Heaven,
I never meant it to be so.
One day,
we will be united.
Until then,
you pray for me,
and help me to forgive.”

Today is Day One of the 40 Days For Life campaign.

40 Days for Life

89 cities in 33 states across the nation will unite in a fast called 40 Days for Life from September 26 - November 4. Check with your diocese to see its recommendations for upholding the fast.

In the Diocese of Rockville Centre, Bishop Murphy asks that during those days we not eat between meals on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. He also asks that we abstain from entertainment on Friday and Saturday nights and use that time to read scripture and pray for the restoration of respect for life.

There is also a beautiful prayer by Pope John Paul II that the Bishop asks us to recite during these 40 days after Holy Communion on Sundays and at all other Masses you attend during Respect Life Month:

O Mary,
bright dawn of the new world,
Mother of the living,
to you do we entrust the cause of life
Look Down, O Mother,
upon the vast numbers
of babies not allowed to be born,
of the poor whose lives are made difficult,
of men and women
who are victims of brutal violence,
of the elderly and the sick killed
by indifference or out of misguided mercy.

Grant that all who believe in your Son
may proclaim the Gospel of life
with honesty and love
to the people of our time.

Obtain for them the grace
to accept that Gospel
as a gift ever new,
the joy of celebrating it with gratitude
throughout their lives
and the courage to bear witness to it
resolutely, in order to build,
together with all people of good will,
the civilization of truth and love,
to the praise and glory of God,
the Creator and lover of life.

Amen

*************************************************
A NOTE ON FASTING FOR PREGNANT OR NURSING MOTHERS
*************************************************
I will be following a modified fast because I am a nursing mother. Please read on for the Catholic rules of fasting. (Emphasis added by me.)

"Fasting The law of fasting requires a Catholic from the 18th Birthday [Canon 97] to the 59th Birthday [i.e. the beginning of the 60th year, a year which will be completed on the 60th birthday] to reduce the amount of food eaten from normal. The Church defines this as one meal a day, and two smaller meals which if added together would not exceed the main meal in quantity. Such fasting is obligatory on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. The fast is broken by eating between meals and by drinks which could be considered food (milk shakes, but not milk). Alcoholic beverages do not break the fast; however, they seem to be contrary to the spirit of doing penance.

Those who are excused from fast or abstinence Besides those outside the age limits, those of unsound mind, the sick, the frail, pregnant or nursing women according to need for meat or nourishment, manual laborers according to need, guests at a meal who cannot excuse themselves without giving great offense or causing enmity and other situations of moral or physical impossibility to observe the penitential discipline.

Aside from these minimum penitential requirements Catholics are encouraged to impose some personal penance on themselves at other times. It could be modeled after abstinence and fasting. A person could, for example, multiply the number of days they abstain. Some people give up meat entirely for religious motives (as opposed to those who give it up for health or other motives). Some religious orders, as a penance, never eat meat. Similarly, one could multiply the number of days that one fasted. The early Church had a practice of a Wednesday and Saturday fast. This fast could be the same as the Church's law (one main meal and two smaller ones) or stricter, even bread and water. Such freely chosen fasting could also consist in giving up something one enjoys - candy, soft drinks, smoking, that cocktail before supper, and so on. This is left to the individual.

One final consideration. Before all else we are obliged to perform the duties of our state in life. Any deprivation that would seriously hinder us in carrying out our work, as students, employees or parents would be contrary to the will of God."

---- Colin B. Donovan, STL

How Pro-Life are you?

Elitism and hypocrisy are alive and well in America.

There is a topic I have avoided since the start of writing this blog, although it is quite close to my heart. Indeed, the novel I have been slaving over has to do with this very subject. I wanted my blog to be uplifting to all mothers and focus on the positives.

I pray daily for the victims of abortion: the children, the mothers, the fathers, the grandparents, and society in general. With a conservative estimate of one-third of today’s women having at least one abortion, whether you like it or not, the reality is that out of your three best friends, one of them probably has had one. These women will have a life-long need of healing from the consequences of this choice.

I heard something today that truly incensed me. That is the ugly truth that young girls in our Catholic High Schools are being taken by their parents to commit abortions. In my head echoed a homily spoken a few years ago in my parish. The deacon challenged his listeners: How pro-Life are you, really? What would you do if you found out your teenage daughter was pregnant? Would you put your money where your mouth is?

Do these parents know that they are putting on their daughters a life sentence of guilt, as well as the physical consequences to their still-developing reproductive systems? If they think the child is too young to take care of a child, what about the emotional and spiritual weight of the act of voiding an innocent life?

This completely relates to the elitism that has long bothered me: first in the homeschooling world, then in the circle of Catholic School parents. It is the us-them mentality. The idea that our precious children would be corrupted by interacting with public schooled children.

I have known homeschooling parents who refused to allow their children to socialize with non-homeschoolers; now I have heard many Catholic School parents say that the public school children in their neighborhood would have a bad influence on their children. No wonder the public school parents seem to think of both homeschooling and private school parents, “What, the public school isn’t good enough for their children?” They think we think that way, because many of us do.

The primary reason I homeschooled first, and now send my children to Catholic school, has to do with the Culture in the classroom. I want my children to be in an atmosphere in which God permeates every subject. When not spoken of explicitly, there is the implicit assumption that God is present. In Science, He comes in as the Creator of the beautiful laws of the universe. In History, He is the one who has always been and always will be; who guides men’s hearts and actions. In Mathematics, He is the Ultimate Rule of Logic. In English, He is The Word.

There is a danger in assuming that our children will be shielded from bad behavior because the parents of the other children are willing to shell out $x to send them to the same school. I wonder now, what is worse: a high school in which pregnant teens proudly waddle down the halls, or one in which we pretend at innocence while hiding ugly truths?

No matter what schools our children attend, the responsibility for teaching the Theology of the Body lies with us, the parents. From the moment of birth, they learn that you value the bond of motherhood as God’s Divine Gift. It starts there, and “The Conversation” is not just one talk about “the birds and the bees”, but many, as you gently respond to their questions, letting them know they are encouraged to ask, begging them to come back for more. Movies, books, television, events in the life of their friends all can act as prompts for a continuation of this dialogue.

Please click on the advertisement of “Bella”, a pro-life movie that promises to be one you can take your daughter to and explore this topic together.

Northanger Abbey

Northanger Abbey, by Jane Austen, is not a difficult read. It is filled with humour and tongue-in-cheek commentaries on the art of writing novels.

Catherine Morland, undistinguished in any talents but raised with goodness and integrity, in a family of ten children, accompanies the childless Mr. and Mrs. Allen to Bath in the hopes of finding a suitable mate. She meets the witty and good Henry Tilney, and it is love at first sight. Unfortunately, she falls in with the Thorpes; she becomes best friends with the guileful Isabella and is courted by the odious John, “her friend’s brother and her brother’s friend. Isabella attaches herself to Catherine’s brother, only to break his heart with flirting with Henry’s older brother, Captain Tilney.

Eleonor Tilney, on the other hand, is a true friend, and Catherine enjoys a long vacation getting to know her better at the Tilney’s home at Northanger Abbey. Here she expects to find mystery and romance typical of her favorite horror novels; but her hopes are dashed as she finds the furnishings and peoples of the Abbey are quite modern and normal. She comes away with a better understanding of friendship, and learns to appreciate the beauty of a simple, uncomplicated life. There are few surprises in this story: the typical difficulties of obtaining parental consent to an engagement ensue, with a happy marriage at the end of the novel.

Although published posthumously, Northanger Abbey was actually written in 1797-8 under the title of Susan (not to be confused with Lady Susan, written in 1793-4), revised and sold in 1803 to a publisher who failed to publish it, reconsidered in 1816, and finally published a year later (but dated 1818) together with her true last novel, Persuasion.

In my reading of the text, there seemed to be subtle indications that Austen knew she was in the midst of writing her last novel. I was surprised to find how early in her career she actually began its writing. This leads me to believe that further revisions were made in her final year. (Modern physicians believe she may have suffered from Addison’s disease, the symptoms of which started in 1816.)

The contemporary view of writing, perhaps brought on by the simplicity of Hemingway, seems to be that short and simple is best. I love Austen’s long, complex sentences, in which one phrase builds upon another to make her point. Perhaps she could convey her meaning in fewer words; but if there be beauty in those words, I say we should keep them. To pare down into the fewest words certainly makes things easier for the reader. But some of us who are in love with the English language enjoy the work of getting through a half-page sentence. If we have to re-read it to understand its meaning, the fault lies not in the writer. We come away with an appreciation of her ability to describe most fully a landscape, an emotion, or the cause of someone’s behavior.

In Chapter 5, Austen inserts her strong opinion for a full page-and-a-half, explaining why she allows her heroine to enjoy the reading of novels. “For I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom, so common with novel-writers, of degrading, by their contemptuous censure, the very performances to the number of which they are themselves adding, joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust.”

Austen obviously held her own profession in the highest esteem. According to her, the well-written novel is a “work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language.” Novelists must support one another, she says. Nevertheless, there are several uncomplimentary references to the works of Ann Radcliffe and Fanny Burney, some of the popular writers of that period. Perhaps she felt that novels would be seen in a better light if more of them were written in her own style.

See my post on Austen's Times.

The Rock

“And so I say to you, you are Peter,
and upon this rock I will build my church,
and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.
I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven.
Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven;
and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

Matthew 16:18-19

John Constable landscape masterpiece, English Romantic Painter, 1776-1837
Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop's Grounds.
1823. Oil on canvas.
Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Painting the Rosary

My current project is not a very exciting one. I am staining the rails of the deck that comes off my kitchen. It is a job that needs to be done about every five years. With six sides to every spindle, working during the baby’s nap time, it typically takes me a few weeks to complete.

Putting on a new color is always very exciting. Even white-on-white can be a thrill, if the old white has gotten quite dingy. Brown-on-brown is quite dull. No one but me will ever notice the job has been done. However, once I get started, it is a job that I thoroughly enjoy.

People ask me why I don’t just spray-on or use a painting mitt. My answers are: (1) a brush always gives the best coverage on wood; (2) a brush offers more control; and (3) I enjoy using a brush. There is a fourth reason, as well. It brings back childhood memories.

When I was around ten years old, my father let me help him to build a deck. We bought the wood and a new router. He showed me how to route the edges of each slat to give it a sharper look. We designed the way the slats would go around the deck, and the way we wanted the tops to look. I believe we used cedar, but we went for a semi-transparent redwood stain. Every two years I would help him to stain the deck again.

The house was stained a brown cedar color – I would choose a similar shade in staining my own cedar shakes many years later. Dad explained why stain was better for wood than paint. The oils seep into the wood, preserving its moisture; paint sits on top of the wood and allows it to dry out.

Whether I am using stain or paint, the act of brushing either on offers me an opportunity for contemplation and prayer. I can use each thin slat of wood as a rosary bead, focusing on one intent per rail, until I come to a main rail, which I use as an Our Father bead.

I hope that all my family and friends felt blessed today, as you were each interceded for.

“Pray without ceasing.” I Thessalonians 5:17

Piero della Francesca (1420-92)
Adoration of the Holy Wood and the Meeting of Solomon and Queen of Sheba
c.1452; Fresco, San Francesco, Arezzo

Last Minute’s Notice

The phone rang at 8:20 on Monday morning.

I looked at the caller ID and my heart jumped a beat. When the children’s school is calling, the text might as well read, “EMERGENCY: YOUR CHILD”. I don’t know if this happens to other mothers. Being used to having my children ever in my care during my homeschooling years, I am still not completely at ease with entrusting them to others for an entire school day.

I picked up the phone. It was my daughter. “I have cross-country practice after school today,” she informed me. “The teacher said there was an email.”

“Okay honey,” I said, “I’ll be there after school. Have a nice day.”

I hung up the phone and sighed. I had looked for a notice from the team on Friday afternoon and, there being none, assumed I had another week before the season started.

Sundays during track season are very busy, and I often take a day off from the computer. We wake up early for a big pancake breakfast, go to church, drop Baby and Daddy home, and then head to the track for a four-hour meet. We end the afternoon with a backyard barbecue and the usual bedtime routine.

Nothing drives me crazier than last-minute schedule changes. I try not to schedule too much in one day, and then I work my way backwards from the day’s big event to sort out the rest of the day. Now my day’s plans had to be completely rearranged.

In order to be at the school at dismissal, I would have to put the baby down for a nap an hour earlier. That meant she would have to get some outdoor activity and a good breakfast in order to be tired-out enough to sleep. We also would have to fit in a morning trip to the drug store to pick up shock-absorbing athletic inserts for my long-distance runner’s sneakers.

For me, naptime would be taken up by getting together things needed for the other children: a change of clothes, snacks, and pencils to complete their homework. I also had to fetch the cross-country email from my computer, download the attached athletic permission form, and fax it to the school.

I always used to think that things like this only happened to mothers who failed to plan ahead. Mothers had to be on top of things. Those school notices buried on the bottom of the child’s school bag would never happen to me; or so I thought. No sooner than they walk in the door than I am looking in their folders. I even messed that up once this year.

Two Fridays ago, I neglected to look in my son’s folder when he walked in the door. I was on the telephone, and he had a headache. I hung up to tend to his headache, and completely forgot to check for homework. I would discover it at exactly 8:00 Sunday evening, as he kissed me goodnight and I looked in his backpack for his lunch bag. There were some other unpleasantries awaiting me there, including an apple core and empty juice box.

Most of our days our filled with little mundane details such as these. Whenever a wrench is thrown in the works, I have to offer it up to God. Although it is important to plan ahead, the unforeseeables still have to be dealt with. Every time this happens, I have to remember that He is in control.

“The sum of a man’s days is great
If it reaches a hundred years:
Like a drop of sea water,
Like a grain of sand,
So are these few years
Among the days of eternity.
That is why the Lord is patient with men
And showers upon them his mercy.”

Sirach 18:7-9

Pictured above: Haystacks at Giverny, Claude Monet, 1891
This painting is supposedly an impressionistic view of Time.

Joyfully Run Your Course

Our family has been involved in track-and-field and cross-country for a few years now. The season, which started last week, is marked by a feeling of exuberance in mind, spirit, and body. Everyone comes home feeling tired and sore, but happy.

I can see several parallels between running and the Christian walk. In running, if you finish the race you are always a winner. If you did your “personal best”, you have won first place in your own way. The sport is one in which a win for the individual is a win for the entire team.

Everything you do – on each and every day, not just race day - influences how you do in the race. The runner must watch everything he puts into his mouth. She must be early to bed and early to rise. It is a life of temperance. What is good for the mind, spirit, and body, is good for running. So too, the discipline and strength that is built by running will help a person not only in other sports but in many other spiritual, intellectual, and social aspects of life.

Christianity, too, is a way of life. It is marked not just by walking into the Church on Holy Days. Everything we say, think, see, hear, and feel feeds the soul and affects our relationships with God and others. God has given us a Book to let us know what is good for us. If we read this Book and absorb it into our hearts, it becomes a way of life that can only yield good.

“The heavens declare the glory of God;;
The sky proclaims its builder’s craft.
One day to the next conveys that message;
One night to the next imparts that knowledge.
There is no word or sound;
No voice is heard;
Yet their report goes forth through all the earth,
Their message, to the ends of the world.
God has pitched there a tent for the sun;
It comes forth like a bridegroom from his chamber,
And like an athlete joyfully runs its course.
From one end of the heavens it comes forth;
Its course runs through to the other;
Nothing escapes its heat.”

Psalms 19:1-7

Pictured above: "Runner and Spring Lupines", by Phil Dynan

School’s No Vacation for this Mom!

The last two nights were spent at open school nights: one for the middle school, and one for the elementary grades. Getting to these mandatory meetings is quite an ordeal for our family. The teachers still give out homework, which must be done earlier than usual; dinner finished and cleaned up; the children all set for bed. My self-employed husband must brave the “rush hour” to get home “early” at 7:00. I kiss the children goodbye and, as soon as his car pulls in the driveway, I am out the door.

The first night I was fifteen minutes late. The baby was fussing and giving me trouble about going to bed at 6:55. I finally had her asleep and was able to leave at 7:15. It takes a half hour to get to the school, park the car, and walk to the auditorium.

When I opened the door, it was clear I was the latest one, and they were in the middle of the opening prayer. Mortified, I closed the door behind me as quietly as I could. I imagined several people giving me dirty looks. (Imagined or not, given a choice between several hundred parents staring at me and leaving the house with the baby crying, I’ll choose the former every time.)

The second night I left just five minutes earlier, but the traffic lights worked with me and, if I had not gotten stuck waiting for a long train, I would have made it on time. Still, at 7:35, people had not yet sat themselves down, so I was okay. I made polite chit-cat with a school board member. “This must be like a vacation for you,” she commented, referring to my days with the kids in school.

“Believe it or not,” I told her, “I had more free time when all the kids were home for the summer!”

How quickly we all forget how much attention a baby needs the first few years of life. The active ones cannot be left alone for a second! I myself am guilty of forgetting this, as I have sometimes wondered why friends neglected to call for long periods of time after having a baby.

I go through my day logistically mapping every step in front of me. In the morning, I ask myself what chores I can accomplish with the baby with me. Today we ate breakfast together and went food shopping.

Because I cannot fit all our family’s food in one cart, I go through the store once, load up the car with the non-perishables; then go to the dairy and meats for a second run. The cashiers who are unfamiliar with me always make a funny comment when seeing me on their line for the second time. “Forget a few things?” When the baby fusses on the cashier line, I give her my cell phone and she happily pretends to talk to her daddy.

When we got back, I had to repeatedly place her in the farthest part of the living room away from the front door, then run to my car to get a few bags before she could get to the front door. A few times, she beat me to it, and I had to coax her away from the screen door so I could open it. After repeating this several times, I finally had the groceries loaded onto the kitchen table. I put her in the high chair with a banana while I quickly put the groceries away. Several times I had to stop what I was doing to rinse off the banana, which she kept throwing on the floor. Then I sat with her for my own lunch.

Finally, nap time. I am religious with our 12 to 2 nap time. I nurse her, put her down, and she is out. I think God made babies need naps because he knew mommies needed them to. This is the only time I have to myself until midnight.

Now I think to myself: what chores need to be done that I absolutely cannot accomplish with her with me? Sweeping or mopping the kitchen floor is always first on the list. Then bringing down the laundry. Today, for my major task I decided to clip the hedges in the front yard. I also chopped up the broccoli for dinner. I had a few moments to check my email and put up a post that I had already prepared ahead of time. I try to have most of the housework and errands completed before the kids get home from school. This way I can give them my full attention for the duration of the day.

The baby wakes up, we have a snack, and go out in the yard. At 3:20, we go out front and wait for the school bus. Although slightly fearful of the large yellow vehicle, her face lights up because she knows her siblings are home to play with her.

No homework this weekend – yay! We weeded and planted some bulbs together. We took the bunny for a walk around the yard. The kids played wiffle ball, until all the balls had landed in the pool. The baby played in the dirt, happy to get dirty and happier still to have a bath afterwards. It was another happy, productive, day in the life of this mom. I will sleep well tonight!

Pictured above: "The Menagerie" by Franz Sonderland

Our Lady of America

“Our Lady again appeared to me while I was at prayer. She held the world in her hands. From her eyes tears were flowing upon it, as though she longed to cleanse it from its guilt. It was then that I heard these words filled with sorrow and longing: "Behold, O my children, the tears of your Mother! Shall I weep in vain? Assuage the sorrow of my Heart over the ingratitude of sinful men by the love and chasteness of your lives. Will you do this for me, beloved children, or will you allow your Mother to weep in vain? I come to you, O children of America, as a last resort. I plead with you to listen to my voice. Cleanse your souls in the Precious Blood of My Son. Live in His Heart, and take me in that I may teach you to live in great purity of heart which is so pleasing to God. Be my army of chaste soldiers, ready to fight to the death to preserve the purity of your souls. I am the Immaculate One, Patroness of your land. Be my faithful children as I have been your faithful Mother. These are my words, O my daughter. Make them known to my children. I desire to make the whole of America my shrine by making every heart accessible to the love of my Son." "

Learn more about Our Lady of America.

"Old People No Good"

I was at St. Charles Hospital today for a blood lead test, now required in New York State for all infants. I was told to go to the waiting room. Seeing an elderly woman there, I guessed that she would enjoy looking at the baby. I situated myself in her line of vision. She asked me how old the baby was. She told me she was 83 and had three great-grandsons ages 9 months, 5 years, and 7 years. She had three daughters, and her husband had wanted a son. Now he had them in his progeny.

She then went on to tell me how her grandchildren, now in their thirties, had often been in touch in their childhood and teenage years. “When I was young and healthy, I would go to Macy’s and Sears and buy things for them. I was useful and they would call me all the time. Then I had a bypass operation a few years ago and I can’t get around so well. So they don’t call me anymore.”

In her thick Polish accent, she groaned, “Old people no good. . .You understand?. . .Old people no good.”

I hardly knew what to say, but I listened. Within a few minutes, I was called. I told her, “God bless you,” and she was gone from my life. But I wished I could tell her grandchildren, “Don’t you know what you are missing?”

I can’t reach them but I can tell whoever else may be listening.

“Cast me not off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth. Now also when I am old and greyheaded, O God, forsake me not; until I have shewed thy strength unto this generation, and thy power to every one that is to come.”
Psalm 71:9

The Voyage of Life: Old Age
Thomas Cole, 1801-1848
Oil on Canvas

Steel the Moment

“Steel the Moment”: a phrase, coined by me, to describe:
1. The act of capturing a serene moment for later use;
2. The act of calling upon said memory when strength is needed.

As I came out of the pool today, I heard a rustling in the woods. I watched as the white tails of two deer disappeared further into the trees. One remained, staring at me without flinching. I kept still, maintaining eye contact, until he lost interest and turned to join his family.

Last week was a real challenge. With half-days of school, it seemed the children had just left when all-of-a-sudden they were back again. We did lots of talking about the kids and teachers. We made decisions about what extra-curricular activities we would participate in. We packed in as much fun as we could in the latter half of the day. It was exhausting.

Today was the first full day back to school, and my to-do list was long. Yet I was able to steal a few minutes to do a few laps in the pool, and feel all the better for it. As I walked back to the house after my interaction with the deer, I thought to myself, “Steel this moment.”

Last spring, when we were in the midst of baseball/softball season, my Nanna wrote me, asking if I could please telephone her when I could “steel a moment”. That typo was the serendipitous event that led to my coining of the phrase with a different meaning. I thought to myself, “Next time I feel frazzled I need to STEEL the moment.”

The coming weeks will be packed full of activity: meetings, sports, homework, and adjustment to new classes. It is imperative not only that we steal a few moments for ourselves, but that as we discover a moment of serenity we need to capture, freeze-frame, or “steel” that scene into our memory. In the near future when I am caught up in the non-stop running-around of autumn, I can call upon my reserve of serene moments and claim them for the strengthening I need at that point in time.

“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’ I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9

“Fall – Whitetail Deer”, by Michael Sieve

Fifty-Seven Happy Years Together

Happy 57th Wedding Anniversary to my “Nanna and Poppop”, Mr. And Mrs. John S. Nagy! Dale is a registered nurse and John is a retired detective of the New York City Police Department. Nanna and Poppop enjoy golfing, dancing, bicycling, and spending time with their grandchildren.

“Set me as a seal on your heart,
As a seal on your arm;
For stern as death is love,
Relentless as the nether world is devotion;
Its flames are a blazing fire.
Deep waters cannot quench love,
Nor floods sweep it away.
Were one to offer all he owns to purchase love,
He would be roundly mocked.”
Song of Songs 8:6-7

Picture of Mr. and Mrs. John S. Nagy at picnic, October 2006

The Legacy of Conversation

“NEVER did I ever imagine that the genes in our bodies would take you into my brain and that of Pop's. As I get older, I see the specific genes at work in my children...and as my children age they are becoming aware that the forwardness of our genes are determined to "show-up" as they are called upon. This is true in not only thoughts and physicality but in the issues we defend or deplore. It is a wonder if we allow our minds to be open to the truth of how we feel, think, and look at the human spirit within us it shines through.”

These were the thoughts recently written by Dale Nagy, my grandmother (belovedly called “Nanna”), in reaction to my blog.

I was not surprised that my Nanna would see her own thoughts reflected in my writings. Ours was a family that never ceased talking. The television – there was only one in the house, down in the basement – was rarely on. We were busy doing things together, reading, and/or talking. Family stories were repeated over and over again until they felt like they were part of our own experiences. “Tell me again about the time when you and my aunt ran into the bee’s nest,” I would ask. I can really see that scene play out in my head, although it happened long before I was born.

Although I was not homeschooled and my parents were not involved in the school parent-teacher association, they truly were a part of my education. When I got home from school, they would ask me questions about my day. Not just general questions like “How was your day?”, but specific ones. “What did you learn new today? Tell me about your teacher. What are your friends’ names? What about the other kids?” When a problem arose, they would role-play with me so I could be better prepared with dealing with that situation on my own.

“Don’t they give you a summer reading list?” my father complained, “When I was in school I was learning Latin and reading great books like The Old Man and the Sea and Moby Dick…” He made those classics seem so important to a child’s development that I made sure to read them. Many years later we would compile a list of must-read-books for the good of my teenage brother. And I am still trying to learn a bit of Latin and Greek roots, along with the kids.

During the summer I would often spend a week or two with my Nanna and Poppop. I would take long walk with Poppop and his little hotdog-dog, Penny. “You’re funny,” I would tell him, and he would say, “No, you are.” Nanna would bake with me and play games with me. The whole time was spent sharing stories.

When parents and older relatives share their experiences with young ones, they might sometimes wonder if the kids are listening. Even if they tune out some of them, you can be sure most of it is getting through. Through a repetition of themes and values, the stories become a lesson on how things are in the world, how one can deal with problems that arise, the constancy of morals and how following them ultimately works out for the good.

The good of talking can also make possible that your values are infiltrating their thinking and actions, even when you are not there. Even if you must work long hours, do not volunteer at the school, or are only able to visit the grandchildren once a year, you can have a long-lasting influence on those who truly need it.

"Raise up a child in the way he should go;
And when is old, he will not depart from it.”
Proverbs 22:6

Picture of me with Nanna at my first daughter's First Communion in May 2005.

The Ocean

The Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, the Shallow and the Deep, the Transparent and the Opaque. One thousand aspects of God, apparent paradoxes yet co-existing in scientific beauty, can be seen reflected in the Sea. One day it is calm and soothing; another day gentle yet playful; and yet another wild, turbulent, frightening. Unpredictable and untamed, He shows himself in the way he knows He is needed at the moment.

Autumn is the perfect time to visit the ocean. The crowds have long gone home, the sand is clean, and shells sit pristinely ready for the picking. If you have the opportunity to visit the sea, take it, and see what God has to tell you about His Nature.

“The waters of the sea were gathered as in a bowl;
in cellars the deep was confined.”
Psalm 33:7

Photograph taken by me at Smith Point Beach, Long Island, New York, yesterday.

Back to School Shopping

Yesterday morning the newspaper had an article about all the last minute shoppers. Good thing I had thought ahead, I thought smugly! I had all my supplies early – really I did. Yet I am drafting this blog in my trustee memo pad with a felt pen, whilst standing on a line after 9 PM the night before school starts.

Just this weekend I had told the cashier at the food store that I was thankful my kids wore uniforms and I was spared a big clothes shopping trip. “Just new shoes I guess?” she assumed. Uh oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I pushed it to the back of my mind.

After a day at the beach, I asked the kids to try on their uniforms. My eldest found her shoes under the bed and started coloring in the scuff marks with a black permanent marker. I had a flashback to a scene from the movie “Bridge to Terabithia”. She needed new shoes, and it was too late to take them all out. I waited until my husband got home, saw that they were tucked in bed at 8 PM, and took off for the store.

So here I am, just like everyone else. While in the store I realized that my son required a belt for first grade. I see young children in the store, rubbing their eyes. Shouldn’t they be home in bed? But I shouldn’t judge. Who knows why, like me, they were called out at the last minute, and had no one to leave the kids with. The loudspeaker is announcing the time is 9:15 and the store closes in 45 minutes. Hopefully I’ll be checked out by then (sigh).

Humility

“My son, conduct your affairs with humility,
And you will be loved more than a giver of gifts.
Humble yourself the more, the greater you are,
And you will find favor with God.
For great is the power of God;
By the humble he is glorified.”
Sirach 3:17-19

Today’s readings touched me on several levels. (The Gospel spoke of giving up the head-of-the-table seat to someone more important.)

I. The Humility of Motherhood

On this Earth, there is no job more humbling and more elevating than that of Mother. I think of the ten days last April when my older three children took turns with a four-day stomach virus. I was up day and night cleaning up vomit, consoling them, and giving the baby extra breastmilk to boost her immunity. On the opposite side of the spectrum, there was the day my firstborn read me her first book – and I knew I had taught it to her. Or, more recently, the day she confided in me her hopes and fears for the future. Tonight we finished reading aloud a wonderful book to all the children, and I knew I had planted fascinating seeds for thought. (As I write, I just got handed a tooth. Looks like I'll be playing the tooth fairy tonight.)

We honour Mary not for one specific thing she did, but for who she is – the Mother of the Son of God. She humbled herself to receive the gift of motherhood, and for that she is elevated. Everyday we can look to Mary as the ultimate model for who we should be as mothers. We can remember that it is not the great earthly things we do that matter, but that we just be spiritually present to our children.

II. The Humility of Writing

Writers are of an interesting breed, full of subtle ironies. Most of us tend toward introspection. Yet we seek publication, to set our mark on the world. The Christian writer may earnestly work toward getting an important message out to the world. Yet he must ultimately self-promote in order to further that end.

In the movie, “The Singing Nun”, a sister with a guitar, the only vestige left of her family, becomes famous for her beautiful hymns. In the end, realizing that vanity has caught hold of her and kept her from her true ministry, she gives up her guitar completely.

For us, the battle with humility will likely be a lifelong one. We are called upon to use our gifts to help others, yet must be sure the glory goes to our Maker, not ourselves.

III. The Humility of Volunteerism

I have taken a hiatus from volunteering in both church and school, while caring for an infant. I remember those who said, “Volunteering is a thankless job,” and seemed to be put-out by all their efforts. We are called to “do all that we do with a cheerful countenance”. While recognizing that our job is important, we must not feel self-important.

Heavenly Father,
Help me to give of my gifts
Cheerfully,
Humbly,
And in a manner that will always glorify you.
Amen.

Pictured above: “Vanity”, by John George Brown

What's in a Name?

If I had been a boy, my name would have been Nevada. My Mom is eternally grateful that I was a girl. She named me Elizabeth, which means “consecrated to God”. She says that is what she did when she found out I had been conceived. My Dad was afraid people would sully my beautiful name by shortening it to Liz, Beth, or Betsy. So he called me Lisa, which is a derivative of Elizabeth. He explained this to all my teachers, and I grew up being called Lisa. (Once he teased that he would call me "Lee" and take me to work at his construction site - I thought this would be fun, but he was just kidding.)

My middle name, Kathryn, means "pure".

Gerold is my maiden name, and Miller is my married name.

In real life, I do not hyphenate my name. The reason I do so on my blog is basically to "hedge my bets".

In high school I remember someone saying, "Elizabeth Kathryn Gerold is such a literary-sounding name!" I actually kept my maiden name for a full five years because I felt it was part of my identity. Then I had it changed to Miller.

So far, I have submitted all of my works in the name of Miller. However, I had always thought I would publish my novels in the name of Gerold. I also thought about Elizabeth Gerold Miller, except that would remove my beloved middle name.

I would love to hear what my readers think.

Thirty-Five

“You formed my inmost being;
You knit me in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, so wonderfully you made me;
Wonderful are your works!
My very self you knew;
My bones were not hidden from you,
When I was being made in secret,
Fashioned as in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes foresaw my actions;
In your book all are written down;
My days were shaped, before one came to be.”
Psalm 139:13-16

I never had difficulty with an upcoming birthday before this year. At 30, I felt I had accomplished much and was looking forward to what the next decade held for me. But as this summer approached, 35 seemed to loom over me like a grey cloud threatening a thunderstorm. I started seeing furrows in my forehead and wrinkles around my eyes.

A close friend, age 41, said she also felt like 25 and 35 were big turns of age. It was like she was mentally rounding up to the next decade. So at 35 it felt like she was nearing 40 for a whole five years. By the time she was 40 it was no big deal; she had had five years to get used to the idea.

I reread “The Golden Key”, by George MacDonald, in perfect time for this milestone. The fairytale made me see aging in a whole new light, as a journey to the afterlife, with both wisdom and beauty increasing with age. I started noticing more ads for Botox, fillers, and plastic surgery. I was disgusted at the shallow, empty promises of a false face hiding one’s true self that should emerge with the passing of each decade.

Sitting at the beach this evening, I thought of the joy that accompanies the wisdom of age. For in youth there is a confusion and uncertainty, hidden by nonstop activity and endless energy. With age we become more certain of what we treasure; if that be truly valuable in God’s sense and not the world’s, the security of what we hold brings serenity.

As we realize we are indeed aging, certain new fears may emerge – such as fears of heights that never existed before; and the fear of death, nonpresent in our youth (“We’re only immortal for a limited time,” sings RUSH) makes us appreciate the life that we have. As our parents grow older we come to appreciate them even more.

And so I do believe that as we grow older our capacity for true happiness actually increases.

I very much would like to hear what my readers have to say on the subject!

A Thank You to my Readers

“But you must understand that no one ever gives anything to another properly and really without keeping it… Of one thing you may be sure, that while you hold it, I hold it too.”

These are the words spoken by Princess Irene’s great-great-grandmother in “The Princess and the Goblin”, by George MacDonald, when she gifts her a ring that holds one end of a magical string, the ball of which the old lady keeps within her own cabinet.

On this the eve of my 35th birthday, I am honored to accept an award from my friend Leticia. She has nominated me for the Nice Matters Bloggers Award.

“This award is for those bloggers who are nice people; good blog friends and those who inspire good feelings and inspiration. Also for those who are a positive influence on our blogging world. Once you’ve been awarded please pass on to seven others whom you feel are deserving of this award”.

I in turn would like to nominate the following bloggers who have both inspired and encouraged me:

1. Leticia Velasquez, my dear friend, at Cause of Our Joy

2. Joanna Gerold, my sister, at Part of Something

3. Chris Cummings, her fiancé, at Inside Out

4. Angie, who also hosts Catholic Mothers Online, at Many Little Blessings

5. Alice Gunther, at Cottage Blessings, whom I originally knew as host of Immaculate Holy Mother Homeschool Yahoo Group.

6. Natalie, one of my new readers from British Columbia, Canada, hosts a blog called Bigger Families; Faces from the Past, where she features old photos of bigger families. She is looking for contributions from other family archives.

7. Michelle Harmon at Downblogger for her beautiful poem, "No Greater Love than to Lay Down Your Life".

What is a writer? Or, more correctly, who is a writer?

If you have a child, you are a mother. Noone asks, “Have I heard of your child? Is he famous? How many children have you had? What do the critics think of your children? Are you a good mother?” to qualify you as worthy of the title Mother.

For many years I have shied away from calling myself a writer. I knew I was one, for a writer is one who writes, but I was embarrassed. I did not want to be perceived as a “wannabe”. I had not done much publishing since my college years, when I wrote for the student paper and published a thesis. So I was afraid of the polite questions people ask when you pronounce yourself a writer.

I longed to tell the world, “I am a writer! I am a writer!” I yearned to talk about what I was writing, yet was afraid it would interfere with the “creative process”. And so I kept it secret, confiding my dreams to only a select few friends.

When I declared my intentions to stop homeschooling, people started asking me what I planned to do with my “spare time”. Never mind that I had a new baby coming – I still felt I had to explain away my time. For Mothers are not seen as productive – we just are who we are.

And so I “came out”, in a gradual way. I told people I would be working on my unfinished novels. On the children’s school applications, I put down my occupation as “Freelance Writer”.

How much writing did I really do during the last school year? Not much - other than keeping my daily journal. I have written in earlier posts about the difficulties I had to battle this year. When one is tired from a baby who refuses to sleep all night, and in chronic pain from recovery from a car accident, it is hard to be be creative with your words, and physically difficult to sit at a computer for long periods of time.

As June approached, I realized with horror that I had not mailed out any proposals all year. In that last week before school let out, the fire got into my belly. I turned out five items and sent them out – hoping a little in their success, but mostly just proud that I had produced them and put them out there.

Then I took out every library book that could be had on marketing. By the time I got through those, I had had enough of reading about writing. I was ready to just write.

And then I heard about the blogosphere, through my friend Leticia. It took just five minutes to set up my own account, and I was thrust into a new phase of my writing career. Frankly, I was surprised at the amount of writing I was able to do with all of the kids home. Yet I would write in my head all day and the moment the kids were in bed I would turn on my computer. And I would be doing what I loved. (One of these days someone will come up with a thought recorder that you can attach to your head. Then you could write with ease while cooking, swimming, and playing with your kids.)

In just over a month of blogging, I have received much more than the public recognition I had long hoped for. I feel I have been liberated in such a fundamental way. My readers and I have both given and received encouragement and inspiration to and from each other. And so I thank you, my readers, for without you this would not have been possible.

“Edify one another.” – St. Paul

Bear Midnight Miller

After having introduced the rest of the family to the blogosphere, I would be remiss in not mentioning our most loyal pet of ten years.

When my first daughter was two months old, I took her for a ride to a dog shelter and adopted a Black Labrador puppy, also two months old. She had a bit of Golden Retriever mixed in too. (My childhood dog, Alamo, was a Golden Retriever.) My husband was surprised when he got home, but he let us keep it. He had the honor of naming her.

“Bear”, he declared.

I laughed. I imagined a Kindergarten teacher calling me in for a conference because my daughter could not differentiate between dogs and bears.

“Won’t our daughter be a little confused if we call her dog Bear?”

Apparently my husband’s college friend had a cat named “The BBOC” – The Big Bear on Campus. This was a great joke among his friends and he just loved the name Bear. I added Midnight (for her color) as a middle name.

We celebrate Bear’s birthday on my daughter’s birthday. The kids take care of her food, water, and baths. I think sometimes we take her a bit too much for granted. I realize this more as I see the greys increase in her coat.

The baby and the dog have become great friends. While reading on the floor one day, our black Labrador entered the living room. My baby’s attention diverted, she threw the book aside to chase after the dog. I made her a little rhyme:

Doggy-Woggy,

Big black doggy,

Let us go for a ride.

Doggy-Woggy,

Big black doggy,

You could be my guide.

Bear is gentle, loyal, sensitive, intuitive, and kind. She is a truly valued member of our family.

Creative Messes

In college I became friends with a young woman, one of three daughters, who grew up in a very traditional Italian home. Years later she came to my home for dinner. She was thinking about getting her own apartment and was looking forward to learning how to cook. I remarked with surprise that I had assumed her mother would have taught her how to cook.

“She didn’t want us to mess up the kitchen,” she explained.

The last time I made brownies with my son, I asked him to crack an egg into a bowl. He accidentally let the entire egg open outside of the bowl.

“Oh no,” I started, then checked myself. I thought of my friend.

“It’s okay,” I continued in a calmer voice, “Just try to get it into the bowl this time.”

Kids make messes. Four kids make lots of messes. Often it seems like all I do is clean up after their continual mess-making. Sometimes it seems like a fruitless use of my energy and abilities. But messes are necessary bi-products of creativity; creativity yields higher-order thinking; higher-order thinking yields productive, moral, intelligent adults.

So let your kids bake and make a mess; then have them all pitch in to clean up. You will have made more than a nice batch of cookies. The smell of the freshly-baked goods, the feel of the powdery flour, the taste of the uncooked batter, the sight of the rising dough, the sound of timers and chattering siblings, all come together firing hundreds of neurons from multiple brain centers to make a memory that will last a lifetime.

“Give her a reward of her labors, and let her works praise her at the city gates.”
Proverbs 31:31

The All Purpose Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer, Ethan Becker, and Marion Rombauer Becker (Hardcover - Nov 1998)

The only cookbook I ever really USE!

Austen's Times

Leticia Velasquez wrote a beautiful review of "Becoming Jane", (http://cause-of-our-joy.blogspot.com/2007/08/review-of-becoming-jane.html) , which caused me to recruit a friend to go see it with me. It was well worth my time. After the movie, we were discussing the way young people of that time period were "trapped" by social circumstances.

I kept thinking about that, in relation to the freedom of courtship we have in modern times. The social mores of times past were not entirely a bad thing. Parents earnestly saught the best attachments they could for their children, for they hoped to give them the best life possible. They knew that the passion of youthful love was not enough to sustain a couple for a lifetime. They knew that partnerships based on friendship and commonality of background were more likely to blossom into a love that lasted. Therefore they demonstrated "tough love" in denying youths permission to marry into poverty or a "bad family".

Today we have the freedom to marry whomever we choose. As can be seen by the high divorce rates, society has shown that the majority of people are quite capable of entrapping themselves into a bad marriage. And although divorces are given quite freely, the relationship does not end there. Child custody battles and alimony can hold one hostage to circumstance for decades.

In the gradual shift from rigidity to liberty of movement, parents seem to be at a loss for words when they see their child may be making the wrong decision in choosing a mate. After all, it is "their life" - hence they may fear pushing the child away in making their opinions known.

It is time for parents to bring up their children in a courtship culture, rather than with a dating-just-for-fun atmosphere. "What do you wish for in your lifetime mate?" is a question that can be asked from early childhood. These children will then be asking themselves the same questions when interviewing future spouses on a first date - and save themselves many heartbreaks in the process.

"I always knew you", my husband recently said to me. I remember my mother telling me that somewhere God was preparing a husband for me and that she was praying for him. I know her prayers were answered.

Peach

We got a new bunny today. She is a dwarf rabbit, about two months old. She is as soft as a peach and reminds us of the hybrid white peaches with beige markings. So we named her Peach Hoppity Miller. The store owner assured us that the most likely cause of Hoppity's untimely death was fright from the thunderstorm we had the other day. My daughter felt much better after hearing that it was not her fault. We set up two cages, one outdoors and one indoors, and will be bringing the rabbit indoors whenever bad weather is threatened. It is so wonderful to see the children all bright and happy again, chasing after their new pet as it hops about on a bunny leash in the grass.

A Vision of Divine Mercy

For the past twelve months my son and I have been on quite a journey exploring his vision.

I took him to the optometrist for the first time last July, at the age of 5, for an annual exam before entering Kindergarten. He had never shown any difficulties and I expected him to pass with flying colors. Therefore I was quite surprised to find that he presented with astigmatism and convergence deficiency (meaning his eyes did not focus together close-up) – this despite 20/20 vision.

Glasses were prescribed with a follow-up visit in one month to see how he was doing with the new glasses. August came, and the doctor was not happy. The prism he had installed within the lens had not done what he had hoped for, as far as bringing his eyes to focus better together. He suggested vision therapy.

I spent a frustrating few days making telephone calls, before finding one pediatric ophthalmologist in my area who performed visual training and took our health plan. She had a good reputation – and was booked for almost three months.

In the meantime, I taught him how to do “pencil push-ups”, in which the child looks at the tip of a pencil eraser or other interesting object while moving it from about a foot away to the tip of his nose. This was an exercise I used to do as a child for the same disorder. An internet search showed this was still the most effective at-home exercise. One study also found at home exercise to be just as effective as in-office visits, when monitored by a professional; the key was diligence in doing the exercises.

That October I took him out of school for the long-awaited visit. It required dilation of the pupil, which would cause some discomfort and blurriness of vision. When I entered the office with my son and the baby, I was a bit put-off by the doctor’s haughty attitude. She also had two young women with her, whom she introduced as “doctors”, although they had earlier introduced themselves to me as students. When I described my family ocular history, and told her of my other two children, she gave me a hard look that seemed to condemn me for bringing four children into the world with eye problems. I was just so astounded by her attitude that I literally became dumb-founded.

I listened, nodding, as she patronized my optometrists techniques and said my son showed absolutely no sign of convergence insufficiency (“A sign the exercises had worked?”, I thought), but instead had a strabismus – or “lazy eye”. She could easily correct this with surgery, she said. She prescribed a course of “patching” the weak eye for one to two hours per day for three months. At the end of those three months, if enough improvement was shown, there would be no need for an operation.

Although I had done some experiments in visual perception as a graduate studying Experimental Psychology, the questions I had in my mind were clouded and could not be formed into words. I therefore came out of there feeling as if she had treated me like an idiot. And wondering to myself why I had been unable to speak.

I scoured the literature for information on this surgery. There was some risk involved and a high rate of repeated surgeries. My gut reaction was to avoid this except as a last resort. Then I found a whole body of literature about vision therapy, and learned about several exercises I could do at home with him.

For three months, for a half hour each day, we did these together. We also did the maximum recommended patching – and prayed. In January I brought him again, hopeful that she would find an improvement.

She found a fifty percent improvement – but still wanted to operate! I realized that what I had neglected to do, in my inability to ask questions at the first visit, was ask for her parameters for success – how much improvement was she expecting as her guidelines for whether or not to operate – and I felt that she just wanted to operate on my son from the very beginning. She sat silently waiting for an answer – when did I want to schedule the surgery? I paused for a moment before responding.

“Well, seeing he’s made such an improvement so far, can’t we see if he’ll do even better if given three more months, perhaps with more time patching?” She seemed doubtful but “didn’t want to push” – so she agreed. “Just don’t wait for too long. His depth perception is failing, and as his neural pathways are forming they will be set in this wrong way of seeing. If he should ever lose vision in the other eye he would be legally blind.” Nothing like scaring a mother into trusting you with her son’s eyes! I found another doctor for a second opinion and pushed on with the exercises for another six weeks.

The night before this all-important appointment, I decided to do the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. (I found a nice website with good directions at: http://www.ewtn.com/Devotionals/mercy/index.htm). My mother had said it was particularly powerful – and that was just what was needed. I had never been in the habit of saying rote prayers before, but quickly discovered that, by losing my self in the words, the intent was brought into clearer focus.

The doctor had his assistant administer a simple test in which he was supposed to try to pick the wings off of nine dragonflies as they appeared to “fly” off the page. They looked at eachother in amazement. “He picked all nine! This child has perfect depth perception.” The doctor said to continue doing whatever I was doing with him, as it seemed to be working.

This spring we were amazed at how well he did with baseball. Without depth perception, it is impossible to hit a baseball. This was more proof of the improvements he had made since the previous summer. In hindsight we can see he wasn’t even seeing the ball!

At the last check-up, both eyes were found to be equally strong, with a slight tendency to diverge. Our optometrist said, “If you had chosen to operate, his eyes would have focused at one distance but not another, and another surgery would have been needed, followed by more vision therapy.” He presently is working with us hand-in-hand, recommending at-home exercises with monthly office visits to monitor his progress.

We learned so much from this experience. We learned about the relation between self-education and the treatment received in doctors’ offices. We learned that with faith and a willingness to go the extra mile the seemingly impossible can be achieved.

Prayer to St. Odilia

O God, Who in Your Kindness did give us St. Odilia, Virgin and Martyr,
as the Protectress of the Order of the Holy Cross
and the Patroness of the eyes and afflicted,
grant us, we humbly beseech You,
Your protection through her intercession
from the darkness of ignorance and sin,
and grant us healing from blindness of the eyes and other bodily infirmities.
Through Him, Who is the Light and Life of the World,
Jesus Christ, Your Son, Our Lord.
Amen

**********************************************

I am adding some more information to my post in answer to a reader's questions about where to find the exercises that I have been doing with my son. I was unable to reply using blogger and did not have a personal email address available. I think the information could be helpful to others, so here it is...

Dear Reader,
The most helpful website I found was www.children-special-needs.org
Go to the library and look up "vision therapy", "eye exercises", "orthoptics", "Bates Method". There are several books based on the work of W.H. Bates, an opthalmologist who wrote "Perfect Sight Without Glasses" in 1920. "Better Vision without Glasses", a few versions of which have been written by one of his followers, is one that describes many of the techniques I have been using. There was also a video that I used with my son. I am not posting the name of it because there are probably some better, more current ones available. The Cambridge Institute for Better Vision has a program at www.bettervision.com; you can save yourself the program fee by taking their book out from the library.
The exercises we are mostly using are called:
thumb rotations
near-far shifting
convergence string
pencil push-ups
If you can't find these please write to me with a personal email address and I will describe them for you.
There was also one my optometrist told me to do and I don't know its name. I use a flashlight in a darkened room and flash a light intermittently on all four corners of a small wall. He is supposed to use one eye at a time to follow it. I rotate to the right, then to the left, first with one eye closed, then with the other eye closed, then with both eyes open.
Baseball is also a great, fun exercise.
You can't hit a ball that is coming to you without depth perception!
Best of luck to you,
Elizabeth

Hoppity Hophop Miller

My daughter's beloved pet Dutch rabbit died today. Needless to say, we are all very sad. The baby doesn't know yet, but she used to wave hello as we pulled her past the cage in her red wagon. Just thinking of taking her past the empty cage has us in hysterics. We buried the bunny, with a little ceremony of sprinkling Easter water and saying a prayer which my daughter wrote:

Dear Hoppity,
I loved you dearly.
You made me happy when I was not.
I wish I could see you in heaven all happy and hoppy.
I won’t forget you.
Amen.

Another Rainy Day

It has been a rainy week with nothing to do but dream, read, and write.

I am so happy to see my children are taking my love of writing into their own hearts.

Some of the beautiful pictures I have in my head of my own young mother are of what she would do in her spare time: garden, read, swim, bake, and paint. I also took those activities to be loves of my own.

As I write at the computer now the baby is sleeping, my 6-year-old boy is drawing, and my 8- and 10- year old daughters are writing their own stores, complete with illustrations.

"Is it good enough to be published, Mom?" I often hear.

I often ask that about my own works.

"Of course," I answer musingly, "If the right editor sees it at the right time."

Remember your children will do what they see.

Illustration above: "The New Picture Book" by Hermann Kaulbach

Do you have a young artist or writer that you would like to encourage?
Stone Soup publishes work by children through age 13.
http://www.stonesoup.com/send-work

The Golden Key

The impression I held from my childhood reading of “The Golden Key”, by George MacDonald, was that of a gorgeous fairytale, a whimsical story of a boy and girl in search of the lock that would turn with their golden key.

When I read the story aloud to my children, however, I was amazed by the depth of its meaning. The story is so obviously about the Journey of Life, and the continuation of that Journey with Death; Growing Old Together, the Passage of Time, the Relativity of Age and Youth, and Love. Like all great fairytales, it unlocks the questions children unconsciously ask about Life. It gives them quiet answers, disguised by delightful characters, but doesn’t bludgeon them with it.

Mossy, so named because he would read in the moss until it seemed he would grow mossy, lives at the edge of Fairyland. His great-aunt tells him that he can find the golden key at the end of the rainbow. She does not know what the key is for. That would be his job to find out. One day he finds the key.

MacDonald leaves Mossy there and brings us to Tangle. He does not divide up his 78-page story into chapters. Sometimes his characters sleep – at which time I would take a break in my reading – then they get up and continue with their journey.

The fairies are disgusted with the household that is bringing up Tangle. It is a slovenly house, and fairies hate messes. The child is unkempt and disused. The maids fail to brush her hair and hence call her Tangle. The fairies decide to teach everyone a lesson by chasing Tangle out of the house.

Tangle winds up at her fairy godmother’s house. “Grandmother” summons her fish-bird to bring a boy who is sitting at the end of the rainbow. Mossy, who holds the golden key, will be a trustworthy companion for Tangle. Together they are sent to find the lock that will turn with the golden key.

The years pass by. They walk through the Valley of Shadows – I see now it is the Valley of the Shadow of Death – and are not fearful. They realize the key must unlock the Land from where the Shadows Fall, and make it their life’s journey to find that Land.

In the course of events they lose each other, and each separately run into the Old Man of the Sea, who appears as a middle-aged man. Then they meet the Old Man of the Earth, who is supposed to be even older, but appears as a young man. Finally they meet the Old Man of the Fire, who is supposed to be ancient, but appears as a baby. He shows them the way to the Land of the Shadows.

Now they are old and beautiful. They find the sapphire-encrusted lock and go up a stair that goes out of the earth, into the rainbow, and up to the Land of the Shadows.

What a delicious read. I highly recommend this book for all ages, zero through one hundred or so.

I recommend purchasing the single volume illustrated by Maurice Sendak (creator of "Little Bear").

You can read the entire text at:
http://www.mrrena.com/misc/GoldKey.shtml

9/11/01: We Will Never Forget

Tonight New York mourns the loss of two firefighters, yet another indirect loss due to the violence of Sept. 11, 2001.

The sky above Ground Zero is again filled with smoke, after a seven-alarm fire ripped through an abandoned skyscraper next to Ground Zero in Lower Manhattan today. The former Deutsche Bank office building, vacant since the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks turned it into a toxic nightmare, was in the process of being dismantled. Two firefighters were killed, and five or six others were taken to a hospital but were expected to be released, Mayor Bloomberg said. No civilians were hurt. According to a radio report, the firefighters came from the same firehouse that lost 11 firefighters to the World Trade Center attacks.

Joseph Graffagnino, 34, and Robert Beddia, 54, went into cardiac arrest due to severe smoke inhalation. 343 firefighters died at Ground Zero on Sept. 11, 2001.

Pictured above: St. Florian, Patron Saint of Firefighters