{{sigh}}

Feeling the pain of lost relationships, but knowing that there is really only one relationship that matters, trying and failing (again) to do my best and experience "success," today I wrote this.

ashes to ashes, again

A repost from last year. This year, I'm Mary instead of Maxine. But life is still just as horrible and wonderful - and worth living - as it was then.

Today, on the Feast of All Souls, I stood at my own graveside, but I didn't shed a tear.

I thought about my daughter, who awaits me there, and I remembered her life with awe and gratitude. I missed her with an ache that will never leave my bones, but my heart is not heavy. It soars to meet her.

I looked at the descriptions cast in stone: husband and father, baby girl, wife and mother. The roles that will define us for all eternity.

I suppose it is an excellent practice to ponder the fact that we will all be dust some day. As I stood on the very spot where I hope my grandchildren and their grandchildren will kneel someday, begging mercy on my soul, I realized the truth.

It will all be over in a flash.

From the cemetery we stopped at Starbucks for something hot and chocolately. From there I went to a community theater audition. I was cast in the role of Maxine, who has good hair and make-up and is learning to tap dance.

Life is short, but it's grand. Live it up, and do much good with it.

Eternal peace grant unto them O Lord, and may Perpetual Light shine upon them. May their souls, and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

Lukie and the F-bomb

Since I haven't been posting many anecdotes here lately, it seemed appropriate to kick things off with a humdinger.

Lukie is in the second grade at our parish school. He sits in the front row, first seat on the left. He spends his days learning about subtraction, spelling words with silent e, and other mysteries of the universe. He's a good kid, I suppose. At least I haven't heard too many scary stories about him. Until now, that is.

Lukie sits with two other little urchins, we'll call them Butch and Buster. The three of them apparently had quite a scintillating conversation last week, according to Butch's mom, who shared this story with me.

Buster: (in a clear, loud voice) My brother said "F" to me. (Note: he did not exactly say "F.")
Butch: "F"? What's "F"?
Lukie: Yeah, what's "F"?
Buster: I don't know, but he said "F."

(At this point I imagine their teacher rushing toward them, her eyes wide, her hand over her open mouth, aghast. I also imagine this in slow motion, for effect.)

Teacher: WHAT are you boys saying????

At this point a lightbulb appears over Lukie's head, and wisdom and insight are his.

Lukie: "F"...hmm..what is "F"? I know. "F" is a cow.

Huh?

Yep, my son then proceeded to tell the other boys that he was pretty sure that "F" was another word for cow.

Butch's mom and I enjoyed this episode more than we probably should, for two important reasons.

One: Lukie (and her Butch) did not report to the teacher that they heard their older brother/uncle/dad or MOM say that word, EVER. Thank you God.

Two: There is still some innocence left in this world. And some of it is in our particular children.

Thank you God.

my crown of roses: prayers of love

The goodness of God continues to touch me, daily, in ways both simple and profound.

Today I received an email that reminded me that His ways are so far above ours that we cannot fathom it.

I was reminded yet again that prayers are not just good thoughts, or "positive energy." They are real communication between us and Our Lord. Prayers are bonds that connect us with heaven, and with one another.

Please visit my Australian "cyber-friend" Therese, and read the brief story that stunned me and filled me with joy.

God is so good, and I am so blessed.

wink, wink

I think she knows something we don't know. :)

My granddaughter, Grace Philomena (Gracie Mena) at almost five months.

Live is good.

welcoming Zeke

My grandson Zeke is here!

Lauren headed to the hospital on Thursday afternoon for an induction of labor. Saturday morning at 4:59, Ezekiel Jacob Vitale was born; 7lbs, 5 oz, 20 inches long.

As you can imagine, his getting here was quite a journey, to say the least.

Lauren endured a long, painful labor, an epidural, two hours of pushing, and then a c-section when she developed a fever and the baby refused to move down. Turns out he was "sunny-side up," which makes delivery difficult. His heartrate was high, and disappointingly, she really needed that c-section.

We were worried already, but then they took her into surgery, began the procedure, and she began to experience pain. They had to put her completely under. Her poor husband was asked to leave the OR - and Lauren's sister and I waited with him worriedly.

Thank God - all ended well, with the arrival of our beautiful baby boy!

He and his mama are doing well now. I must say I am so incredibly proud of Lauren. She was so courageous and patient - so strong! And my daughter Rachel was such a wonderful coach to her sister. She never left her side, never wavered in her encouragement. Lauren's husband made me proud, too. He certainly loves my little girl.

Being a part of this child's birth was such a precious experience. I've been so incredibly blessed with my family. I can't wait to see the blessings in store for them!

princesses or victims?

I don't get this:


Aren't children cute enough just as they are?

What is wrong with our society? It's bad enough that adult women and teen girls are made to feel that their looks aren't up to par. Now even children and babies are open game. The site on which I found this "before and after" pic offered all sorts of "enhancement services" for children's photographs. Apparently they are required for some pageants.

Shows like Toddlers in Tiaras make me crazy. Like many people, I sometimes watch them (sometimes I can't peel my eyes away from an accident scene, either.) The parents are just so pathetic to me. I try not to judge them, I really do. But I just don't understand how they convince themselves that they are doing something worthwhile for their children.

Do you think pageants, of any kind, are good for kids? Good clean competition, or reckless objectification?

I share some of my thoughts here, as well.

What do you think?

please send prayers and patience our way

I'm looking for prayers today, friends.

My mom is currently having surgery for her breast cancer. I was just informed that her lymph nodes are clear, which is excellent news. She is still in surgery, though (has been for about two and a half hours now.)

Mom doesn't do well with doctors, hospitals, or surgeries. In fact, just walking into a medical facility makes her blood pressure go sky high. (Just before surgery it dropped - yes, dropped - to 222/111.)

She also doesn't tolerate medications well AT ALL. We joke that she is sensitive to the world, and it's just too true.

Add to Mom's troubles the fact that she is also anxiety-filled and impatient. It's been a rough day.

I'm holding up well, praise God, but she could use some extra prayers.

I'm trying to cash in on the opportunity to learn a virtue I REALLY lack. (More about that here.)

hot off the presses!

The first issue of PIME World Magazine edited by yours truly is available now!

I'm pretty excited to share this. When I started as Communications Director and editor of PIME World the first of June, I wasn't quite sure what I was getting myself into.

Now, I've got my first issue under my belt, and it's not too shabby. Thanks to the highly talented staff (most especially the creative director) I was given the tools, info, and encouragement I needed to get the job done.

I feel very blessed to be a part of this organization, which honestly feels more like a family. I wrote recently about how I've felt God placed me here for a reason, and I'm seeing proof of that every day. (One of my co-workers insists God has placed me here to help him find a Catholic wife, which could be the case! Know any young ladies looking for a very eligible bachelor? We'll talk about that later.)

If you'd like to learn more about the PIME Missionaries and the amazing way they are sharing the Gospel and serving the poor in 17 countries, get yourself a FREE one-year subscription here.

And while you're being missionary-minded, check out the blog I'm writing for them. (And please share it - we need to raise mission awareness, now don't we?)

Thanks for your prayers as I continue to explore just what God has in store for me here.

a time to weep and a time to laugh

Today's the kind of day when I need to come here to the field, lay down, and let the blue blossoms swallow me right up.

Four years ago today Celeste died. I usually do quite well on this anniversary. I don't cry, and I don't get all melodramatic. I comfort my husband and children, and I tell people her life was a blessing and I have no bitterness, only joy.

Today wasn't exactly like that.

I was with "others" today - people outside of the family - something that's not happened on an anniversary yet. I thought I'd be fine, then I knew I wouldn't be. I thought about staying home from work. I'm glad I didn't.

I went to work, and I cried, and I talked and I allowed myself to be comforted. I'm not used to that. I'm used to being the the one who's doing the comforting.

I'm so blessed to have family, friends, and now coworkers who care about me.

Today I remembered Celeste, and I remembered her suffering, as well as the great blessing of her life. Life is filled with suffering and blessings. To be truly alive is to embrace them both.

Once again I'll share the video I made for Celeste. I hope it will make you smile - and cry.

Be alive. And thank God.

telling stories, telling lies, teaching truth

Today, Fr. Ken looked me straight in the eye and asked me a shocking question.

He followed it with a shocking personal revelation.

He was smiling, and his blue eyes twinkled, but I still panicked a little, unsettled. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and took a breath.

Was he serious? What should I say? How to answer such a question?

I had a feeling my answer was important, but I wasn't quite sure why. Was he testing me? Seeing where I stood? Wondering if they had made the right choice when they hired me?

I took a breath and dove in.

"Yes," I answered.

"I have thought about becoming a saint."

Fr. Ken really asked me this today, and, quite frankly, I believe he wanted me to answer. He might have been surprised to discover that I have given it some thought, but I don't think so. I have the feeling he already knew the answer. He was just trying to get ME to discover it.

What led to such a profound conversation? The current project we're working on in my office involves writing copy for our website. And where there's writing, there are words. And where there are words, there's amazing, unbelieveable, awe-inspiring....power.

Power.

Yep, that's what I said. Power. And with power comes responsiblity. And challenge. And most importantly, with words come

Stories.

What Fr. Ken was trying to illicit from me was not just a confused "Huh?"
Rather, he wanted a story - more exactly, he wanted MY story. He wanted to know why I wanted to be a saint. He wanted to know who had influenced me, why I had chosen my path in life. He was hoping to inspire the writing I would do for the website.

He wanted me to function in the most profound capacity for which I had been hired.

He wanted me to be a storyteller.

Once I grasped this, he hit me with the personal revelation about the life of priests that is sure to shock.

Did you know, my dear friends, that sermons are not always true?

According to Fr. Ken, priests sometimes do a bit of er, embellishing when it comes to their sermons. Have you ever noticed they tell charming little stories to hook you, to get the Gospel to come alive?

Sometimes they make them up.

Sometimes they tell stories about other folks and pretend they are about themselves.

But despite this creativity, these stories are still true, in the very best sense. As Father revealed to me, we can't ignore the facts: sermons are always true, and sometimes they really happened.

I thought about our conversation on the way home from work. I thought about it a great deal, especially when that guy cut me off on the freeway and I almost drove off the road.

Have you ever thought about becoming a saint?

Yeah, buddy, I'm thinking about it real hard right now. I could've been killed! What if I were? What kind of life am I leading? Am I becoming a saint?

I thought about it again at my doctor's appointment, particularly when the nurse informed me my blood pressure was sky high.

That's a dangerous number! I could have a stroke! This could be it for me. Am I ready? Have I really thought about becoming a saint?

I thought too about storytelling, and about the task that had been set before me. Designing website copy is all in a day's work, right? No big deal. Get some words out there, and there ya go.

At the risk of sounding like the biggest butt kisser in the history of the world, I must say that my employers deserve more than your average website, and I intend to give it to them. I didn't take this job just for the paycheck and the status and the pink desk - I took it because I believe God has placed me here for a reason.

Boy, that sounds awful. I don't like to use spiritual lingo to make me sound well, spiritual. But in this case I'm going to go wild and be honest.

The week before I was hired, I prayed. I didn't pray to get this job, although I really wanted it. I prayed that they would hire the person that would do the best for them, the person who would tell their stories with clarity. And perhaps, with power. And even truth.

So now I am that person. I'm not weighed down by the responsiblity. Rather, I feel lifted up by it. I'm going to be the storyteller they deserve.

And I might even be truthful.

As for this post,it may be not be entirely factual. Perhaps there has been some embellishment. But in my book, blog posts fall in the same category as sermons.

They are always true.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl with blonde pigtails and brown eyes. And she wanted to become a saint...

Thanks, Fr. Ken, for reminding me to write the story.

And perhaps even tell the truth.