just do it

Oh my glorious field of blue, how I've missed you! I don't even know how to begin. You know I adhere to that crazy belief: if I don't have anything nice (read: perfect, thought-provoking, profound, insightful, clever) to say, I'd rather say nothing at all. Hence the recent silence on this blog!

It's hard to get back to this. But this phrase has been my mantra today: JUST DO IT.

So here I am, doing it. Just do it, girl, quit making excuses. You know you need to make that phone call, schedule that appointment, say that prayer, talk to that friend, clean that bathroom, run that mile (OK, walk it if you have to),try that new hairstyle, WRITE THAT BLOG!

Do it, do it, do it.

OK. Feeling a bit overwhelmed these days? Of course, as always, but committed to the dual task of getting the job done while seeking excellence, not perfection. Truth be told, I crossed quite a few items off the to-do list today. Let's talk about one that's new to me: running that mile.

I've been walking daily for the last few months, and today I decided it was time to pick up the pace. I actually made the decision a few days ago, after walking several miles and feeling quite fit and self-satisfied. Walking is getting so easy, I thought. How much harder can it be to run?

It's harder. A lot harder.

When I say I've never run in my life, I'm not exaggerating. I have truly never, EVER, "gone for a run." I was an unathletic child, one who preferred books to playground games. When the other 'tweens were signing up for summer baseball and cheerleading, I was writing poetry. In highschool I was forced to get active by a stern, masculine-looking phys-ed instructor. I had planned to spend the semester whiling away blissful hours in a creative writing class, but that course was full. Phys-ed was my destiny, and I was astonished to discover that sports could actually be fun. We played badminton and tennis, basketball and field hockey, and swam hundreds of laps. But when that semester ended, and no personal trainer appeared to take my new favorite teacher's place, I sat back down and picked up my pen and opened my books once more.

I didn't give exercising much of a thought until my mid-thirties, when I decided it was time to get moving. There's so much to share here; body image issues, weight loss battles, baby fat gained and lost, gained and lost. For now I'll just say that I discovered the joy of moving my body and feeling strong.

I've been craving that strength lately, bigtime. So I've begun to walk again, and today, to run.

For the first time in my life, I rode my bike to a track near my home, bent to retie my shoelaces, and started to run. Many things prevented me from trying this sooner. Will people laugh? Will I hurt myself? My knees might give out. That foot might not be ready for this. I might fall, or wet my pants!

Many thoughts went through my mind this morning, but chiefly this one: Oh dear Lord, why is it so hard to breathe? Running is harder than walking. Yup.

So I ran, and not far, but I ran. Then I walked, and I ran some more. And tomorrow, I just might do it again.

Because once I was able to catch my breath, and realize that even if someone was laughing I didn't care, I began to feel strong. I was proud of myself. Because I was doing it.

I've done lots of things in my life, but I tend to focus on my failures instead of my successes. As I ran this morning, feeling powerful because I was doing something foreign and uncomfortable, I thought about the many other things I've done in my life. (I think I'll list a few here just to make myself feel good.) I've given life to seven children. One is already waiting for me in Heaven, one is married off to a wonderful young man, and another will soon be a wife as well. My four boys are kind and funny. My marriage is solid.

I've written and published a book, earned a college degree, performed in community theatre, and home-educated my children. I've built many friendships, and kept strong ties with my family. I have done some silly things and taken some odd risks, but that's good. I've been laughed at more than once. A few years ago I put in my name for consideration for a city council position (admittedly, something I knew nothing about and was unqualified for, but why not, right?) Upon hearing this, a gal I know burst out laughing. (Right to my face, can you imagine? Didn't even have the courtesy to laugh at me behind my back!) She thought it was hysterical, but I did get two votes from council members, the most of any candidate. So there!

So I've done lots of cool stuff, tried some challenging things, set some goals and met them. I really should feel proud and content, but of course, like most people, I don't. I remember the laughing friend, not the two votes. I think of the articles declined for publication, not the book that's in print. I contemplate the lost opportunities instead of the ones I've embraced.

How ridiculous. Today I went for a run. And I just might go again tomorrow.

What are you thinking about doing? Feeling scared, inadequate, uncertain?

You're not the only one. Try it anyway.

Just do it.

"...and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us." Hebrews 12:1

let's get moving, girls!

I've been invited by several friends to join in this challenge. Check it out and let's get moving!

turn, turn, turn...

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Remember that song?

"To everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn, and a time, to every purpose, under heaven." (The Byrds)

It's been haunting me lately, that tune from my youth. It is a new season for me, both figuratively and literally, and I'm struggling mightily to transform from dry winter wood to delicate blossom with courage and grace.

Where in the world have I been these past few weeks? I hate to take the "dog ate my homework" route with this blog, but I do have some really good excuses this time. Spring has come to my Michigan town (at least off and on) and with it a flurry of activity.

I've been spending lots of time with my six-year-old son, Luke. He and I have been taking walks around our neighborhood nearly every day. Like all my children, he is extraordinary. He is so intelligent and sensitive, so alert to the beauty of the world. He is special to me because I am seeing more and more that he is a bit of a "mini-me." (Finally, on child six, and in a positive way -- he imitates my GOOD qualities!) A Michigan spring is glorious, and Luke has been glorying in observing the changes. As we walked on his birthday, he stooped to collect a tiny flower growing in a neighbor's yard. "Look Mama! A tiny blue child!" he exclaimed. I'm in heaven.


I've been spending lots of time with my daughters, Rachel and Lauren. Both are getting married this summer, leaving our little nest to start families of their own with wonderful young men. I am overcome with joy and wonder. Where did the time go? I know I am starting to sound like one of those old women who pinches the cheeks of everyone under 30. But seriously, I swear it was just yesterday that I was selecting their First Communion dresses. And now, in three weeks, my eldest child will be a married woman.


Truth be told, I've not been spending nearly enough time with my other children, AJ, Joey and John, although we did manage to wrap up the so-called homeschooling that had been going on here this year. Joey did get his share of attention these past few weeks as we've decided to send him to "real" school next year. My little boy will be leaving me, boarding a real live school bus every morning and leaving his mother! My goodness, the child is only 13 years old! Oh dear, I think we will manage, but I must admit a good bit of my heart will board that bus with him.

My husband will tell you he is getting no attention at all, but that's not entirely true. He started a new job this month, after 18 years with the same company. For me that means he is no longer three minutes away, but thirty. It means I have to find new doctors with our new health insurance, and eventually meet all those new folks he's working with. It means that I'm praying for him every day, knowing that he is so talented and hoping his new employer will keep on seeing that. It means that each day I'm eager to hear all the details about his new daily life, and that even though the children are keeping me so busy lately I want to keep reminding my husband that he is my priority. I am so proud of him and love him so much, but sometimes it's hard to make that seem real, isn't it?

Long overdue is the good deal of time I've been spending taking care of myself lately. I renewed my gym membership, rediscovering the intense pleasure of pushing myself just a little harder each day, walking a little faster, lifting a heavier weight, doing just one more rep. It makes me feel strong, reminds me that I am strong, strong as I need to be to keep my life in balance.

That's what it's been this past month, a balancing act, a test of my priorities. I only mentioned a tiny portion of what I've been thinking about, what I've been doing. Didn't spend any time at all talking about the relationships with my elderly parents, best friend, and neighbors, responsiblities at church, household repairs and yardwork, or even that crazy garage sale we're having this weekend. (What am I thinking?) Don't even need to mention that we were visited yesterday by the fire department (the microwave is fine but the biscuit is toast) and spent time in the ER (in an unrelated incident involving Luke's forehead and a door.) Oh dear, oh dear.

You've guessed by now that this blog and all other writing projects did not make the cut these past few weeks. With no regrets I must acknowledge what I know is true. It's just not in season. It is a time to observe the wondrous transformation going on all around me and within me right now. Like a Michigan spring, it is magnficent and beautiful with chartruese budding trees and magnolias that bloom on a Monday and cover the ground by Wednesday. Like all things truly beautiful, this time is fragile. If I close my eyes for even a second, I will miss it. And I cannot miss it. There is a time for every purpose under heaven, and this is the time to glory in spring, in all its transient beauty.


Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

To everything there is a season, and
a time to every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born, and
a time to die;
a time to plant, and
a time to pluck up
that which is planted;

A time to kill, and
a time to heal;
a time to break down, and
a time to build up;

A time to weep, and
a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and
a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and
a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and
a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and
a time to lose;
a time to keep, and
a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and
a time to sow;
a time to keep silence, and
a time to speak;

A time to love, and
a time to hate;
a time of war; and
a time of peace.

have mercy on us, and on the whole world

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Justice or mercy?
Forgiveness or retribution?

My young adult children and I have been discussing these issues the past few days. The circumstances of our lives have brought us once again to that place where these questions are no longer theoretical.

You don't need to know the details to know that you, too, have been there. If we are forgiven, does that mean there are no consequences for us to bear? If we show mercy to someone, does it mean that he has not hurt us? Are there times when we must use our authority to bring justice to a situation? If we do this, does it mean we are not accepting the attempts of a repentant heart?

I don't know. The older I get, it seems, the duller I get. Life was easy when answers were black and white. Now that I can see clearly the vast grey universe, I know that sometimes it is difficult to choose "the right thing to do."

Today is Divine Mercy Sunday, of course, a good time to ponder these things. I know I should err on the side of mercy, right? I should make exceptions for others, ignore their faults, and mercifully forgive their transgressions. But what if their sins are hurting me? What if they're hurting themselves? If I show mercy to them, am I not holding them sufficiently accountable? And if I am strict in my observance of rules, am I nothing but a Pharisee?

No clear answers here, just the earnest longings of a mother who loves her children. I hope they will forgive me as I mess up in their parenting, as that's a given. In balancing mercy and justice, I'll try to measure with the same scale that I hope will be used on my judgment day. One heavily weighted with mercy, with just the right amount of justice, meted out with purest love.

In Your Shadow

Easter morning, 2008

I had walked within your shadow
On the road in Galilee
I watched in awe your hands work miracles
Lame men walk now; blind men see.

I felt your shadow fall upon me
When the widow touched the hem
Of your cloak as you passed by her
With your crowd of holy men.

I was jealous of her boldness
As she put out an eager hand
Afraid to walk too near you
I just followed in the sand.

I was in the crowd that greeted you
As you entered like a King
Your shadow cast a regal sphere
As our bold hosannas rang.

You walked that path again so soon
Your blood fell upon the stone
I hid in a darkened doorway.
I let you walk alone.

Was there a shadow cast on Calvary?
Or was the darkness vast and deep?
I do not know.
I did not go.
Alone, I cried myself to sleep.

Yesterday there was no shadow
No place left for me to hide
No one there to heal this cripple
Maimed by selfishness and pride.

This morning Mary ran to greet me
Though I can scarcely take it in
She says the tomb is empty
She says you live again.

Is it true? Am I still dreaming?
Have I been given one more chance?
Might I be able to follow you again?
In your shadow, now to dance?

Mary smiles and says, "Just trust Him.
'Do not be afraid,' He said."
I go with her to see the shadow
Of the stone that guards no dead.

You are alive and I am weeping
Standing in a bold new place
Soon I'll glory in the shadow
Of your brilliant, Holy Face.

I used to fear the darkness
Like a child in bed at night
But I no longer fear the shadow
For in it I am close to Light.

another runaway?

Would I walk away?

Would I be able to bear the sight of someone, anyone, being crucified? Would I stand by, knowing that I was putting my life in danger by the very act? And further, would I continue to witness this horrible torture being inflicted on The One I believed had come to save me? The One I loved?

Am I like Mary Magdalene? Or am I Judas?

I pondered these thoughts and more last night as I walked through an exhibit on the Shroud of Turin hosted by a local church. I had seen the display years ago, but it continued to inspire and fascinate me. And provoke me.

The first time I saw the display it included a graphic figure of the Crucified Christ as He was likely to have appeared: covered with horrific wounds, dripping with blood. I quickly looked away.

I continue to look away. I cannot bear the cross. I can't bear Jesus', and I can't bear my own, even (maybe especially) the tiny ones. I used to entertain a fantasy in which I was like Veronica, offering Jesus compassion. I was like The Magdalene, steadfast at her Lord's feet. I was akin to His Blessed Mother, washing his wounds with my tears.

I know myself better today. I'm much more like Joseph of Arimathea, who showed up at the last minute in secret. I'm like the Centurion, only converted after seeing Jesus suffer patiently for hours. I'm like Thomas, who was hiding somewhere and insisted on proof even when the Risen Jesus was standing right in front of him. I'm Peter, who betrayed his best friend repeatedly and then ran off crying.

I know in my heart I've got lots in common with Judas. Lots.

Seeing that exhibit again last night brought me to Calvary in the smallest way. Daily life is really more effective for that, isn't it? Just praying I won't run away. Just praying...

from darkness to light

I thought I'd be spending the day writing. Instead, I've been distracted, annoyed and anxious. The house is empty, and I should be working away. But things don't always go as we plan, do they?

One thing after another needed my attention. I thought I'd be alone all day, but I forgot I had to pick up Lolo at the airport. The Big Man came home from school and had some homework to finish before he headed off to be with my brother and the urchins. He was home just long enough for us to engage in some lively "conversation" that included me repeatedly blowing my nose and saying I would never, ever again dare to ask for a weekend off.

We managed to patch things up and he headed off. I swear it was only 15 minutes later when he called me to announce that he was ready to kill the urchins, and that he had to stop by the house to pick up gloves for them. (The ones I sent were deemed absolutely unappropriate...what was I thinking?)

'Round about this time, Lolo asked me to go to confession with her. What kind of mother says no when her 20-year-old daughter asks her to go to confession with her? This kind. I was feeling so unprepared, so dark, so not ready for confession.

I agreed to go to Mass, however, even though I knew The Big Man would be there, urchins in tow, and they would all need me desperately.
Miraculously, it wasn't too bad. Throughout Mass I kept picturing a candle, a beautiful peaceful image of light and warmth. I started to feel some peace.

Lukie asked me to go out to dinner with them, and I really wanted to go. But Lolo and I had decided to go out together instead. That fell through too, but that's ok. I came home and ate some freezer burned chicken and played around on the computer, not accomplishing much of anything.

Now here I am, trying to decide if this weekend has been a bust. I've been so troubled these past few weeks, trying to figure out just what I should be doing around here. I thought a few days (heck, a few minutes) alone would put some light on the situation.

I want to capture the light and warmth of that candle I imagined at Mass. I need to feel the healing power of Christ's burning Love, be illuminated by the flame of His Sacred Heart. If I look elsewhere, I know I'll be in the dark for good. So in the tradition of good Catholics everywhere, I'm lighting a candle.

Christ, be my light.